Ciamon came again with the sedan chair to take Beatrice around Mahaut. By now, the crowds were so thick, the furthest they could travel from the palace was the gardens. Gruffydd`s private guards attended them, keeping the worst of the crush well away from the chair so that Beatrice would not be jostled.

　　 "Let`s see how the ankle is today," Ciamon said, offering a hand to help Beatrice step from the chair.

　　 Beatrice winced as she put weight onto her foot. Her ankle and the muscles all around it still ached fiercely. Ciamon`s medicines took the edge off, but Beatrice could make it only a few steps before stopping to breathe through the agony. Her lavender veil fluttered around her face as she exhaled, giving the world a soft purple glow.

　　 The garden was crowded that day. Both viewing places for ladies were packed eight lines deep, with Ammarish women and ladies from other lands crowding close together to get a look at the flower beds. Gardeners bobbed up and down the dirt lines, replanting new flowers from pots kept in greenhouses outside the city throughout the winter. Beatrice would have liked to see the garden finally filling up with color—but she couldn`t possibly jostle through the crowd on her own.

　　 "Take me home," she said to Ciamon, exhausted.

　　 He saw the disappointment in her face. "Lady, I would take you all the way back to Sanchia, if I could. But, alas, the chair doesn`t float."

　　 Beatrice looked at the ground. She was afraid that if she tried to laugh at his joke, she would burst into tears. Sore and homesick, trapped in a foreign land in a cold gray winter that felt like it would never end.

　　 "This isn`t like you," Ciamon said. He lowered his head to look into her eyes. "Beatrice of Sanchia is lively. Bold. Adventurous. The Duke`s eldest daughter to wed the Prince of Ammar and one day become Queen."

　　"Every adventure I have here ends in disaster," Beatrice said. "I know I cannot pick up a sword and go into battle like my soon-to-be husband. I know that the most important thing I`ll ever do in Ammar is have a son to follow his father onto the Blood Throne. But I& I could do more. Write a law, build a hospital, or&"

　　 "Stop a war?" Ciamon asked.

　　He was looking at her in a new and different way. When Beatrice met his gaze, Ciamon shivered. He stood up straight and looked around. After a moment, he grabbed her hand and put his other arm behind her to help support her weight.

　　"I should not do this, but& Come with me," he said. "There is something I want to tell you."

　　They maneuvered through the crowds surrounding the garden, past the gates to the ladies` observation decks. Around the side of the wall, where trees hundreds of years old sagged against the wrought iron fence, there were a few clusters of ninebark bush and sweetshrub. It wasn`t close enough to spring for either to flower, but their leaves were lush and thick on the branch. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

　　Ciamon led Beatrice to a place between two of the bushes, shadowed by a branch, and ducked between them. From the street, the space between the bushes and the fence didn`t look very large. They encircled a small patch of dirt no wider than a closet. Crouching down just a little, Ciamon and Beatrice were well hidden from the road. He held her hand and pulled her close.

　　"Everything your brother told you is true," Ciamon whispered to her. "This is a dangerous place. You`ve heard it in the church, and you`ve seen it in the drawing room. Ammar is a kettle about to boil over."

　　Does he mean a "pot?" Beatrice wondered. She clung to his every word. This moment felt all at once like the intrigue she craved, and the fairy tales that she grew up on. Ciamon was holding her hand, staring deeply into her face. Trusting her as no one in Ammar had until that moment. Not even her brother.

　　"What can I do?" Beatrice asked.

　　"I don`t know," Ciamon admitted. "Sanchia`s ships will arrive after the wedding, bound for Nynomath? If there is no wedding, then there will be no ships."

　　"Ammar will not attack Nynomath without our navy," Beatrice agreed, remembering her maps. "But& Why would there be no wedding? Even if I run home crying to my mother today, they would cross my name out in the marriage contract and write in one of my sisters. I am replaceable."

　　"But Prince Anryniel isn`t?" Ciamon asked. An eager look crept into his face.

　　Her heart fluttered. For a moment, Beatrice wondered if he might push aside her veil and kiss her. Then, she matched the tone of his voice to the look on his face. It was the same way Duke Cesar smiled at a map when he saw an opening to a port he wanted to plunder.

　　She felt the flutter in her stomach turn to ice.

　　Beatrice let go of Ciamon`s hand. She berated herself for trusting this man, who was not family. However kind and gentle he may have been. She was now very aware that they were alone together, hidden from the street. If only she`d had a knife, even a hairpin to stick him with! If Beatrice survived long enough to become Ammar`s Queen, she vowed to start a fashion of wearing sharp jewelry.

　　Ciamon watched her face, still eager and intense. She met his eyes and refused to blink. In the shadows, it was hard to read his expression.

　　"I`d like to go home," Beatrice said. "Now."

　　Finally, Ciamon let out a breath Beatrice didn`t realize he`d been holding. "Alright. I`ll take you home."

　　He offered her a hand to help her to her feet.

　　Beatrice hesitated. She knew she couldn`t trust Ciamon, now that he`d stolen this secret from her. Yet, she still felt drawn to him. This new sense of danger charged the air between them like the wind before a storm.

　　She took his hand and pulled on it as she stood. With a sharp tug, she pressed it against her chest. With both of her hands, she flattened his palm over her heart so that he could feel it beating, even through the fabric of her dress and the veil over it.

　　"Swear to me& swear you will not harm Prince Anryniel," Beatrice said. "Swear it or I will scream. I will scream and scream, and they`ll come running to arrest us. I`ll get a lash or two& but you might lose this hand!"

　　Now, she could read his face quite clearly. Saw the stain of red sweeping over his cheeks. Ciamon`s fingers quivered under her hand, pressing against the curve of her breast for a moment before he yanked it back from her as if she`d burned him.

　　Beatrice drew a breath, preparing to scream.

　　"Stop!" he hissed. "I& swear. I swear that I won`t hurt the prince!"

　　Ciamon ducked out from between the bushes into the street to get away from her. He shook his wrist as if flicking a spider web off of his fingers. After a moment, he reached his hand back to help her limp out of the hiding place.

　　Beatrice kept hold of his hand all the way back to the sedan chair. Delighted to feel Ciamon`s palms sweat under her fingers.