The days after Beatrice`s brush with danger in the garden were tense and gray, as if the sky held one last icy gasp of winter back before a furious storm. Beatrice tried to pace the floor in her room, but it was difficult to do on one foot. She pulled herself along the furniture and hopped on one leg.

　　 "What ails you, girl?" Aunt Alys asked. She watched from the pocket doors as Beatrice hop-paced and fumed. "You`re as wound up as a watch! Shall I call my nephew`s man to take you out for some air?"

　　 "No—no thank you, auntie," Beatrice said. Her heart quickened at the thought of seeing Ciamon again. She flexed her hand and wished for one of the knives from her trousseau. Instead, she reached into her pocket where the heavy silver coins sat. She squeezed them for reassurance.

　　 I am Beatrice of Sanchia, the most beautiful daughter of Duke Cesar of the Golden Fleet, she told herself. I came to Ammar to marry Prince Anryniel and I will be Queen in Ammar.

　　 These words became her prayer as time dragged along. Every hour or so during the day, she limped to the window to look out into the street. Once, she saw the sedan chair waiting down below. When Gruffydd`s valets came to fetch her, she pretended to be sleeping. The chair did not appear outside the mansion again.

　　 Aunt Alys must`ve said something to her nephew because the next day, Riccardo was back, pounding on the door.

　　 "Bea? They said you stopped eating? That hardly sounds like you&" He slid back the door before she could hobble over to open it. The sight of her brother made Beatrice even more anxious—he looked tired, and drawn.

　　 "I took breakfast in my room—here, you can carry down the tray, if you`re so worried," Beatrice said. She reached out to rebutton Riccardo`s jacket, noticing he`d missed one. She tried to think of some way to tell him about Ciamon, but found that she was too embarrassed to say anything. Dick would laugh at her if she told him how she crouched down in the bushes with a man out in public.

　　Still, Beatrice had to say something to reassure her brother that this wedding would go ahead as planned.

　　"There are so many people out in the street now, it didn`t seem worth the trouble to go out," she told him. "Besides& It builds anticipation. They`ll go wild when they finally do see me. But I`m not setting foot outside until the prince shows up."

　　 "Well, alright," Riccardo said. He scratched underneath his cap. "Saves on the cost of food, at least. Gruffydd`s got so many people coming in from his own estate, they`re eating up what`s left in the pantry. Better come down now for tea before more of them come by tonight looking for dinner."

　　 He reached out to lift her up. Beatrice turned him around with both her hands and hooked her arm through the crook of his elbow.

　　"I`m going to make it to the altar, Dick," she said. "Just you watch."

　　 Riccardo chuckled. "God willing."

　　 He helped her limp slowly down the steps. True to his word, the house was abuzz with servants—more than Beatrice had seen in the house before. They did not glance up at her and Riccardo as they made their way to the dining room. Aunt Alys was already seated, stuffing buttered biscuits up underneath her veil, little crumbs tumbling out from beneath the hem.

　　 As Riccardo fetched her a cup of coffee from the sideboard, Beatrice heard the front door slam. She turned her head and caught sight of a short man dressed in brown shaking dust off of his cape in the foyer. One arm was in a sling across his chest. He looked out of place to Beatrice there in the mansion among the servants all wearing Gruffydd`s colors of green and black. She watched as he took a red leather folder out from beneath the arm in its sling, and made his way up the steps.

　　 Beatrice strained her ears for the sound of the library door. She couldn`t quite be sure she heard it open and shut over the clatter of the servants moving through the house.

　　 "Don`t give that to her, boy," Aunt Alys snapped at Riccardo as he passed Beatrice a cup of coffee. "She`s antsy enough as it is! Coffee won`t help with the wedding night, mind. Stops up the womb."

　　 Beatrice glanced at Riccardo. Neither of them could hold back a snort.

　　"I`m sure that`s not true, Auntie," Riccardo said. "Our mother drinks four cups a day and has seven children&"

　　 "Bah—!" Aunt Alys waved her hand in front of her face as he spoke to her, as if she could ward off the impropriety of being addressed directly by a man not related to her. She spoke instead to Beatrice, "Drink only half the cup if you must. For the next three days, water and lemonade only. Then, on the wedding night, a spoonful of dried cocoa. That will best prepare you to receive your husband."The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

　　 Beatrice flushed under her veil. She hadn`t thought far beyond the kisses she expected. Beatrice almost asked the old woman for more advice, when she remembered again the book her mother had confiscated.

　　I wonder if Gruffydd has anything like it in his library, she thought.

　　 It was much harder sneaking around with a broken ankle than it had been with a whole one. Still, Beatrice managed it against the chaos of the house being prepared for the wedding day. She sent Dick off with Aunt Alys to find some cocoa powder at the market, and insisted that she could make her own way back up the stairs.

　　Beatrice went very slowly, step by step, keeping an eye on which servant went where. She reached the landing outside the library. The door was unlocked. Beatrice waited outside until the servant on the stairs above vanished into the attic room and the ones on the stairs below had gone into the dining room. Then she darted inside and shut the library door behind her.

　　 Nobody was in the library just then. Beatrice pressed her back to the door and took in the sight of this forbidden room—a man`s sanctuary. Two club chairs faced an ornate marble fireplace. A magnificent carved wooden desk over by the window faced the room, piled high with stacks of papers and folders. Ashtrays and leather coasters were stacked neatly on a bar cart against one wall that sported family portraits. Two whole walls were lined with shelves, filled floor to ceiling with leather and paperbound books. Beatrice spied one shelf with hinges laid against the wall—the shelf doubled as a hidden door to the servants` hallway.

　　 Carefully, she limped to the swinging shelf and pushed it open to check behind it. She could hear footsteps echoing up and down the stairs, and the sound of chattering voices from the kitchen down below. No one lurked in the hall. Certainly not the Queen of Ammar.

　　 Beatrice pushed the door shut and turned back to the desk. A little thrill of triumph went through her as she spotted the red leather envelope resting on a stack of other folders.

　　She`d been right! The mysterious messenger had left it there. Unable to resist, she picked it up. As she did, several heavy objects slipped out and clattered onto the ground.

　　 "Fuck," Beatrice muttered. She lowered herself to her knees, and started to gather them up. She realized they were small, black arrows, unlike any she`d seen before. She turned one over in her hand. Heavy, and far too short to fit into an Ammarish longbow.

　　 The door to the library creaked open. Beatrice froze where she knelt behind the desk.

　　 It was Gruffydd. He spoke to someone following him into the room. "Have one of the grooms help you—where has Caelt gone?"

　　 "He wasn`t in the stables," said another voice.

　　 Beatrice leaned down toward the floor to look out from beneath the desk. She offered a prayer of thanksgiving that she`d worn only a simple cotton house gown that day, and no dangling jewelry. Nothing would jingle, whisper, or scrape to give her away if she moved very slowly.

　　 She saw the short man`s dusty boots standing beside Gruffydd`s clean house slippers.

　　 "Must be out with Sanchia`s wench& How nice to be young," Gruffydd said. "How did my son look when you saw him? After a scare like that, I worry he`ll stop eating. Has a delicate stomach like his mother, God rest her&"

　　 "He looked well at a distance, my lord," said dusty-boots. "He doesn`t leave the prince`s side&"

　　 "Just as well." Gruffydd sighed. "Send fresh horses out on the road to meet them. See if you can get through the crowds on your own. If you find Caelt, take him with you—the man knows how to handle a crowd."

　　 Beatrice saw the shadow over the boots shift. The man must`ve bowed before he turned and left. She stayed huddled by the desk, the red envelope and arrows clutched in her hand. She felt a drop of sweat slide out from beneath her veil, down over her forehead. If Gruffydd moved& If the servant`s door opened&

　　 I will be Queen in Ammar, she repeated to herself. I will be Queen—he`ll see me here, I`ll make up some excuse. I`ll curtsey so deep, it`ll break my other ankle&

　　 It didn`t come to that. The main door to the library opened again and now it was Riccardo`s voice she heard carry over the room.

　　 "My lord, you`re back!" Beatrice marveled that Riccardo sounded so warm toward the man. "Thank God—I need your help. Aunt Alys got overwhelmed in the crowds and swooned. I tried to give her my arm and she slapped me. Please come and help me get her inside&"

　　 Now Gruffydd chuckled. "We should get you some ice for that cheek while we`re at it. You must forgive my aunt, she`s of a different time."

　　 They went out. Beatrice pressed her forehead to the floor, prostrate with relief. She only stayed there a moment before she stood back up and placed the envelope with its arrows back where she found it. She slipped out of the library through the servants door and crawled on her knees up the steps back to the attic. She lay in her bed, her ankle throbbing, her head spinning.

　　But her heart felt stronger. All on her own, Beatrice had found something of importance. Some secret, though she did not know yet what it meant. Her hands closed around the coins in her pocket.

　　I can be Queen in Ammar, Beatrice told herself. I can sneak around just as well as Queen Eva. Even standing on one leg!