Beatrice waited at Gruffydd`s mansion for someone to fetch her. The roar of the crowd outside exhilarated her. She would have paced, but her ankle was not quite strong enough to last more than a quarter hour or so even pulling herself along the furniture, and she wanted to save her strength for her curtsey to Prince Anryniel.

　　 Aunt Alys, Lady and Sarah Tommasi, Little Mari Mayelor, and Lady Teqwyn fussed about her in the attic. Teqwyn and Tommasi had each brought maids from their house to help Beatrice prepare. Lady Kenon also sent her daughters to help. They were not permitted to address Beatrice directly, being of far lower rank, but they smiled and giggled. It was enough to remind Beatrice of her mother and sisters. It took some of the sting out of not having her family with her for the wedding.

　　The ladies of Ammar scurried around her, went from chest to chest, pulling out Beatrice`s dresses, the collars, and veils she`d brought with her from Sanchia. They exclaimed over the needlework, the beading. They argued over which combination of them would be best for Beatrice to don when she first met the prince.

　　"Would you like a little of your makeup, my lady?" Sarah Tommasi offered.

　　Aunt Alys sniffed. "The Queen will not like that."

　　"The prince`s opinion is all that matters today," Lady Teqwyn said. She gave Beatrice a wink.

　　"Yes, I`d like a little liner for my eyes, please," Beatrice said. It would make her feel more confident. Both before the prince, and under the eyes of the Queen. Beatrice had not come face to face with her since she broke her ankle.

　　In the end, she was obliged to do her own makeup. Sarah Tommasi was not skilled with eyeliner, and Mari Mayelor had gotten her fingers hopelessly stained from trying Beatrice`s rouge on her own cheeks and lips.

　　Beatrice`s hands were steady as she swiped the fine silver powder along the lower lid of her eye, drawing the skin taught with a finger at her temple to make a wing out past the socket. The familiar touch of the brush on her face calmed her. Gave her some control over the moment.

　　Lady Teqwyn and Aunt Alys settled on a sky blue gown for her, with white lace collar, crowned with Beatrice`s second-favorite lavender veil. The one she had worn with Ciamon Caelt to the garden was stained.

　　"You look lovely, my lady," Lady Teqwyn said, settling the folds down around Beatrice`s shoulders.

　　The ladies assembled before her to gaze. Beatrice saw soft smiles and misty eyes on each of their faces. As much as this was Beatrice`s moment, it was theirs, too. The women of Ammar longed for the wedding, for the romance and excitement of it. The cheers in the streets intoxicated them as much as it did her, and the ladies shared Beatrice`s impatience while they waited for someone to summon the bride to the palace to meet her prince.

　　At last, Riccardo called up from the stairs for them to come down. Beatrice gave her hands to Aunt Alys and one of Lady Kenon`s daughters. They helped her to limp down the steps while Sarah and Lady Tommasi lifted the train her veil to keep Beatrice from tripping. Beatrice fairly floated across the floor, out the door, and to the covered carriages awaiting the ladies.

　　 At the sight of her, the crowd broke into wild cheers for Sanchia. Beatrice stopped a moment to wave, beaming when she spied the blue dolphin banners pulsing in the hands of the men who jumped up and down while holding them. She turned back to the carriage intended for her, with the blue dolphin banner flapping away from the pole on its roof. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

　　Ciamon stood there, waiting to hand her into the carriage. He hadn`t gone off on another errand for Gruffydd, after all. Beatrice took his hand. He reached under her elbow as he had so many times before and leaned toward her. That urgent sense of danger throbbed in the air between them and Beatrice felt her body tighten as he leaned across her. He reached for Aunt Alys`s wrist.

　　"You will watch her, won`t you Auntie?" Ciamon asked.

　　 While he spoke, something heavy fell out of Ciamon`s coat into Beatrice`s lap. With his body spread over her, no one in the carriage saw it fall. Beatrice snatched it, and hid it beneath her veil.

　　 "Of course, dear boy," said Aunt Alys. "Now shut the door—the wind is mussing up my veil! And the noise& I shall go deaf."

　　 "That happened years ago, Auntie," Sarah Teqwyn quipped.

　　The ladies burst out laughing and Ciamon stepped back from the carriage and shut the door. The carriage surged ahead to the palace. The trek was short, but crowded with well-wishers. Palace guards kept them back with arms and poles, but a half dozen hands were able to reach past them to pound on the sides of the carriage. The ladies laughed more, giddy with excitement.

　　They drew up to the steps of the palace. Beatrice was obliged to wait while each of the ladies stepped down ahead of her. Alone for a brief moment, Beatrice turned over the heavy thing in her hand that Ciamon dropped. She recognized the weight of it, the feel of calfskin wrapped around the hilt. It was one of the knives from her trousseau.

　　At last, a herald cried out her name. Aunt Alys offered her hand for Beatrice to step down. Beatrice hid her knife beneath the veil and made the long, slow, painful limp up the steps to where the King of Ammar waited, flanked by Riccardo and all the lords of the court, plus many men in dark priests robes Beatrice had not seen before.

　　Before them stood a tall young man, resplendent in white velvet, a glittering sword at his side. He was shaking Riccardo`s hand, smiling. "Brother! At last! I humbly beg your permission to address the lady, your sister, Beatrice."

　　Riccardo shouted over the cheers of the crowd, "If the lady permits, Your Highness."

　　Beatrice peered out of her veil and tightened her grip on the knife beneath it. This man wasn`t scrawny. He was a little taller than Riccardo, even. She glanced as far to the sides as the veil would allow. To one side, she saw the King of Ammar`s whispering to Gruffydd the Elder, whose face flushed red. Gruffydd`s eyes were glued to the man in white.

　　This isn`t Prince Anyrniel, Beatrice concluded. This is Gruffydd`s son.

　　Now Beatrice focused her eyes on the man in front of her, the prince`s friend and rival. He was good-looking, Beatrice had to admit. A wide, generous face with a square jaw and bright, sparkling eyes. It was attractive, symmetrical.

　　Beatrice found herself completely numb to it. Perhaps because she knew that a trick was being played on her. Or perhaps because she thought his nose was too straight and his lips too narrow.

　　Whatever it was, the sentiment rendered Beatrice immune to the man`s charm. She was steady and calm as she curtsied. The man posing as Prince Anryniel bowed to her in return. He reached for her, his fingers crushed hers as he pulled her up beside him.

　　"My betrothed, I greet you," said the false prince. He brought her hand up between them and kissed it. The crowd gathered there all murmured in approval, charmed by the galant display. As he stood, Gruffydd the Younger pulled Beatrice even closer. He whispered, "Are you as pretty under there as they say?"

　　"You`ll have to ask my husband," Beatrice whispered back. She pressed the point of her knife through the veil, poking him lightly in his side. "I don`t think you want to see what`s under here."

　　Gruffydd the Younger looked into her eyes and sucked a breath between his teeth. He didn`t let go of her hand, but he held it more carefully as he led her into the palace.