The morning after her wedding, the new Princess of Ammar woke up smiling. Beatrice`s body ached and her skin felt sticky, but there was a lightness in her heart. She`d fulfilled her first and most important duty as a daughter of Sanchia. She was married to the Prince of Ammar, a princess in her own right. Her family`s place in the world was secured. She had not embarrassed herself.

　　 Beatrice rolled over in bed and looked at her new husband. She wanted to wake him and command more kisses. Try a few things she half-remembered from pages of the lost book.

　　Fear held her back. A curse. She shivered, and pulled the blankets around them both. Had a mage secretly cursed the Prince of Ammar? She thought of Ciamon and wondered if there were other mage-spies in Ammar, other secrets she`d discover.

　　After a while, Beatrice got up from the bed and left Anryn to sleep. When she rose, several veiled maids came to attend her, leading her down the servants` steps that connected the prince`s rooms to hers.

　　She caught them whispering at her nakedness, exchanging knowing looks. Beatrice held her head high. She was a married woman. Let them whisper. By lunchtime, the whole palace would hear how she`d risen from her marital bed naked as the day she was born.

　　Her own rooms! Beatrice exalted in the potential of it. The walls were decorated to someone else`s tastes—paintings of hunting and nature, mahogany tables, not nearly enough books—but her trunks were there, all the ones from her trousseau, waiting to be unpacked. Then Sanchia`s magnificent silks would hang from the walls, and Beatrice would pack one of the rooms in her suite with maps and books, and even a sundial that could catch the light from the windows.

　　Beatrice let the maids dress her, and asked that her brother be brought to have a late breakfast with her in her room. She was anxious to reassure him that all had gone well.

　　It made her heart ache to remember how Riccardo clutched her when she and Anryn finally made it back to the palace after the chaos in the street. Riccardo was shaking and furious. He swore that he would take her home right then. "I don`t care what they do. They will not stop me. We can leave now, tonight!"

　　 "Dick, I`m not leaving," Beatrice said before the Queen of Ammar came to pull her away. "Prince Anryn needs me. My place is at his side. I swore a vow. A promise to God."

　　 "Those don`t matter," Riccardo yelled.

　　 But they do, Beatrice thought. Now, sitting at breakfast, she ran her fingers over the pink scars on her fingers, already fading to silvery white. She touched the coins in their little pouch hung from her neck beneath her gown and thought of Ciamon.

　　Ciamon could have killed Anryn in that alley. Or even just left him there while the wild rosebush bloomed, and the hidden archer hunted him down like a dog. Beatrice dragged the vow out of Ciamon that he would not hurt Prince Anryn, and he hadn`t. Vows mattered.

　　 Beatrice paced the length of her room, her veil fluttering behind her. She wore it, still, but kept it thrown back over her hair instead of down around her face. All around her, the maids went about their business, unpacking her trunks and decorating her new apartments. Beatrice flexed the toes on her foot, grateful and amazed to feel them move without pain.

　　Ciamon might have done that sooner, the ass, Beatrice thought. There hadn`t been any dancing at the wedding at all. Now she`d have to wait weeks or even months for the tension to die down enough in Mahaut to host a party.

　　 A half hour passed. Riccardo did not arrive. Beatrice swore under her breath. Was she to spend the rest of her life in Ammar waiting on a man?

　　 At last, a maid came to say that her guest had arrived. Beatrice swept from the bedroom to her receiving room, set with a small table and chairs for private dining. She stopped cold when she saw Queen Eva standing beside it.

　　 "I thought we might have breakfast together, Daughter, and see how you fared," the Queen said. "You seem very well, indeed. Is your ankle healing?"

　　 Beatrice bowed to her mother-in-law, grateful that the veil swept down around her cheeks to hide her face. For two weeks, she had avoided the Queen. Even after the rosebush, when preparing Beatrice for the bedding, Queen Eva hadn`t said more than a word to her. Now there was no escape.

　　Beatrice sat down at the table, laid with crusty bread and the spiced fruit preserves favored at breakfast in Sanchia. The Queen kept her veil over her face and lifted it from her nose to raise delicate little bites beneath. Beatrice spread butter on her bread and chomped on it. Every crumb stuck in her throat.

　　 Why are you here? Beatrice wanted to scream. She already knew that somehow it was related to Riccardo`s absence. The Queen of Ammar crept all around the palace doing God only knew what. Somehow, she would know why Riccardo was not here and sat across from Beatrice now to gloat. Just like at the dance when she gloated over Beatrice`s broken ankle. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

　　 "I trust your wedding night was adequate. Not too sore, I hope?" the Queen said.

　　 Beatrice stifled her scream with a mouthful of hot coffee. She had no intention of sharing the private details of her bedroom with the Queen of Ammar. Beatrice swiped a pad of butter across the top of her toast with vehemence and hoped the flicker of the morning light on the knife would be answer enough.

　　 The corners of Queen Eva`s eyes crinkled. Beatrice thought she might be smiling. "They`ll be checking your bed linens, now. Daily. To see whether you bleed. Whether you don`t. Wondering if you`re pregnant or not getting pregnant. Tedious business."

　　Beatrice could think of nothing to say that would end the meal more quickly. She resolved to eat faster.

　　"Perhaps I have not been welcoming these past two months," the Queen sighed. "I do not apologize. I was a stranger, too, to this country. I couldn`t stand the contradictions. Modesty, virtue&" She snorted, ruffling the folds of her veil. "How can a people who profess a love of God and complete mastery of the body drink so much? But& I came to understand that this is what life in Ammar is, for royalty. A brilliant contradiction. A conceit. You will understand, too, one day. When you are Queen in Ammar."

　　"When I am Queen in Ammar," Beatrice echoed. All the rage and anxiety of the past weeks exploded. "You believe that day will come, Mother? What the fuck do you care? You`ll likely be dead when it does. And go on judging me from Hell."

　　"My, my." The lines around the Queen`s eyes deepened. "Authority will suit you well. If you can live long enough to claim it. Beatrice& I did not come to apologize, I came to warn you."

　　"Warn me?" Beatrice asked.

　　"It`s been a long time since I was a girl in love. You`ll forgive me for forgetting the agony and embarrassment. I`m sure you must be feeling very confused right now. And although you are very young, I am sure that you do understand what`s at stake in statecraft," the Queen said. "You must mind the company that you keep. Ever so much more, now that it is the same company my son will keep."

　　Beatrice tensed. Dreaded what the Queen would say next.

　　"You know who I am talking about," Queen Eva said, low and dangerous. "This man, Ciamon Caelt. Who serves Lord Gruffydd. What would the court say of you, if they saw how you looked at him? With that filthy little mouth of yours, I am sure you can imagine what words they will whisper when you walk by. What kind of Queen would you be, then? How much authority could you expect to command?"

　　Mortified and furious, Beatrice set down her coffee cup hard enough to rattle the delicate porcelain plates beside it.. "I have done nothing wrong. How dare you accuse me?"

　　"I do not accuse. I am warning you," the Queen said. "Words, however childishly spoken, have consequences. Look at the man, if you like. Look at any man. From behind the safety of your veil. Let no word not tailored to your husband`s interests pass beyond it. Do you understand me, dear?"

　　Beatrice seethed. She would not lower the veil back over her face. Not in her own apartments. Not with no man nearby to demand modesty from her like a child making up rules to a game.

　　Beatrice stood up. "I think, Mother, that I`ve had more breakfast than I can stomach."

　　"Then let me leave you with one last gift, on the occasion of your wedding," the Queen said. She rose as well, and Beatrice was obliged to bow. Queen Eva leaned close and whispered, "Your brother, Riccardo. The King has had him arrested and charged with the attempt on the prince`s life."

　　Beatrice held herself frozen while the Queen drifted away. When she was gone, Beatrice collapsed to her knees, her mind whirling.

　　Riccardo would not survive interrogation, Beatrice thought. He would not hold out long enough to wait for a messenger to reach the Duke in Sanchia, for the Duke to demand that the King of Ammar release his son. Her mind ran through all the things that needed to happen, in order for a serious charge to be filed, and a trial called. In Sanchia, there would need to be three independent witnesses, not related to one another by blood. There would be a public posting. The victim would testify&

　　The victim! Beatrice ran up the backstairs. Anryn was still in bed. She shook the prince awake.

　　"My brother`s been arrested." Beatrice was shaking so badly, she could hardly get the words out. "They accuse him of trying to kill you. Anryn, wake up, I need you. You have to believe me. Dick would never do this. He did not do this. You have to help him, please&"

　　Prince Anryn blinked at her. He took her hands and held them. The prince looked into her face, and for a moment, Beatrice thought that his eyes went cross.

　　"Please," she sobbed. "Please, you must believe me."

　　"I believe you," Anryn said.

　　Beatrice flung her arms around the prince`s neck. He was barely bigger than her, she thought, but Anryn felt solid beneath her hands. "Will you help him? Can you help him? How will you prove him innocent& Do you know who hunts you?"

　　Anryn held her for a moment. Beatrice felt his muscles tense. For a horrifying moment, she thought that he was about to push her away.

　　"I don`t know," the prince finally answered. Beatrice did not know which of her questions he replied to. "It`s alright. I believe you. I believe you because you are telling the truth. I will speak to my father, and to my counselor, Haley Lawson."

　　Prince Anryn commanded that Professor Lawson be brought to consult with the prince. For the second time that day, Beatrice waited on a man to appear. When he did not, the prince grew agitated. He demanded again that Professor Lawson be brought.

　　"Your Highness," his attendant answered. "He cannot come. He`s been arrested, as well."