you take as your husband.”
That seemed a harsh thing to say, Cammon thought, but Amalie was nodding wisely. “And even if their parents haven’t made it clear, you can be sure I will before wedding vows are ever spoken,” she said. “They may find they are not willing to risk so much for the chance to wear a crown.”
Just then the sunlight strengthened through the window, turning Amalie’s red-blond hair to gold. The effect was so dazzling that it didn’t even occur to Cammon to say the words aloud. Maybe not, but they might be willing to risk everything for the chance to marry you.
I T turned out the royal receiving room was not just formal and uncomfortable. It was set up specifically to allow a courting couple the appearance of privacy without leaving them alone for a second. The central portion of the room consisted of a half dozen stiff-backed and heavily upholstered green chairs surrounded by thick-legged tables in some dark, forbidding wood. The walls were covered with decorative paper in a distinctive green-and-gold pattern—but the walls were fake, barely more than reinforced parchment. Behind them, around three sides of the room, ran a narrow corridor just wide enough to accommodate the body of a man. Here the various spies and guardians of the household would be set up to audit any visitor’s conversation.
Cammon, Valri, Wen, and Tayse were all in place a good half hour before Amalie’s suitor came calling. Tayse, of course, had prowled through every corner of the main room, checking for potential danger, before concealing himself behind the false wall. They had debated where each of them could best be deployed, and they had ultimately decided that Valri and one Rider would stand together on one side, Cammon and the second Rider on the other.
Cammon and Tayse were leaning against the true wall, waiting, when Cammon sensed Milo leading a procession up the hallway. He straightened and jerked his head, and Tayse came smoothly to an upright position. Cammon didn’t even have to look to know Tayse’s hand would be on his sword hilt. If it was humanly possible to protect Amalie from physical danger, Tayse would be the one to keep her safe.
The door opened and five people entered. Cammon closed his eyes and envisioned the scene on the other side of the barrier. Milo led the way, Amalie and the young lord followed, servants came behind them bearing trays of refreshments. No one seemed bent on malice. From the young Helven lord, Cammon picked up only nervousness and hope. There were the sounds of chairs being moved, trays being laid on tables, drinks being poured.
“If you have any need of me, Majesty, I will be within call,” Milo said, his voice heavy with significance. And so will four others, waiting to leap to your aid.
“Thank you, Milo. I will let you know.”
Footsteps, rustling, the sound of a door closing, then Amalie’s light laugh. As always, Cammon found it annoyingly impossible to tell what she might be thinking. Was she, too, nervous at meeting a prospective husband? Was she intrigued? Indifferent? Contrary? He didn’t know.
“So tell me a little about yourself,” Amalie invited in a voice that was much softer than the hard chairs and grim furnishings. “I met you last summer, I think, but only briefly.”
“Yes—I was in Nocklyn and Rappengrass,” Delt Helven said in an eager voice. “You favored me with two dances.”
“No one can talk in a ballroom!” she said gaily. “So you must start at the beginning, as if we were strangers. You are marlord Martin’s nephew, are you not?”
“My mother is his sister. I spend a great deal of time at Helvenhall and my uncle trusts me absolutely.”
“I’ve never been to Helvenhall. Is it pretty?”
“It is the richest of the middle Houses, and everywhere you look you see fields of grain. My uncle has an interest in many of the brewing houses. Have you ever had a glass of Helven beer?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You will
That seemed a harsh thing to say, Cammon thought, but Amalie was nodding wisely. “And even if their parents haven’t made it clear, you can be sure I will before wedding vows are ever spoken,” she said. “They may find they are not willing to risk so much for the chance to wear a crown.”
Just then the sunlight strengthened through the window, turning Amalie’s red-blond hair to gold. The effect was so dazzling that it didn’t even occur to Cammon to say the words aloud. Maybe not, but they might be willing to risk everything for the chance to marry you.
I T turned out the royal receiving room was not just formal and uncomfortable. It was set up specifically to allow a courting couple the appearance of privacy without leaving them alone for a second. The central portion of the room consisted of a half dozen stiff-backed and heavily upholstered green chairs surrounded by thick-legged tables in some dark, forbidding wood. The walls were covered with decorative paper in a distinctive green-and-gold pattern—but the walls were fake, barely more than reinforced parchment. Behind them, around three sides of the room, ran a narrow corridor just wide enough to accommodate the body of a man. Here the various spies and guardians of the household would be set up to audit any visitor’s conversation.
Cammon, Valri, Wen, and Tayse were all in place a good half hour before Amalie’s suitor came calling. Tayse, of course, had prowled through every corner of the main room, checking for potential danger, before concealing himself behind the false wall. They had debated where each of them could best be deployed, and they had ultimately decided that Valri and one Rider would stand together on one side, Cammon and the second Rider on the other.
Cammon and Tayse were leaning against the true wall, waiting, when Cammon sensed Milo leading a procession up the hallway. He straightened and jerked his head, and Tayse came smoothly to an upright position. Cammon didn’t even have to look to know Tayse’s hand would be on his sword hilt. If it was humanly possible to protect Amalie from physical danger, Tayse would be the one to keep her safe.
The door opened and five people entered. Cammon closed his eyes and envisioned the scene on the other side of the barrier. Milo led the way, Amalie and the young lord followed, servants came behind them bearing trays of refreshments. No one seemed bent on malice. From the young Helven lord, Cammon picked up only nervousness and hope. There were the sounds of chairs being moved, trays being laid on tables, drinks being poured.
“If you have any need of me, Majesty, I will be within call,” Milo said, his voice heavy with significance. And so will four others, waiting to leap to your aid.
“Thank you, Milo. I will let you know.”
Footsteps, rustling, the sound of a door closing, then Amalie’s light laugh. As always, Cammon found it annoyingly impossible to tell what she might be thinking. Was she, too, nervous at meeting a prospective husband? Was she intrigued? Indifferent? Contrary? He didn’t know.
“So tell me a little about yourself,” Amalie invited in a voice that was much softer than the hard chairs and grim furnishings. “I met you last summer, I think, but only briefly.”
“Yes—I was in Nocklyn and Rappengrass,” Delt Helven said in an eager voice. “You favored me with two dances.”
“No one can talk in a ballroom!” she said gaily. “So you must start at the beginning, as if we were strangers. You are marlord Martin’s nephew, are you not?”
“My mother is his sister. I spend a great deal of time at Helvenhall and my uncle trusts me absolutely.”
“I’ve never been to Helvenhall. Is it pretty?”
“It is the richest of the middle Houses, and everywhere you look you see fields of grain. My uncle has an interest in many of the brewing houses. Have you ever had a glass of Helven beer?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You will
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