“You’re so close with your knight, Lady Calanthe.  One might mistake Earl Wymond for keeping doves in secret,” said one.  Keeping doves was a rare phrase used to refer to planning a wedding.  Earl Wymond, bless him, did indeed harbor hopes that Roderick would marry Calanthe now that he would hold such a respectable title.  The gentleman clearly meant to hint that her behavior was untoward—and to convey to her ladyship that she was fancying a man who clearly did not feel the same.

But Lady Calanthe ignored him, and spouted her own pretty euphemisms in turn.

“Their plumage is fine and bright, and their wings are strong and wide.  Would only that there were more of them,” she said.  ‘He’s handsome and strong; why ever would I let another have him?’

That was the sort of lady she was.  How condescending.

And before that sort of lady, there appeared a rival.

Princess Rohesia entered with quiet dignity and little fanfare.  Even so, she drew eyes.  Her mother hailed from a land far away to the north, and it showed in both her unusual height and her pale coloring.  She greeted people with warmth and wore clothes of simple colors with few embellishments.  Touches here and there showed signs of diplomacy, such as the patterned, woven hem of her mother’s land, and a gleaming torq from the barbarians in the west, and a modest, white veil from one of the country’s across the wide channel between Albior and the mainland.

“Honor upon you, Sir Roderick of Endshire,” she greeted.

“Likewise, may your name ever be a light, Your Highness.”

 “Greetings, Lady Calanthe.  I hope you are well?”

“Your Highness.”

The tension was thick enough to choke on.  Roderick envied anyone out of earshot, for they continued on with their wine and their mead, merry as ever.  Her Highness Rohesia was gracious enough to ignore Calanthe’s rudeness, but the onlookers were not nearly so kind.  Roderick struggled to keep his smile as vicious gazes raked over him in outrage.

“Has the banquet been enjoyable so far, Sir Roderick?” she asked.  “As my mother is ill, I was given charge of the arrangements this time.  I do hope things are to your liking.  And you, Sir Henry—it has been a while since I’ve seen your face.”

“Indeed, my eyes have missed Your Highness’ shining countenance,” said Henry with a broad smile.

“Your benevolence is far more than I deserve, Your Highness.  I am grateful,” Roderick demurred.  Despite his humble reply, Henry jostled his shoulder excitedly.

“He spouts a lot of nonsense, Highness.  Every man who fought under him knows his power.”

 “I have heard of your deeds from many of the knights, sir.  Please, do not deny the part you have played, nor the accounts of those who have witnessed your valor.  You are the hero who led us to victory against that fearsome drake.  If you do not deserve this, who would?” she said, a smile twinkling in her eyes.  “Please, enjoy yourself.  And save a dance for me, if you don’t mind.”

“I mind.”

Silence ripped through the hall.  Calanthe’s declaration night echoed, she’d said it so loudly.  Even the musicians, wary of the temperament of the crowd, ceased their playing.

“…You are being rude, Lady Calanthe,” the princess warned evenly.  To no avail, however—Calanthe lifted her chin defiantly.

“You are overreaching yourself, Highness.  Sir Roderick is not free to dance with you.”

“Milady—” he started, but Princess Rohesia cut him off.

“I have heard no reports of Sir Roderick being promised to anyone.”

“Then your informants have been lax.”

Whispers crackled through the crowd, hissing to life like the first sparks of a wildfire.  Roderick felt the chill of his own face going pale.

“He is mine.  I will not allow you to impose upon him.”