Much to the annoyance of the elders, advisers and negotiators, King Henri’s arrival, alongside his many favourites, mistresses, rowdy friends both of no and some distinction, was celebrated among the younger crowd and appropriately heralded with a ball. Surely, though Katherine had been advised against any more Ilworthian or Massouric celebrations where the ale flowed freely and one danced with all, she had taken quite the liking to a number of Sbaians, none of whom seemed too differently from their Occidental counterpart. In fact, when she informed Murad in person, he seemed thrilled.

  The ambiance was abuzz with excitement that was so contagious that even Freyza initially did not protest, even accepting his invitation tentatively. It was only when he sat with it through a meeting he had with the Ilworthian treasurers, that he began to feel as if Katherine had made a grave mistake. Her budding friendship with Prince Murad — knowing intimately how a friendship with Katherine could turn — had already irritated him greatly. Any friendship or alliance with one of these princes would have been more likely to result in a pleasant, if short dealing. Murad, Freyza expected, would inherit. Therefore, anything that Katherine did was a permanent scar between the Sbaian-Ilworthian alliance for likely her whole reign. Given his own displeasure with dealing with her lately, he worried that Murad would be far less impressed with her eventual coldness.

  Despite his reluctance to see her again, which was a reluctance that oscillated between pride and secret nervousness, he decided to seek her out before the fact. When he thought she would be free from the hustle and bustle of her day, he sought her cabinet.

  The door was open, and hesitantly he stepped in, knocking the heavy door on his way. Instead of a desk, Katherine’s cabinet had a large, oval table with eight chairs tightly at its side, save for one which was pushed out. Upon the table, which was meticulously lacquered to reflect the glorious portraits of Katherine’s ancestors on the wall, stood a number of sundry items like a sundial, a bottle of wine, and some tome that Freyza thought that it could have been a Bible. When he scanned the faces on the walls upon his way in, there was one by the fireplace staring back at him.

  She looked like Katherine but was not her. ‘My apologies,’ said Freyza. ‘I must be in the wrong place.’

  ‘Wait, wait,’ she said hurriedly and wiped her charcoal-stained hands on the fine wool of her dress. ‘You don’t happen to be the Duke of Tougaf, do you?’

  Freyza felt himself tense up. ‘I— It’s a title I go by only incidentally and generally just for my countrymen,’ he said. ‘Is there anything awry, my lady?’

  She chuckled with the same dancing lilt as he had come to expect of her queenly likeness. ‘Katherine’s on her way,’ she said. ‘The spymaster called her to council just now. She and I were talking… and how rude of me not to introduce myself! I’m Eleanor, Archduchess of Neuhausen.’

  ‘That explains your Courtenay look,’ Freyza said and bowed, perhaps lower than he should have. ‘More specifically, your Courtenay-and-Ginefort look. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Eleanor. You may have referred to me as the Duke of Tougaf, but Freyza is fine. Lord Freyza here, Master Freyza in the south, during this time of great cultural exploration you may choose.’

  They both laughed and Eleanor’s hands disappeared behind her back, her blue eyes remaining still on Freyza’s. ‘Hm,’ she hummed. ‘I almost daren’t ask… I fear Freyza may be a common name from where you hail and I’ve got the wrong man before me.’

  It was as if he already knew what she would say, and yet Freyza felt trapped into acquiescing, ‘Not at all, my lady. I am the Sbaian ambassador of Massouron, if that helps you at all.’

  ‘Then are you the royal favourite Freyza I’ve heard so much about?’ she asked, quickly after his reply. Freyza reeled. Her sharpness was uneasily dissimilar to her sister’s languid way of speaking.

  ‘Lady Eleanor, you are purported to be a brilliant diplomat and the shining sun that the court of Zuyleburg revolves around. Yet, you indulge in a little gossip. I find it worrying that my name now appears to roll off the tongues of so many so easily, just because I was strongly drawn to a bond with—’

  ‘No need to hide behind pleasantries,’ Eleanor cut again.

  Pleasantries was about the last thing Freyza considered his ill-fated attempt to disguise himself to be. ‘I fear I’ve come off wrong,’ said Freyza. ‘What you hear to be pleasantries, Lady Eleanor, are truthful statements.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, her gaze finding an empty corner of the cabinet, ‘I believe that, were you to insist to Lady Katherine herself that you weren’t a royal favourite, you would likely be shown the door. You are aware of that, right?’

  Freyza nodded. ‘Why do you tell me this?’ he wondered. ‘I am aware of my own predicament.’

  ‘Katherine and I talk about you on occasion,’ she said. ‘I find the stories of you rather endearing. See, I love my sister. We both want the best for one another, and we’re awful close despite the border between us. Despite our differences, as well — we could not be any more different in temperament. You appear to be well-mannered, wise, courteous. I know that she finds you very charming and dare I say it, quite handsome. I’d be a fool not to intervene if I worry about this situation going somewhere tainted. If you remain in my good graces, I’d be willing to put in a good word for you, honestly.’

  Freyza felt himself beginning to smile. He was unsure, still, if he had found himself an alliance in the queen’s younger sister, though the sharpness of her wit made her appear far older than Katherine, whose unrestrained demeanour gave her a youthful aspect. Even though the uncertainty he felt in her proposition was palpable, he knew he had been on the spot by her.

  ‘I wonder what you mean by that,’ Freyza said facetiously.

  ‘First of all, my Sbaian friend, I think it’d give you a clue if I told you that I find King Henri one of the few mistakes that God has ever made,’ she said. ‘On par with lice.’

  ‘I’ve heard many others complain,’ said Freyza.

  Before he could continue, Eleanor’s eyes glazed over and looked past Freyza into the direction of the doorframe, then began to smile.

  ‘You’re not stealing my ambassador, are you?’ sounded Katherine from the hallway. She entered and Freyza turned towards her, though some resistance followed since he was still reluctant to be seen by her.

  ‘She was doing nothing of the sort,’ said Freyza. ‘It was you I was looking for, Lady Katherine.’

  Upon hearing that, she swaggered in and slid between the space that was left between the back of the chair and the table. ‘Ellie, could you give us a moment?’

  Eleanor narrowed her eyes at Freyza as if to mean to tell him, This is your moment! Though, in protest, Freyza said: ‘No need for more secrecy than absolutely necessary. I’ve found that your sister, Lady Katherine, is rather agreeable.’

  ‘Most of your colleagues are too blinded by her beauty to comment on her character,’ said Katherine.

  ‘My business is beauty, as you know. I’m not easily blinded by it,’ he said. ‘Beauty gets a woman far when she is of a certain status, though when not paired with wit and charm, is only a good way to heighten the fall that she will inevitably make. Such is the price of beauty — it can be a very costly power.’

  Katherine seemed not so impressed by his monologue, leaning on her fist with her chin. ‘You talk with the speed and voraciousness that I worry that you are just postponing telling me something uncomfortable.’

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  ‘I am,’ he admitted, realising that Eleanor’s words had rattled him more than he had let on initially, ‘When you celebrate King Henri’s arrival tonight, I beg of you to ask his many scoundrels to behave, and to keep much of the wine corked. I worry for your reputation. Ilworth is regarded as a barbarian state to begin with, let us indulge them in the finer aspects of your culture.’

  ‘It is not a matter of fine or crude culture,’ protested Katherine, ‘Sbaians cannot hold their drinks. It is not my fault that they indulge in them regardless.’

  ‘They’re really not supposed to,’ said Freyza, shuffling with his feet awkwardly. ‘We should not give them reasons to do it.’

  Katherine tapped the table with her nails. ‘Freyza, just… a small little thing. I’d like to have a little fun before I return to the warm embrace of my hostess the Lady Louise, and the reality that my betrothed is about to legitimise his child with another woman. Do not stand in the way of that, for it is my priority, and you will not win. I’d like to see you alone at a short notice. Organise that with the administrator.’

  Before he could reply, Katherine stood up again and paced out, this time through the other door, which led to her private apartments. The door locked after her. Freyza sighed and again found Eleanor.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ said Eleanor. ‘Incorrigible. You like a challenge, I assume?’

  Freyza hummed thoughtfully. ‘I consider myself one of the few capable of taking on the challenges that I take on.’

  Eleanor laughed and snorted. ‘That’s a great line.’

  When night fell, there appeared to be no change in the itinerary, and the glittering chaos of fireworks filled the sky when Henri entered the open-air ballroom, breathing steam like a dragon in the cooling air. He was one of the last guests to arrive, favouring the dramatic effect that came with arriving when everyone had already settled in.

  The neat hedgerows and the fountains had become the backdrop, illuminated by countless lanterns and torches meant to give the party a shimmering and sophisticated atmosphere. The bowers were threaded with silk of a pale blue hue that flapped in the breeze. There was a large orchestra raised upon scaffolding that played the more delicate tunes as they were composed by Massouric and Ilworthian nobility, and there was tentative dancing on the boards that were placed upon the grass. Above the dance floor, a false sky punctured by star-shaped holes kept the guests from the worst of the pitter-pattering rain that was certainly not invited.

  Above all of those invited, was of course the Sultan, who had chosen to attend, and favoured a place by the castle, where a tent had been erected and clad in the finest furniture, supplied with sophisticated food and drink, and where Sbaian music sounded. Unlike what most assumed of Henri, it was there where he went first.

  Katherine caught up with him as he swaggered into the tent and bowed, gold chains dangling from his neck. She noticed a few familiar faces, like the princes and Bayezid, but quickly let the distraction of those familiar faces go in favour of Henri.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ he said, with the poise of a young king rather than a brash crown prince.

  Selim, who had been seated for most of the evening so far, smiled and restlessly shuffled in his chair. Selim had been far shorter than his grandiose letters had let on, or than the myth of him made him appear. He had a swarthy aspect and a full head of white hair, most of which was routinely hidden beneath an opulently padded turban. His beard, which still had streaks of brown among the grey, was long and pointed, a style which was imitated by Murad and some of the sultan’s nearest.

  All of a sudden, he stood up, half a head shorter than Henri. Though he did not now, he nodded his head sharply and offered Henri his hand.

  ‘King of Massouron,’ he said, ‘Soon of Ilworth, no?’

  Henri chuckled and took Selim’s hand, looking over his shoulder at Katherine briefly to check just how bold he could be. ‘Put in a good word for me, sire, and you may be correct,’ he said.

  Selim amicably tapped his shoulder. ‘Good to meet you after all. I’ve heard much of you.’

  ‘I hope nothing unbecoming,’ said Henri. ‘It is an honour to make your acquaintance.’

  When Henri turned to her again, Katherine noticed that there was some strange jealousy that came over her. Though Selim had showered her in gifts, they had not shared a handshake or even a candid word about anything to do with her reign. He had never told her, Queen of Ilworth, soon of Massouron.

  ‘Henri,’ said Katherine when their conversation wound down. ‘You haven’t spoken to me since you arrived.’

  Henri walked over to her, smugly as a man who just shook hands with the most powerful man in the known world. ‘You approach based on the hierarchy. You were next, I promise.’

  ‘Who taught you that?’ asked Katherine.

  He looked around at the Sbaian emissaries, then nodded his head at Freyza, who was listening to Prince Mehmet just out of their earshot, surely feigning interest in one of Mehmet’s now-famous tangents.

  ‘We made a deal,’ said Henri. ‘I’m supposed to make a good impression.’

  Initially, she did not realise why that infuriated her. Henri making a good impression on the sultan was one of the most slippery yet most important variables in the whole visit. Henri was about as easy to persuade as a cannonball which had just been loosed. Yet, when they were to marry, his reputation would be hers, and it would reflect poorly if the Sbaians thought of them as the great barbarian couple of the north.

  Then, she recognised the root of her feeling. She was not one entity with Henri, his behaviour did not reflect well off of her — in her mind, she had shelved the possibility of their marriage. That left him simply as her competition for the admiration of the sultan.

  ‘Good,’ she said, now horrified at her own subconscious thoughts that she had dug from the base of her skull upwards to the forefront of her mind. ‘Shall we dance?’

  Henri nodded softly. ‘I’ve yet to greet some princes,’ he said. ‘The deal… remember? Save some mead for me, if you will.’

  Then there was the matter of Freyza. How she wished that it was not Henri who had sought out before the feast, but herself. With each passing thought, she felt herself turn madder.

  ‘Fine,’ she said, more bluntly than she intended. ‘I understand you couldn’t have arrived three days earlier to greet them alongside myself. You must have them to yourself. I understand.’

  He clicked his tongue, but by the time he wished to rebut, she had already turned away. In fact, she had turned to Murad himself, who she was certain would be next on the list of his illustrious greetings as somehow orchestrated by Freyza. Murad was outside, observing the festivities from a distance that appeared safe.

  ‘You’re not into dancing?’ asked Katherine, waddling out of the tent.

  Murad looked to his side, where she stood, and shook his head. ‘I’m far too afraid of standing on some poor woman’s toes — besides, they’ll speak poorly of me if I indulge in anything you lot entertain. With all due respect, Your Highness.’

  Though she had let it slide a couple of times before, Katherine’s patience had been shorn. ‘I wish not to come across poorly, Prince Murad, but I am to be referred to as Your Majesty, or if we were on Otterdon Island, Your Grace.’

  ‘Your Majesty,’ corrected Murad. ‘I really do not mean this with any ill intent, I hope you understand. Entertaining song and dance is a fine way to live, but it is not ours.’

  Katherine eyed him mischievously. ‘I’m well aware of your customs. I thought you, being the more bushy-tailed of the delegation, would be tempted. You haven’t had even a sip of something difficult to acquire since you arrived here?’

  Murad amusedly shook his head. ‘I fear father will see me incapacitated and lose all faith in my ability to carry his great legacy.’

  ‘My father sent me to a convent when I was seventeen years old,’ said Katherine. ‘Somehow the faith recovered. Or rather, though I had long assumed my succession to be a mistake, it seemed to be by design.’

  ‘It is considered a myth,’ Murad began, ‘That you are the sole red-haired child of your father. Supposed to signify your ties to the Baradrans, I suppose. I always thought it was an exaggeration but the truth has a mysterious way of being greater than the myth. You have the face of the women we know from back home.’

  ‘The enslaved women?’ asked Katherine.

  He was hesitant at first, but then nodded. ‘We are not supposed to bring it up, but knowing that your teacher of the Sbaian tongue is Master Freyza, I think it is safe to say you are comfortable with some level of knowledge about this fact of our culture.’

  ‘Freyza speaks little of this,’ said Katherine, following the dancers in their volta with her eyes, ‘And that is what I prefer. I imagine it is incredibly suggestive to you that this country is ruled by an odalisque-shaped and odalisque-coloured woman, but the country is not ruled by an odalisque. It is ruled by God and His direct choice of monarch.’

  Henri exited the tent as well, his hands modestly tacked together at his back. Just as he noticed Murad, the latter sighed and said, ‘Master Freyza speaks little of this to you, perhaps. We speak of far different things. For example, we speak of the fact that I’ve grown rather fond of Your Majesty. I asked him if there would be any possibility that I could extend you a portrait of mine and he seems not to have brought that knowledge to you. Has he?’

  ‘Prince Murad?’ asked Henri.

  He smiled. ‘King Henri, I take it?’ he asked.

  Henri bowed, but having heard Murad, struggled to keep the placid smile. ‘It is an honour to make your acquaintance, though it would be preferable if Your Highness kept from any undue offers towards my betrothed.’

  Murad looked him up and down and shrugged. ‘I do not answer to little kings. Return to me with a broken stick or a thrown gauntlet, and let our swords speak for us.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Henri, and left, not to be seen again for the entire evening.