When Rima entered Katherine’s apartments the morning after the fateful threat made by Murad, she found it unusually occupied by not just Katherine, but three ladies Constance, Grace and Eleanor. She quietly made her way into the room and sat down on a stool by the queen’s bed, trying not to draw attention to herself as the rest of the ladies chatted and laughed while a maid braided Katherine’s hair into a pair of hip-length red braids that would then be coiled around her head and be used to anchor a veil.

  Eleanor was immediately drawn to Rima, leaning over to catch a glimpse of the unfamiliar face. ‘Katherine…’ she cooed. ‘You’ve not introduced me to everyone, it seems.’

  Katherine looked over her shoulder via her mirror and smiled at Rima. ‘Well, Rima hardly ever joins us for anything but duty. Isn’t that right?’

  Rima nodded shyly.

  ‘Rima is a delegate of the Sbaian embassy in Souchon Palace,’ Katherine said, ‘Here to save my hide from embarrassing myself in ways I only can with Sbaians. The fact she is here at all hints at the presence of such am embarrassment, actually. She’s the eyes and ears of my great Sbaian ally, and quickly becoming his mouthpiece as well.’

  As Katherine spoke, Rima retreated further into herself. ‘I believe this not to be intentional,’ she said.

  Katherine’s eyes sought Rima’s, and once she had caught them, her she straightened herself as if to reassure Rima of her regal nature. ‘I believe that a person’s true nature is what they show you. I’ve been shown that you speak for a man who used to be very capable of speaking for himself. What’s the matter now?’

  ‘I believe this is not befitting of a room full of ladies,’ said Rima timidly.

  ‘Nonetheless, I’ve asked,’ Katherine said offhandedly.

  Her lip trembled. ‘Well…’ she began, ‘I’ve been asked to firmly but reverently suggest informing Prince Murad of your impending and therefore inevitable nuptials.’

  Katherine was quiet for a second, letting her gaze drop thoughtfully into her lap as her maid pinned an opaque veil over her head, shielding all of her hair but the very edge of her hairline from anyone’s prying eyes. The white veil turned her skin an unbecoming yellowish tone.

  ‘Do you think he does not know I am to wed King Henri, Rima?’ Katherine asked. ‘Do you believe that the next Sultan of the Sbai Empire is so dull a knife that I could stand upon the edge and expect my feet to be comfortable? Tell your master that I am not a moron and I do not expect anyone else to be one either, and if me gaining the favour of the next Sultan bothers him so much, he should think long and hard about the intent of this state visit, and to be frank, the intent of all our dealings. While he’s thinking, Rima, remind him that the only reason I can play these men like fiddles at all, is because of his grandiose part in the slave trade over the last one and a half decade. Had he not made mythical maidens out of ordinary Baradran country girls, I would have simply had the appearance of a Baradran country girl, and it would not have meant a thing.’

  Katherine clicked her heels on the smooth tiles, and closed her argument: ‘Let your master speak to me, for no longer do I wish for my words to be spoken through you. I’ve been trying to get hold of him, you may know.’

  Rima stood up again and felt her lip tremble. In an effort to appear dignified, she bowed and put her hands on her back. ‘So I will, Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘Additionally, your carriage will be ready for you in half an hour and there will be a rudimentary breakfast there in order to carry one over to Hambledon, where we are bound.’

  ‘Who is in my carriage?’ Katherine asked.

  ‘That is not something that our delegation is handled. I only know what I do, for the foodstuff in the carriages was sourced by the embassy. My apologies, Lady Katherine,’ she said.

  Katherine gave her a long look and shook her head. ‘You’re dismissed.’

  When Rima found herself in the halls again, having bowed elegantly and excused herself with grace, she found herself fully unwound by Katherine and felt tears rolling down her cheeks. She did not notice the intensity of her emotion, it was as if she had been startled by the situation and startled once more by her reaction. She paced hurriedly towards where her people were staying, and considered half-heartedly what she would say to Freyza.

  The truth was that Rima had begun to feel resistant to Freyza’s intentions. It had become clearer than ever to her, that he was motivated primarily by pride and jealousy. His temper had become unpredictable, and for that, she hardly blamed him. There were hardly any moments he was not either performing his role as the perfect ambassador, gracious to all and accommodating of every whim or wish, or he was preparing, learning, and organising.

  For that reason, Rima dragged her feet when she approached his office, knocked, and noticed with some relief that Freyza had put Bayezid to a task instead of doing yet another thing on his own.

  ‘Master,’ she said, closed the door and apologetically shuffled to her seat by the door. ‘And Lord Bayezid.’

  Bayezid shot her a sympathetic look, but Freyza, with his hands steepled, looked through the veneer of her politeness. ‘And?’ he asked. ‘The duel is off?’

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ said Rima. ‘Not because of anything I said, Master Freyza, but Her Majesty seemed uninterested in de-escalation.’

  In a split second, Freyza had jumped out of his chair and sent a number of quills, clay tablets, parchment sheets and a sundial flying into the room, each of which clanked and clattered with some velocity, floated gently to the ground, or tucked themselves into the seams of the floorboards.

  ‘Must I do everything myself in these parts, Rima?’ he asked, surprisingly calmly.

  Emboldened by the sheer synchronicity of it all, Rima chuckled. ‘That is what Her Majesty asked of you,’ she said. ‘You have been asked to think, and I quote, long and hard about the intent of the state visit. Additionally, she has been trying to get hold of you and she’d prefer if these matters were discussed with you instead of myself.’

  ‘I cannot,’ Freyza said, nearly pleading.

  Rima smiled wryly. ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘Rima, you need to…’ Freyza pleaded.

  Rima demonstratively straightened herself. ‘The lady has spoken,’ she said resolutely. ‘My apologies.’

  From the look on his face, Rima knew he was bargaining with himself.

  ‘I will not see myself pressured this way,’ he said. ‘If such is how the lady wishes to speak, if her intent is to cause bloodshed, I will take to heart what she has told me. I am not her adviser. I’ve been a fool, all these years, to advise her. Thank you for your effort, Rima. Tend to your own needs, ready yourself to make the trip to Hambledon. Inform Lord Overleigh you will not be in Her Majesty’s carriage.’

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  Rima nodded shyly. There was much anger behind Freyza’s eyes that she knew that with a single wrong move or even a disapproving look, she could unsheathe. Therefore, she began to keep her eyes low.

  ‘I will, Master Freyza. Anything else?’

  Freyza turned away from the door, his hands on his back. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I have finally given you a task you cannot complete, after all of these years of splendid results. I ask of you only your absence now.’

  Freyza absentmindedly looked out of the window, his posture tense and his jaws clenched, and heard the door fall shut again. Bayezid placed his quill on its side and supported his bearded chin with his hand.

  ‘And now what?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m leaving,’ said Freyza. ‘I cannot stand idly by, while a fair show of sophistication of prestige devolves into some ancient feud for the hand of a woman. Things may happen that can never be undone. We will have caused hundreds of years of strife between Ilworth and the Sbai Empire.’

  ‘Will leaving not worsen the situation?’ Bayezid asked. ‘What keeps you from making your case with Katherine herself? God knows the two of you are rather comfortable with one another.’

  Freyza sat back down opposite Bayezid and huffed with great reluctance. ‘Not in any diplomatic or emotional sense,’ he said. ‘You can say what you wish, but all of this time, I realise our affair has been emotionally volatile. I spoke to her sister, the other day. The Archduchess. She told me that Katherine thinks of me as a royal favourite. I would rather resign from all of my duties and return to the capture and trade of odalisques, than to be slave to such a callous woman in such a depraved part of the world.’

  ‘You don’t think that’s a compliment?’ asked Bayezid. ‘You’re all of these grandiose things already — you are the beating heart of the embassy, the great organiser of all things, anyone in power would be grateful to lend you their ear. Does your self-importance know no bounds? I’d be lucky to be a favourite. I’ve been trying to speak to one of those ladies-in-waiting since we got here.’

  ‘Your romantic escapades do not interest me,’ said Freyza.

  ‘Then why do you assume that yours interest me?’ asked Bayezid.

  Freyza huffed. ‘This cuts at the heart of why we are here.’

  Bayezid lucidly looked up at Freyza and pasted a smile on his mouth. ‘So you are aware that you’ve bound the Sultan, his court, his sons, and much of the Massouric court into this elaborate plot for personal gain, and now you realise that the path to this personal gain never existed after all, you are in the depths of despair.’

  ‘Katherine wants two of the most prestigious young men to duel to the death over her hand, and Henri will lose that duel,’ said Freyza, tapping with his index finger on the desk. ‘We are ambassadors at Souchon Palace. Whatever fooling around you wish to do with whatever lady-in-waiting you choose may be ill-advised, but never could it cause the death of the goddamned King of Massouron. Whatever good deed I’ve been inspired to undertake in Lady Katherine’s name, I never thought it could come to this.’

  ‘Well… Rima told you that she wishes to speak to you. I see no reason not to,’ said Bayezid. ‘If it were me, I would be begging. We can only lose, Freyza. Lose Murad and the Sultan will have our head. Lose Henri and Louise will. Either way, you are likely unwelcome on the mainland, and given that you’ve hardly spoken to Katherine after arriving here, I doubt you’ll be very welcome here.’

  Freyza raised his brows. ‘I need only to speak to her, and I’ll be in her good graces once more. For all of the pockmarks in our relationship, I do feel that things are generally easily smoothed over.’

  Bayezid chuckled. ‘You do think very well of yourself,’ he said. ‘I wonder, if what you believe is true, and you appear to have this power over her, wouldn’t you have been more than just a favourite by now? Wouldn’t you have been called to send in a portrait of your own? I mean, given you feel compelled to make choices on her behalf about who she should wed…’

  ‘This is going too far,’ said Freyza, ‘I never would dare to make such decisions.’

  ‘Didn’t Murad ask you a question to that effect, and you somehow forgot to pass it on?’

  ‘Murad is a cur and should not be in any position to make these requests,’ bit Freyza. ‘He is a terrible example of a sophisticated Sbaian gentleman. For all of his prestige, he has none of the refinement.’

  Bayezid shrugged and let a short silence fall. ‘Who’s a good example of prestige and refinement, then? A good, well-mannered, well-adjusted Sbaian gentleman worthy of the queen’s hand? Are you waiting for anyone in particular to step up, perhaps?’

  ‘What is the matter with you?’ he asked. ‘Do you wish for me to admit that I believe myself to be a more suitable consort king than this warlord? For I believe even you would do a better job of it, Bayezid, and you are not particularly known for a job well done across the board. I will not be speaking to Katherine. I will simply leave at my earliest convenience, and if I learn that nobody could keep this tragedy from materialising, I will simply leave Massouron as well. I will not let myself be humiliated.’

  ‘Will you come to Hambledon?’ Bayezid asked.

  Freyza’s boldness dissipated. ‘I believe I have no choice today but to respect the itinerary.’

  When Katherine emerged in the courtyard, the sound of the many birds and the rustling of the trees, in which the castle was rich, were far overshadowed by the murmuring of people. Nobody spoke out loud, and though Henri was missing, the representatives of Massouric court were not. Theo immediately walked up to the entrance, where he met up with Katherine.

  ‘I need you to tell me that you spoke to Murad or Henri,’ Theo whispered. ‘I’ve been asked about the matter of the duel…’

  ‘I spoke but to Master Freyza through the mouthpiece of his secretary Rima,’ said Katherine offhandedly. ‘It is out of my hands. May we go? I am getting quite tired of all of this undue intrigue. And just where is Sultan Selim?’

  ‘Master Freyza…’ Theo muttered mirthlessly. ‘Stay out of that man’s web, my lady. I heard he was responsible for the poisoning incident in Souchon Palace last year. Do not forget he has made an attempt on your life as well.’

  Katherine leaned in, and whispered, ‘I am beginning to wonder just why the Sbaians are here, given that those not preoccupied with murder plots are openly asking to duel to the death.’

  As if it was premeditated, at that precise moment the door opposite from where Katherine and Theo were talking, opened with a loud whirring of wood upon the uneven tiles. In its opening stood Henri, wearing a long cloak fully shut as to shield his entire body. He was shrouded in black, the fur of the lining of equal inky depth, standing upright at his neck to imitate the great predators of the forest. In his dusky wolf regalia, he slid down the few steps that brought him to the courtyard.

  ‘Murad, Prince of the Sbai Empire,’ he cut through the murmurs.

  The crowd separated, and out from its midst came the man himself. In the sunlight, Murad’s skin shone a bronze gold, as did his brows and beard. His eyes of deep azurite blue gracefully found Henri’s, the threat imminent.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ he said with a low bow, far too low for their respective political statures. ‘I was wondering when I would have the honour to see you again.’

  There was a great and unexpected handsomeness in the tragedy written across Henri’s face. ‘Likewise,’ he said simply and stepped forward.

  The pair of men could not be more different in that morning’s meeting. Murad, with his sash elegantly draped over his waist to accentuate the elegant proportions, dressed in white and red, against Henri’s full concealment by a black wool and fur cloak.

  From the slit in his cloak came Henri’s pale hand and the ruffled edge of his shirt, and before long, he had produced a heavy gauntlet which he showed prominently to the crowd. His face had gotten red and his shoulders were hunched over. Henri had not looked so young in years.

  Katherine still stood by Theo, who was petrified himself. Whether he should say something, or whether Katherine should — all of these questions died on Theo’s tongue.

  ‘You have shown me a great dishonour,’ Henri began hesitantly. ‘My name risks a great stain and only blood may rinse it clean again. Take up the gauntlet or be known forever to be a coward!’

  With his final words, he threw the gauntlet before Murad, who appeared surprised if anything at the boldness of his opponent. He stood still for a second, then tilted his head, and almost imperceptibly to anyone but Henri, whispered, ‘Are you sure about this?’

  Henri stayed quiet.

  ‘Duels,’ Murad declared, ‘Are the way of brutes, King Henri. I do not wish to be a kingslayer, but you will have your reckoning if you so desire. The field of honour shall be painted in your blood.’

  Hesitantly, he bowed down and took the gauntlet.

  The attention the courtyard began to shift again, from Henri and Murad who were now each finding their way in their proper retinues again, to Katherine, who was baffled by what had just occurred before her eyes.

  Before she could speak, it was Harcourt who took the word. ‘Her Majesty the Queen shall be responsible for a duel befitting the station and the amicable relationship of the King of Massouron and the Prince of the Sbai Empire,’ he declared, finding the center of the crowd and appearing rather ashen-faced himself. ‘Without her permission there shall be no rinsing with blood nor painting with it as has been discussed previously. I invite you all cordially to your carriages so we can commence our travels to Hambledon, with all due respect and out of the name of the crown.’

  ‘What’s it going to be, Katherine?’ Theo asked as the people began moving, ‘Theatrics, a brawl of words?’

  Katherine huffed. ‘We shall see what befits my honour, above all. Harcourt may talk but he may not decide.’