There was a woman in violet running through the Royal Gardens. The prince, glimpsing her distinctive blaze of red-gold hair, was certain that he had at last discovered the mysterious squire's best kept secret.
He asked, pleasantly, once within earshot. "Out of curiosity, is your name actually Alan?"
How fortunate no one was present to remember his very un-kingly mistake, he thought, once he realized her eyes were green hazel, and she had no Gift.
The woman shook her head. She grinned. "Do my twin and I look this alike?"
"Thom?" he said disbelievingly.
"No. Wait." She frowned. "Who are you?"
An intruder, then. Of course. To think that Squire Alan could possibly be female - it had to be fatigue, from creating a refuge from death, speaking. How odd, though, that his face would be so unfamiliar to anyone who bright enough to slip unnoticed into the Royal Gardens.
"I'm Aly," she said.
He caught her eye, still mild and pleasant. "Prince Roger of Conte."
The blood drained from her face.