One month later

"I think there must be something wrong with this mirror."

Marcus strapped his shoulder guard to his arm, glancing up. "Why do you say that?"

Alandra pouted briefly. "Better to say that than admit that I've gained a couple of pounds." She placed her hands on her hips and examined her waistline in the floor-length mirror. "Peace is making me soft."

"I think you look perfect," Marcus said loyally.

She laughed, picked up her breastplate, and began to strap it on over the thick cotton shirt. "Thank you, darling, but I think you're just a tiny bit biased."

"That's my duty as a devoted hus – oww!" He grimaced, gently tugging a caught strand of hair from between the plates on his shoulder. "Not again. At this rate, I'll be bald before I'm thirty."

"You could always take Kestral's suggestion," she teased, putting on her cape.

"A haircut? It's almost tempting. The problem is that the suggestion was offered by Kes."

"She does say useful things occasionally, you know." Alandra stepped forward and kissed him lightly. "I need to collect my letters. Meet you at breakfast?"

"Sure. I'll even save you some."

"You better." She grinned, eyes twinkling, then turned and left the room. A couple of seconds later, Marcus realised he was still staring at the door.

He shook himself, chuckling ruefully. They'd been married for at least five months now, and he still wasn't used to it. Not that it was at all bad.

Within another minute, he was ready for the day, and headed straight for the kitchen. While Castle Vestholm technically possessed a dining room, in reality none of the Knights could ever be bothered to use it. The Queen dined in her own quarters most of the time; without her presence, formality seemed rather a bore. The kitchen staff didn't mind the Knights of Darion invading their domain, provided they didn't filch food from the pantry, and so the large wooden table in the centre of the enormous kitchen was where Darion's rulers congregated.

Marcus wasn't the first to arrive that morning. Elias and Thordal were already seated, both digging in to their respective bowls of porridge. Missus Perkins, the head cook, looked up and shot Marcus a smile. "Morning, Your Lordship."

"Hello." He accepted a bowl of porridge from her and slid onto the bench next to Thordal. "How come you two are up so early?"

Elias shrugged. "I've got a meeting with some merchants in North Vestholm. I thought I'd take the opportunity to get a bit of work done beforehand."

"Take the opportunity for extra breakfast, more like." Thordal laughed heartily. "I'm conducting an inspection at the harbour, lad. What's your excuse?"

"Lani and I are going to get the barracks manifests done after breakfast, then I'm managing a training session." He made a face. "Do you know how mundane all this sounds?"

"Mundane's good," Elias said, grimacing. "For a start, it's safe."

"Not safe for my sanity. I'm going stir-crazy." Marcus took a mouthful of his porridge. Missus Perkins was clearly trying to ration his sugar intake again. He reached for the bowl and sprinkled more on.

"Want us to fake your capture by bandits again?"

Marcus swallowed. "Maybe not quite on that scale. But we could always hold a war game, or exercise, or something. Keep the troops on their toes."

"I don't think that's a problem at the moment," Thordal said grimly. "Have you spoken to Chester this week?"

"Yeah. He looked pretty edgy, actually."

"Edgy doesn't even cover it. Since last month –" The Viking rubbed his face with a groan. "I think the worst of it is that no one knows what was going on."

"Didn't help that His Highness didn't tell us anything," Marcus mumbled. He still hadn't forgiven Hakim for four years of lies, and wasn't sure if he could. "Or at least not anything that could have solved the mystery."

A throat cleared in the doorway. "His Highness probably hadn't an inkling himself." Crimson Sabatt stepped over to the table, cane clicking against the flagstones, and sat gracefully on the other side of Thordal.

Marcus wondered briefly if it was worth arguing with her, and decided that his porridge was more important. Missus Perkins served Sabatt her toast, and for a few moments nothing was heard but the clank of pots and pans and the scrape of spoons against bowls.

"Viking." Sabatt buttered her bread neatly. "Do you know of any unplowed fields away from the livestock areas?"

Thordal blinked. "I suppose there are some. Not really my department. Why?"

She shrugged demurely, looking so innocent Marcus was convinced she was up to something. "No reason."

"Oh dear." Elias chuckled. "We're all doomed."

Sabatt smirked wordlessly and took a bite of toast.

"Oh, come on," Marcus complained good-naturedly. "You can't just leave us hanging like that."

Sabatt chewed, maddeningly slowly. Thordal guffawed. "Looks like she can. Missus Perkins, you got any porridge left?"

That lady, standing by the iron stove, brushed off her apron and began to pour tea into cups. "Yes, but not for you."

Thordal shook his head with affected mournfulness. "No respect these days."

"Tell me about it." Marcus accepted a full teacup from the cook with a nod. "Yesterday afternoon, some kid – can't have been more than about twelve – attempted to challenge me to a duel."

Thordal chuckled. "Brave lad."

"Mmm. Apparently, I've mortally insulted his family by marrying Alandra instead of his sister. Go figure."

"What did you do?" Elias asked curiously, sipping from his teacup.

"I told him that if his sister wanted to marry me, she should have done something about it five years ago. Apparently, that was impractical."

"Why?"

"Because she's currently fourteen." Marcus scooped up another spoonful, trying unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "I suggested you as an alternative, Thordal. He wasn't impressed."

The Viking roared with laughter. Sabatt looked vaguely insulted. "And why ever not?"

"Because teenage girls prefer knights in shining armour to bearded Narlindir, Sabatt."

"I despair for the future of the species." She took another dainty bite of toast.

At that moment, Alandra came in the door, hands filled with envelopes. "Good morning."

"Paperwork at the breakfast table, lass?" Thordal inquired. "That's a new low."

Marcus elbowed him. Alandra raised a blonde eyebrow, sitting down across from her husband. "Today's a busy day. I need a volunteer to supervise the cavalry exercises this afternoon."

Marcus grimaced. That had always been Hakim's job, and they'd been foisting it off on one another for the past month. "I don't think Kes has got anything to do this afternoon, has she?"

"Nothing scheduled," Sabatt confirmed. "She and I will handle it."

"You're not going to check with her first?" Alandra asked, opening an envelope.

"She shall do my bidding or suffer for it." Sabatt pressed her lips together. "She also desperately needs to get out of the castle."

Marcus nodded grimly, checking that Missus Perkins was down the far end of the kitchen. The servants knew the whole, of course, but that didn't mean they had to blab out all the gossip in front of them. "How is she?"

"In situations such as these, I'm afraid it gets worse before it gets better." Sabatt cleared her throat. "But she's coping very well, on the whole."

Alandra nodded. "Better than I would in her situation, I think." She placed aside her first letter, and picked up a second envelope – then visibly flinched as she took in the direction.

"Something wrong?" Marcus asked.

Alandra shook her head slightly, opening the envelope. "Not exactly. It's from Jumajir."

The Knights froze.

"From – ?" There was no real necessity for Sabatt to say his name.

She scanned the letter. "Not directly. It's an official state correspondence – what?"

Something in her tone made Marcus' blood run cold. "Lani, what is it?"

Alandra's face was rapidly going white. She met Marcus' eyes for a split-second, then straightened in her chair. "It's a wedding announcement."

"What – Hakim's wedding?" Thordal blurted.

"Yes."

"But – to whom?" Elias said blankly.

Alandra took a deep breath and placed the missive on the table before her, smoothing it out. "His Noble and Wise Majesty Prince Ammar al-Basir ibn Murtadi ibn Hakim al-Sahir," she read out, "announces his impending marriage to Her Most Honoured Majesty Saraya, Princess of Hidun."

For a few seconds, the group was silent. Marcus was honestly lost for words. Saraya? While he didn't dislike her, the idea of anyone, let alone Hakim, wanting to marry the daffy princess was beyond his comprehension. Still, all kinds to make a world, but …

And, way more importantly, what about Kestral?

"You have got to be kidding me," Thordal mumbled.

"If only. And that's not the worst of it." Alandra checked the letter again. "They want to borrow Vestholm Cathedral."

"What? Why?" Marcus raised his eyebrows. "Hasn't Jumajir got one of its own?"

"It does," said Sabatt stiffly, no expression on her face whatsoever.

"Then why –"

"Vestholm's diplomatically neutral." Alandra shrugged. "Presumably they wanted to compromise rather than give either Hidun or al-Awan the honour."

Sabatt nodded. "Janub and Hidun have never been on terribly good terms. Asking a third party to host the wedding is a logical way of avoiding tensions, I admit. If an extremely callous one."

Marcus looked back to Alandra. "So what are we going to do?"

"Well." Alandra sighed. "We can't very well say no. Both countries are Westerlin's allies, and we've no sensible reason to cause offence. I'll talk to Her Majesty, of course, but I'm almost certain she will agree."

"So," Elias said grimly. "We're hosting a wedding."

Marcus exhaled. "Who's going to tell Kes?"

"'Sokay, Lackbeard." Kestral's voice. She was standing in the doorway, arms hugged against her chest. "I heard."

...

Try though she did, Crimson Sabatt couldn't find Kestral until mid-morning. Directly after her appearance in the kitchen, she turned and ran off, and by the time any of them moved to follow her she was nowhere to be seen. After half an hour, the other Knights were forced to go back to their duties, and Sabatt continued the search alone.

She determined fairly promptly that Kestral wasn't in the castle. One of the stableboys had seen her leave the courtyard and start down towards the town. Sabatt's search of the marketplace and its environs proved to be equally fruitless, until, just as she was about to give up, she caught sight of a figure on the roof of the west gate.

Oh. Of course. Mentally slapping herself, Sabatt marched over to the gate tower. She had no difficulty in getting access; however, climbing from the battlements to the roof was a different story. While she was still physically capable of ascending the ladder, it was a distinctly uncomfortable experience. Her right leg ached, her shoulders strained, and she was very relieved to finally be able to pull herself onto the clay tiles.

Kestral sat about ten feet away, hugging her knees to her chest. As Sabatt climbed over the rim, she half-smiled, rubbing at her eyes with one hand. "Hi."

The older woman clambered carefully across the roof and sat next to her. "Are you all right?" she asked softly.

"Yep, sure. I'm an emotional wreck, but that'll pass." Kestral blew out a long sigh. The remains of tears showed on her cheeks. "At least this way I'm not gonna torture myself hoping."

Sabatt set her jaw. If the Southerner had been there at that moment, she would undoubtedly have punched him in the face. But the mudheaded fool was in Janub, and she was forced to content herself with mental recriminations and a hope that she might spontaneously develop telepathy. "You're just giving up?" she asked quietly.

Kestral grimaced. "Well, what else am I supposed to do? Race over there and throw myself at his feet? If he doesn't want me, he doesn't want me. End of story. I can't say I'm gonna be able to face him comfortably, but … well, I'll survive."

Sabatt looked out absently at the view. She hadn't been up here in quite some time. A few grain fields and pastures dotted the land near the walls, but beyond them a green blur of forests and mountains flowed forever, merging into the blue horizon. Compared to the turmoil within the castle, it was incongruously peaceful.

She set her jaw. Kestral might be ready to accept this, but she wasn't. The girl from Gallos didn't deserve this kind of pain. She didn't deserve to be saddled with the Southerner, either, but then that was just Sabatt's personal opinion. She'd fix this – or, if Ammar proved obstinate, punish him severely. There was no way she was letting anyone get away with hurting the gypsy, let alone a –

"Janubian mudhead," she said aloud, and Kestral giggled weakly.

"Yeah," she said, pushing her hair from her face and tucking it behind her ears. "Stupid stone-faced Princey. He deserves Saraya."

"You mean Her Most Honoured Idiocy Saraya," Sabatt corrected, smirking.

"Yep, that's the one. I'm sure she'll be lovely company. They can have lots of fascinating discussions about the colour of her dresses and whether or not it's about to rain." Kestral crossed her arms and placed them over her knees, chuckling ruefully. "Domestic bliss."

"If she's even willing to marry him when she finds out the truth," Sabatt pointed out. "We don't know if she has any idea that Ammar and Hakim are one and the same."

"Knowing him, she's probably got no clue. Didn't even tell me until he absolutely had to." Her expression clouded, then she grinned impishly. "Did you know that he can't even swim?"

Sabatt blinked. She hadn't known that. "Really?"

"Really. I was the one who ended up rescuing that stupid orb. Twice – had to grab it again after he lost it. And now I bet he's got the nerve to go around claiming he's this great hero who's going to stick his big nose in everybody's business and unite Janub before teatime."

"Provided he doesn't meet with the dire threat of a stream, of course."

Kestral spluttered. "Oh, of course. And Saraya won't even have a clue where he's gone, because he won't have bothered to say goodbye. But then, she probably won't even notice, because it's not like he even says anything when he's around. It's like living with a statue." She took a deep breath, tossing her head. "I'm better off without him."

Sabatt watched her closely. She didn't believe for a second that she was over him, but at least the gypsy was still capable of putting on a smile. Whatever happened, Kestral would bounce back, and Sabatt would be there to help. Especially if being there to help meant giving Ammar a well-deserved reprimand.

She reached over and patted Kestral's back. "Quite right."