“How you managed to fill the moat with leaping dolphins is beyond me. And the streamers that filled the sky—why, I’ve never seen such a thing. It was pure magic!”
“I’m pleased to have pleased you, my lady.”
“Amilia, you simply must use Albert. Don’t worry about the cost. I insist on paying for his services.”
“Nonsense, good ladies. I couldn’t conceive of taking payment for such a noble and worthwhile endeavor. My time is yours, and I’ll do whatever I can out of devotion to you both and, of course, for Her Eminence.”
“There now!” Lady Genevieve exclaimed. “The man is as chivalrous as a paladin. You must take him up on his offer, darling!”
They both stared at Amilia until she found herself nodding.
“I am delighted to be of service, my lady. When can I meet with your staff?”
“Ah…” Amilia hesitated. “There’s only me and Nimbus. Oh, Nimbus! I’m sorry but I was on my way to meet with him when you—I mean—when we met. I’m supposed to be selecting entertainment for the feasts and I’m terribly late.”
“Well, you should hurry off, then,” Lady Genevieve said. “Take Albert with you. He can begin there. Now run along. There is no need to thank me, my dear. Your success will be my reward.”
Amilia noticed that Viscount Winslow was less formal when away from the duchess. He greeted each performer warmly, and those not selected were dismissed with respect and good humor. He knew exactly what was required, and the auditions proceeded quickly under his guidance. All told, they selected twenty acts: one for each of the pre-wedding feasts, three for the Eve’s Eve banquet, and five for the wedding reception. The viscount even picked four more, just in case of illness or injury.
Amilia was grateful for the viscount’s help. As much as she had grown to rely on Nimbus, he had no experience with event planning. Originally, the courtier had been hired as the empress’s tutor, but it had been quite some time since he had educated Modina on poise or protocol. Such skills were not required, as Modina never left her room. Instead, Nimbus became the secretary to the secretary, Amilia’s right hand. He knew how to get things done in a royal court, whereas Amilia had no clue.
From his years of service to the nobles in Rhenydd, Nimbus had mastered the subtle language of manipulation. He tried to explain the nuances of this skill to Amilia, but she was a poor student. From time to time he corrected her for doing foolish things, such as bowing to the chamberlain, thanking a steward, or standing in the presence of others, which forced them to remain on their feet. Almost every success she had in the palace was because of Nimbus’s coaching. A more ambitious man would resent her taking the credit, but Nimbus always offered his counsel in a kind and helpful manner.
Sometimes when Amilia caught herself doing something particularly stupid, or when she blushed from embarrassment, she noticed Nimbus spilling something on himself or tripping on a carpet. Once he even fell halfway down a flight of stairs. For a long while, Amilia thought he was extremely clumsy, but recently she had begun to suspect Nimbus might be the most agile person she had ever met.
The hour was late and Amilia hurried toward the empress’s chamber. Gone were the days when she spent nearly every minute in Modina’s company. Her responsibilities kept her busy, but she never retired without checking in on the empress, who was still her closest friend.
Rounding a corner, she bumped headlong into a man.
“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, feeling more than a little foolish for walking with her head down.
“Oh no, my lady,” the man replied. “It is I who must apologize for standing as a roadblock. Please, forgive me.”
Amilia did not recognize him, but there were many new faces at the palace these days. He was tall and stood straight with his shoulders squared. His face was closely shaved and his hair neatly trimmed. By his bearing and clothing, she could tell he was a noble. He was dressed well, but unlike those of many of the Wintertide guests, his outfit was subdued.
“It’s just that I am a bit confused,” he said, looking around.
“Are you lost?” she asked.
He nodded. “I know my way in forests and fields. I can pinpoint my whereabouts by the use of moon and stars, but for the life of me, I am a total imbecile when trapped within walls of stone.”
“That’s okay, I used to get lost in here all the time. Where are you going?”
“I’ve been staying in the knights’ wing at my lord’s request, but I stepped outside for a walk and can’t find my way back to my quarters.”
“You’re a soldier, then?”
“Yes, forgive me. My stupidity is without end.” He stepped back and bowed formally. “Sir Breckton of Chadwick, son of Lord Belstrad, at your service, my lady.”
“Oh! You’re Sir Breckton?”
Appearances never impressed Amilia, but Breckton was perfect. He was exactly what she expected a knight should be: handsome, refined, strong, and—just as Lady Genevieve had described—dashing. For the first time since coming to the palace, she wished she were pretty.
“Indeed, I am. You’ve heard of me, then… For good or ill?”
“Good, most certainly. Why, just—” She stopped herself and felt her face blush.
Concern furrowed his brow. “Have I done something to make you uncomfortable? I am terribly sorry if I—”
“No, no, not at all. I’m just being silly. To be honest, I never heard of you until today, and then…”
“Then?”
“It’s embarrassing,” she admitted, feeling even more flustered by his attention.
The knight’s expression turned serious. “My lady, if someone has dishonored me, or harmed you through the use of my name—”
“Oh no! Nothing as terrible as all that. It was the Duchess of Rochelle, and she said…”
“Yes?”
Amilia cringed. “She said I should ask you to carry my favor in the joust.”
“Oh, I see.” He looked relieved. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I am not—”
“I know. I know,” she interrupted, preferring not to hear the words. “I would have told her so myself if she ever stopped talking—the woman is a whirlwind. The idea of a knight—any knight—carrying my favor is absurd.”
Sir Breckton appeared puzzled. “Why is that?”
“Look at me!” She took a step back so he could get a full view. “I’m not pretty, and as we both now know, I’m the opposite of graceful. I’m not of noble blood, having been born a poor carriage maker’s daughter. I don’t think I could hope for the huntsman’s dog to sit beside me at the feast, much less have a renowned knight such as yourself riding on my behalf.”
Breckton’s eyebrows rose abruptly. “Carriage maker’s daughter? You are her? Lady Amilia of Tarin Vale?”
“Oh yes, I’m sorry.” She placed her hand to her forehead and rolled her eyes. “See? I have all the etiquette of a mule. Yes, I am Amilia.”