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not after last night’s escapade on the tower ledge. Upon reflection, the stunt seemed not just foolhardy, but woefully, mortifyingly childish.
    Annie thought of Joan of Arc, whom she admired, and tried to be strong. She had known that her love for Rafael would always be unrequited, and she’d long since resigned herself to life as a spinster. All she’d hoped to garner during this brief visit to St. James Keep was a collection of pretty memories to sustain her through the lonely years ahead.
    So why did it hurt so much to learn that Rafael loved a certain Miss Covington?
    Annie was greatly relieved when the conference ended and the two men left. Perhaps now Rafael would reverse his decision that she must stay within his sight for the whole of the day—she no longer took secret satisfaction from the edict—and dismiss her. At the moment, she wanted nothing so much as some private time, preferably in one of the gardens, to smooth out her ruffled emotions and collect herself.
    She felt Rafael’s gaze on her and turned, against her will, to look into his eyes.
    “Annie—” he began, hoarsely. But then he shoved his fingers through his hair and shook his head, apparently in answer to some inner question of his own. “Lucian and I have plans for a fencing match—”
    A surge of spirit lifted Annie on its crest. “Perhaps,” she said mildly, after swelling her bosom with an indrawn breath, “I shall have the pleasure of seeing you run through.”
    Rafael laughed, and some of the tension was dispelled. “Perhaps,” he allowed, taking her arm again and escorting her out of the august chamber. “In the meantime, let’s just see if you can behave yourself.”
    She bristled. “You judge me too harshly, Your Highness,” she said, hurrying to keep pace with his long strides. “I made one mistake, after all. You make it sound as if I have a whole career of mischief-making behind me!”
    Rafael arched one dark eyebrow and spared her a brief, wry smile. “Phaedra wrote me often from St. Aspasia’s,” he said, without slowing down. “Usually to ask for money, of course, but she did describe you, albeit with affection, as the despair of every nun in that revered institution.”
    Annie hoped the heat in her face didn’t show through her skin. When she saw Phaedra again, she’d have a thing or two to say to her concerning the confidentiality of friendship. After all, in her letters to her own family, Annie had never once been so disloyal and feckless as to pass on a single account of the princess’s misadventures. Of which there had been more than a few.
    They descended the main staircase and crossed the great hall in silence. Only when they had reached the courtyard where, sure enough, Lucian was waiting with a smile and a pair of rapiers, did Rafael speak.
    “Sit down,” he told Annie bluntly, “and don’t move until I give you my permission.”
    “Really, Rafael,” Lucian protested mildly, before Annie could spring to her own defense. “You are being a bit arbitrary, don’t you think? One of these days, the peasants are going to trundle you off to the guillotine for tyranny, like poor Louis of France.”
    Rafael pulled off his green velvet morning coat and tossed it aside, revealing a loose-fitting cotton shirt of the sort Annie’s father favored. The smile he tossed his brother was a cold one. “It is my privilege to be arbitrary,” he replied, at length. “I am, after all, the prince of Bavia. And happily, my fate is none of your concern.”
    Annie opened her mouth to speak, but Lucian didn’t give her a chance.
    He flung one of the rapiers to his brother, who caught it deftly by the handle and made it sing with one quick motion of his wrist.
    “All hail the prince of a country sliding into its own grave to rot and molder like a corpse,” Lucian mocked, with a sweeping bow. “Alas, who will be left to mourn our once-lovely land?”
    Rafael did not respond, though Annie saw a muscle pulse in his