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elbow into Sorcha's side.
    Sorcha pinched her back.
    Queen Claudia smacked her cane on the floor.
    The princesses jumped and straightened.
    Since the death of the girls' mother four years before, Queen Claudia had commanded every aspect of their lives, and she was so stern, so humorless, Rainger was convinced she had never been young.
    "Amy, I will deliver to your bedchamber an ointment that you'll smear on your fingernails every morning and every night," Queen Claudia said. "That will cure you of your habit, and teach you to mind your manners too."
    In a sing-song voice Amy said, "Yes, Grandmamma."
    Transferring her attention to Clarice, Queen Claudia said, "Since you believe this is a subject for amusement, you will help me prepare the ointment"
    Clarice's face fell. "Yes, Grandmamma."
    "Throughout our history every princess of Beaumontagne has been taught the royal beauty secrets. Sorcha knows. It is time that you, Clarice, also —" Queen Claudia leaned toward Clarice and took a deep breath. In tones rife with horror, the dowager asked, "Do I detect the scent of horse?"
    Clarice cringed backward. "The French ambassador brought Papa the most beautiful Arabian I've ever seen, and I petted his neck. But only once!"
    "Once was evidently enough." Queen Claudia proclaimed, "A princess does not pet horses for pleasure."
    Rainger was moved to protest "Godmother, Clarice loves horses, and she has a way with them which even the hostler admires"
    Queen Claudia lifted her cane and poked him in the ribs. "Young Rainger, you're not too old to copy the Book of Kings."
    During his annual visits to Beaumontagne, Queen Claudia had often ordered Rainger to write out the Book of Kings from the Bible as punishment for his misbehaviors. Even now, if Queen Claudia told him to do it, he wouldn't have the nerve to refuse.
    Yet Sorcha sent him a grateful glance, and he knew she appreciated his effort on her sister's behalf.
    In the year since Rainger had last seen her, Sorcha had grown tall, but her feet and hands were still too big, and she moved clumsily, leading Rainger's father to predict she would get taller yet. Clarice had grown a little too, and her figure had filled out. Amy was still a rambunctious child, rebelling at every opportunity at her role as princess.
    All the courtiers told Rainger he was lucky that he got to marry one of these princesses. But he resented having his bride picked out for him. He was mature. He could choose his own bride. He would rather marry Countess duBelle. The only thing stopping him was her age, which was almost twenty-five . . . well, and her husband, who was very much alive. Rainger ignored the niggles of his conscience as he sneaked into her bed, for he loved the beautiful, vivacious, wicked lady.
    In that voice that froze the marrow in his bones, Queen Claudia told Clarice, "I can only hope you haven't ruined the reception with your selfishness. As soon as it's over I'll provide you with my special soap and you're to wash to your elbows. Do you understand? To your elbows!"
    "Yes, Grandmamma," Clarice said weakly.
    "And no more horses." As if sensing another objection from Rainger, she turned on him. "So, Crown Prince Rainger, what will you do at this reception?"
    Resentful that she demanded an accounting of his behavior, he bowed, and answered, "Yawn."
    In crushing tones she answered, "Being royal means you know how to yawn with your mouth closed."
    "Of course." But her quick reply shook him. He should have remembered. She had a truism for every occasion.
    Queen Claudia peered at her oldest granddaughter. "Is that a spot on your forehead?"
    Sorcha touched the swelling. "Just a little one."
    "No butter for you. No candy. And you will use my complexion wash to cleanse your face twice a day" — Queen Claudia tilted Sorcha's chin up and examined her critically — "and my color emulsion to cover the mark. A princess must always produce the face of perfection. Remember, not everyone wishes you well."
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