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opened behind them on the dais, and a short, stout gentleman stepped in, dressed in a uniform covered with medals and ribbons. King Raimund had a splendid mustache and bushy sideburns, and his blue eyes resembled his mother's, except that they twinkled merrily at the sight of his children. He looked tired, as if the recent troubles in his kingdom had worn him down, but he opened his arms. "Come, my dears, and give your poppa a kiss"
    With cries of joy and a total lack of dignity, the princesses broke ranks and ran toward him. They embraced him all at once, babbling in girlish tones about their delight at seeing him.
    Rainger was surprised to see the slightest smile tilt Queen Claudia's thin lips. She looked almost. . . fond, and not at all disapproving of the loving display.
    Then she clapped her hands, once, sharply.
    The children broke away from their father and hurriedly lined up again.
    "Mother." King Raimund bowed to Queen Claudia, then came to her and touched his cheek to hers.
    Rainger bowed to him. "King Raimund."
    "Prince Rainger." With due solemnity, he bowed back.
    Rainger suspected his show of dignity amused the king, for at one time, Rainger would have run to him, also. But Rainger was too old for such childishness. He was, after all, a Crown Prince.
    Striding to the ancient, dark, carved throne, King Raimund asked, "Is all prepared for the reception?"
    "Of course." Queen Claudia looked at the small watch which hung from a gold pin on her bosom. "The footmen will admit the courtiers in five minutes"
    King Raimund made a sound, not quite a groan. Seating himself, he donned a simple, gold crown.
    "Now." Queen Claudia paced before the girls, and Rainger, once again. "How will you greet the French ambassador?"
    With calm assurance Amy announced, "I'll tell him to go back where he came from."
    Rainger, Sorcha, and Clarice gasped.
    Queen Claudia fumbled for the chain around her neck, and lifted her lorgnette to view her youngest granddaughter in dismay. " What did you say?"
    Amy repeated, "I said I will tell him to go away."
    "Why would you make such a statement to the man who is the ambassador from France?" Queen Claudia questioned in dire tones.
    With impeccable logic Amy said, "Because you said he's not the real ambassador, he's only the ambassador for the upstart French government, and until they return their rightful king to power, we don't like them."
    Sorcha and Clarice exchanged startled glances, then dissolved into giggles.
    King Raimund laughed. "She has you there, Mother."
    Amy had no idea why everyone was so amused, but she grinned cockily, showing the gap where she had lost a tooth.
    Sorcha rushed to defend her sister. "Amy is right, Grandmamma. You always say, 'Tell me who you associate with and I'll tell you who you are.'"
    In a soft voice Clarice added, "That's true. Should we, the royal princesses of Beaumontagne, associate with a French upstart?"
    It was at times like this when Rainger remembered why he liked the princesses. Not even Queen Claudia, with her rules and her sayings, could squelch their spirits.
    Queen Claudia fixed them all — Sorcha, Clarice, Amy, Rainger, and even King Raimund — with a grim eye, and made her final pronouncement. "I hope that someday each of you has a child just like you."
     
    Chapter Five
     
    Why worry? It'll only give ye wrinkles.
    — The Old Men of Freya Crags
    "Where did she acquire you, my lad?" Robert spoke to Blaize, low and soft, while he looked him over. Definitely a two-year-old colt, an Arabian of good lines, and far too strong and wild for a lady. Yet Clarice handled him with astonishing ease. "And where did your lassie learn to control a beast of such strength?"
    Glancing at the closed door of the seamstress's shop, Robert said, "I know what she would say. She would say she learned to ride from an expert horseman. Because she was a princess ."
    Blaize snorted in reply and tossed his head.
    "Yes. Exactly. Have you ever heard of princesses who are loose