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she tugged them out and started again.
    Leska cleared her throat. “You’ve been asking many questions about the king.”
    “Oh,” Rinka said, waving her hand, “I was only wondering about this king who apparently can’t be bothered to rule his kingdom. Always off hunting or visiting his mage friends in the mountains or who knows what else. He may not have wished for any of it, but he has a duty; that’s what happens when you’re born a prince.”
    Leska excused herself and went to gather Rinka’s linens. Rinka was glad for the moment alone to compose herself, because the truth was that she did find King Alban’s situation sympathetic. She imagined it must be overwhelming to be king, and lonely as well, with a father recently dead, a mother who died during childbirth, a loveless arranged marriage. Rinka found herself wishing she could comfort him, and then glared at her reflection, willing away the foolish thought. A king could take care of himself. He was no concern of hers outside the political realm.
    And yet . . .
    She had not managed to banish the memory of last night’s dream. In it, Alban had kissed her fingers once again as he gazed at her, there in the forest, his eyes darkening, and then his fingers had skimmed down her body, drawing down her gown, and then his lips—
    “Countess,” Leska said, hurrying back into the room. “The queen is here, in your sitting room.”
    Rinka stood. “What? Why?”
    “I haven’t the slightest idea. Hurry, let me help.”
    Together they hastily tied Rinka’s braids and finished lacing the ribbons at the sides of her gown. With a quick glance at the mirror, Rinka hurried out.
    “My queen,” she said, sinking into a deep curtsy upon entering the sitting room. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you.”
    “I’m sure,” the queen said, poised and unruffled in the high-backed, brocaded chair. Two of her handmaidens stood near the door, their faces still but their eyes seeing all. Rinka felt exposed before them, and wrongly dressed. The queen’s handmaidens wore modest gowns, lovely and rose-colored, high-necked, and Rinka . . . well, faeries enjoyed beauty and gloried in their bodies, and the design of their clothes reflected this. Rinka had brought her more subdued gowns with her from Geschtohl, aware that human modesty was much greater than that of faeries, but even the most demure faery fashions seemed scandalous in comparison to those of Erstadt. Rinka’s gown today was of a sheer, stormy blue silk, embroidered with delicate golden birds that shimmered as she moved. The neckline was low, the sides tied with gossamer ribbons, the back open, fabric pooling at the curve of her waist.
    “My queen,” Rinka said, determined not to show any sign of discomfort, “may I offer you some refreshment?”
    Liane declined with a slight wave. “Countess, I wonder if I might ask you something?”
    “Anything, my queen.” Rinka poured tea for herself, wanting something to do with her hands.
    “It seems my husband is quite taken with you.”
    Somehow, Rinka managed to keep from staring at the queen in astonishment. She inclined her head, hoping her expression was more serene than her thundering heart. “I’m honored, my queen. But what is his interest in me? He barely spoke to me at the feast.”
    “Yes, but you met him before that, didn’t you?”
    Rinka nearly dropped her cup. “Well, yes, my queen. The day I arrived, I went for an afternoon ride in the forest north of the castle. The king had been hunting, and was wounded. I helped him back to the stables, where his guards attended him inside.” She paused, meeting the queen’s eyes. Her mind raced through that day, as it had done many times since, searching for wrongdoing. “I’m afraid I didn’t know who he was until we’d arrived back at the castle. You can imagine my embarrassment.”
    “You didn’t know who he was?” Queen Liane laughed and shot a skeptical look at her handmaidens. “Can you