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told of my beauty and its power, of how it would rise from the Aquitaine to hold all men in its sway.
    As the song ended, I sent my voice, melodious and light, into every corner of the great hall. “I thank you, Bertrand. You have outdone us all in honor.”
    I took a ring of silver and gold from my finger, cast in my father’s crest. I raised it for the company to see, then pressed it into his palm. For once, Bertrand was struck dumb. For all his practiced poetry, he had no words to speak. He bowed low, drawing my ring onto the little finger of his right hand. He touched it reverently. I had never shown him such favor before.
    â€œWho else might sing for me?” I asked. “Who among my barons would stand and honor me?”
    My barons murmured among themselves, like wind through a field of barley.
    â€œI will choose from among the men who sing for me a song of their own devising. The man I choose will be the first tonight to dance with me.”
    The men laughed, delighted at this challenge. All my people, men and women both, loved poetry and music, and they loved a contest more. Ever since my grandfather’s time, men had written their own songs and sung them in company to win the favor of their ladies. They hoped only to draw a woman into their beds for an hour, or a week. That night, I would challenge that tradition. I would remake it into a tradition of my own.
    One baron after another rose to sing for me, as if to woo me for his own. But I was to be their duchess. They could not so much as touch my hand, much less have me in the dark, and they knew this as well as I.
    As I listened to their songs, my father caught my eye and smiled. He knew that by setting myself above them as a prize to be won, as a woman to love but not to touch, I hoped to bind every man in my court closer to me. Each man in that hall must love me at least a little, for barons who loved me would not rise up in arms against me. Or so I hoped.
    Time would tell.
    The last man to sing was the young Baron Rancon.
    Rancon sang alone, strumming his own lute, with no musicians to play for him. He gave the company a song of how my beauty rose with the sun each morning, and did not fade when night came; of how I ruled the sun and the moon both, which were mere spheres in the sky, come to circle my throne.
    My blood raced, though I schooled my features to cool politeness. His song done, I extended my hand, and let him take it.
    My voice did not shake, and neither did my hand, though my heartbeat was loud in my own ears. “The Baron Rancon has carried the day. Let him be the victor, then, for he has conquered me.”
    The barons laughed and applauded Rancon, and my father applauded with them. Rancon did not smile, but held my gaze. His palm was warm on mine as he brought me down from the dais onto the dance floor.
    Amaria whispered to the musicians at one end of the hall. They struck up a dancing tune, and the men at the lower tables took up their women and came onto the center of the floor as if they had waited all day for it.
    Geoffrey of Rancon led me into the dance seamlessly, and I fell into step with him. We moved as if we had danced together before, as if our bodies knew each other already.
    His eyes were the brown of chestnuts in autumn, and his gaze was warm with more than lust as he stared down at me. He looked at me as if I were his lady in truth, as if he might offer me marriage and all the kisses and sweet words men offered women alone in the dark.
    It was a heady feeling, that first sip of power. I had been raised to rule men all my life, but the heat that rose between us was a different matter altogether.
    â€œI would see you again,” he said.
    I stepped away from him, and did not answer, having to count carefully to keep time in the motion of the dance. I hid my hesitation and did not falter. His heated gaze still followed me, until I drew close to him again.
    â€œYou will see me many times for the rest of