“What do you make of young Bleth?” asked Thomdor, pointing at the receding back of Aunadar Bleth with his chin.

Duke Bhereu shrugged broad shoulders. “This one has some potential. Courteous without being unctuous. Respectful without overmuch groveling. Has book-learning enough in his head to be interesting and enough wits not to show it off all at once. Filfaeril approves already, you know. He’s better than your average pick.”

“Not only the queen thinks so,” the baron rumbled. “The crown princess likes him, too.” As they urged their horses down the loose slope where the king’s war-horse had preceded them, letting the massive beasts choose their own leisurely paths, he added, “Did you know the two of them met in the palace library?”

“I’ve heard the story,” Bhereu replied wryly, “though with each retelling, the court gossips adorn it. The strains of harps and songhorns positively swirl about it these days, grown as sweet and syrupy as any minstrelry of the Brokenhearted Knight. The last time I heard it, the tale had their eyes meeting, and without another breath, our bold young Bleth sweeps the Crown Princess up and onto a table, scattering tomes and scrolls in all directions. They say he practically kissed the lips-to say nothing of a good court gown-off her before the maids clawed him free of the royal person. Whereupon she leapt up, snatched him away to another table, laid him out on it, and bestowed a mighty kiss upon him, to return the favor.”

The two men shook their heads in amused disbelief, and Thomdor murmured, “The worst of it is, some folk’ll believe it when it comes to their ears, half a world away, in a tenday or two.”

Duke Bhereu nodded, ducked under a tree limb, and said, “Yet a full glass to it all, and more, if Tanalasta is fond of him. It’s better than the king trying out future sons-in-law on her… and forcing an unhappy marriage.”