“Very good,” the king said as Hildegarde got an unexpected advantage for a moment and forced him to retreat a few steps. “But don’t drop your defense,” he continued, his sword moving constantly as he spoke. “Because if you do-” and with a sudden twist he jerked the blade from her hand.

Antonia was watching open-mouthed. I doubted a seamstress’s house in town offered anything like this much excitement. Hildegarde dipped her head and lowered her shield. “That stung,” she said, flexing the fingers of her sword hand. “I think you got in a lucky blow.”

“In part, of course, I did,” said Paul, pushing back sweaty hair and ignoring his audience. “I’ve had a lot more experience. But in part I’m just stronger than you are. Your footwork is fine, your stamina is fine, and your reach is longer than a lot of men, but you just don’t have the upper-body strength you’d need.”

“Father keeps telling me the same thing,” she said glumly, retrieving her sword.

Paul smiled and put an arm casually across her shoulders, as though she had been a youth in knighthood training rather than a stunningly well-constructed young woman. “I think it’s time we got cleaned up for dinner. I’ll try to think of some exercises for you to build your muscles.”

At dinner my daughter demonstrated excellent manners, sitting beside me with a copy of Thaumaturgy A to Z bringing her up to table level. Afterwards I took her to the twins’ suite-Hildegarde had been transformed back into a modestly-attired aristocratic lady for dinner-and told them to make sure Antonia got to bed soon.

King Paul was waiting at the door of my chambers when I returned. “I’d like to talk to you, Wizard,” he said, frowning.

Good. This was my opportunity to impart some wisdom-if I could only think how to tell my liege lord diplomatically that he had been behaving like a fool.