The countess, Isabel, must needs her friends. These only be visuals the lake to you lends. You know which traits each of these tends. Because, Isabel, you’ll need them, so deal with it.

Isabel took a moment, shaking her head. That didn’t rhyme.

So sue me.

She turned back to the King. “King Arthur, these are my men. Tom, Dick and Harry. But they’re not the usual Tom, Dick and Harry. They’re my Tom, Dick and Harry.” It never occurred to her how funny that sounded until this very moment. She whirled back to her friends before she burst out laughing. “Please, men, this is King Arthur. Give him the total respect due him.”

Tom and Dick jumped from their bays, and Harry put some kind of stop on the cart thing and hopped down, a smile wide on his face. They all bent to one knee and bowed their heads. “At your service, sir,” they said in unison.

“Please rise,” said Arthur. “There are no formalities here.”

“Seriously,” said Isabel to Tom. “I couldn’t get you to bow when I beat you at quarters in college.”

“M’lady, you’d unfairly plied me with Budwei—er, ale that night.”

That was true. Isabel had gotten him snockered on purpose. After all, the fraternity/sorority championship was on the line. “Excuses,” she said with an airy wave. “’Tis the last refuge of the weak.”

“College? Quarters?”

Isabel received another thump on her chest. At this point she’d have a bruise the size of a baseball. “My apologies, King Arthur. Games we play back in Dumont. I feel that happy friends are productive friends.”

The king gifted her with another winning smile. “We appear to have much in common. I too enjoy sporting with my men.”

Isabel frowned. “To leave the women doing the laundry, cooking, cleaning? What enjoyment do you provide your female help, sir? When do they get a freaking break?” Isabel braced herself for another thump from her necklace, but it never came. Apparently Viviane was on her side on this one. What do you know? A feminist goddess.