What really shocked Isabel, though, was the way all of the people greeted their king. They bowed, of course, as he entered the keep, but they smiled, too. These people really liked their leader. Isabel could relate. Unfortunately.

The great hall was also abuzz with activity. But it seemed to come to a screeching halt when the king escorted her in and loudly announced her arrival. Even the animals running around—there had to be at least thirty dogs of all varieties—froze. Then the bowing and curtsying began.

“Please tell them to rise, sir,” she whispered to Arthur. “They’re acting like I’m freaking royalty.”

Arthur’s eyes widened for a second. “Countess, you are royalty.”

Oops. “Perhaps, but I’m not so big on the bowing and scraping thing. It makes me uncomfortable. I much more prefer an equality of sorts.”

He smiled again, which was really mean because his smile was lethal. “We have much in common, m’lady.”

“Isabel.”

“Isabel it is, then. And I am Arthur. Please, I beg you to leave off the king part.”

“Deal!” she said.

“Rise, all! The lady prefers you not ...”

“Grovel?” Isabel provided.

“. . . feel the need to lower yourselves upon her entrance,” King Arthur finished.

Isabel felt the need to bow a little herself. Then she stood and said, “Okay, now we’re even. No more of that, all right? It’s a pain for all of us. By the way, hi! Good to be here,” she said, waving in what she hoped wasn’t a Queen Elizabeth-type way.

Everyone, even the dogs, stared at her like she was a little, or maybe a lot, addled. But then they smiled. And several waved back.

There were what she thought were things called rushes on the floor, and the hall smelled a little smarmy. Part sweat, part pee, part burning wood, part indescribable. Yet as she and Arthur walked farther into the great room, a kind of nice smell kept wafting up.