"Lady Margaret Fruge," Steward Horace loudly announced as a lovely woman with delicate features, her hair swept back neatly in an intricate coil, curtsied gracefully before me. It felt awkward enough just sitting there as she did that, with her head so near my feet. What she did next shot my feelings straight past awkward all the way to aghast. Kneeling, Margaret picked up the hem of my dress and kissed it. Now I knew why Queens wore long gowns. So their subjects could kiss the hem. Jesus fucking Christ!

She remained kneeling.

At an utter loss for words, I fluttered my fingers at her, indicating she should rise. Uncertain she glanced sideways at Bernard, who nodded. She stood but kept her head bowed before me. My eyes flashed down to her hands and I saw that she wore a simple gold ring on her left hand as well.

"Your new Queen, Mona Lisa," intoned Horace.

Hesitantly, as if she was unsure of what to do next, now that I had disrupted their normal proceedings, Margaret curtsied low once more. "My Queen."

"Are you related to Bernard?" I asked.

Surprised, she looked up, bobbed her head, and quickly looked down once more. "His wife, milady."

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Margaret." I gestured to my right, since it seemed as if Horace had no intention of introducing anyone. "This is Warrior Lord Gryphon." A hand sweep to my left. "Warrior Lord Amber."

"My lords." Another curtsy as she kept her eyes lowered. I wondered if her back hurt from all that scraping and bowing.

Margaret stepped back and the other woman moved forward and curtsied. Her hair was light and fair, like a sheath of wheat bleached by the sun, long and flowing. Her features were like Margaret's but a little sharper, bolder, the nose taller, the mouth fuller. The color of her eyes, I noted when she glanced briefly up at me, was an unusual shade of gray.