“I know Valnu,” Skarnu told her. “He may have done it for the kingdom, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t enjoy every minute of it.” Merkela clucked but didn’t answer.

When they pulled up in front of the palace, Skarnu handed Merkela down, though he knew she was used to descending for herself. The driver took out a flask with which to keep himself warm. A flunky checked Skarnu and Merkela’s names off a list. “Go down this corridor,” the fellow said, pointing. “The reception will be in the Grand Hall.”

“The Grand Hall,” Merkela murmured. Her eyes were already enormous. They got bigger with every step she took along the splendid corridor. “This is like something out of a romance, or a fairy tale.”

“It’s real enough. It’s where King Gainibu declared war on Algarve,” Skarnu said. “I didn’t see him do it; I’d already been called to my regiment. But the kingdom didn’t live happily ever after, I’ll tell you that.”

At the entry to the Grand Hall, another flunky in a fancy uniform called out, “Marquis Skarnu and the Lady Merkela!” Merkela turned red again. Skarnu watched her eyeing the women already in the Grand Hall. And, a moment later, he watched her back straighten as she realized she wasn’t out of place after all as far as looks and clothes went.

Skarnu took her arm. “Come on,” he said, and steered her toward the receiving line. “Time for the king to meet you.” That flustered her anew. He added, “Remember, this is why he invited you.”

Merkela nodded, but nervously. The line moved slowly, which gave her the chance to get back some of her composure. Even so, she squeezed Skarnu’s hand and whispered, “I don’t believe this is really happening.”

Before Skarnu could answer, the two of them stood before the king. Gainibu had aged more than the years that lay between now and the last time Skarnu saw him; the red veins in his nose said he’d pickled as well as aged. But his grip was firm as he clasped Skarnu’s hand, and he spoke clearly enough: “A pleasure, your Excellency. And your charming companion is--?”