then sobered. “Seriously, Zacharie, within a year. Until then he is my consort, my lover.”
“Your consort! Your lover!” cried Martine, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Princess, when you were a child I thought I taught you better, in spite of your willful ways.”
Before the Princess could respond, “Martine,” said Zacharie, “you have said quite enough.”
In that moment, with his shirt slung over a shoulder, Luc walked from the practice field toward the four, and Tutrice Martine spun on her heel and stormed away.
A slight sheen of perspiration on his face and chest and abdomen, and down the lean muscles of his arm, Luc stepped to Liaze, and she took him by his free hand and smiled up into his eyes. Then she turned and said to her steward, “Zacharie, I think it’s time we had held a dance. Refreshments as well, if you please. Invite everyone to the grand ballroom, and rotate the guards in and out. Would you arrange for such?”
A great grin split Zacharie’s features. “Gladly, my lady. ’Tis a grand party we’ll have.”
That afternoon Luc moved into the royal wing, his quarters adjoining Liaze’s rooms. And the entire staff breathed a sigh of relief, for their princess was pledged to a man they all approved of-all but Martine, that is, for she yet referred to him as a lowborn, upstart, common hedge knight.
Zacharie dispatched falcons to the siblings’ manors, bearing the news that Liaze was betrothed. Liaze sent her own falcon winging unto her sire and dam, and the message it bore told what she knew of Luc and of the woodcutter-the former armsmaster-who had taken him in, and she asked if they knew of a child abandoned in a like manner in a forest some three or four twilight borders sunwise of her own demesne.
That eve, Liaze presented Luc with a pair of silver spurs, saying, “A knight of my realm should never be without the badges of his office.”
Luc looked at her with tears in his eyes. “Ah, but pere Leon would be so proud. Thank you, my love.”
“Put them on,” urged Liaze. “I would see you in them.”
Luc kicked off his shoes and slipped into his boots, and in moments and with great exaggeration, he strutted about the chamber, spurs agleam. Liaze laughed with joy and told him just how splendid he looked. Then Luc sobered and changed back into his shoes and held out his arm. “Shall we?”
After a sumptuous dinner, Liaze led Luc toward the grand ballroom, Liaze dressed in a satin gown, somewhere in that indeterminate range between a gentle yellow and a soft green, with pettiskirts and stockings and shoes to match. This night she also wore her golden circlet, the one with the yellow diamond.
Luc, on the other hand, wore a waistcoat ’neath a doublet, and shirt with belled sleeves, and tights and long stockings and black-buckled shoes. Deep violet was the prime color of his clothes, with pipings and insets of pale blue.
As they neared the vast chamber, they could hear music and laughter and gaiety, and they entered a ballroom full of people waiting their turn to dance the minuet: the women in silks and satins, their long, flowing gowns of white, lavender, yellow, peach, of pale red and of deep jade, of umber and rust and puce, and of blue. The men were arrayed in silken tights and knee hose and buckled shoes, with doublets and waistcoats and silken shirts and ruffles galore, their colors in darker shades than those of the women, but running throughout the same range. Liaze was the only woman wearing a gown of a hue between yellow and green, and Luc the only man in violet.
A door ward thumped the floor three times with a long staff, and the music stopped and everyone turned toward the grand ballroom entrance, and a great cheer rose up, led by Zacharie: Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!
Amid the following applause, the musicians again began to play-harpsichord, and a bass viol and a cello, a viola and a violin, as well as a flute and a harp. And they sounded some notes of a minuet, then the music segued into an interlude and one by one the instruments fell to silence, until only the harp remained. The crowd grew quiet and looked at the princess and her consort in expectation.
“Sieur Luc,” said Liaze, “may I have this dance?”
“Indeed, my lady,” he said, and bowed and took her hand.
A great, wide circle formed, and Luc led Liaze to the center, and when they stopped and took their positions, the flute and violin, viol, cello, bass viol, and harpsichord took up the play, and slid into a minuet.
Luc bowed low, and Liaze deeply curtseyed, and then Luc held out his hand to the princess, and they moved in time to the moderate tempo, the stately court dance one of small steps and erect posture and curtseys and bows and hand holdings and pacings side by side while facing one another. And they turned and drew close and then stepped apart, and struck the requisite poses, all having an air of restrained flirtation.
“It is called the kissing dance, Luc,” said Liaze, with an impish grin.
“I know, my lady,” said Luc, smiling back. “My teachers taught me so.”
“Fear not, Sieur Luc, I will not attack you in front of these guests.”
Luc laughed but said nought in return.
They continued the dance, effecting the various steps and postures and carriage, and Liaze said, “You are doing quite splendidly. Your tuteur taught you well.”
Gracefully, lithely, the pair glided through the dance, while those about occasionally applauded at some nimble step or turn, Liaze willowy, Luc agile, a perfectly matched pair.
As the minuet came to an end, Luc leaned as if to kiss Liaze, and she raised her face to meet him, and their lips did touch, to the delight of all, and in that moment the music slipped into the interlude, and all the spectators suddenly broke out in applause.
Liaze called above the ovation, “Now all take part,” and the crowd broke up into several rings, and couples took center, and the music segued into the minuet and the kissing dance went on.
That evening Liaze and Luc stepped out the cotillion, with its varied and intricate patterns, and they danced the countredanses, and lively they were with much gaiety, four or eight couples in a square, crossing over, changing partners, pacing lightly in pairs ’round and ’round.
And they danced many vigorous reels-the men in a line on one side, the women in a line opposite-couples tripping out to meet one another, or romping down the center in various steps and poses, to the laughter and joy of the other dancers, while the exuberant music played on.
And Liaze taught Luc and the gathering another reel: the Dance of the Bees it was called, something that her brother Borel and his intended Michelle had taught the attendees during Alain and Camille’s wedding; Borel had seen the dance of Buzzer the bee during the trials the Prince of the Winterwood had undergone, and when he could he turned Buzzer’s gyrations and wriggles into a dance. And so Luc and Liaze wiggled and buzzed and raced to and fro and ’round the lines of dancers, while the violin played a frenetic air, and everyone laughed.
And between dances and during refreshments, some sang, and some recited poetry, and some told tall tales. And then several called upon Luc to perform, and grinning he took center stage. He put his fingers to his lips and shushed, and the crowd fell silent. And in a melodramatic voice and with histrionic gestures Luc began:
The fog upon the misty moors
Came creeping in my sleep,
And clung unto the eaves and doors,
And made the windows weep.
I rose within the clammy night
And drifted from my bed,
And looked upon the ghastly sight
And thought I might be dead.
I deeply wept to think of all
That I had left undone.
But then there came through Mithras’ vault
The first rays of the sun.
I found I wasn’t dead at all
But much alive instead.
I took those very same regrets
And put them back to bed.
Luc laughed and bowed, and the crowd roared, and the musicians struck up an air, and applause sounded heartily. Luc stepped from the stage, where, delighted, Liaze waited, and she kissed him on the cheek.
“That was splendid, my love,” she said. “Humorous while at the same time speaking of things unregretted until it is too late.”
Smiling, Luc nodded, and then sobered and said, “And yet when more time is given, undone they continue to
