Seeing it, I thought that perhaps Sjofn’s grandfather had a favorite son after all for Atticus definitely got the better deal when his father was doling out kingdoms.

Once we’d navigated the dark rocks that made up the shore and spread inland, it didn’t take long for the tents to come into view. The sun was beginning to set but I could see they were striped wide in red and black. They were large, there were several of them, they each had a number of peaks and all of these peaks had red and black checked pennants flying.

We were escorted by the king’s men of which there were twelve (my opinion only, but I thought this was overkill). They all were wearing amour breastplates with black and red dragons painted on them, high black boots that came up to their thighs, poofy black shorts and they also had red and black striped poofs of material around their shoulders but their biceps and forearms were covered solely in black. On their heads they had gleaming helmets with a Mohawk arrangement of stiff black and red feathers. All their weapons (swords on scabbards attached to their saddles and a knife at their belts) shone as if they’d never been used.

I read from their number and attire that Baldur liked pomp and circumstance. Frey’s men wore what they wore; there was no uniform of The Drakkar or even of his merchant ships. My father’s men wore a uniform but it was warm, sturdy, comfortable and utilitarian. All the heads of the Houses I’d met at the Gales had worn their colors proudly but they let their wives display the finery that indicated their wealth. The men’s clothes were excellent quality and there were touches that indicated affluence but none of them were overt about it.

This pageantry to meet your niece in a tent on a desolate plain seemed a bit much and said a great deal about my uncle.

His men led us straight to the biggest tent and when I say that I mean it was the biggest tent by far, at least double the size of any other, maybe more, and as large as a small house. The entryway had a ten foot long awning stretching out from it along which four guards stood. It was clear these guards were more important for their feathers in their helmets were bigger and each had a ruby in the hilt of the daggers on their belts.

Immediately upon arrival, there was a wee situation when we stopped and Gunner (most of the men I knew well were with Frey, however he’d left Gunner and Stephan behind, likely in case something like this occurred) dismounted instantly and came to help me off my horse. Unfortunately, one of Baldur’s men did the same and Gunner didn’t take kindly to this.

As glowers were exchanged and chests puffed up, an idea hit me and I was both thankful that it did because I’d been wracking my brain since Kell left the cabin as to what I intended to do (to no avail) and also I hoped I could pull it off.

“Please,” I fake rasped and it sounded so good even I was surprised at how real it sounded. I saw instantly so was Gunner who knew I didn’t have a sore throat. It also surprised the guard and Kell who’d stopped his horse close to mine and I felt his eyes come to me. “I am comfortable with my guard. If you will allow…” I kept rasping then trailed off, grimaced in fake pain and wrapped one of my hands daintily around my throat as if those mere words had caused me more than mild suffering.

The guard looked at me and his face softened. I smiled what I hoped was a benevolent princess smile on him, his lips tipped up and I figured I’d pulled off the princess smile. He gave a small bow then stepped back gallantly. Gunner reached up and pulled me down but he did it so my face stayed parallel to his for the barest second and I saw his blue eyes smile.

I didn’t smile back because his back was to the guard and mine wasn’t but I rolled my eyes the barest bit. Then he set me on my feet and I leaned into him like I didn’t have the strength to hold myself up. He took his cue and hooked my arm firmly in the crook of his elbow before he escorted me to the awning where Kell joined me on my other side. I grabbed onto him too (might as well go for the gusto) and they led me through the awning and inside the tent.

If I thought the tents, pennants and uniformed soldiers were a spectacle, they were nothing compared to the opulence I encountered inside. I tried not to look as surprised as I was at the overabundance of fur (the ground was covered in it, yes, covered), sheets of red and black silk draping the walls, the ornate, heavily carved, shining wood furniture, the gleaming silver candelabrum all over the place and the two, large, overdone thrones (yes, thrones) sitting smack in the middle of the tent on a fur-covered rise.

Holy moly.

One could say I was not averse to luxury and indulged in it frequently but this was way over the top.

There were more guards inside (eight to be exact) and the feathers in their helmets were even bigger and they had elaborate jaw and chin guards wrapped around the lower half of their faces.

And sitting on the thrones (one much grander than the other) were two men.

On the bigger one was a graying, jowly man with a large belly and a larger gold crown on his head. This was decorated with black fur and inset with rubies and diamonds. He wore his own poofy shorts, these striped in black and red and also a breastplate painted with a dragon but it looked funny considering it had to be made with a bulge to cover his big belly. Hilariously (I thought), at his booted foot there was a helmet with a huge spray of red and black feathers shooting straight out of the top, this I read as his indication that he was battle ready at all times when he was, clearly, not.

But as amusing as this was, I didn’t find him humorous because his eyes were directed right at me and I saw at once they were mean.

At his side sat a very handsome, much younger man not wearing a breastplate, poofy shorts or even a crown but black breeches, shined black boots, a red poofy-sleeved shirt with laces at the collar and a black, brocade vest. His ensemble, even with the red poofy shirt, was understated but elegant.

My uncle and cousin.

And, by the way, my uncle, clearly, was not an identical twin with Father.

There was a man standing to the right and behind Prince Broderick’s chair and he, too, was dressed like Broderick but his shirt was pristine white and he had a thin scarf with a silk fringe wrapped jauntily around his neck.

A not-so-wild guess (considering the scarf), the lover, Phobin.

I let Kell and Gunner go and dropped to a low, formal curtsy which was my guess at what he would expect regardless that he thought we shared blood and royal status.

“Rise, my niece,” I heard him command in a voice as pompous as his surroundings and I did what I was told.

Then I hoped to all that was holy that I read even the slightest hint of Sjofn’s feelings for these two in her letters and I smiled dutifully at her uncle but far more warmly at her cousin.