The six-year-old pulled himself away from the window with a look of disgust. “I did but gaze upon them, Robin.”

“Indeed—and I know that thou’rt anxious. Yet I bethink me that thy parents have need of some bit more of room than thou’rt wont to accord them.”

Cordelia flounced down onto a three-legged stool. “But Papa was so angered, Puck!”

“As thou hast told me.” The elf’s mouth tightened at the corners. “Yet thou dost know withal, that he doth love thee.”

“I do not doubt it…” But Cordelia frowned.

Puck sighed and dropped down cross-legged beside her. “Thou couldst scarce do otherwise, if he did truly become as enraged as thou didst tell.” He turned his head, taking in all four children with one gaze. “Gentles, do not reprehend; if you pardon, he will mend.”

They didn’t look convinced.

“Else the Puck a liar call!” the elf cried stoutly.

The door opened, and the children leaped to their feet. They started to back away, but Puck murmured, “Softly,” and they held their ground—warily.

But their father didn’t look like an ogre as he came in the door—just a tall, dark, lean, saturnine man with a rough-hewn face, no longer young; and he seemed dim next to the red-haired beauty beside him, who fairly glowed, making the question of youth irrelevant. Still, if the children had ever stopped to think about it, they would have remarked how well their parents looked together.

They did not, of course; they saw only that their father’s face had mellowed to its usual careworn warmth, and leaped to hug him in relief. “Papa!” Magnus cried, and “Daddy!” Geoffrey piped; Cordelia only clung to his arm and sobbed, while Gregory hugged the other arm, and looked up gravely. “Daddy, thou hast come back again.”

Rod looked into the sober gaze of his youngest, and somehow suspected that the child wasn’t just talking about his coming through the door.

“Oh, Papa,” Cordelia sniffled, “I do like thee so much better when thou’rt Papa, than when thou’rt Lord Kern!”

Rod felt a chill along his spine, but he clasped her shoulder and pressed her against his hip. “I don’t blame you, dear. I’m sure his children feel the same way.” He looked up over the children’s heads, at Puck. “Thanks, Robin.”

“Now, there’s a fair word!” Puck grinned. “Yet I misdoubt me an thou wilt have more such; for there’s one who doth attend thee.” He jerked his head toward the kitchen.

“A messenger?” Rod looked up, frowning. “Waiting inside the house?… Toby!”

A dapper gentleman in his mid-twenties came into the room, running a finger over a neatly trimmed mustache. Hose clung to well-turned calves, and his doublet was resplendent with embroidery. “Hail, Lord Warlock!”

Gwen’s face blossomed with a smile, and even Rod had to fight a grin, faking a groan. “Hail, harbinger! What’s the disaster?”

“Nay, for once, the King doth summon thee whiles it’s yet a minor matter.”

“Minor.” The single word was loaded with skepticism. Rod turned to Gwen. “Why does that worry me more than his saying, ‘Emergency?’ ”

“ ‘Tis naught but experience,” Gwen assured him. “Shall I ‘company thee?”

“I’d appreciate it,” Rod sighed. “If it’s a ‘minor’ matter, that means social amenities first—and you know how Catharine and I don’t get along.”

“Indeed I do.” Gwen looked quite pleased with herself. Catharine the Queen may have spread her net for Rod, but it was Gwen who had caught him.

Not that Catharine had done badly, of course. King Tuan Loguire had spent his youth as Gramarye’s most eligible bachelor—and it must be admitted that Rod had been a very unknown quantity.

Still was, in some ways. Why else would Gwendylon, most powerful witch in circulation, continue to be interested in him?

Rod looked up at Puck. “Would you mind, Merry Wanderer?”

The elf sighed and spread his arms. “What is time to an immortal? Nay, go about the King’s business!”

“Thanks, sprite.” Rod turned back to Gwen. “Your broom, or mine?”

 

Gwen bent over the hanging cradle swathed in yards of cloth-of-gold, and her face softened into a tender smile. “Oh, he is dear!”

Queen Catharine beamed down at the baby. She was a slender blonde with large blue eyes and a very small chin. “I thank thee for thy praise… I am proud.”

“As thou shouldst be.” Gwen straightened, looking up at her husband with a misty gaze.

Rod looked around, hoping she was gazing at someone else. On second thought, maybe not…

Catharine raised a finger to her lips and moved slightly toward the door. Rod and Gwen followed, leaving the child to its nanny, two chambermaids, and two guards.

Another two stood on either side of the outer doorway, under the eagle eye of the proud father. One reached out to close the door softly behind them. Rod looked up at King Tuan, and nodded. “No worries about the succession now.”

“Aye.” Gwen beamed. “Two princes are a great blessing.”

“Well I can think of a few kings who would’ve argued with that.” Rod smiled, amused. “Still, I must admit they’re outnumbered by the kings who’ve been glad of the support of their younger brothers.”

“As I trust our Alain shall be.” Tuan turned away. “Come, let us pass into the solar.” He paced down the hall and into another chamber with a wall of clerestory windows. Rod followed, with the two ladies chattering behind him. He reminded himself that he and Gwen were being signally honored; none of the royal couple’s other subjects had ever been invited into their majesties’ private apartments.

On the other hand, if Gwen had been the kind to brag, they might not have been invited in, either.

And, of course, there was old Duke Loguire. But that was different; he came under the alias of “Grandpa.” And Brom O’Brien; but the Lord Privy Councillor would, of course, have access to the privy chambers.

On the other hand, Rod tried not to be too conscious of the honor. After all, he had known Tuan when the young King was an outlaw; exiled for courting Catharine; and hiding out in the worst part of town, as King of the Beggars—and unwitting party to the forming of a civil war. “As long as they grow up friends,” he reminded Tuan, “or as much as two brothers can.”

“Aye—and if their friendship doth endure.” A shadow crossed Tuan’s face, and Rod guessed he was remembering his own elder brother, Anselm, who had rebelled against their father, and against Queen Catharine.

“Then must we take great care to ensure their friendship.” Catharine hooked her arm through Tuan’s. “Yet I misdoubt me, my lord, an our guests did come to speak of children only.”

“I’m sure it’s a more pleasant subject than whatever he had in mind,” Rod said quickly.

“And ‘twould have been cause enow, I do assure thee,” Gwen added.

Catharine answered with a silvery laugh. “For thou and I, mayhap—but I misdoubt me an ‘twould interest our husbands overlong.”

“Do not judge us so harshly,” Tuan protested. “Yet I must own that there are matters of policy to be discussed.” He sighed, and turned away to a desk that stood beneath the broad windows, with a map beside it on a floor stand. “Come, Lord Warlock—let us take up less pleasant matters.”

Rod came over, rather reassured; Tuan certainly didn’t seem to feel any urgency.

The young King tapped the map, on the Duchy of Romanov. “Here lies our mutual interest of the hour.”

“Well, as long as it’s only an hour. What’s our bear of a Duke up to?”

“Tis not His Grace,” Tuan said slowly.

Rod perked up; this was becoming more interesting. “Something original would be welcome. Frankly, I’ve been getting a bit bored with the petty rebellions of your twelve great lords.”

“Art thou so? I assure thee,” Tuan said grimly, “I have never found them tedious.”

“What is it, then? One of his petty barons gathering arms and men?”

“I would it were; of that, I’ve some experience. This, though, is a matter of another sort; for the rumors speak of foul magics.”