The day began with the usual sequence of ceremonials customarily conducted at Twelfth Night court: knightings, squirings, and the enrollment of new pages for training in the royal household. Five new knights received the accolade, from diverse parts of the kingdom, and seven senior pages were promoted to squire.
Krispin MacAthan was among four new pages enrolled that day, finally allowed to exchange the play-tabard he had worn in aspiration for the full page's livery such as Prince Brion had donned the previous year. Both the young prince and the boy's mother had made much of young Krispin, to the notable disapproval of a delegation from Carthane. However, this was hardly surprising, since it was widely known that Jessamy and her son were Deryni, and Carthane was the principal venue in which Bishop Oliver de Nore continued to pursue his campaign of harassment against Deryni who stepped at all out of line.
As the king placed the scarlet page's tabard over Krispin's head, he was aware of the minor flurry of disgruntlement generated by this public distinction accorded a Deryni, but he also noted its source: several men in the party of a portly baron called Deldour, who had long been known for his antipathy toward Deryni. The man had been a minor irritant for years down in Carthane, his name periodically linked with the odd incident of Deryni persecution — but nothing serious. He was mostly a complainer and a boor.
His plaint this year, when the time came for presenting petitions for the king's justice, had to do with grazing rights along the Eirian, far from the troubles in Nyford. While he was known to be friends with Oliver de Nore, one of the itinerant bishops active in the ongoing persecution of Deryni — and had even taken Bishop Oliver's younger brother into his service as a chaplain — Deldour himself was considered to be a mere irritant rather than any particular threat. The presence of the bishop's brother hinted at potentials for more serious unpleasantness — and Zoë noted him, and recognized him as Alyce's old nemesis from Arc-en-Ciel, Father Septimus de Nore — but she was not about to intrude on the betrothal of her father and her dearest friend by bringing up past unpleasantness.
Lord Deldour's ire had only increased at the feast that followed court, when the king summoned Sir Kenneth Morgan and Lady Alyce de Corwyn to the high table and there joined their hands, lauding Kenneth's faithfulness and valor and, in token of his esteem, declaring his intention that the two should wed. A royal chaplain had been holding himself in readiness, and came at the king's beckoning to seal the betrothal with the blessing of the Church, to much astonished murmuring among the assembled lords and ladies and a renewed wave of mutterings within Lord Deldour's party.
For the most part, however, Sir Kenneth Morgan's change in fortune was lauded as just recompense for faithful services rendered, and brought him many a heartfelt expression of congratulation from friends and colleagues. The king observed this reaction with no little relief as the active feasting gave way to divers entertainments: minstrels and dancing, a troupe of jugglers and a fire-eater, and even a masque prettily played by some of the ladies of the queen's household and several of the older squires, recounting the courtship of Malcolm and Roisian.
Jared Earl of Kierney played the part of King Malcolm, wearing a tinsel crown that looked a good deal like the real state crown that Donal had worn earlier at his official court, with crosses and leaves intertwined; and his own betrothed, Lady Vera Howard, briefly returned to court for Twelfth Night, played the role of Roisian of Meara with sweetness and verve. When «King Malcolm» finally swept his princess into his arms and kissed her heartily, in front of Sir Jovett Chandos dressed as an archbishop in a tall miter, all the audience applauded wildly, shouting and hooting with delight, for the widower Jared and the lovely and spritely Vera were to be married in early May, and the match was popular.
Alyce and Kenneth watched from seats that had been vacated for them at the high table, at the king's right hand, Zoë sitting happily to her father's other side. Dancing followed the masque, interspersed with more boisterous minstrelsy, and the freely flowing wine slowly shifted the atmosphere from decorous to earthy, as couples sought out the shadows of hall and cloister garden. No doubt reminded of the Twelfth Night previous, Zoë grew more wistful as the night wore, and made no objection when her father quietly opined that perhaps it was time to retire.
When the three of them reached the door to the room that she and Alyce shared, she accepted her father's gentle kiss and then disappeared inside. Alyce would have followed her, but Kenneth caught her hand.
«Stay a moment», he murmured, drawing her back from the door. «She will be missing your brother, and probably would like to weep a while in privacy».
Saying nothing, for she knew Kenneth was right, Alyce only nodded and let herself be led into the recess of the next closed doorway, her hand still in his. She, too, was missing her brother, and all the promise lost with his passing — and the night had made her far more aware of the weight that had passed to her own shoulders, with his death. When her own tears started to flow, Kenneth drew her into the circle of his arms and gently pressed her to his chest, simply holding her while she wept, one hand caressing the tumble of her hair.
She began to reclaim her composure after a few minutes, lifting her head to knuckle at her tears with the back of one hand, a little embarrassed by her lapse.
«I'm sorry», she whispered, daring to look at him. «I suppose I needed a good weep as much as Zoë».
«You are surely entitled to weep», he murmured.
He caught her left hand and pressed it his lips, tasting the salt of her tears. As he lifted his eyes to hers, she felt his thumb caressing the ring he had given her only hours earlier, at their betrothal — and the subtle tightening of the arm that still surrounded her, almost a spasm, as if marking some momentous shift in their relationship.
«Alyce», he dared to whisper, so softly that she almost could not hear him, «I should very much like to kiss you».
Her heart had begun thumping in her breast, and her eyes anxiously searched his as she managed a faint nod. Releasing her hand, he brushed reverent fingertips along the curve of her cheek, then gently tilted her chin upward to receive his chaste kiss.
At least it began that way, though that first kiss soon gave way to another that was not chaste at all. The touch of his lips seemed to ignite a delicious tingling from head to toe, and her arms slid up around his neck, pulling him closer. A tiny moan escaped her as his lips nuzzled briefly down one side of her neck and then back to her mouth, his embrace hardening.
She could feel her body answering as he kissed her again, far more thoroughly this time. When, finally, he drew back with a shudder, turning his face slightly away from her, she was trembling and breathless, weak-kneed, and only reluctantly let her hands slip back onto his chest as he dared to meet her gaze again.
«I — think, perhaps, you should go to your room now», he said quietly. «For if you stay here much longer, dear Alyce, I — cannot guarantee that you shall go later with your virtue intact».
She had dared to Truth-Read him as he spoke, and suddenly realized by what little margin he had pulled himself back from taking full advantage of her inexperience. And while her trembling body still declared its willingness — nay, its eagerness — to resume the delicious dalliance of the past few minutes, this was hardly the time nor the place. Sufficient, for now, to know that their eventual union would be no mere coupling out of dynastic duty, but something far more. Just what, she was not certain, but for now, both of them would have to be content to wait to discover it.