"I have," Catharine said, her voice low, "and have watched Cordelia's face, too, as she watched him when he was engaged in talk—or in dance, with another damsel."
"Is she too in love?"
"I cannot tell," Catharine said slowly. "She is jealous, aye, though whether it is for love, or for others' interest in something that she doth regard as belonging to her, I cannot tell."
"If 'twere only a matter of property, would she have cast him off but now?"
Catharine shrugged. "If he came upon her unannounced, when she was in such disarray? Aye, any woman would have turned him away."
"I know so little of women," Tuan sighed, "but to me, that hath more of the sound of love than of covetousness." Catharine shrugged, irritated. "I fear, husband, that our son is lacking in gallantry."
"He is," Tuan admitted, "as he is lacking in knowledge of his people."
That stung Catharine in one of her most tender spotsfor she was, in spite of her willfulness and temper, a diligent ruler who tried her best to rule for her people's good. "Thou dost speak truth. He hath never been among the folk." Then hysteria surged again. "But how can I risk him?"
"You must," Tuan said, gently but inexorably. "He cannot be a good man if he hath not tested his true mettleand he cannot become a good King if he knoweth naught of those whom he would rule."
"But the price!" Catharine cried, anguished.
"The price must be paid." Tuan still strove to be gentle. "He must come to know at least a little about his people, and what their lives are truly like. He must rule more folk than the noblemen he hath grown to know, after all, nor must he govern only for their benefit."
"I know that thou hadst some months among the poor," Catharine said, low—she still felt guilty for having banished her lover, even though he had forgiven her instantly. He had smuggled himself back in from exile, and lived in hiding among the commoners of the capital town. Then he had proved himself in war, for her sake.
Tuan nodded. "'Tis for this that I have ever had as much sympathy for the poor as thy tender woman's heart hath given thee. But our son will not, if he goeth not among them whilst he can."
"It is true," Catharine admitted, "and I have been glad of the caution and respect for the common folk that thou hast brought to accompany mine ardent wish to better their lot." She looked up at Tuan. "Dost thou truly believe he must undertake this quest, to become a good monarch?"
"And a good lover," Tuan amended. "Aye, it is most necessary indeed."
"Why then, let it be!" Catharine threw up her hands in surrender. "But if he must go, husband, thou must needs assure he will not go unguarded—or, at the least, no more so than is necessary."
"I shall have a squadron of knights ever at hand, in case of need," Tuan promised.
"But how shalt thou know if there is such need!"
"That," said Tuan, "I shall leave to Brom O'Berin."
Brom O'Berin was the Lord Privy Councillor, but in secret, he was also the King of the Elves. To his human friends, he was a dwarf—but to his elfin subjects, he was a giant. He managed to straddle both worlds without being torn apart—but his love for a diminutive mortal woman had nearly rent his soul, when she died. What had kept him going was the child she had left behind, whom he had seen raised in secret, not knowing he was her father, for he feared she would be ashamed of him. He swelled with pride when he saw her with her husband and her children, for she was Gwendylon, now Gallowglass, and her halfelven blood made her the most powerful witch of her generation.
A few years later, his caring for his natural daughter was supplemented by his love for his foster daughter—for he was the King's jester, and took the little princess under his wing. She had grown up to become Catharine the Queen.
So Brom had a double interest in the current quest—his grandson, and the son of the woman that he loved almost as much as his daughter.
He made sure they would be very safe.
"Still, my lord," said Puck, "the Prince should concern thee as much as the warlock."
"Should he truly, Robin?" Brom turned a dark gaze upon his right-hand elf. "Geoffrey is my grandson, after all—and more to the point, Cordelia is my granddaughter."
Puck's brow puckered in puzzlement. "Aye, my lord, she is—yet wherefore is that more to the point? She is not at risk on this quest."
"Nay, but her happiness is. I find myself wary in regard to Alain—moreover, in his fitness as a suitor."
"He has ever been summat of a spoiled brat," Puck admitted.
Brom nodded. "He spoke with far greater anger to the lady than a gentleman ought."
"Well, true—but she had refused his suit, and quite abruptly, with no graciousness to cushion the blow. Still, I will own that even a squire should have shown more selfrestraint, let alone a prince."
"Is it so easy, then, to believe that Alain is unworthy of her?" Brom demanded.
Well, now, Puck wasn't related—and more importantly, he had been baby-sitter for the Gallowglass brood when they were children. He knew their inner selves quite well. "I love the lass dearly, as do any who know her—yet I must own that she, too, has her faults."
"Oh, aye, a temper ever too ready! Yet should she not thereby wed a man with great inborn patience?" Brom shook his head. "I had thought Alain to be such."
"Why, so he is, like his father before him," Puck answered, "under most circumstances. Yet we speak now, my lord, of a wound to the heart—and, though 'tis not easily seen through the maze of Alain's vanity, he is in love with her."
That brought Brom to a halt. "Aye, he is, and hath been since that he was a child. It is well thou dost bring it to mind, Puck, for I am like to forget it, he hath learned to hide it so well."
"What else might he do?" Puck sighed. "The lady hath ever been bright and cheery with him, but hath never shown a single sign of being a-love with him. Thinking him to be her property, aye, but in love?"
"Mayhap I should not be unhappy to see them parted," Brom mused. "Indeed, even a prince of mortals may not be worthy of a lass who is herself a princess of Faerie, though she knoweth it not."
And of course, as they both knew, the folk of Faerie were worth far more than mere mortals.
"Worthy or not, were he to die, her heart would break," Puck pointed out.
"Aye—but would it not also break if she kept a pet dog that were slain? For she hath a most generous heart." Brom's visage was dark.
Puck knew the kind of storms that darkness could presage, and quailed within—but he spoke up bravely. "There is no question, then, my lord—they must be warded, protected."
"Even so," Brom said heavily. "'Tis my duty to the Queen..."
"If a King of Faerie could be said to have duty to any other monarch," Puck muttered.
"I have sworn allegiance to her, Puck, and I love her, though not so intensely as mine own daughter. Nay, we must protect her son—and my grandson. Go thou to watch over them, and summon a legion of elves if need be."
"I go." Puck bounced up—then paused. "Yet how if need not be?"
"Then I will rejoice to hear it. Send word of their journey daily, Robin—most particularly as regards the bearing and conduct of the Prince."
Puck eyed his sovereign with foreboding. "And if his comportment doth not meet thine expectation?"
"Then," said Brom grimly, "I shall find some way to bring his suit to disaster."
A devilish grin lit Puck's face.
"Aye, thou hast had a dozen manners of mischiefbringing spring into thy mind on the instant, hast thou not?" Brom said, with dry amusement.
"No, my lord," Puck said truthfully. He had only had six schemes for sabotaging Alain's courtship burst fullblown into his mind.
"Hold them in abeyance until I bid thee," Brom commanded, "and ponder on ways to aid his suit, should I decide he is fitting."