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life. He had also spent several years in the country, at Tremontaine House, a rambling brick manor which he considered far more truly his home. The castle was pleasant enough to look at, but it was often cold, somewhat drafty, and the near-perpetual presence of the court made it difficult for Ramsey to feel quite comfortable there.
    Especially now, when the two most visible members of his family were so much at odds with each other.
    As Parsifal trotted leisurely through the always open gates, Ramsey was greeted by waves, salutes, and more than a few mocking cheers by both guardsmen and acquaintances, indicating he was probably in even more trouble than he had anticipated. Dismounting reluctantly, he handed off the reins to a hastily arrived groom, just as a short, stocky blond man in training leathers fell in beside him.
    “All I can say is, I hope she was worth it.”
    Ramsey stopped walking across the bailey to stare, bemusedly, at his smirking friend. “Kyril, what the devil are you talking about?”
    “Whoever it was kept you out all day.” The younger man’s grin threatened to split his ears. “Had to have been a woman. And here’s your father having one of his gouty days.” He cocked his head to one side as if considering. “Though if she’s promised to marry you he may forgive you for everything.”
    “My friend, one of these days your imagination is going to get you into trouble of a sharp and metallic nature,” Ramsey muttered, feeling a bit shaken by his friend’s lucky guess and not at all willing to admit that it had hit the mark.
    “And you, Your Liegeness, are going to have such a headache when your father and advisors are finished with you that you’re unlikely to remember promising to do me bodily harm.”
    Ramsey took a swing at the insouciant young nobleman, and missed. Mostly on purpose. Kyril had hung about him for years when they were children, a clumsy, undersized boy who wanted badly to be included. The prince had taken pity on him and quickly grew to appreciate the younger child’s cheerful nature and unquestioning loyalty. Since they had both come of age, Kyril had grown into a fun-loving friend, a highly competent swordsman, and an even more competent flirt. And possibly the only person at court that Ramsey trusted with his secrets, as well as his life.
    But not this time. For some reason, Ramsey could not bring himself to talk, even to Kyril, about what had happened to him that day.
    “Someday,” he growled, “I’m going to have you locked up for insubordination. And disrespect. And anything else I can think of. Which is a lot.”
    Kyril just laughed, which he did often and easily. As the two of them reached the far side of the bailey and entered the castle, Kyril peeled off with a wave of his hand. “Think I’ll leave you to this, Your Exaltedness.” He grinned as he backed away. “Come see me later if you need a cold compress.”
    Ramsey almost made a rude gesture in his direction, but stopped when he spotted the cohort of his father’s councilors headed in his direction down the hall. Sighing deeply, he braced himself and went back to work.

    Not very much later, Ramsey was regretting not getting permanently lost in the Kingswood and refusing to come home. He sat in his father’s private solar, listening to King Hollin and his first minister continue to argue over the guild situation. His father, though Ramsey loved him a great deal, was a traditionalist. And a deeply irritable one when his gout was acting up.
    The king knew why the guilds were making their demands, but he disapproved wholeheartedly of their reasoning, not to mention their underhanded and disrespectful methods. Hollin was not a despot, but he believed in the benevolent authority of the monarchy. He would never sit back tamely while his authority and judgment were questioned.
    While Ramsey agreed with many of his father’s policies, especially in the matter of slavery, in this case he found himself more