As it turned out, there was a goodly number of courtiers dressed in their finest and glittering with precious gems heading in the same direction.
“There’s a garden party being held down in the noble quarter today, in honor of King Zachary and Lady Estora’s betrothal,” Yates explained.
Just what she needed to hear.
They wove through the ever thickening crowd of nobles to reach the entrance, some of whom seemed to have drenched themselves in heavy perfumes. Karigan gasped on the stench, expelling what little air she could get into her lungs, which were crushed by the hellacious corset.
Finally they broke free and walked out onto the front steps of the main castle entrance, into the fresh air. Karigan blinked in the sunshine, praising the gods it wasn’t raining. She didn’t think the velvet or her ridiculous shoes would fare well in wet conditions. It was a fine, mellow autumn day, neither too hot nor too cold. Another blessing.
Lined up along the drive were numerous shining carriages with pairs of matching horses, all their harness leathers and brasses gleaming. Grooms and drivers stood ready to aid their noble passengers into their carriages.
“Uh oh,” Karigan said.
“What’s wrong?” Yates asked.
“I don’t know which belongs to Braymer. I don’t even know what Braymer looks like.”
Then a stylish black carriage pulled by matching black horses bypassed the others. It bore a small but obvious sun banner of Rhovanny. The passengers were two finely dressed gentlemen.
“Could that be him?” Yates asked, pointing out the carriage.
Karigan shrugged. “It could be some Rhovan noble come to join the festivities.”
“But everyone’s heading out, not in.”
“True.”
The two gentlemen disembarked from the carriage, one older, one younger, and both appearing to be at a loss as they gazed upon the gathering of folk at the entrance. Just as Karigan had no idea of what Braymer looked like, he had no way of knowing what she looked like.
“I think that must be him,” she told Yates, indicating the younger of the two. She started forward, but Yates’ hand on her arm forestalled her.
“Allow me,” he said.
Before she could say otherwise, he hopped down the steps to the drive and hailed the two gentlemen. Even from this distance, she could see Yates looking the younger of the two up and down, assessing him as a protective older brother might. Karigan had to suppress a laugh.
Presently Yates returned with the two men behind him. Braymer had turned out rather well, she thought. He was dark haired and complexioned, as many Rhovans were, with smooth handsome features and brown eyes. His frock coat of jet and cream-colored silk waistcoat held an understated elegance. He was plainly rich, but not ostentatious. Some merchants had a knack for flaunting their wealth in gaudy colors and jewels, but she was glad to see that the Coyle family was not of this ilk.
He grinned broadly as he approached and she decided she liked his smile. He moved easily up the steps and presented himself to her in traditional merchant fashion, with a hand over his heart and a deep bow.
“Greetings, Karigan G’ladheon. I am Braymer Coyle, at your service.” His command of the common tongue was flawless.
For one panicked moment, Karigan was caught between bowing and a more ladylike curtsy. A bow might send her off balance and headlong down the steps. Maybe Braymer or Yates would catch her. Thinking it better to avoid a spectacle, she compromised between the two, dipping and curtsying.
“And I’m at yours,” she said.
He then took her gloved hand in his and kissed it, and rather suddenly, she was quite caught up in a fancy of being a princess, and he her prince. Even the people around them bowed and curtsied.
Bowing? Curtsying? She glanced around, her heart fluttering, only to discover King Zachary and Lady Estora, flanked by somber Weapons in black, joining her on the top step.
Something withered inside her. The castle grounds grew uncommonly quiet, except for the stray scrape of a hoof down on the drive and the shuffle of feet. For a long-drawn-out moment, everything stilled until Karigan regained enough sense to curtsy for her monarch.
The man who had told her he loved her.
Braymer, still holding her hand, fell to his knee upon realizing he was in the presence of Sacoridia’s high king.
King Zachary filled her vision with his autumn colors as the sun struck the fillet that crowned his head of amber hair. They stared at one another as though stunned by the light of day.
It was Lady Estora who broke the silence. “Karigan!” She strode over—with ease, Karigan noted—and clapped her hands together. “Your dress! You! Absolutely beautiful!”
It took a moment for Karigan to unglue her gaze from the king and to give Estora more than a passing glance, and she nearly snorted, for Estora was her usual radiant self, the great beauty of Sacoridia, with her hair of spun gold. Karigan, by comparison, was a peasant girl in rags.
“Karigan?” the king said as if disbelieving his eyes. “I mean, Rider G’ladheon?”
Her cheeks and neck were burning, and she’d probably gone blotchy across the exposed portion of her chest.
The king cleared his throat. “I–I did not know you would be attending Lord Meere’s garden party this afternoon.”
Karigan tugged on Braymer’s hand so he would rise. “We’re not, sire.” She glanced significantly at Braymer.
The king drew his eyebrows together, bemused, and he stroked his beard.
Yates, sensing undercurrents ebbing and flowing, but not knowing exactly what or why, interceded. “Excuse me, Your Highness, but if any of the carriages are to move, we must get Master Coyle’s out of the way first.”