«He doesn’t like the green shoes», Alyce said, half-turning toward the newcomers as she set a narrow silver fillet atop the fine veil her maid had just pinned in place. «He wants to wear those manky old tan ones that even the dogs ignore».

«Does he, indeed?» Kenneth asked, crouching between his son and his eldest daughter and taking up one of the green shoes. «Alaric, is that true? Why, these are very fine shoes. I like them far better than mine».

The boy’s rebellion shifted to curiosity, and he leaned forward to peer down at the pointed toe of one turquoise shoe protruding from beneath the hem of his sire’s robe.

«I really do prefer yours», Kenneth said, noting the boy’s interest. «Not that your shoes would fit me — and even if they did, the color would hardly suit this robe. Frankly, I’d far rather be wearing my comfortable old black ones.

«But sometimes, we have to do what someone else wants. Your mother likes these better, and tells me they are much more suitable for an important court like Twelfth Night. The queen will like them, too — and your mother and Zoë and the other ladies of the court», he added. «Women set great store by such things, you know».

The stream of adult patter utterly charmed away the boy’s remaining resistance, so that he made no objection as Kenneth got to his feet and picked him up, holding him close to breathe of the fresh scent of his silver-gilt hair and kiss his cheek. As he braced the boy on his hip, he silently nodded for Zoë to resume shoeing the child.

«My lord, you are entirely too indulgent», Alyce murmured, though she smiled as she said it, and blew him a kiss.

«Well, he is my only son», Kenneth replied. «And I’m afraid I indulged my daughters, too», he added, with a fond glance at Zoë and Alazais, both of whom obviously adored both their father and their younger half-brother. «It doesn’t seem to have hurt them».

Zoë gave him a smile as she finished fastening the shoes on Alaric’s feet, then let her father set him back on the floor so she could pull his new tunic over his head; no one would know that the shirt underneath was less than clean. Then, while she hurriedly ran a comb through his silky hair, Alyce fastened a little fur-lined green cloak around his shoulders, pinning it at the throat with a silver gryphon brooch.

«There, that’s perfect. Now you look like a proper little future duke», Alyce said, standing back to inspect him. «Shall we all go down to court?»

The great hall was filling fast, though the dais at the far end was yet unoccupied, save by pages and squires and other functionaries completing their preparations for court to come. A faint haze of wood smoke hung on the air from the three great fireplaces, leavened by the clean tang of pine resin from the torches along the walls and under-laid by the aroma of damp wool and damp courtiers; for many of those summoned to Twelfth Night Court were obliged to travel from lodgings outside the castle precincts. Sleet and rain were still pummeling the darkened glass of the clerestory windows that overlooked the castle gardens to the left of the hall.

But all within was festive and gay. High above, banners of most of the great families of Gwynedd hung from the hammer-beams and rafters, bright splashes of color against the oak and stone. Behind and above the twin thrones set at the center of the dais, a great tapestry of the royal arms of Gwynedd declared whose hall this was, the Haldane lion gazing over all with regal disdain. The buzz of conversation from the gathering court set the place alive with anticipation.

«Ah, Kenneth, I’ve finally found you», said a handsome man of about Kenneth’s age, who had materialized at his right elbow.

Kenneth turned to regard Sir Jiri Redfearn, like himself, one of the king’s most trusted aides. Jiri looked relaxed and unruffled, and gave Alyce and the other two ladies a graceful inclination of his ginger head.

«Jiri. Well met», Kenneth said amiably, acknowledging the other man with a nod.

«The king desires a word before court», Jiri said. «He’s in the withdrawing room. Perhaps the ladies would care to warm themselves by one of the fires — except for Lady Alyce and the boy. They’re summoned as well».

«Of course», Kenneth replied. «Do you know what this is about?»

«I do, but it isn’t for me to say», Jiri answered, though he smiled slightly as he stood aside, indicating that they should precede him. With a glance at his wife, Kenneth took young Alaric’s free hand and headed them around the dais to the left, leaving Zoë and her sister to wonder.

Though intended as an informal audience chamber for matters requiring discretion, and a staging area before ceremonies of state, the withdrawing room also functioned as the king’s preferred workroom during the winter months — and clearly was serving all three functions today. Two liveried senior squires were putting the final touches to the king’s court attire, fussing over the hang of a sweeping sleeve, and documents in varying stages of preparation mostly covered the surface of a table drawn up before the fireplace. A scribe and the king’s eldest son were finishing the seals on the documents that required them, the young prince in page’s livery.

«Ah, there you are», the king said, turning as Jiri admitted the three and then withdrew.

Donal Haldane had aged but little in the four years since placing the hand of Alyce de Corwyn in that of Sir Kenneth Morgan, bestowing upon him the richest heiress in the kingdom. His carriage was still erect, the clear grey eyes still steady and direct, with just a hint of good humor crinkling their corners, but the once-sable hair now glimmered mostly silver against the collar of his robe of Haldane crimson, and his close-trimmed beard was nearly all gone to grey — though even Kenneth was going grey, and he was twenty years younger.

«You summoned us, Sire?» Kenneth said, neck bending in an easy bow as Alyce dipped in curtsy. At her prompting, little Alaric also produced a fair bow of his own.

Not quite suppressing a smile, Donal nodded and dismissed the squires and scribe with an impatient wave of his hand, though he signed for Prince Brion to carry on with his work. But for the vagaries of fate and happenstance, Alaric Morgan also might have been his son — though perhaps it was as well that Donal Haldane had had no part in the getting of the boy. Fortunately, only he and the boy’s parents knew how very nearly it had been otherwise; and the pair’s generous spirits and utter loyalty to their king had ensured that the outcome was satisfactory for all concerned. The king now intended to reward that loyalty.

«One of the privileges of wearing a crown is that I am not obliged to explain my actions to my subjects», Donal said, by way of preamble. «But given the extraordinary position in which we all find ourselves, as mentors to a very underage future Duke of Corwyn, I thought it wise to give you advance notice of a decision I intend to announce at court this afternoon. The deed itself is already done; it only wants being made public. Brion, would you please bring me that warrant concerning Lendour?» he added, with a glance at his son and heir.

Quickly, the boy glanced over the rows of documents on the table and extracted one, which he brought immediately to his sire. Donal gave it a perfunctory glance, then extended it toward Kenneth.

«I am today creating you Earl of Lendour for life, de jure uxoris», he said, just as Kenneth’s hand touched it. «Not only is this fitting reward for your many years of faithful service», he added at the looks of surprise from both Kenneth and Alyce, «but you need sufficient rank to function as regent for a future duke. Besides that, I intend to use you for some important diplomatic work in the next few years, and you’ll be more effective as my envoy if you’ve a rank closer to those with whom you’ll be dealing».