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Fen did not want to entertain the idea that Oswald might be involved in drawing up plans to rid the King of his current wife. After all, he had told himself to ingratiate herself with Armenal, had he not? Would he have done that if divorce was imminent? And surely, it was not so easy for a King to divest himself of a Queen, as it was to grant a divorce from a non-royal such as herself?

“Begging your pardon, milady,” said Trudy who was now swiftly braiding her locks and arranging them. “I did not mean to say aught to offend you.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” Fen assured her. She remembered Hester’s advice. “Indeed, I am very grateful when you bring me what word is circulating the court. I should be aware of it,” she added with a smile. Trudy looked gratified. “Tell me,” said Fen. “Have your family any plans for the Solstice feast? “

Trudy launched into an account of her various offspring’s plans to return to the homestead for Solstice Eve as all three were now apprenticed out.

“Indeed you must have Solstice Eve as well as the day itself for a holiday,” Fen told her firmly.

“Oh no, milady! Whatever would uncle say?”

“I am quite determined,” said Fen. “You must have your family celebration together.”

“Oh milady!” Trudy touched her apron to the corner of her eyes.

“Yes,” said Fen. “And I have left a small token of my thanks in a purse in the top drawer for you. The yellow one.” Trudy’s eyes widened. Before she could protest, Fen added. “Tis for gifts for your children, and I won’t hear any more about it.”

Her maid was profuse in her thanks, and Fen thought she would have to write to Orla and send her the scarf she had bought her before long as there was now only a week remaining until the mid-winter festival. She ate a hurried breakfast with only Bors and Cuthbert in attendance. Before hurrying off to meet up with Eden who had promised to sit with her that morning. Poor Bors could barely keep up with her. To her surprise, it was not Eden who stood waiting for her at the foot of the steps, but instead one of the Queen’s ladies in waiting, whose name quite eluded Fen.

“Good morning,” she said warily at her approach. Bors gave a low woof.

“Good morn, Lady Vawdrey,” the blonde curtseyed neatly. She had a very fancy head-veil on that was frilled and pleated. Fen thought it looked rather fussy and overdone. Bors, she ignored completely.

“Is Lady Eden unable to join me this morning?” Fen asked. She hoped this wasn’t a replacement, as she suspected she would not be easy company.

“The Queen has sent Eden on some other errand,” the other explained with a delicate yawn.

“Oh, I see,” said Fen, glad her friend wasn’t ill at least. “Thank you for bringing the message.”

The other lady gave a high laugh. “I do not run about the palace delivering messages for the likes of Eden Montmayne, I assure you,” she said shrilly.

Fen eyed her. “You have some other errand?” she asked pointedly.

The lady inclined her head. “Her majesty awaits you in the Lower Gallery,” she said grandly.

“What?” Fen nearly tripped on her own hem. “Queen Armenal?”

“Well, it’s not the King,” said the other with a giggle. “You’re hardly the sort to tickle his fancy.”

Fen ignored this impertinence, and hurried along to the Lower Gallery where she knew Signor Arnotti would be set up with his paints and easel. Bors followed on her heels, and after turning the last corner, Fen saw the Queen’s tall figure dressed in a flowing gown of burnt orange. She appeared to be in animated conversation with the surly artist and Fen’s heart sank. To her surprise, as she neared them, she noticed the Queen was on the other side of the easel, looking at the work in progress.

“Good morning, Fenella,” the Queen hailed her, looking from the canvas to her and then back again. “Remarkable,” she murmured. “Quite remarkable. Your vision is such that it quite lifts the subject matter from the mundane to the divine. And yet, it is a true reflection,” she added thoughtfully.

“Good morning, your highness,” she murmured. “Good morning signor,” she said looking at the artist, who wasn’t bristling for once with hostility. Instead he was looking at the Queen with interest.

“I should like to paint you,” he said abruptly.

The Queen laughed delightedly. “But I am not so sure I would care for the experience,” she said. “You are a good deal too honest to be a royal artist.”

Fen shot a look at the artist, but instead of looking chagrined, he was thoughtfully pulling on his moustaches.

“There is truth in what you say,” he conceded, and dismissing her royal presence from his thoughts, he snatched up his brush and glared at Fen. “You – sit!”

Fen cast a look of despair at him before settling herself on the familiar window seat. “Don’t forget Bors,” she said sternly, as her dog settled at her feet with a huff.

The Queen was making her way around the other side of the canvas now to join her. “Wherever did you find such a creature?” she asked, looking intrigued. To Fen’s dismay, she was arranging her skirts to sit down at the window next to hers.

“Eden,” she said simply by way of explanation and the Queen nodded.