"What kind of an ass sends a lock of his own hair as a gift?" said Princess Elaine.

It was not a rhetorical question, though Bernard, Regent of Tripoli, seemed to think it was as he and Elaine strolled through the royal garden of the castle. Bernard pretended to be distracted by the lovely flowers that lined the path, sparkling with the dew of a bright spring morning. Dozens of species were present but only two hues — blue and white, the heraldic colors of the Kingdom of Tripoli. But Elaine wasn't to be put off. "Bernard?"

"You shouldn't speak that way of your betrothed," he said finally.

"But doesn't it seem vain?"

"I'm sure he meant well," Bernard said.

Elaine looked at him for a long moment and Bernard couldn't prevent the corners of his mouth from twitching upward in a reluctant smile. "It's a little vain, perhaps," he conceded. "But well intended." He smoothed his thin mustache with his thumb and forefinger, wiping the smile from his face. "The garden is looking quite beautiful, don't you think?"

Elaine nodded absently. The garden was indeed beautiful, and bustling with activity. Pageboys and maids were hanging lanterns and pennants from fruit trees, while gardeners clipped and trimmed juniper bushes into dragons, unicorns, and other fantastic shapes that defied description. Servants pushed barrows piled high with freshly picked vegetables headed for the kitchen and filling the air with the mingled scents of radishes, leeks, and garlic. Whenever anyone caught sight of Elaine they gave her a wide smile, usually accompanied by an annoying twinkle in their eyes, as if they knew how happy she must be. She smiled back, trying to seem genuine. Meanwhile, she pressed on: "As I remember, Conrad always was a little vain."

"That's not fair," said Bernard. "You haven't seen him for six years. He was just a boy! Suppose he judged you as a prospective bride based on his memories of you as a ten-year-old!"

"I suppose I should give him the benefit of the doubt, at least until I see him again."

"Oh, Bernard!" A high-pitched voice sounded from behind them. Bernard turned, thankful for the interruption. It was his wife, Margaret, always high-strung and now particularly anxious, her thin fingers waving nervously like leaves in the light breeze. "I'm worried about the sweetmeats. I mean, will there be enough?"

"Surely the cook has seen to that," Bernard said patiently.

"Well, I don't know," said Margaret vaguely. "I just ... I just ..."

"Would you like me to look into it?"

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"Of course."

Margaret nodded her appreciation, then turned to Elaine. "I'm so happy for you! This will be the most magnificent wedding since ... since ..."

"Thank you, Margaret," Elaine said. "And thank you for all the trouble you've gone to."

"Trouble? What trouble? You're the Princess, after all!"

Elaine watched as Margaret fluttered away. She didn't exactly dislike Margaret, but it was impossible to relax when she was around. And though Margaret had tried to be a mother figure to Elaine, she'd never been able to hide the fact that she found the task rather burdensome. Margaret's happiness over the wedding was no doubt sincere, for it meant that Elaine would soon be out of her hair.

Elaine looked down at the locket she held in her hand. It was made of silver and its design was simple and elegant, with a small clasp that opened easily. If it had contained something besides tangled strands of Prince Conrad's light brown hair, she would have admired it. She had an impulse to turn the locket over and let the hair fall to the ground, but that was impossible, certainly with Bernard watching; she was obliged to keep the gift intact and even appear grateful for it. She closed the locket and dropped it into the wide pocket of her dress.

"The locket is very beautiful," Bernard said. "At least your young man has taste."

"Assuming he picked it out himself."

From a nearby aisle came a peal of girlish laughter. Elaine glanced over to see several of her maids-in-waiting gathered around a large bush, which they were busily trimming. Their leader, Matilda, daughter of Lord Basil, one of the castle's nobles, saw Elaine watching and said something to the other girls, who stepped aside, giggling, revealing that the bush was now in the shape of a very large rooster. The rooster was a common fertility symbol and it was rather shocking that a group of young maidens would create it — at least they hoped it would be shocking. Elaine widened her eyes and threw up her hands in an exaggerated expression of horror that made the girls laugh, and they sent her on her way with cries of "Good luck!" and "May your marriage be a fruitful one!" and, of course, with big smiles and twinkling eyes. It occurred to Elaine that everyone in the castle was excited about the wedding except the bride. But she couldn't seem to help herself.

Then again, not quite everyone was excited. The castle's Constable, a tall, gaunt, stern-faced man named William Delancey, approached and spoke stiffly to Bernard. "My lord Regent, I'm told the Prince is about two hours away."

"All right. Everything seems ready," said Bernard.

"Evidently he's bringing quite a large retinue."

"Well, make sure we can accommodate them all."

"As you wish." Delancey gave Elaine a respectful but brief nod, then walked away. That he didn't smile was almost a relief, though it reminded Elaine that he disapproved of the coming marriage, claiming that he didn't trust Antioch to be a loyal ally. Of course, a constable was in charge of the castle defenses, and perhaps suspicion went along with the job. But these thoughts were quickly replaced by dismay at the thought of Conrad arriving in the next two hours.

As if reading her mind, Bernard said: "From all I hear, Conrad is a fine young man. Now, he may not quite be the man his brother was, not yet anyway. But of course Charles was extraordinary. When he died the burden fell on Conrad and he was too young to bear it. But I'm told the years in France have done him much good and there's every hope that he'll become another Charles. Something like him, anyway."

He doesn't even believe it himself, thought Elaine. Out loud she said, "It is possible for a woman to rule alone, you know." She'd had this conversation with Bernard before. It led nowhere but she felt she had nothing to lose.

"You've been reading your father's books again," Bernard said.

"Penthesilea, for example, Queen of the Amazons. And Boudica, who fought the Romans."

"Don't forget Cleopatra," Bernard said.

"And Eleanor of Aquitaine! She went on a Crusade, wore men's armor, ruled in her own name, married two kings, and gave birth to two more. Now that was a woman who lived!"

"I met her once," Bernard said suddenly.

Elaine couldn't have been more surprised if he'd sprouted antlers. "You met Eleanor of Aquitaine?"

"Indeed I did."

"Well, what was she like? Tell me!"

"It was many years ago, on a visit to France. I was quite young, I don't...