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will be considered a crime against House Courcel.”
    “So don’t assassinate the little bugger,” Barquiel L’Envers murmured.

Someone gasped
    Someone loosed a hysterical laugh.
    I do not know, to this day, if L’Envers intended the remark to be audible. He spoke under his breath, but the acoustics in the throne-room are outstanding, designed by Siovalese engineers. Surely Barquiel L’Envers knew it. He may have done it for spite, or for a whim; he may have had a deeper purpose in mind. I cannot say.
    Ysandre turned pale with anger. She would have turned on him then and there if Imriel hadn’t spoken. It wasn’t how we had planned it, but he had his mother’s fine sense of opportunity and timing.
    “Your majesty!” His high, clear voice rang in the throne room. “An offer of twofold honor has been made. I beg your permission to accept it.”
    It is the ritual statement that offers negotiations for formal adoptive fosterage among D’Angeline peers-honor upon the House that offers, honor upon the House that accepts.
    Ysandre stared at Imriel, as did everyone else . “ What ?”
    He flushed, and held his ground, jaw set. “An offer of twofold honor-”
    “Your majesty,” I called, stepping forward and ignoring the guards, who looked uncertainly at one another and eyed Joscelin warily. Even unarmed, they feared his reputation. I made a deep curtsy to Ysandre. “Your majesty, on behalf of House Montrève, I make the offer of twofold honor in the name of Imriel de la Courcel.”
    “House Montrève?” Ysandre asked in disbelief. “Surely you jest.”
    I shook my head. “No, your majesty. I am in deadly earnest.”
    Barquiel L’Envers laughed out loud; after that, it was quiet.
    In the silence, Ysandre breathed slowly and deeply, struggling to control her temper. When she spoke, her voice was even. “House Montrève, if I am not mistaken, consists of one highly priced Servant of Naamah, a defrocked Cassiline Brother and a handful of eccentric retainers. Even if you were not -” her tone rose sharply “-in danger of being accused of treason for having abducted a member of my household, a Prince of the Blood, against my explicit wishes and exposing him to untold danger, what possible merit would there be for House Courcel, inheritors of the D’Angeline throne, kindred by marriage to the Cruarch of Alba and the Khalif of Khebbel-im-Akkad, in accepting your offer?” She drew near, frowning with genuine perplexity. “Have you gone mad in your travels? What possible honor can there be in such an exchange? Phèdre, what on earth makes you think I would ever agree to this?”
    I gazed at her without speaking, reached into my purse and drew forth the Companions’ Star, holding it out on the palm of my hand.
    Ysandre went very still. “You wouldn’t.”
    “You owe me a boon, Ysandre,” I said softly. “Anything within your power and right to grant. This is both.”
    “No.” Ysandre’s chin set with the exact stubbornness of Imriel’s. “No,” she repeated. “It is a matter of state and crown. Prince Imriel stands third in line for the throne, and I do not have the right, as ruler of Terre d’Ange, to place his life in jeopardy. By your own admission, he has enemies who seek his life. How can you possibly claim he would be protected in your household as he would in mine?”
    “Will he have a Cassiline Brother vowed to protect him in your household, one you trust unto the death?” I asked. “He will in mine; and defrocked or no, you once awarded him the laurels of the Queen’s Champion. I can swear to the loyalty of every man, woman and child under my roof, my lady. Can you do the same?” I let my gaze linger on Barquiel L’Envers, who saluted me with a wry nod.
    “Nonetheless,” Ysandre said, deliberately ignoring the implication. “It is a small household, and might be easily overwhelmed.”
    “Not that easily.” I smiled. “What Montrève lacks in holdings, my lady, it makes up for in friends and allies. How many of the Great Houses of Terre d’Ange can claim a childhood bond with the Master of the Straits?”
    It was a telling blow, and I did not deal it lightly, not in front of that audience. I stood unmoving before the Queen, holding the Companions’ Star on the palm of my outstretched hand, willing it not to tremble.
    Ysandre searched my eyes. “Phèdre, why ?”
    I thought about Imriel in Daršanga, and the night he had wept for the first time. I remembered him