"IT IS TIME."

The words drew me from my slumber, urging my senses from lethargy like cool water against bare flesh. When I felt the soft feather mattress beneath my frame, I remembered I was no longer sleeping beside Fleurine upon my straw pallet in the manor but slumbering in my temporary bed-chamber. In the King's castle.

A rush of adrenaline soared through me.

My eyes fluttered open to behold the narrow features of Martine, her thin hands clutching her waist and her face bearing an expression of disappointment. I had promised I would be prepared when the time came for me to greet the King. Instead, I had fallen asleep, likely wrinkling my gown and tangling my hair.

Confirming my suspicion, one of my senior attendants—a stately woman with silver hair—dropped the damask robe she was carrying and sputtered in shock. "My lady! You must not be seen by the King... His Majesty like this!"

In a matter of seconds, prodding fingers were tugging at the wide sleeves of my gown and my spools of hair, attempting to make me presentable once more. Ointments and perfumes of various kinds were applied behind my ears and on my cheeks, burning my skin. Though I hated being groomed, I was secretly grateful for the chance to steal a few more moments before meeting the King and the rest of the royal household as fear thrummed through me.

When Martine gestured for me to depart, my heart began slamming against my chest. I clung to the fabric of my gown and watched the pointed toes of my feet as they marched through the adorned corridors of the castle, my cheeks heating from the warmth of the candles lining the walls. I hardly knew where we were going or where we had come from, each section of the castle as lavishly decorated as the rest.

With my ladies encompassing me, we finally reached the great hall. I pulled back my shoulders and swallowed the knot forming in my throat.

Before me stretched the largest room I had ever seen. Armour and weapons were strung from the walls, glistening against the light emanating from the open hearth and candle flames. Banners emblazoned with the royal emblem were suspended from the soaring ceiling, offset by large azure cloths. Patterns I had never seen before were present in the gold-trimmed carpets and tapestries, suggesting they had come from faraway places—lands I had only ever heard of in stories and dreams.

Lower tables accommodating the knights and other minor nobles peppered the room, who had then stood to greet me. They bowed like reeds as I passed.

Perhaps most impressive of all was the sprawling oak table covered with damask cloths that ended with a hulking armchair, shrouded in a canopy of silk and elevated by a dais. I could not see who occupied the coveted seat beyond the vague outline of an ashen beard and furrowed brow, but assumed him to be a man of great importance.

As I stepped closer to the dais, my gaze swept across the line of unfamiliar staring faces, before settling upon a young man with  eyes the colour of the sea and dark hair. He was draped with a dark cloak adorned with gleaming silver buttons announcing his wealth and importance.

Was this the man I was supposed to marry?

His lingering gaze seemed to answer my question. His luminous eyes caressed my features, remaining trained to me as I swept to the ground in a curtsy.

I had not considered he would be as curious about me as I had been about him. I was, after all, his bride and the woman with whom he would continue his father's dynasty, the future mother of his children. Unlike Gerard and the other men at the manor who selected their brides before seeking the Count's approval, Charles Augustus had been powerless in his betrothal. He was the son of a King and yet prevented from directing the course of his life.

At that moment, I wondered what he thought of me. Was I what he had expected? Did he consider me pretty? From the mist clouding his gaze, I could not tell.

"Lady Adeliza. You are more beautiful than your father described." The booming voice came from behind the canopy, penetrating the lilting music of the group of troubadours gathered in the hall.

A woman lingered at the mouth of the canopy, her raven hair hanging loose around her rounded shoulders in a foreign fashion. When I noticed Blanche's jaw clench, I realized she was Cecile of Burgundy, the mistress and subsequent wife of King Philip the Brave.

Indeed, Cecile of Burgundy was uncommonly beautiful. She appeared younger than I had expected her to be, though still years older than I, with gold-green eyes and alabaster skin. She was attired in a long gown covered with rubies and sapphires, sparkling as she swayed to catch the light emanating from the fire in the hearth. Her raven hair fell to her waist in undulating waves.

She displayed her slender neck as she spoke something into the canopy, her eyes grazing mine with unsettling reproach.

From within the canopied dais emerged a short man with a ruddy face, his ashen hair falling above his shoulders in waves. Philip the Brave was not as I expected him. Beneath the grandeur of an extravagant crown and a heavily embroidered jacket was a man not necessarily unpleasant in appearance, but far from regal. Other than the long aquiline nose that the monarchs of France had long possessed, he could have been a serf or a peasant.

He paced towards me, burying my hand within his large one as his hooded blue eyes appraised me. "How fared your journey?"

"It was rather exhausting, your majesty." Amid my anxiety, I had not considered the impropriety of answering the King of France in such a curt manner. When my eyes flew to one noblewoman, her mouth slack with terror, I realized my grave mistake.

A curtain of tension descended upon the hall. To the side of the dais, Blanche sent me a look of concern.

I gulped and directed my gaze towards the King, whose reddish face was split by an oafish smile. When his large stomach heaved with laughter, my fear dissolved.

"I hope you are rested enough to enjoy food and wine." King Philip grinned before raising his voice to address the noblemen and women gathered around us. "Now, let us feast to celebrate the dauphine's long-awaited arrival."

♕♕♕

As the moon mounted the horizon, casting an ethereal light through the soaring windows of the great hall, the feast began.

As I discovered, the tangy oranges of Toulouse were no match for the lavish cuisine of the royal household. Servants gorged the oak tables with so many plates of meat that I feared the wooden planks would collapse beneath them. Leeks, onions, bread, tarts, pork, venison, pastries, fish, poultry, and puddings of various kinds seemed to flow from the kitchen on glittering plates into the bellies of the nobles without disruption. After every meal—which seemed almost never-ending—servants carried hulking figurines constructed of sugar to display at the ends of the tables, their movements orchestrated by the lilting music of the flutes and fiddles that pulsed through the room.

Though I sipped my mug of watered-down ale unceasingly, I could not consume more than a loaf of barley bread and a bowl of stew. The bread was the softest I had ever tasted. At the manor, we had received portions of charred bread that would have been given to the Count's hunting hounds if not spared.

I was not used to such rich cuisine. Though I could feel the disapproving scowl of Martine burning the back of my head, my waning appetite prevented me from overindulging.

The conversations that whirled around me were foreign and often obscured. As I sat with Blanche and the rest of the women, ladies exchanged gossip about their husbands and entertained rumours of various affairs at court. Even a bishop was supposedly breaking his vows of celibacy with one noblewoman. He had even sired a child with a poor woman who was subsequently sequestered to a convent in Lyon. Once Blanche identified the bishop as a balding man sitting next to my future husband, my heart sank to my feet.

"His name is Pierre d'Évreux. He is the Bishop of Laon, and one man who counsels my father." Blanche sighed, drawing her hands to her lap. "I tell Charles that the Bishop only desires his friendship because of his political ambitions, but my brother does not listen. He is grateful for the company since Father was so often absent during his childhood."

I watched as Pierre d'Évreux greedily devoured a piece of mutton, his beady eyes darting around the table as if a dog trying to ascertain where to secure his next meal. When his leer rested on me—gleaming eyes presenting a challenge—I recognized I would have to counter his influence on my husband. I did not know whether Charles Augustus also kept mistresses, but the idea of him breaking the sacred bonds of marriage made my stomach swirl with disgust.

My eyes floated back to Charles, who was then engrossed in conversation with one of his uncles. Though I could not hear what they were speaking of, his eyes were alight with amusement and his hands moving rapidly with his words. I realized we had not yet spoken. It was strange to think the next day we would be married when we knew hardly anything of one another.

Although my eyelids were heavy and I could hardly keep myself from yawning, the King insisted on dancing after the last of the pine nut candies and puddings had been consumed. Apparently, it was a grand tradition for the royal household and the nobles to impress one another with their intricate dances and footwork.

As we descended from the dais, my heart began fluttering within my chest like a caged bird. Out of all the things Martine and Countess Emeline had taught me, dancing had not been one of them.

I forced a tremulous smile as Charles came close to greet me, noticing the mole in his cheek and the aquiline nose that was much like his father's. He smelled as though he had just returned from hunting, the odours of smoke and earth permeating his garments.

My senses darkened to the susurration of music and cackling of women as he gently clasping my hand, his blue eyes sparking in the moonlight.

"Thank you for sending the jewellery. It is lovely."

When he answered me with a look of confusion, I understood he had not sent the wedding gifts. Likely, one of the King's attendants had sent them on behalf of the dauphin.

My cheeks burned.

"They look well on you," Charles replied coolly, recovering and looping my slender arm through his muscular one as he led me to the centre of the hall.

"I must admit, I fear my dancing will be clumsy. I am exhausted," I admitted beneath my breath. I knew the confession was dangerous, but I wanted to make conversation with my groom. Not only because I needed to know where his loyalties lay, but also because I hoped we could at least become friends.

"I assure you, I have danced with many ungraceful ladies. There is nothing you can do to surprise me." Charles released my hands as he stepped back in time with the music, following a dance I knew from observing my masters in Toulouse.

A note of resentment weaved through his words, though I attempted to ignore it. "You are referring to the Infanta of Spain?"

Charles laughed bitterly. "I did not dance with her. I barely even met her. But as with all my social engagements, my father arranges who I dance with. My opinion does not matter."

Was he insulting me?

My gown brushed against his long legs as we stepped together, our hands grazing for a single moment before parting again. The cheers of the nobles encompassed us every time we touched.

I did not converse with him for the rest of the dance.

Once we had finished, the thunderous applause of the King plunged the crowd into silence. He paraded over to us with his attendants trailing behind him, lowering himself to kiss my knuckles. "Very good, ma fille. Very good!"

Despite my earlier unpleasant conversation, I felt my lips curve into a smile, followed by a deluge of laughter that cascaded from me like a rushing stream. I was not sure why I had become so exuberant, but suspected it had something to do with both the spiced wine and the dancing.

The King swept me towards the crush of damask gowns and embroidered jackets, his face gleaming with pride. "Lady Adeliza, the future Queen of France. Come tomorrow, I will eagerly welcome her into the royal household."

A wave of happiness rolled over me, and I met the applause with an unrestrained grin. But when I turned to regard my groom, I found he had vanished.