Prince Patrick had just leaned over to whisper something in Francie’s ear and she blushed as she laughed. The Duke of Silden pointedly chose to ignore this breech of etiquette. The Dukes of Rodez, Euper, Sadara, and Timons glanced over and returned to their conversations. Their daughters, all resplendent in their finest gowns, allowed their gazes to linger a bit longer before returning their attentions to the various young courtiers at the table. Dash had to turn away so as not to laugh at his brother’s unhappiness. The hall at Castle Darkmoor was now overtaxed in the opinion of the Prince’s Master of Ceremony, a dour man named Wiggins. He had been a clerk in the court of Krondor, but had occasionally helped with state functions for the old Master, Jerome. Because of that small advantage, he had been named to the office on Patrick’s resurrection of the court in Darkmoor. He resembled nothing as much as a very nervous bird as he fluttered about the room, from one noble to the next, attempting to insure everyone’s needs were met, despite shortages of food, ale, and wine.
