Knights sprouted instead of flowers, stalwart young men in various stages of donning armor called greetings and taunts to one another while their squires flew about polishing weapons. The sun beating through the canvas promised that it would be a warm day’s work. Remy paused to wipe a drop of sweat from his brow. Hunched over his king, he fastened the straps of Navarre’s arm harness. No easy task, as the king was not inclined to stand still and Remy felt more than a bit edgy himself. Crowds continued to pour through the palace gates, mounted horsemen mingling with the throngs of the more common folk arriving on foot. Coaches drew up to disgorge silk-clad nobles and their ladies. At the glimpse of each gown spread over a farthingale, each veiled headdress, Navarre strained forward only to slump back with disappointment. Remy feared he was just as bad. It did not help his tension in the least to realize that he and the king were both eagerly awaiting the arrival of the same woman. Remy wrenched the straps holding the plate of armor into place with a fierce jerk, eliciting a gasp from Navarre.
