At my side, Peregrine said, “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” I tried to push against the crowd, but the figure was gone. Then heralds announced the queen, and everyone started shoving forward. Angry words thrown in my direction alerted me I was holding up the line. I quickly made my way to the table indicated by a harried steward who snatched away my invitation. My seat was not far from the dais itself, close enough to gauge the activity without appearing conspicuous.

Peregrine eyed the lone chair assigned to me. “Am I supposed to stand?”

“It’s what squires do. You’ll hand me my napkin and refill my cup.”

“Wonderful. And you can toss me bits of roast, like a dog.”

“You’ll eat as soon as I…” My voice faded as I caught sight of Simon Renard moving toward the dais, accompanying the queen. Mary had donned a heavy sienna-colored velvet gown with fur-trimmed sleeves, her hair parted under a hood. In her hands, she clutched a nosegay of silk violets. A sapphire crucifix swung from her narrow bodice as she strode past the bowing courtiers, accompanied by her female attendants. Jane Dormer guided her little dog, Blackie, who strained at his lead. Behind her was Sybilla Darrier, clad in striking crimson velvet, her peaked collar studded with garnets that caught the light.

The ladies took their seats at a nearby table. Several gentlemen of the Hapsburg delegation joined the queen on the dais, including Renard, who took the chair one remove from Mary. On Mary’s left-a place of honor-sat a gaunt woman in old-fashioned patterned damask and a triangular gable hood. She had a prepossessing nose and piercing narrow blue eyes. Next to her was a handsome young man in flamboyant black-and-white satin, his short French-styled cloak strapped to one shoulder with elaborate braiding.

“That’s him,” Peregrine said in my ear. “That’s the sweet cousin.”

I took in my first sight of Edward Courtenay, Earl of Devon. He must be popular with the ladies, I thought: a well-built fellow, broad of shoulder and chest, with a full head of tawny hair that matched his well-groomed mustache and forked goatee. His appearance took me aback; I wouldn’t have expected someone who’d spent so many years in the Tower to look quite so robust, though his appeal was marred by a petulant expression. As the long-nosed lady beside him lifted her goblet for wine, Courtenay said something of evident wit to her. She gave him a sour smile. They seemed to know each other, but then everyone at court did, especially at functions like these. Perfect strangers were not averse to feigning rapport if it might tender an advantage.

Pages bearing decanters circulated among us, filling our cups with ale. Renard suddenly leaned to the queen. As he murmured in her ear, Mary stared at the empty chair between them. Her face visibly darkened.

“What?” she said, in a displeased voice loud enough to carry into the hall. “Are we to endure her insufferable disobedience again?”

Taut silence fell. Renard exchanged a brief, conspiratorial look with the sour-faced lady as Mary swerved her attention to Courtenay. Her fist clenched, crushing the silk violets. “Did you not deliver our message to her as we instructed, my lord?”

Courtenay blanched. “Your Majesty, I assure you, I conveyed your request-”

Mary stabbed her finger at him. “It was not a request. Go to her apartments at once. Tell our sister the Lady Elizabeth that she will obey our order to attend our guests this evening, by our royal command!”

Courtenay had started to inch up from his chair when Mary went still, staring straight ahead. For a moment, it seemed as if the very hall sucked in its breath. I didn’t need to look to know my mistress, Elizabeth Tudor, had finally made her appearance-late, as usual.

She wore an unadorned gown that sheathed her slim figure in black velvet, making her seem taller than she actually was. Her coppery mane fell loose to her narrow waist, swaying like a curtain of fire as she moved past the tables of staring courtiers to the dais. The Spaniards actually crossed themselves and averted their eyes, as if she might cast a spell on them. I had time to take wary note of their reaction before I heard a frenzied burst of barking and saw Jane Dormer’s dog leaping up, yanking at its lead as if it recognized Elizabeth. The princess had a special kinship with animals; even the wary stable cats at Hatfield responded to her. It gave me pause. That little dog might prove a useful distraction …

Then I focused on the queen as Elizabeth sank to a curtsy under her baleful gaze. The clench of Mary’s jaw and the stony hardness that stole over her face were chilling.

Mary Tudor regarded her sister with undisguised hatred.

Elizabeth said quietly, “Forgive my delay, Your Majesty. I … I was unwell.”

“Not so much that you refrained from riding with our cousin today,” riposted Mary. “You were also invited to attend mass with us this afternoon, and once again, we waited for you in vain.”

Elizabeth’s reply was soft; only those who knew her intimately would have been able to tell how cautiously she was choosing her words. “Your Majesty, I thought I might have caught a chill after my morning ride. I didn’t wish to expose you to-”

“Enough.” Mary cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand. “I have heard it all before, too many times, in fact. It seems whenever the subject of attendance at mass comes up, you have a sudden ailment.” She paused, staring at her sister as if she wished to make her vanish through the sheer force of her will. “Where is the blessed medal of the Holy Virgin I gave you?” she asked.

Elizabeth went still. Then her hand crept up to the high neckline of her gown. “I left it for safekeeping in my rooms.” Her voice was guarded but remarkably steady. “It is so precious a gift to me, I fear that I may lose it.”

“Or fear losing your heretic friends’ support if you’re seen wearing it.” Mary leaned forward, glaring now. “You have an able tongue, madam, as always, but we are not so blind that we cannot see what is before us, though you may think otherwise. Do not think to defy us indefinitely. Your time of deception is fast coming to an end.”

If she could feel the entire court’s attention riveted to the sight of her, on her knees before the queen like a suppliant, Elizabeth did not show it. With a raise of her chin, she said, “I regret that I’ve given such cause for offense. Though it would cause me great sorrow, with Your Majesty’s leave I would gladly return to my house of Hatfield-”

“You will not!” Mary banged her fist on the table, making the cutlery jump. “You will stay here, under our watch. Do not dare ask us again, lest you try our patience one time too many. There are worst places where we may yet send you.” She gestured to the empty chair. “You will sit beside our cousin Lady Lennox, whose loyalty you’d do wise to emulate.”

As if she trod on broken glass, Elizabeth mounted the dais. I now knew who that strong-nosed lady was: Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox. Like Edward Courtenay, she, too, bore a claim to the throne. To my disconcertion, I also realized we were related: My mother had been her mother’s aunt.

Lady Lennox cast a barbed, sidelong glance at Elizabeth as a page hastened to pour wine into the princess’s goblet. Elizabeth did not touch it. Having lived with her at Hatfield, I knew she rarely drank undiluted wine, for she was prone to headaches. A blue vein showed in her forehead, sole outward indication of her anxiety.

The feast began. I ate sparingly, watching Elizabeth likewise pick at her food. I was taken aback by her appalling slenderness, her cheekbones etched under her skin. These past months at court had taken their toll on her, and I had to clench my hands under the table. I couldn’t let emotion get the better of me. I needed a keen mind and determination to extricate her from her predicament.

Still, I wondered if she had noticed me sitting a few tables away, a mere pebble’s toss from her. If she did, she did not reveal it. Her gaze passed over the court as if she were looking across a murky pond, without any acknowledgment of the covert glances cast her way. The moment the feast ended and Peregrine leapt forth to wolf down the serving on my plate, Elizabeth rose. For a second, her eyes lifted and met mine, with a force that went through me like a dagger thrust. About us, servitors began to dismantle the tables, the courtiers leaving their plates behind, taking only their goblets as they cleared the floor for the evening’s entertainment. In the minstrel gallery, instruments were tuned. I saw and heard all of it yet did not heed, struck by the hunted appeal in the princess’s eyes.

Then she turned away to follow the queen and her guests to one of the massive hearths. Once there, she took a chair and sat alone, apart, like an exile. She and Mary each acted as if the other had ceased to exist, the queen regaled by Renard and the Spaniards, her laughter loud, overly ebullient.

“Remember, do as I told you,” I said to Peregrine. He nodded, mouth and hands full.

I inched toward the royal company. Courtenay dallied with one of the ladies, ignoring Elizabeth as well, though she sat only steps away. I took note of his behavior, in light of what I knew so far. Apparently neither he nor the princess cared to advertise their association in public.

Seeking an opportunity, I paused by a group of gossiping courtiers. I finally gleaned it when Jane Dormer hastened to a stool, her black dog still straining on its lead. She was trying to get him to sit, shoving at his hindquarters and scolding him. He, in turn, let out a little yelp, his tail wagging furiously as he stared fixedly to where the princess sat. Moments later, Sybilla drifted to Jane and began to talk to her, though Mistress Dormer, intent on trying to wrestle her pet into obedience, barely glanced at her elegant companion.