“This man,” she said, “is neither roué nor madman.”
“It is true,” he admitted.
He drank his wine, and as he set the glass down he felt her watching him. He understood the unspoken question in her deep, blue eyes.
“Of his betrothal,” Reist said, slowly, “there was no word.”
She drew herself up haughtily, a slim, stately figure in her magnificent white dress, caught up with jewels, and the curious bejewelled head-dress which in Theos was the symbol of her rank. Yet Nicholas, who watched her closely, caught the gleam of something in her eyes which surprised him. It was more like relief than anger.
“Was our ancient usage explained to him?” she asked.
“Yes! I told him that an unmarried king was contrary to the time-sanctioned custom of our country. I told him that the announcement of his betrothal should be made at the moment of his coronation. The people expected it, and it would add immensely to his popularity.”
“You told him that?”
“Yes!”
“And he answered?”