Then, "Yes," she said. "I love him."
Nap was pulling mechanically at the rag he held. It began to tear between his hands. She watched him ripping it to shreds.
Suddenly he seemed to realise what he was doing, and tossed it from him.
He looked her straight in the eyes.
"Have you fixed the date for your coronation?" he asked.
Her eyes fell instantly. "Will you tell me what you mean?" she said.
"Is my meaning obscure?"
She compelled herself to answer him steadily. "If you mean our marriage, it will not take place for some time, possibly not this year."
"Why not?" said Nap. "Are you a slave to etiquette?"
The thing sounded preposterous on his lips. She faintly smiled. "The decision does not lie with me."
"Ah!" he said shrewdly. "The privilege of kings! You will still be a queen before you are thirty. And your first act will be to expel the court jester—if he waits to be expelled."