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the page she saw him look guiltily toward her worktable. She pounced on him, grabbing his ear. His cry of exaggerated pain was pitiful. “You little imp of Satan. Why did you ruin my parchment?”
    He babbled denials and lies. Wisely she knew she would get nothing from him this way. The life of a royal page was one of survival. Up at four, running and fetching until their little legs almost dropped off, with naught but cuffs and curses for reward. Then at ten years when they became squires, the real misery began.
    Brianna let go of his ear and popped a sugared almond into his mouth. “Did someone else tell you to do this?”
    The snub-nosed child nodded.
    “Then I cannot hold you to blame, can I?” she asked sweetly.
    He shook his head.
    “What’s your name?”
    “Randal,” he replied.
    The name and the red curls were vaguely familiar. “Are you Elizabeth Grey’s brother?”
    He nodded warily.
    “If anyone tells you to ruin my parchments again, you won’t do it, will you?”
    “It was Princess Isabel,” he blurted, confirming her suspicions.
    The minutes were galloping by and she knew she must finish dressing. Brianna shoved a bread roll into his hand and pushed him out the door. Adele selected taupe velvet, but Brianna quickly shook her head and pulled a pale lavender underdress and dark violet tunic from the wardrobe. Adele plaited the right side of her hair while Brianna did the left. She pulled on her stockings, anchored them with lace garters, then dragged on soft chamois riding boots. She scooped up a pair of violet gauntlets embroidered with gold thread, drained her cup of mead, kissed Adele on the cheek, and breathlessly ran along the corridor to Joan of Kent’s chambers.
    Joan’s waiting lady, Glynis, was Welsh and her dark hair and swarthy skin contrasted sharply with Joan’s coloring. She was a font of information about what went on at Windsor and she was so superstitious she was also a source of amusement.
    Brianna was surprised that Joan’s hair was unbound. “You cannot hunt like that.”
    “I’m hunting a different quarry,” Joan said, laughing, but she snatched up a silver-mesh snood and Brianna helped her tuck her tresses inside it. Once again the two girls picked up their skirts and ran like hoydens to the State Apartments overlooking the terrace.
    Princess Isabel’s bedchamber and dressing room were strewn with clothes she had tossed aside with displeasure.When she set eyes on Brianna’s dark violet and Joan’s blush pink, she seethed with envy. Her bedchamber maids and ladies-in-waiting were almost in tears. One held up an azure blue while another proffered a smart black velvet. Isabel was the only dark Plantagenet, with her mother’s Flemish coloring. She was an attractive young woman whose sullen mouth marred her looks.
    Joan winked at Brianna. “You will look lovely in the azure, Your Highness.”
    Brianna let her anger toward the young princess slip away. She agreed with Joan’s choice with all her heart. “The color is so vivid, it will contrast with your dark hair, Your Highness.”
    Isabel immediately chose the black velvet. Joan suppressed a bubble of pleasure; the black would turn her complexion to mud. With studied innocence, Joan said, “ ’Tis a pity the king forbids you to ride far afield. The morning sunshine cries out for a long gallop.”
    Isabel rounded on Joan. “Whatever do you mean? I go wherever I wish to go.”
    “Oh certes, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to imply His Majesty has you on a leading string. All I meant was your brother, Prince Lionel, is allowed to ride all the way to Berkhamsted. It seems unfair when he’s younger than you.”
    “Lionel is mad to become as proficient at bearing arms as the Prince of Wales. That’s the reason he’s forever riding to our brother’s castle of Berkhamsted.”
    Lady Elizabeth Grey sighed. “All men believe success in arms is the one thing worth living for. My brother trained with a blunted sword when he