Lying on his back in the darkness of his bedchamber, King Allister of the Pledge listened to his wife's soft breathing.

Pearl was pretending to be asleep, even as he was. Twenty-two years of marriage made fairly certain that neither was fooled. Those same twenty-two years made certain that each would maintain the farce.

He wondered if the same things kept her awake. There had been so much. The war -- King Allister's War, they were calling it now, as if he had started it. And maybe he had. He had certainly done his part to end it.

The coronation earlier that day -- all those people kneeling before him, swearing oaths. Some had been truly happy, he thought, but others...He thought he'd seen all the faces that men turn on each other, but he had seen a new one now...the eyes had been flat, holding no expression at all, while lips smiled or frowned; you could almost taste the calculation going on behind them. He'd never had power before, so he'd never seen this bland face that ambitious men turn to power.

But why should he fool himself? Ignoring the true reason for his sleeplessness was as ridiculous as this game of pretending to Pearl that he was asleep. At least that game served some purpose; at least each could believe the other might be resting.

Valora's letter. Whether his eyes were opened or closed Allister could summon the text of it before him, seeing it as glowing silver words against velvet black, though the real letter had been neatly written in prosaic black ink upon fine vellum. He'd first discovered the letter -- and the queen's treachery -- soon after their arrival.

Allister Seagleam, king in all but crown, had arrived with his family and retainers at Silver Whale Cove mid-afternoon the previous day. The castle itself -- a massive stone structure along whose walls both rounded and square-built towers alternated -- had been built close to the water, on a high point jutting into the cove. Named Revelation Point Castle for some event in Bright Bay's colonial past, it was the traditional seat for rulers of the area.

They were hardly through the arched stone gateway before they learned that Queen Valora, the former Queen Gustin IV, had departed on schedule as promised, taking with her rather more of the castle staff than was polite, and leaving those who remained in an uproar as they prepared for the formal coronation that was to be held the next afternoon.

The Keeper of the Keys, an elderly Pelican whose family had held the post since the days of Gustin I, had been the first to hint that all might not be right. He'd knelt in front of Allister, offering his homage as was his due and duty.

"I'm Ivory Pelican, Your Majesty," he'd said, extending in front of him a square, flat cushion of dark purple New Kelvinese silk upon which rested a highly polished bunch of keys. "My title is the Keeper of the Keys."

"I recognize you," Allister had said, "and confirm you in that title and its tasks and honors, unless you have reason to wish to be relieved of them."

He'd recited that formula many times in just the few hours since his arrival at the castle. The entire thing would need to be redone subsequent to the formal coronation, but these interim oaths were necessary, confirming that he wasn't out to strip everyone of their rank and privilege just because he'd managed to strip the queen of her throne.

All the other times the person so reassured had made some small speech of thanks and had then hurried off to do whatever needed to be done -- maybe pausing along the way to reassure kith and kin that their particular royal stipend wasn't about to be stopped.

This time, though, Lord Ivory had rocked back on his heels and given his king -- for although not yet formally crowned, Allister Seagleam effectively had been king for these twenty-odd days -- a look that might have been sly, but that just might have been a bit sad.

"Well, Your Majesty," Lord Ivory had said, keeping his voice low, "if you can spare an old man a few minutes, I believe there is something you should see."