
You are young Orlando, caught by the old housekeeper play-fighting a dried enemy's head in the attic when word arrives that Queen Elizabeth's progress is crossing the county without warning. Ink-stained hands or polished armor — the household cannot decide which self to present, and neither can you. At sunset the Queen halts beneath the great oak, singles out the sixteen-year-old heir from the crowd of lords, and closes her cold hand around yours with a summons to court after Christmas.
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