Disenchanted

by Susan Carroll

  Here and there among the crowd, I spotted a few familiar faces from Midtown; the Misses Hanson, Fortescue Bafton and his sister. As I craned my neck, scanning the room, there was only one face I was looking for. Where was Commander Crushington?

  I wished I could circulate about the chamber, but that was impossible since we had arrived just in time for the grand entrance of the king. A herald blasted a fanfare on his trumpet and the royal majordomo, clad in a plain grey uniform, stepped forward. He was a nondescript man of medium height, a little on the thin side, with a halo of white hair ringing his bald pate. Despite his mild appearance, his voice rang out high and clear as he announced, “His Supreme Highness King August Adolphus of the royal house of Helavalerian, supreme ruler of the great kingdom of Arcady.”

  Everyone sank into a deep obeisance as the king appeared. A hush fell over the crowd, the only sound, the tap of the king’s cane as he hobbled forward. Everyone around me stood with lowered eyes, but I could not help staring.

  I had seen the king before when he made his annual speech in the town square, but this was my first opportunity to study up close the tyrant who had made our lives so difficult. His portly frame was attired in a scarlet uniform with enormous epaulettes on his plump shoulders. A golden sash cut across his barrel chest, the satin fabric bejeweled with badges of honor and medals the king had never done anything to earn.

  King August was reputed to have been a very handsome man in his youth. I saw little sign of that in a countenance ravaged by years of overindulgence. He smiled graciously as he worked his way down the line of his subjects, but the genial expression looked forced and unnatural. Our king was so fearful of assassination, it surprised me that he was not flanked by guards.

  Perhaps he felt safe enough within the palace walls, owing to all of Mercato’s protective measures. The only one who trailed after the king was the majordomo, the quiet man appearing unobtrusive, but ready to leap forward at the king’s slightest command. Here and there, King August paused to murmur a word of greeting, but these marks of attention were reserved exclusively for aristocrats or the wealthy citizens of the Heights. The king bestowed no such royal favor upon anyone from Midtown. Why would he? I thought cynically. He had already fleeced them out of their hard-earned money for the ball tickets.

  As the king drew nearer to where my family stood, I heard Imelda hitch her breath. I glanced at my stepmother and saw her pale. I could only imagine what my poor Em must be feeling, being so near to the man who had condemned her first husband to death and obliged her and her daughters to leave the Heights in disgrace.

  Perhaps Em feared that even after all these years, the king would still heap angry reproaches upon her for the late Albert Wendover’s misdeeds. I tensed, ready to spring to Imelda’s defense should the king utter so much as one cross word.

  He limped past my stepmother without even a glance at Em. It was clear he did not recognize her. I should not have been surprised. The king had ruined so many innocent people over the years, he could hardly be troubled to remember them all.

  I heard Em breathe easier as the king moved past her. I had to lower my gaze lest he see the resentment simmering in my eyes. I froze when His Majesty came to a halt in front of me. I could almost see my reflection as I stared down at his glossy shoes.

  “And who is this lovely young woman?” the king demanded.

  Was he referring to me? Was I expected to answer him? What could I say?

  I am no one, Your Grace. Only the woman who is hoping to plunder your treasure room tonight.

  This was not good. Out of all the people from Midtown, what had I done to merit the king’s notice? Me, the one person who least desired such royal attention. Were my larcenous intentions in some way obvious? I ducked my head lower, wishing that those glass slippers had worked, so I could click my toes and disappear.

  The majordomo stepped closer, gently prodding me. “Your name, miss? The king would like to know your name.”

  I suppressed my guilt and looked up, staring defiantly into the king’s hard blue eyes.

  “My name is Upton, Your Grace. Ella Upton.”

  The effect of this simple statement upon the king was astonishing. His mouth went slack and it appeared as though he could not breathe. He stared at my face, devouring me with his eyes.

  “Cecily,” he mumbled at last.” You are Cecily Farringdale’s daughter.”

  “Yes. You knew my mother?”

  “She was my royal forest warder’s daughter.”

  “I am aware of that, Your Grace. But you seem as if you knew and remember her well. How is that possible?”

  Em emitted a horrified gasp and she gave me a sharp nudge to remind me this was no way to address a king. I ignored her, intently studying the king’s face.

  I was stunned to see those cold eyes of his turn misty.

  “When I was out hunting, I often stopped by the warder’s house.” King August sighed. “Your mother was the loveliest, most enchanting woman I have ever known.”

  The king seized my hand. “You look so very much like her.”

  Still clutching my hand, he appealed eagerly to his servant, “Is that not true, Majordomo? Is not this girl Cecily’s very image?”

  “Indeed, she is, sire.” The majordomo agreed, but his gaze rested thoughtfully upon me as he added, “Except for her eyes. I do believe she has her father’s eyes.”

  The king’s head whipped back toward me. He stared hard into my eyes and the strangest look crossed his face. If it did not seem so ridiculous, I would have said it was one of fear. The king abruptly released my hand as though he had discovered he was grasping a snake. Without another word, he turned and limped away from me. The majordomo followed, giving me a nod and a smile. It was a strange smile, almost as if he was trying to convey a warning.

  My mind teemed with questions and I trembled with the urge to rush after the king and demand explanations.

  Em must have sensed my impulse, because she laid a restraining hand on my arm. “Let it go, Ella,” she murmured.

  “But, Em!” I whispered. “You heard the king. He spoke of my mother almost as though—as though he was once in love with her. Did you notice how strangely he acted when the majordomo mentioned my father? What was that all about?”

  “I have no idea, but I learned a long time ago it is wiser and safer not to dwell on the past.” She patted my arm. “Better that you keep your distance from the king and just try to have a good time tonight.”

  I knew Em was right, but I kept getting these tantalizing hints about my father’s mysterious past. First, Withypole letting slip that my father had once been a passionate advocate of the downtrodden, even daring to defy the royal justice council. Then discovering that strange inscription in my father’s book of fairy lore, signed by some unknown person whose initial was S. And now this odd behavior of the king’s. Always more questions and never any answers.

  I seethed with frustration, but I was obliged to suppress it. Not long after the king’s encounter with me, he appeared to grow weary of greeting his subjects. He retreated toward the end of the hall where his throne awaited him, the majordomo trotting after him like a faithful hound.

  As the king eased himself down onto the velvet cushion, Mercato joined him upon the dais. The sleeve of the sorcerer’s robe fell back as he rested one long elegant hand along the back of the throne. Any foolish hope I entertained about daring to approach the king was put to rest by his sinister magician hovering by his side.

  Another trumpet sounded and the majordomo announced it was time for the presentation of the royal princes. The crowd surged forward to mill about the foot of an enormous staircase sweeping up to the balcony overlooking the ballroom. Ladies behaved with an unbecoming lack of decorum, shoving and pushing in their efforts to get to the front. Somehow, I became separated from Em and my stepsisters, perhaps because I was distracted.

  I spied an arch half hidden behind the banners hanging near the throne. It had to be the door that Mal
had described to me, the one that would lead down to the restricted part of the palace and the king’s treasure room. What Mal had failed to mention was that the archway would be guarded by two fierce soldiers.

  How in the world had Mal ever thought I would be able to sneak past not only the king on his throne, but also the watchful eyes of his wizard and two burly Scutcheons armed with halberds? I knew exactly how. Those glass slippers. Mal had truly expected their magic to work.

  Now I would have to rely on my own ingenuity to get past that arch, but I had not the slightest idea how. The prospect of success appeared utterly hopeless. I was roused from my despairing thoughts by the sound of the majordomo announcing, “His Royal Highness, the Prince Kendrick.”

  I dragged my attention from the door to the blond youth standing at the top of the stairs. He was clad in a white uniform with gold buttons and a sash cutting diagonally across his chest. The assembly bowed and curtsied as the prince descended the stairs. Kendrick beamed and acknowledged their greetings with nods to either side. I recollected that he was noted for being the charming one and I could only marvel at how he could maintain that constant smile.

  Another blast of the herald’s trumpet and the servant intoned, “His Royal Highnesses, the Prince Dashiel…”

  Clad in the same white uniform as Kendrick, another blond prince descended the stairs.

  “and His Royal Highness, the Prince Dall.”

  The next prince bounded down the stairs in an undignified manner. Dall was almost an exact copy of his brother Dashiel except for one small detail. I was amused to note that Prince Dall’s fingernails appeared ragged. The boy was obviously a nail biter. The king leaned forward to growl something at the young prince. Dall hastily drew forth the gloves he had shoved inside his trouser pockets and put them on.

  The crowd dutifully paid their respects to the twin princes, but I could sense the anticipation building, the impatience for the arrival of Prince Florian. I finally espied Commander Crushington near the foot of the stairs. I almost did not recognize him because he had shaved off his beard. Had he done that for me?

  If he had, I heartily approved. I had never fully appreciated what a handsome man he was, the candlelight giving a blue-black sheen to his hair. With his upright military bearing, he appeared far more regal than any of those insipid blond boys.

  Horatio also spotted me and his face lit up. I confess my heart missed a beat and he seemed to draw me toward him with the sheer force of his gaze.

  The trumpet sounded again and His Royal Highness Prince Ryland was announced. I paid little heed as I wriggled my way through the crowd, heading toward the commander. I finally emerged into the clearing at the bottom of the staircase. Focused upon reaching Horatio, I blundered straight into the path of the oncoming prince.

  I nearly lost my balance, but Prince Ryland’s gloved hand caught my elbow to steady me. I could hear titters of laughter from the crowd and I blushed with embarrassment. But the prince kindly inquired, “Are you all right, miss?”

  His voice sent a strange shiver down my spine. My gaze traveled slowly up the prince’s sash, the gilt buttons of his uniform, until I reached his face.

  The entire world stopped as I stared into the eyes of Harper, my long-lost bard.

  Chapter 13

  I could not speak. I could not move. I was barely breathing as I stared at the faithless lover I had never expected to see again. I could feel the blood draining from my face. Harper appeared equally stricken, his countenance just as pale. I do not know how long Harper and I might have stood there, blocking the stairs. He was the first to recover, bowing stiffly and walking away. I still did not seem able to move, but Crushington was there, gently leading me out of the way.

  “Ella, what is wrong? Are you all right?” Horatio bent down to murmur in my ear.

  “No,” I whispered. “You are going to have to arrest me.”

  “What!” He reared back, startled. “Why?”

  “I th-think I may be about to faint.”

  Indeed, I did feel my knees start to wobble, but the commander slipped his arm about my waist, holding me upright. I did not know how Horatio managed it, but somehow he got me through the crowd gathered by the stairs and found a chair. He eased me onto it, snapping out an order to a footman to fetch a glass of wine.

  I sat there, feeling dazed. It was as though Delphine’s strange mist had seeped into my head, fogging my brain, plunging me into a neverland where women could turn into cats and bards into princes.

  Harper and Prince Ryland were one and the same. How was that even possible? Surely this would turn out to be some bizarre dream and I would awaken soon. The only thing that seemed solid and real was Horatio. He bent down, pressing a glass to my lips.

  “Here,” he ordered. “Drink this.”

  I obeyed, taking a few sips. I pushed the glass away, pulling a face at the potent, cheap wine. Little of the ball ticket money our king had raked in had been wasted on refreshments. Somehow that cynical thought helped me recover. Feeling more like myself, I was able to breathe again.

  Horatio hunkered down in front of me, his grey eyes clouded with worry.

  “Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

  I managed to nod. “Yes, thank you. I just had a momentary attack of—of—”

  Harper.

  “The vapors,” I said and winced. I had no idea what the vapors were. It was merely a complaint that I had heard used by other women.

  Horatio arched one brow, eyeing me dubiously. I wondered how much of my strange reaction to Prince Ryland he had noticed. Very little escaped the commander’s keen grey eyes, but he did not seek to question me, for which I was grateful.

  I studied Horatio’s face, the clean strong line of his jaw. The absence of his beard made him look younger and somehow more vulnerable. I touched his smooth cheek.

  “You shaved,” I said.

  “Er—yes,” he replied, looking self-conscious.

  “I like it.”

  His mouth tipped in his half-smile. When I started to rise, he protested, “Are you sure you are feeling well enough? You still look pale. Is there nothing else I can do?”

  I shook my head. “I am fine. Just give me your hand.”

  Horatio straightened, his fingers closing over mine. I clung to him, his hand the only thing that felt strong and steady in a world that had been tilted off balance by the appearance of Harper.

  As we rejoined the crowd around the stairs, I thought Em would be scandalized if she observed me holding hands with the commander. Actually I was rather surprised that she had not come in search of me before now. Amidst all those voluminous gowns, feathered headdresses and broad shoulders, I could not even see where I had left my family.

  Another fanfare sounded, a longer and more impressive one, and the majordomo announced, “His Royal Highness, heir to the kingdom of Arcady, the most noble Prince Florian.”

  The crowd erupted into applause, many of the young ladies forgetting their dignity enough to squeal with delight as Florian strode down the stairs, his blond mane of hair tied back with a golden ribbon. He looked handsome and impressive in a uniform similar to his brothers except for the epaulettes adorning his shoulders.

  I spared him no more than a cursory glance. I craned my neck to see what had become of Prince Ryland. He stood near the throne, lined up with his other brothers who appeared rather sullen now that Florian had arrived to claim all the attention. Even Prince Kendrick, the endlessly cheerful one, looked dour. Only Ryland seemed unaffected. He stood to attention, staring rigidly at nothing.

  Clutching Horatio’s hand, I studied the man I had once known as Harper, thinking perhaps I was mistaken, that my long-lost bard only bore an uncanny resemblance to the prince. Harper’s hair had been a shade lighter, his countenance far livelier than this stone-faced man.

  But there was no denying it, no forgetting the face of the young man who had haunted my dreams for the past seven years. Harper was Prince Ryland, even though he
had behaved as though he had entirely forgotten me. Perhaps he had. It still seemed incredible to me that all of these years, Harper could have been dwelling mere miles from me and our paths had never crossed. But I recalled Amy saying that Ryland was known as the questing prince, frequently absent from the kingdom, hunting dragons.

  I marveled that he could have carried out such a deception that long-ago summer, passing himself off as a traveling minstrel. Granted I had been a starry-eyed little fool, but surely someone in Midtown must have recognized him…except that other than the king and Prince Florian, the rest of the royal family was seldom seen outside of the Heights.

  Looking back on our days together, I could only remember one time that Harper had ever played his lute in the village square and that had been when we had first met. After that, he had sung his songs for me alone. It had ever been he and I, lost in a magical world of our own making. Well, one of us had been lost, the other as calculating as any predator, a prince amusing himself with an idle dalliance.

  I should have been furious with him, but all I felt was that familiar hollow ache, even deeper and more acute as I realized my lost love had never existed. All had been false, all illusion.

  I became aware of Prince Florian moving among the guests, dismissing all the bowing and curtsying with a wave of his hand. “No more of all this stiff protocol. Majordomo, command the royal musicians to strike up a lively tune.” He smiled, holding his arms wide as he surveyed the crowd. “Now, which of you lovely ladies shall I have the honor of leading into the first dance?”

  Was the man completely mad? I expected at any moment to see the prince crushed beneath a herd of rampaging petticoats and wondered if the king would be compelled to enact a new law against stampeding royalty.

  Most of the maidens present blushed and fluttered their fans in an effort to catch the prince’s eye. Only a few were brazen enough to push forward, among them my own sister. Amy edged her way to the front of the pack, tripping up one competitor, subtly elbowing another in the stomach.