I let my hand fall to my side. "Nothing," I lied. "Come, let's leave this place." I turned around and froze in surprise.
A group of young noblemen stood a short distance from us with Lars at their head. I immediately knew we were in trouble. No need to be a seer to figure out they were up to no good. The vicious smirks on their faces were a clear indication of their intent.
Once the group got closer, one young nobleman turned to his friend and said, "Will you look at his fancy clothes. He's a dandy just like the other."
"Yes. He's definitively a dandy," agreed the other young man.
Milo and I exchanged puzzled looks.
"What's a dandy?" Milo mouthed silently.
"Pay no mind to it," I said under my breath as I surveyed the group.
"Is he going to marry your cousin?" one of the youngsters asked Lars.
"Hmmm," said a falsely pensive Lars, while giving me a thorough evaluation. "I don't know. I fear he doesn't really measure up to what is expected as a suitor for my cousin's hand."
"Definitely! He's so small," added the young nobleman.
What! I'm not small. Why is he saying that? Insulted, I glared at Lars. My height is average for a Telfarian, you stupid ignorant boy, I wanted to shout in that tall calf's face. Calm down, Amir. Calm down. Swallowing my anger, I bowed to Lars. "Greetings, honored noblemen."
Lars stepped forward. "Prince Amir, have you decided to go looking for the baths yourself this time?"
I looked at Milo's bruised face. Now I knew whose handiwork it was.
"I'll save you some time. There are no baths. Here, men wash with cold water or snow."
Or not at all, I thought. So far, everyone I had met, the king included, smelled of sweat, smoke, and rancid oil. I stared at Lars; he was making that ugly twisted face again. I wondered if it was the smell of his own stench that caused his grimacing.
Forcing a smile on my face, I gave Lars a polite nod. "I'm afraid we are lost. Thank you for offering to show us the way to the throne room."
It took Lars a while to react to my demand; obviously he had not expected me to ask him for help and didn't know what to do. So during that time, all I could do was watch his mouth open and close like a fish out of water. "What!" he blurted out when he finally regained the power of speech. "I'm not your servant to do your bidding. That's the gelding's duty."
Milo recoiled as if he had been slapped across the face.
"Lars," I hissed, "my valet isn't an animal."
"Perhaps. But he's certainly not a man." His chest puffed up, Lars grinned proudly as his friends applauded the cleverness of his retort.
"That's your opinion. Mine differs," I said. I was not going to argue with him, but I wasn't going to agree with him either.
"You're wrong," Lars said. "That thing is a vile perversion, and you are—"
"I'm warning you, young duke. I do not take insults lightly. Be careful of what you're about to say."
It was no use. Lars's eyes narrowed and his grin widened. "Oh, I will say what I damn well please."
"Even if untrue," someone shouted from behind the group of noblemen.
"Who said that?" Lars snapped. "Who dares call me a liar?"
The group split apart revealing a tall, well-built young man with long, dark wavy hair and a dimpled chin. He was dressed in the most garish peach satin outfit I had ever seen. Moreover, lace was bursting out from every visible opening of this ensemble—collar, cuffs, pockets—and even from around the gathering of his knickers. But what struck me the most about this man was his attitude. There was such an air of nonchalance about him, he looked fearless—to wear such clothes one had to be fearless, if nothing else, I suppose. His crooked, sarcastic smile, the kind that made you think he was laughing at you, only intensified that impression. I thought that the two put together, the attitude and the smile, made for a dangerous combination.
Extending his right foot forward, which was encased in a white high-heeled shoe with a bow on top, the man executed an elaborate curtsey, while waving a lacy handkerchief in the air. The move brought a powerful burst of lavender scent to my face. Tears welled up in my eyes. Lord, this man wore more perfume than all the concubines of my father's harem put together.
Milo leaned to my ear and whispered, "My lord, I believe this man is what they meant by a dandy."
"Shhh," I blew.
Rising from his curtsey, the newcomer sashayed toward us.
"You!" Lars sneered. "I should've known."
"Delighted to see you too, Lars."
"How dare you use my name. I have not permitted you such familiarity."
"I am deeply hurt, Lars. And I who thought we were close friends."
Lars snorted. "We were never friends."
The dandy twirled a lock of his long wavy hair. "Now I'm confused. You certainly behaved in a friendly manner when you came to see me two nights ago."
Lars's friends gasped. As for Lars, he turned bright red. "I've never! You're a liar!"
"Are you denying having met with me? The night's guards can confirm your presence at my door. Oh, and so can Countess Ivana. She was in my adjacent boudoir at the time. Surely you will not call her a liar too?"
"I was there for a piece of garment—for the ball. The coming ball. For that purpose alone."
The dandy placed a finger on his dimpled chin. "Strange. Somehow I remember it differently."
"I spoke the truth, you know it!" Lars said defensively.
"You spoke, I'll agree to that. As for the truth . . . were you not caught in a lie moments ago?"
"Sir! You've insulted me. I demand reparation."
To my astonishment, the dandy uttered an excited shriek while jumping with joy. "Marvelous! I just love a good fight."
I turned my attention to Lars; he was just as dumbfounded by the dandy's reaction as I was. A peek at Lars's friends told me that they too shared our feelings.
"I will not spare you," Lars warned the dandy. "This is a true combat. Choose your weapon."
"I choose my handkerchief," the dandy said, twirling the lacy piece of fabric in the air.
His face as red as a brick, Lars stamped his foot down. "A handkerchief isn't a weapon. Choose an adequate one."
"I beg to differ. In this case, my handkerchief is the adequate weapon."
"The man is mad," whispered Milo.
I nodded in agreement.
"As you wish," said Lars. He pulled his long sword, and without further ceremony charged the dandy. This one stayed in place fanning himself with his handkerchief until Lars was upon him. Then he took a slight step to the left, escaping the sword, and tripping Lars with one of his dainty feet.
"Oops," he exclaimed, staring apologetically at the sprawled Lars. "You haven't hurt yourself, I hope."
I had to bite my tongue not to laugh.
Lars leapt to his feet and swung his sword toward his opponent. In a swift move, the dandy twisted his handkerchief around the blade and pulled, ripping the sword out of Lars's hands. Tucking the sword under his arm, the dandy waved his handkerchief at Lars. "I told you my handkerchief was more than adequate for this battle."
Heaving with rage, Lars darted a murderous glare at the dandy. "I won't forget this."
"Oh, neither will I, and nor will your friends assembled here." The dandy produced a brilliant smile. "They'll remember this encounter forever. Detailed accounts of it will be spread throughout the castle and the country for years and years to come . . . I'm quite certain of this."
Stunned by the devastating repercussions of his defeat, Lars became as still as stone. I watched the blood slowly drain from his face, leaving it a pasty white. Then Lars broke his stillness, and his gaze turned to his friends.
The young nobles were all fighting back laughter as best they could. Some had their hands clamped over their mouths, while others tried to look elsewhere in the hope it would suppress their mirth—to no avail. A loud chuckle escaped from one of them. A few more young men in the group followed his example, a
nd soon they were all bent over laughing. And when Lars turned around and left, with his back as straight as the castle's tower and his butt as tight as a merchant's purse, the noblemen's laughter reached a deafening crescendo.
Once they had regained their composure, which was long after Lars had disappeared from sight, the young noblemen congratulated the dandy on his victory. Then following in Lars's steps, they departed, leaving Milo and me alone with the dandy.
Discarding Lars's sword to the side, as if it were nothing more than a cumbersome piece of metal, the dark-haired man approached us and curtsied.
I bowed.
He rose. "Please permit me to introduce myself; I am Diego Del Osiega, Prince of Pioval. And you must be Prince Amir of Telfar?"
"Indeed, I am."
The dandy prince gave me a thorough examination. "You are exactly as I've imagined you: dark, exotic, and handsome." His gaze moved to Milo standing at my shoulder. "You, however, look nothing as I thought. I always envisioned eunuchs as . . . fat, ambiguously feminine individuals. Never would I have fathomed such a strapping, masculine young man. You will be very popular here, mark my words, very popular."
Once more Milo and I exchanged puzzled looks.
"Aaah!" Prince Diego exclaimed as if suddenly overcome by emotion. "Prince Amir, I must warn you about this horrid castle. It suffers from a deplorable lack of refinement. And you are quite clearly a very refined man. Our kind is a rare breed in this savage kingdom. Therefore we are destined to become best of friends."
Best of friends—with him! I tried not to cringe too much at that thought.
He stepped closer to me. "Oh, and those clothes you're wearing, they are sublime!" Prince Diego ran a long-fingered hand along the fur trim of my kaftan. "You must show me your wardrobe."
I stepped back.
He stepped forth, his hand still caressing my garment. "I demand to see all your treasures."
"Another day, perhaps," I said, stepping back again. This time, however, I moved far enough to get out of his reach. I couldn't believe the effrontery of this dandy. Quite frankly, right now I didn't know who was worse, my attacker or my savior, Prince Diego. I didn't care for this type of attention. Still, the man had come to my defense, and for this reason I had to display some gratitude toward him.
"Prince Diego, I must thank you for intervening on my behalf. That was a rather perilous act you just performed."
"Oh please, call me Diego. As for that little tiff with Lars, let me assure you, I was in no danger. The young duke's swordsmanship is rather like his wit, slow, predictable, and, overall, deficient."
"Nonetheless, I thank you. As you know, we've just arrived and this castle is—"
"Gloomy, dark, cold, and, my favorite above all, it stinks as foully as a putrid corpse."
"Hmm," I gave. "I was about to say foreign and confusing." I paused. For the briefest moment I wanted desperately to agree with the dandy. This place was exactly as he had said, if not worse.
"Foreign and confusing! How diplomatic of you." Prince Diego smiled. I noted that his smile did not reach his dark brown eyes, which remained intensely serious. "I would gladly be your guide," he offered. "I know the castle well. Its politics and etiquette even better."
I feigned thinking about his offer. I didn't want to insult the prince by saying no too quickly. It wasn't as if I didn't need the help, it was just that I didn't want his. There was something wrong about his constant joyfulness, something unnatural and artificial. Also, I didn't trust a man who could win a combat with a handkerchief. Or maybe it was just his clothes that repulsed me so. Oh let's be honest, I just didn't want to be associated with him. "I am thankful for the offer. However, I will try to face this castle's perils by myself."
If Prince Diego was disappointed, he didn't show it. "As you wish," he said. "But if you change your mind, the offer still stands." He curtsied, began walking away, then turned back toward us. "Where are my manners? I'm assuming that you are lost. If you're looking for the ceremonial throne room, it's through the long, narrow hall. That way." After having pointed us in the right direction, Prince Diego turned and left.
As I watched him disappear down the corridor, I began thinking about my decision. Perhaps refusing his help had been a mistake. This country and its customs were foreign to me, which could lead to embarrassing misunderstandings. Then again, I had already antagonized the king by arriving with a Farrellian escort. I couldn't do any worse now, could I?
Chapter Three
The king's throne room was not only immense, it was cavernous. The three-story-high ceilings certainly added to this impression of grandeur. Yet despite its ample size, the room was so tightly packed with noblemen and dignitaries from all countries that it left one with very little space to move. It made for a suffocating atmosphere. Not to mention that the smell of unwashed bodies mixed with a myriad of different perfumes was almost unbearable. I tried not to think about it and concentrated on listening instead. At any given moment, I could hear at least five different languages being spoken at the same time. Sadly, I feared I was the main subject of all these conversations. For one, I had never been so stared at in my entire life. Every time I turned I could see eyes darting away. This rude staring made me regret having changed my emerald outfit of earlier in favor of this fancier one. I brushed a hand on the front of my kaftan—it was Eva's favorite. Pure white with gold embroidery, the ensemble had a matching turban adorned with a pearl brooch. Maybe I should have dressed differently, wore something less . . . attention grabbing. Then again, Milo's presence at my side certainly didn't help. He was attracting just as much attention as I was.
"Milo, are the gifts ready."
"Yes, my lord."
"Good."
"My lord," Milo whispered, "why are we waiting here, amidst all these people like this? Shouldn't my lord be waiting in another room instead, and only enter this one after having been formally announced and introduced?"
"In Telfar, that is how introductions to the court are made. Here, obviously not."
"In my opinion, this is highly improper."
I agreed, yet said nothing. Trying to ignore the impolite scrutiny I was submitted to, I occupied myself by contemplating the room's meager decorations. There were a few fine tapestries on the walls. Most depicted hunting scenes. My eyes moved to the raised dais at the front of the room. Two huge thrones made of solid, gilded oak dominated its center, and slightly on the left was a cluster of seats.
The sound of my name being whispered amid a conversation made me turn around fast. I looked about the room, seeking which guests might be talking about me. My gaze met Prince Diego's, who was standing nearby with a stunning young lady on his arm. I must say, I was surprised to see him with a woman—especially one as striking as she. Clad in a red velvet dress that made her pale, flawless skin look like polished alabaster, she was slender yet well formed. The plunging neckline of her dress, exposing the swell of her full breasts, confirmed this fact. Her facial features—small narrow nose, curvy pink lips, and large eyes—were delicate without being weak, which was often the case with such dainty bone structures. In her case, however, the effect was one of such perfect balance; it was a sight to make a painter cry. Her flaxen blond hair shone like the finest silk—an obvious sign of a recent washing. The shiny mane was artistically mounted atop her head and held in place with a tiny jewel pin. The aquamarine tip resembled a raindrop and was the same light blue as her eyes, which sparkled with intelligence. But what truly held my attention was her smile. Without a doubt, hers was the first real friendly smile I'd seen since I had entered this castle, and as a result I found myself smiling back at her. My eyes then settled on the two individuals standing a short distance from her.
Startled by their savage appearances, I flinched. At first glance, they looked like wild beasts. This, I soon realized, was due to the fur caps covering their rough leather clothes, boots, fur-rimmed hats, and . . . chain mail.
LORD! Those were barbarian warriors dress
ed for action; they even had bows strapped to their backs. Small in stature—compared to the Sorvinkian's average, otherwise they looked about my height—they both possessed slightly slanted, almond-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, and golden tan skin. Their straight jet-black hairs cascaded down the middle of their backs. The round-cheeked individual on the right surveyed the room with the calm demeanor of someone who wasn't easily flustered. The one on the left, I observed, was more lightly built than his serene companion. His attitude was different too, more intense and jittery. And he had a fierce penetrating gaze that kept burning holes in me, as if I was a strange and intriguing creature which needed to be studied closely. Needless to say, I found those large almond-shaped eyes of his, with their dark-as-night irises, highly intimidating. Although the two barbarians resembled one another very much, there were some noticeable differences between them. For instance, the jaw of the slim, jittery individual was narrower than his companion's; his nose was also smaller, his skin silkier, his lips fuller . . . OH! This one's a woman!
Milo nudged me. "My lord, the King!"
Instantly, all conversations ceased. Everyone in the room curtsied, saluted, or bowed to the king.
I bowed. When I rose, I saw that the king and his family were seated in their respective thrones. I also noticed that everybody had backed away from me, Milo included, and that I now stood alone in the middle of a wide, empty circle. The room was deadly silent. Confounded by this sudden and oppressive quiet, I looked around.
Everyone in the room was staring at me expectantly, as if I was supposed to do something.
I looked at Milo.
He shrugged at a loss.
A movement on my left caught my eye. Prince Diego and his companion, the beautiful lady in red, were gesturing for me to move forward, toward the king's throne.
I swallowed hard and took a hesitant step in the direction of the throne.
"HIS HIGHNESS, AMIR BAN, PRINCE OF TELFAR!" resonated through the throne room.
Feeling relief for having been properly introduced, I took a deep breath and made my way to the foot of the dais. I saw that the throne beside the king's was empty. My eyes switched to the four princesses in their soft-colored gowns seated on the king's left side. Eva was closest to her father with Lars standing behind her. Once more Lars had that hideous expression on his face, as if he was suffering from an intestinal blockage, or some other kind of embarrassing ailment. As for Eva, she looked stunning in pale-blue silk, and the smile she was giving me filled my heart with hope and joy. I turned to the king and bowed. "Your Majesty."
The King's Daughters Page 3