by K. M. Shea
The door to Prince Lucien’s quarters opened, and Henry stared impassively at her.
“I'm here to escort His Highness to the banquet hall.” Her eyes strayed briefly from the valet to the smudge she had left on the door.
Henry nodded, then disappeared inside the chamber.
“What are you doing?” Lucien squawked.
Henry murmured an indecipherable reply to him, and seconds later reappeared in the doorway, holding a red velvet cushion upon which Prince Lucien—in his giant, bloated frog body—sat. “Have a pleasant evening,” he said as he passed the cushion off to Ariane.
The second Ariane had a secure grip on it, Henry swung the door shut. As talkative as ever, I see. Ariane turned around, retracing her way through the chateau hallways, though she spared a moment to glance down at Prince Lucien. “Good evening, Your Highness.”
Prince Lucien croaked.
Ariane held the cushion out in front of her so she could roll her eyes at Prince Lucien's green back.
The prince was heavier than Ariane had prepared herself for, and her arms started to ache by the time she finally made her way from the family wing to the banquet hall. She bit her lip as they entered the room, feeling half naked without her maid uniform. She had never been in such a formal event as anything other than a servant. What am I supposed to do?
She started to turn around, searching for a familiar face among the maids, when Heloise descended upon her.
“Good evening, Your Highness,” the housekeeper said briskly. “You and your escort are to sit to Prince Severin’s left, next to the King of Torrens.”
Ariane didn't know if she was supposed to curtsey, but she was afraid to risk it as she had to keep Lucien balanced on his cushion. “Yes, Madame,” she murmured. She turned to study the tables and search for Severin...who was unfortunately standing with a young man dressed in an Erlauf military uniform. Lovely. If he’s standing, how am I supposed to figure out where we sit? She glanced over her shoulder, but Heloise had moved on, already greeting the next guest. She took a few uneasy steps deeper into the banquet hall when Lucien impatiently shuffled around on his pillow.
“We are to sit next to my brother and the King of Torrens,” he said pointedly.
“Yes, Your Highness. I do not know where that seat is, however, given that Prince Severin is currently standing.”
“To the right of the King of Torrens would be my guess.”
He’s so self-centered and arrogant. “I imagine so,” Ariane said between gritted teeth. “However, I do not know what the King of Torrens looks like.”
“He's the fellow sitting down at the head of the room with the bushy beard.” Though his words were helpful, Lucien's tone oozed with condescension.
Bear it, she ordered herself as she maneuvered around the various tables and the members of nobility scattered throughout the room. When she finally reached the correct table, she was relieved to see that paper nameplates written with curling letters were set for each place, assuring her of Lucien’s spot next to the rather wild-looking monarch.
Ariane placed Lucien's cushion on the table and glanced at the King of Torrens. Should I swivel Lucien to face him?
The king, who had his head tilted back resting against his chair, released an enormous snore.
I guess not. Ariane lowered herself into her chair, then leaped to her feet again when a man, dressed in a splendid tunic and wearing an impressive gold crown on his head, approached them.
“Prince Lucien,” the man said. “It is good to see you—though I am sorry to hear of your…affliction.”
“Emperor Yevgeniy, you honor me,” Lucien said in a jolly voice. “Father sends his regrets that he could not attend the Summit as well—he much desired to speak to you and spoke fondly of you.”
Ariane stood silently and wracked her brain. Who was Emperor Yevgeniy? He must be the emperor of Kozlovka, for most of the other countries use the term king.... The Emperor’s features did not help her—for though he had kind eyes, his hair was a sort of indecisive shade of brown-blond.
“Indeed,” the emperor said. “When all of this is over, I should like very much to host your family in Kozlovka. Your father and I spent much of our boyhood together.”
“He has told me something of your adventures,” Lucien said—all good cheer and charm even though not three minutes ago he had been as cheerful as a bucket of used water. “Do tell Severin of your wish. I fear he will soon grow musty, for he does little besides pore over maps and reports.”
The emperor smiled, which eased some of the tired lines around his eyes. “I shall do so. Enjoy the meal, Lucien.”
“You as well, Your Imperial Majesty,” Lucien said smoothly.
Ariane—hovering nervously at the table—was surprised when guests trickled past, and Lucien smoothly greeted people he hadn’t met before, knowing their names and positions without any sort of introduction.
The whirlwind of visiting nobles had Ariane curtsying so much her legs ached. How does he know who they all are? She wondered as she idly eyed the smug prince.
Lucien’s good cheer fell when Princess Elle—wearing a beautiful rose red gown, swept up to them. “What do you want?” Lucien asked with a hint of a complaint in his voice.
“With you? Nothing,” Elle said. “But I wanted to speak to Ariane—and I suppose you might as well hear it.” The princess winked, then turned her attention to Ariane. “I wanted to assure you that I know this will be a trying job. But please be reassured: if Lucien acts like the frog he is—or is generally a pest—don’t be afraid to fling him about, and for land’s sake don’t let him bully you. I promise he will threaten to have you tossed from the palace or dismissed from your job, but Severin and I will not allow that to happen.”
“Did you just give her your royal permission to commit acts of violence against me?” Lucien demanded.
“I did,” Elle said. She ignored her brother-in-law’s huffs and added. “If, by the end of the Summit, you find you cannot abide living in the same city as him, you will be more than welcome here at Chanceux Chateau. But no matter your decision, you will not face any negative consequences of Lucien’s ill temper. Do not feel bound to withhold your anger when he says something particularly rude—though I do ask that you avoid making a scene in the middle of the Summit.”
“I beg your pardon—she’s a servant! She most certainly should feel bound,” Lucien complained.
“Just because she is a servant doesn’t mean she should be required to put up with you,” Elle said.
Lucien’s throat bulged. “At times like this, your merchant blood shows.”
Ariane felt a smile crack the corners of her lips and impatiently pushed a lock of her dark hair over her shoulder. I knew I could handle him if I had no choice, but I am grateful to know his threats will be empty. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“Please, you must call me Elle. And it is I who should be thanking you for your sacrifice,” Princess Elle said.
“And what about me?” Prince Lucien asked in a pinched voice.
“You probably need a water glass dumped over you—you look peckish,” Elle said. “Enjoy the dinner!” With a swish of her skirts, the princess was off, moving on to embrace a craftmage and his wife whom Lucien had greeted earlier.
“That woman,” Prince Lucien growled.
“I can see why Prince Severin married her,” Ariane said.
Lucien stared at her with his frog eyes, and looked away only when Prince Severin moved to take his seat.
“Pardon me, but the meal will soon begin,” Prince Severin announced.
The conversation of the room quieted as the guests and representatives parted ways, each going to their seat.
Prince Severin waited until everyone was seated before he continued. “Thank you, everyone, for traveling to Chanceux Chateau to take part in this Summit. It is my hope that by working together we can solve whatever blight threatens our countries. Thank you, and enjoy the evening.” He sat down quickly
.
“Not enjoying the role of organizer?” Lucien asked his brother.
Severin flattened his lips. “I’m a general, not a noble.”
“You’re a prince,” Lucien reminded him.
“I suppose,” he said reluctantly.
“Suppose? There is nothing to suppose,” Prince Lucien scoffed. “You are my brother—a royal. But I can understand that this particular group would be…daunting. Chin up—you did well.”
Prince Severin grunted.
Ariane thoughtfully studied Lucien’s back. At least his affection for his brother seems genuine. This was a great surprise, considering Severin was actually the illegitimate son of King Rèmy. Usually dislike would have been fostered between the half-brothers instead of the close camaraderie they shared.
Unfortunately, Lucien opened his giant mouth and undid all the good his interaction with Severin had made in Ariane’s mind. “Servant girl, stop sitting there like a lump and serve me my soup.”
Ariane, having new proof that Prince Lucien was utterly dislikeable, let a small smile quirk her lips. “Yes, Your Highness.”
The meal was trying for Ariane, despite her usual ability to find humor in most every situation. Lucien demanded her attention and at the same time her silence. Furthermore, it was more than a little irritating to serve the demanding frog numerous delicacies while everyone else nibbled at the scrumptious food and Ariane could not.
By the time the dessert—a giant cake shaped to be a perfect model of Chanceux Chateau—was served, Ariane knew she was mad to agree to escorting the frog prince about. His arrogance is insufferable—especially considering how little he does. For a moment, Ariane recalled the way he knew every representative who had arrived, then brushed it off. Socializing—with those he deems proper—is his passion.
“Stop swooping the fork about like a bat,” Lucien said as he tried to eat a bit of cake off the fork Ariane held for him. “It’s making me sick.”
“Perhaps Your Highness feels ill because frogs are not meant to eat cake. Mayhap a bug would be more to your liking,” Ariane suggested.
Lucien—who had frosting on the top of his head from the time Ariane purposely dumped a forkful of cake on him—puffed up. “You overstep your boundaries, maid.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness,’ Ariane murmured without an ounce of geniality.
The prince croaked. “Your impudence has spoiled my appetite. I am finished for the night. You may take me back to my room.”
Oh, I may, may I? Ariane waited until Lucien hauled his bulk onto the cushion, then picked it up and whisked out of the banquet hall as fast as she could, making the prince tumble a bit on his cushion.
“Slow down,” he gurgled.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Ariane slowed to a walk and glanced down at him.
He had rolled onto his back and one of his front froggy legs was propped up over the giant bulge of his belly. His back legs were outstretched, and they flopped with Ariane’s steps.
They soon reached the family wing of the chateau, and Ariane was smiling again by the time she knocked on the door of Lucien’s chambers.
There was no response.
“Open the door and go inside,” Lucien ordered.
“I am to pass you off to Henry.”
“Bother Henry—I wish for comfort. And more wine.”
Ariane opened the door and peered inside.
Henry was crouched in front of the fire, feeding it logs. “Welcome home, Your Highness,” he said in his stony voice. “I trust you enjoyed yourself?”
“Yes, though I learned Father must begin educating his servants on the difference between soup and dessert spoons,” Lucien said. “Place me upon my bed,” he ordered Ariane.
Recalling Princess Elle’s promise—and her order to ignore Lucien’s bullying—Ariane instead raised the pillow and tossed it on a chair, taking great satisfaction when Lucien was smashed between his wretched velvet cushion and the cushion of the chair.
“Good evening, Your Highness, Henry,” Ariane said cheerfully before she ducked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
She could hear Lucien’s muffled complaints even with the door closed and smiled to herself as she marched down the hallway. Serving here at the Summit might not be as fun as I had estimated, but there’s no need to let a spoiled prince ruin all of it. No, this won’t be quite so bad after all.
Chapter 4
The Summit
Ariane meticulously straightened Lucien’s pillow and glanced around the ballroom Prince Severin had transformed for the sake of the Summit. Though the room was still lit by beautiful chandeliers and the marble walls sparkled in the morning light let in by floor-to-ceiling windows, the ballroom was filled with tables and chairs that were meticulously arranged in a ring. The odd shape meant every representative had an equal view, which was quite forward-thinking. Though Ariane wished she didn’t have to sit directly with Lucien.
Ordinarily I would say my presence is entirely unnecessary—a rogue magic user isn’t going to bust into this highly guarded ballroom, after all. However, I can see Prince Lucien does legitimately need help given that he is a frog. No small wonder Henry opted to avoid this task.
Ariane glanced discreetly at either side. Once again Prince Lucien had been placed next to Prince Severin, though this time a Craftmage named Stil sat on Lucien’s other side.
“Ask me if it’s alive,” Craftmage Stil said to the young woman sitting next to him.
His companion, a rather serious young lady who was at work sewing a cloak, shook her head. “We’re not going to play the question game. We’re on the cusp of a monumental meeting—hush.”
“Gemma!” Queen Linnea beamed as Ariane had never seen and hurried up to the serious lady, throwing her arms around her shoulders. “We get to sit together! Isn’t that fantastic?”
“Just fabulous,” Graftmage Stil muttered.
Ariane glanced down at Prince Lucien—who was fussing with his cushion—and wished he would talk to the mage to break the awkward silence.
As if he could feel her eyes, Lucien stopped burrowing into his pillow and glared up at her. “What?”
Before Ariane could reply, Prince Severin stood, making his chair scrape. “I call to order the first meeting of the Summit,” he said. “As I said last night, my wife and I have organized this event with the intension of addressing the rampant evil that has spread across the land. I would like to begin with a report on each country. In my invitations, I asked you to prepare such a report ahead of time so we might all be aware of the troubles we face. Who would like to go first?”
“I can.” The man in the Erlauf military uniform stood and addressed the crowd, letting Ariane see the black eyepatch that covered his right eye. “I am Colonel Friedrich of the Dragon Army, husband of Queen Cinderella, and Prince of Erauf. Erauf lands have been overrun by goblins. It started two, perhaps three years ago. It’s an infestation that has grown steadily worse—and it is unusual because of the great number of goblins we’ve fought and their solid organizational methods.”
The debonair colonel clasped his hands behind his back and nodded to a soldier who stood near him. The soldier took a stack of papers and began passing them out. “We’ve outlined the places in which they’ve hit us and the spots where we have successfully routed them,” the colonel continued. “Since Cinderella was crowned queen, things have gotten a little more manageable—not because the goblins have stopped coming but because we now recruit among former Trieux citizens as well.”
There were some murmurs over this. Five years ago, Erlauf had invaded the much smaller country of Trieux after Trieux had made declarations of war. The battle was brief, and the losses had been quite low, but many countries of the continent had not looked favorably upon Erlauf for what was thought to be a radical response.
Ariane glanced down at Lucien to see what he thought.
The prince was peering at his reflection in his silver wine goblet, blinking one eye and
then the other.
The pattern continued throughout the morning.
Lucien stretched out on his back when the King of Torrens reported a recent increase of trolls, giants, and ogres that had started not even a year ago. He loudly ate crackers when Baris told of an influx of harpies and a kraken attack. Worse yet, he fell asleep when Prince Callan of Ringsted and his bride to be—the Selkie Princess Dylan—explained they had defeated a sea witch who had created massive storm fronts that isolated Ringsted not even a year ago.
By the time they had gotten to Loire, Ariane was irritated enough with the apathetic prince that she considered poking him awake. I didn’t know so many countries were experiencing such turmoil. She looked from the various reports Lucien had been given by multiple representatives to the prince, who was still napping. How can he sleep at a time like this?
“What of Mulberg?” Princess Astra of Baris asked after Severin finished the Loire briefing. “Why did they not send a representative? Did you not invite them?”
“They were invited,” Princess Elle said. “But in her reply to the invitation, the Queen of Mulberg said they hadn’t experienced any difficulties whatsoever, so she did not see the necessity of the Summit.”
“I imagine their lack of trouble is due to the Veneno Conclave,” Emperor Yevgeniy said, his voice was perhaps a little bitter. “With the Conclave’s base and Academy in Mulberg, I cannot imagine rogue mages would risk venturing there.”
“Did you send an envoy to Zancara?” Lord Dooley—one of the Ringsted representatives—asked.
Severin shook his head. “Zancara’s borders are still closed. It’s anyone’s guess what is happening there.”
Ariane glanced down at Lucien again, who was so deep in sleep his back feet were twitching. She frowned and tugged on his pillow, rocking him out of his nap.