by K. M. Shea
“I didn’t do much this time, Your Highness,” Ariane said.
“You hit that snake with a shovel.”
“Perhaps, but it was the soldiers who killed it.”
“But you still tried to stop it,” Lucien said.
Why is he being so insistent? “…Yes.”
Lucien rolled back slightly so he could peer up at her with his froggy eyes. “Why? Why risk yourself, again?”
Ariane took a moment to think before she responded. “Because I would never let someone die before me without reaching out to help.”
Lucien was quiet for the rest of the walk to Chanceux.
Lucien was deeply grateful when Ariane carried him off to a private salon instead of traipsing him before Severin and Elle.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see his brother and sister-in-law; he just didn’t want to see them at this moment, as it would mean he’d have to acknowledge that their paranoia was perhaps not so far-fetched.
Unfortunately for Lucien, when Ariane stepped out of the salon to speak to the guards, she returned to find him attempting to pry a cork from a bottle of wine and promptly scooped him up on a cushion and took him from the room.
“Release me, maid!” Lucien ordered as Ariane marched down the hallway.
“No,” Ariane said stormily.
Lucien tried to peer up at her without tipping over. “I don’t understand why you’re upset. I was nearly eaten alive—wine is the least of what I deserve.”
“Indeed,” Ariane said. “As the day has been so trying, you should retire and recuperate.”
“I haven’t even had dinner yet!” Lucien cringed at the shrill tone of his own voice. I’ve been a frog for three days, and I’ve gone from a charming prince to a spoilt child whining at the maid. I’m not sure my image will ever recover.
“I am sure Henry can be convinced to take you to dinner, or to have a tray brought up for you,” Ariane said.
Lucien grumbled and settled into his cushion, trying to meld with it as much as possible. (Though he would rather die than admit it, riding around on the cushion was rather terrifying—much like perching on the top of a carriage with horses pulling it at a gallop.)
Ariane reached Lucien’s quarters shortly, opened the door, and again tossed Lucien and his cushion inside so he flipped head over webbed feet.
This time, he landed on a bearskin rug set out before the fire and skid a little before finally stopping.
“The guards will inform Prince Severin and Princess Elle of tonight’s incident,” she said as Lucien righted himself. “Good evening, Your Highness.” Ariane ducked out of the doorway.
“Rude servant!” he shouted after her, but she was, of course, already gone.
“I see you have returned before dinner, Your Highness.” Henry stepped out of the shadows, already armed with a bowl and a towel. “I hope you did nothing untoward?” He glanced at the closed door and raised his eyebrows.
“I was nearly eaten by a snake in the gardens,” Lucien snapped.
Henry’s expression—which was nearly invisible to begin with—changed from chiding to mild worry as the position of his forehead wrinkles altered slightly. “Do you require any medical attention? The barber-surgeon, perhaps?”
“No, I’m fine.” Lucien sighed as Henry picked him up and set him on the small table for his regular bowl-bath. “I was luckily too fat for the snake to swallow easily.” He eased his way into the bowl and splashed around for a quiet moment or two.
“Are you certain you do not wish for a second opinion? We could seek out Lady Enchantress Angelique.”
“Yes, I’m certain. Why?”
“You are unusually silent.”
Lucien tried to snort, but he didn’t really have the nostrils for it, so it got caught in his throat and made his chest puff up. “Yes. Tell me, Henry, is it normal for people to be willing to risk themselves for others? And I am not referring to people they love, but rather people they…dislike.”
Henry meticulously set out a towel for Lucien to crawl on to. “You are referring to Mademoiselle Ariane?”
“She took a shovel to the snake—which was probably magic, as the soldiers didn’t recognize its coloring.”
Henry held the bowl steady so Lucien could heave himself over the side without tipping the whole thing. “Mademoiselle Ariane is quite brave. I imagine you are correct in thinking not everyone would have helped you, but I believe more people would than you believe.”
Lucien stared at his giant canopy bed unseeingly. “Not many of the nobles would,” he said grimly. He knew this from experience. The very people he had wined and dined and done every possible thing to charm had wanted to put Severin down like an animal when he was first cursed. The memory still made Lucien want to grind his teeth—even if he didn’t have many at the moment.
He fidgeted and dusted the thought from his mind. “Soldiers and guards would, but I always assumed that was due to their temperaments and Severin’s training.”
“The lower class is also capable of great goodness and nobility of temperament as well, Your Highness,” Henry said. For once his voice did not sound dry like sand or hard like rock, but softer—like water. “Just as you are.”
Lucien glanced up at the valet, who ignored the look and instead picked up the bowl of used water and strode across the room.
It’s something to mull over, I suppose. Along with the rest of the wretched news the Summit has brought.
Chapter 5
An Act?
When the summit was paused for luncheon on the fourth day, Ariane readied herself for a grueling hour. Her stomach rumbled as she carried Lucien to his usual eating position at Severin’s left, and she warred to keep her expression passive as the tantalizing scent of food brushed her nose.
Watching Lucien for breakfast and dinner isn’t so bad. I can eat directly before breakfast, and I know I get to eat as soon as I deliver Lucien to his rooms, but lunch… Thus far, she had not been able to steal off for lunch, so sitting at the table and feeding the crown prince was nothing short of misery.
Ariane carefully set Lucien on the table. There was so much food the prince had to crawl off his cushion as there wasn’t any room for it.
“Chestnut soup, lobster bisque, scallops, smoked eel, roast beef—your cook has outdone herself, Severin,” Lucien said.
Prince Severin briefly bowed his head. “She worked with Elle to be certain every dinner would have a dish our foreign guests would enjoy. Elle went through great pains to secure a sorbet recipe from Baris.”
Lucien’s throat puffed and deflated. “I hope she didn’t steal it?”
“I didn’t ask,” Prince Severin said.
“Lovely,” Lucien said.
Ariane swallowed and was grateful for the buzz of conversation that filled the room, covering the complaints of her stomach. She tucked her hair behind her ears and tried to ignore the delectable, herb-infused scent oozing off the roast beef.
“Ariane,” Prince Lucien said.
Ariane snapped her attention off the food. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Eat.”
I must have misheard him. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness, could you repeat that?”
Prince Lucien set about investigating a teacup of water one of the servants had set out for him. “Eat. Try out…whatever you wish, though I would recommend the beef.”
Feeling rather confused, Ariane frowned. “This is your food, Your Highness. I cannot eat it. Unless…are you asking for a food taster?”
Prince Lucien croaked. “No, I am not asking for a food taster,” he said, sounding offended. “It is merely that…” he trailed off when he nearly fell into his teacup. “For land’s sake, just eat!”
Ariane looked from Lucien—who was still struggling with his teacup—to the mouth-watering food, to those gathered around the table. She slowly picked up the utensils and paused—half waiting for someone to renounce her for daring to eat from the royal table.
Her hesita
tion lasted only half a second before she started with sampling the chestnut soup. She worked her way through it, the smoked eel, buttered asparagus, and a single candied fig.
“I see you don’t trust my recommendation,” Prince Lucien said as he moved his attention to his single goblet of wine.
Ariane nearly choked on the asparagus she had been nibbling on. “I assumed your recommendation meant you liked it, Your Highness, and wished to eat it.”
Ariane had purposely steered clear of the rarer dishes and delicacies—like the beef. She would have loved to try them, but Lucien’s sudden goodwill was rather unexpected, and she didn’t want to sour it by eating something he wanted.
Prince Lucien skirted her plate. “That chunk of meat is as big as your fist—I couldn’t cram such food into my belly even if I wished to. But no mind. If you won’t try it, then you should at least try the sorbet when it’s brought out.”
“Are you ready to eat, Your Highness?” Ariane asked.
Prince Lucien fished a candied fig from the bowl and waddled to the bowl of lobster bisque. “Yes, but I want the bisque, which I am more than capable of eating myself, I assure you.”
“Good afternoon, Prince Lucien,” a wizened, female voice said.
Ariane whisked her utensils under the table—hiding them for the moment—and raised her gaze to see an older woman with snow white hair. It took Ariane several moments before she could place her as Rider Nareena—the Purple Rider of the Farset King and the royal representative of Farset.
“Rider Nareena, how delightful to see you,” Prince Lucien said in a charming tone. “To what do I owe this charming surprise?”
Even as a frog he just oozes charisma.
“I wished to thank your brother for making all the arrangements for this Summit.” The rider glanced at Severin—who had momentarily slipped from the table and was conversing with guards a few feet away.
“He has done a magnificent job,” Prince Lucien said. “Both in organizing it and in presiding over it.”
“Indeed,” Rider Nareena said. “You are very lucky to have him, you know.”
Prince Lucien’s frog eyes darted in Severin’s direction. “Yes,” he agreed.
“With Prince Severin’s leadership in the military and sense of direction, Loire has a bright future before it,” Rider Nareena said. “It is a blessing for you that the two of you get along as well as you do. Without him, your life would be quite different.”
“Exactly,” Prince Lucien said.
The tone he used made Ariane sit up straighter and glance at him in surprise. His voice was as false as the magic snake that had attacked him. What brought that on?
“It looks like he is now available, so you are free to shower your praises upon him. Enjoy the luncheon, Rider Nareena,” Lucien said.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” The older woman glided off, making her way to Severin.
Lucien—utterly silent—returned to his lobster bisque and spent the remainder of the meal quietly eating. (He didn’t even finish his wine!)
His unusual behavior—both in letting her eat and in his obvious displeasure at Rider Nareena’s observations—confused Ariane. She picked at the thought as she carried Lucien back to the ballroom that served as the meeting room.
I don’t understand. He clearly adores Severin, so what did Rider Nareena say that disturbed him so?
What was perhaps the most thought-provoking, however, was the idea that Lucien might be more complex than the charming-yet-arrogant dandy he appeared to be.
“Verglas can send supplies; however, we are in the middle of a structural reorganization of our army,” Queen Linnea said. “We need to finish retraining our soldiers before we can send any.”
The King of Torrens raised a bushy eyebrow. “You grew too placid with your magic wall, hm?” He was jolted when one of his fellow Torrens representatives smacked their hand down on the table in front of him.
“No,” Queen Linnea said frostily. “We toiled under the rule of a deranged king.” She narrowed her eyes and likely would have said more, if her friend—Gemma—hadn’t taken her hand and squeezed it.
“Arcainia can supply troops and limited funds,” Princess Elise of Arcainia said.
Ariane tilted her head to study the princess, noticing—with some curiosity—that her twin foster brothers stood behind her and whispered in her ear.
“No supplies?” Prince Callan of Ringsted asked.
Crown Prince Steffen shook his head. “Clotilde brought famine and destruction on our lands. We’re still trying to recover.”
“Ringsted can offer ships, of course, and supplies. Though we were isolated we still had bountiful harvests,” Prince Callan said. “It seems, however, that there haven’t been any battles at sea, so we may be relegated to transportation.”
His fiancée, Princess Dylan, had a basket of crescent rolls in front of her that she was steadily devouring. “We Selkies can send some of our people with the ships—to guarantee easy ocean passage.”
Ariane watched with fascination as Princess Dylan ate three crescent rolls and showed no signs of stopping.
“We can transport troops as well,” Prince Callan added. “But we will need a reserve number of ships to keep on Ringsted shores. Our experience with the sea witch has made us…averse to possible situations that might isolate us again.”
Prince Severin nodded and made notes. “A reasonable request.”
It struck Ariane that, considering he was a genius military tactician, Severin spent a great deal of his time writing and taking notes. Curious, she glanced down at Lucien. I’ve never seen Lucien read…but I know his personal study is packed with books and files.
“And what of Sole?” Prince Nickolas of Arcainia asked.
The two mages who were representing the distraught country shook their heads. “We are only mages and cannot promise anything.”
“Do you believe, when they awaken, the royal family would be willing to give any sort of aid?” Prince Severin asked.
Mage Firra hesitated, then shook her head. “Unless the situation radically changes, I don’t believe King Giuseppe will.”
“Briar would,” Mage Donaigh said.
“Who?” Prince Severin asked.
“Briar Rose—Princess Rosalinda,” Mage Firra said. “She is far more…open to such discussions, but she holds very little power at the moment.”
“It would be best, then, if we write off Sole entirely,” Colonel Friedrich said. “If they send us anything, we may view it as a boon.”
Rider Nareena tapped her table with long fingers. “It’s a shame. What I wouldn’t give for a squadron of the Magic Knights of Sole to take on these rogue mages—or the likes of Rothbart.”
Emperor Yevgeniy straightened. “Perhaps we could barter?”
Mage Donaigh shook his head. “As long as Princess Rosalinda is in danger, King Giuseppe won’t be willing to send out any Magic Knights.”
“Which is beside the point, as he’s not even awake to do so now,” Mage Firra pointed out.
“Once the Summit is over, I will travel to Kozlovka with Emperor Yevgeniy to scout Rothbart,” Lady Enchantress Angelique said. “When I have an understanding of the threat he poses, perhaps other magic users will join me in facing him?” She looked around, and for a moment Ariane thought she read a bit of fear in her eyes.
“Of course,” Craftmage Stil said. “I’ll get to work on some goods while you scout it out. By the time you’re back, I’ll have something to help you.”
Mage Donaigh brightened. “I could—”
“No, you can’t,” Mage Firra interrupted. “We have to get back to Sole for Briar.”
Mage Donaigh nodded and adjusted the straw hat he hadn’t removed—even for such a formal occasion as the Summit.
Lady Enchantress Angelique smiled and glanced around the room again. No one else said anything.
An older woman who was quick to smile and plump like a grandmother patted the enchantress’s hand. “You�
��ll be fine, dearie.”
“Sybilla is correct,” another mage rumbled. “You, out of all of us who are gifted with magic, shouldn’t have a problem offing a sorcerer.”
“I thank you for your help, Lady Enchantress,” Emperor Yevgeniy said. “We will provide you with whatever resources you need to face Rothbart.”
The Lady Enchantress smiled slightly and graciously tilted her head.
She really is beautiful, Ariane thought. Though there’s something sad about her. Perhaps she is merely worn out—it seems she knows most everyone here and has been running from country to country.
“I can’t decide if other magic users scorn Angelique because she is an enchantress and they feel threatened, or if there is something about her magic that makes them fear her,” Lucien remarked almost absentmindedly.
Ariane shook herself from her thoughts and guiltily glanced down at the prince—she had half-forgotten him in the intensity of the meeting. She could probably be forgiven for her inattention, however, for the prince had spent the majority of the meeting organizing the bowl of candied figs he had insisted they bring into the meeting, and now had his treats arranged in neat stacks.
He is capable of some semblance of organization. The lout. His observations finally pierced Ariane’s thoughts. “What do you mean?” she asked in a whisper.
“There’re only a few magic users who speak freely with her—Craftmage Stil and the Fairy Godmother Sybilla among them.” He spoke quietly, though he sounded distracted as he looked out at the representatives. “The rest treat her with cold respect and are prone to frowning at her.”
“They would disapprove of an enchantress? With all the good she has done?” Ariane wondered.
“Oh, it’s been going on for quite some time. Given that she has been racing across the continent for several years, finishing off magical incidences, I would have thought by now the Veneno Conclave would have assigned her traveling companions or attendants to aid her. At the very least, I thought someone would volunteer to travel with her. But she has always been alone and is generally very timid when it comes to speaking to other magic users when, as an enchantress, she out-ranks just about every magic user on the continent. That is why I suspect it has something to do with her magic. She is used to this sub-par treatment.”