Tales of the Crown

by Melissa McShane

  Elspeth made a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl. “She’s not coming,” she said, and made the noise again.

  “What do you mean, she’s not coming? Is she sick?”

  “No,” snort-growl, “she’s just being stupid.”

  Jeffrey grabbed his sister’s hand so she was forced to look at him. “Elspeth, what’s going on?”

  She yanked her hand out of his. “She’s being stupid because she doesn’t want to dress in Tremontanan clothing and she wants to go to the concert in her own clothes.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did you spend all that time shopping today if she wasn’t going to wear what you bought?”

  Elspeth leaped to her feet. “We didn’t go shopping! How was I supposed to know she didn’t have anything to wear? Did you know she only has the one set of clothes and she washed them in the bathtub today? She wasn’t wearing anything at all when I went to help her dress!”

  An image of Imogen naked with her hair cascading over her shoulders flashed across Jeffrey’s inner eye in breathtaking clarity for about two seconds, which was long enough to make him forget whatever he’d been about to say.

  Elspeth added, “She never said she didn’t have clothes, so I assumed everything was fine!”

  Jeffrey threw up his hands. “Elspeth, she just got here from the Eidestal! Where under heaven was she supposed to get Tremontanan clothes? What were you thinking?”

  “Oh, yes, why don’t you yell at me too! She yelled at me just because I told her people were going to laugh at her for wearing the wrong clothes. Which they will!”

  “No, they won’t. They’ll just think she’s a foreigner.”

  Elspeth made the noise again. “Jeffrey, you don’t know anything about women. If Imogen goes in her Kirkellan clothes, those leather pants and that shirt she sewed herself, everyone will always think of her as a barbarian. She’ll never be anything else.”

  “But that’s what she is. Kirkellan, I mean, not a barbarian.”

  Elspeth threw up her own hands now. “You are both so stupid!”

  “And you’re being a brat. And rude.” Jeffrey turned away. “I’m going to tell Imogen she can wear whatever she wants.”

  “Jeffrey, don’t you dare. If you like her at all, you won’t let her do it.” Elspeth started to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m just so mad and frustrated and I know it’s wrong to cry because it’s manipulative, but you’re going to…to destroy her reputation!”

  Jeffrey hesitated. Elspeth could be frivolous and she could be petty, but she had a good grasp of social mores. If she said Imogen would be hurt by appearing in her own clothes, she was probably right. “Damn it,” he said. “I was hoping at least one thing would go right today.”

  “I feel really bad now about calling her stupid,” Elspeth said, wiping her eyes. “I felt guilty because I didn’t think about her all day. I was at a party, and…I should have been here to make her feel at home.”

  “She probably would have been just as upset, no matter when you told her she had to wear Tremontanan clothes,” Jeffrey said. “She’s very homesick, you know. I don’t think she wants to let go of who she is.”

  “I don’t see why she can’t be herself in a gown and nice shoes,” Elspeth said, sniffling.

  “She can’t be a warrior in a gown and nice shoes. And a warrior is what she is.”

  “It’s not everything she is.”

  “Maybe, but I think she has to decide that for herself.”

  “Do we still have to go to the concert?”

  Jeffrey’s stomach rumbled again. “Unfortunately, yes. I did promise we would make an appearance. And we’ll have to make Imogen’s excuses for her.”

  Elspeth tucked her hand into her brother’s arm. “It had better be a good concert.”

  It wasn’t.

  Jeffrey: Chapter Eight

  Jeffrey was early to the breakfast table the next morning only to find someone else had been even earlier. Imogen sat alone at the long table, picking at scrambled eggs with her fork. He felt a rush of relief and pleasure that she hadn’t run off in the night. “Good morning!” he said cheerfully, then remembered last night and what had started it all, and said, “Did you…are you all right? Elspeth told me what happened. I’m sorry we were so inconsiderate.”

  “I am all right,” she said, not looking at him. “I was…inconsiderate too. I yelled at Elspeth.”

  “I do that all the time,” Jeffrey assured her, helping himself from the sideboard and taking a seat across from her so they’d be able to look at each other without turning all the time. Assuming she decided to look at him. “Usually she deserves it.”

  “I have a brother who deserves to be yelled at,” she said with a little smile, though she still wasn’t looking at him. It occurred to him that she might be feeling a little guilty, too. He really wished he understood her better.

  “Have you spoken to…no, you wouldn’t have, Elspeth always sleeps as late as she can manage. I know she feels bad about what she said to you.”

  “Did she say to you the things she said to me?”

  Jeffrey took a moment to parse this. “Only a little. You didn’t want to lose yourself, was that it?”

  Hazel eyes finally met his. “That is it, yes. You understand.”

  “A little.” He didn’t, really, didn’t have any experiences to compare to hers, but he was starting to understand how much her identity meant to her and how hard it was for her to be in a place she felt was trying to take it from her. He wondered what her life in Ranstjad had been like. Hrovald would not have liked having a woman warrior in his house.

  “Ah, good, Jeffrey, I’m glad to see you.”

  “Mother! When did you get back?”

  “Late last night. Your grandfather sends his love, by the way.” Alison North loaded her plate with scrambled eggs and toast and sat down next to Imogen. “Imogen and I had a lovely conversation last night. Isn’t it lucky she didn’t go to the concert?” She directed a look at Jeffrey that said volumes about why Imogen hadn’t gone to the concert and what Alison was going to do to her children about it when she got them alone later.

  “I am glad,” Imogen said.

  “You need to eat, Imogen, you’ll want your strength today. Jeffrey, shouldn’t you be at work?”

  Jeffrey ignored her. “What are you doing today that needs so much strength?”

  “Shopping. For clothes.” Imogen glared at him, daring him to make an issue of it.

  It was an obvious trap, easily avoided. “With Mother? You’ll have a good time, then. Mother doesn’t like shopping for clothes. She has several clothiers who all know her and know what she likes, in and out and done in fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m sure it will take longer than that, Jeffrey. But Imogen doesn’t need much.” Alison poured herself a cup of coffee and loaded it with cream and sugar until Jeffrey was surprised the spoon didn’t stand up by itself. “Jeffrey, would you mind clearing your schedule at dinnertime so you can eat with the rest of us?”

  “Of course.” He wiped his lips with his napkin and rose. “Anything else I can do for you ladies?”

  “Just make sure you wear comfortable shoes today,” Alison said cryptically, and Jeffrey, realizing he wasn’t going to get any more than that out of her, made his escape.

  “I have your schedule, your Majesty,” Arthur said, rising as Jeffrey approached. “And your desk has been scrubbed and the blotter replaced, and I took the liberty of having Domestic go over the rug under your desk.”

  “Thank you, Arthur,” Jeffrey said, accepting the paper his secretary held out for him. He really should arrange some sort of bonus for the man. “I’ll be dining with my family today, so this afternoon’s schedule will have to be rearranged.”

  “Of course, your Majesty,” Arthur said, not showing any dismay. A big bonus.

  He shoveled a few more tons of paperwork off his desk, then spent the rest of the morning hearing petitioners in the throne room, which was big and dark and
was never used for anything except intimidating those who dared approach the King personally. He hated it, but could never quite bring himself to upset tradition by insisting the hearings be moved to a smaller, more friendly venue. The reasoning was that anyone who could endure the cold echoes of the throne room must have a serious request, but Jeffrey thought it just weeded out anyone who wasn’t bold-spirited. Someday, he told himself after turning down yet another petition, just not today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day. But someday.

  He was a little late getting away from the last petitioner, who’d turned out to have a case worth his attention, and hurried back to the east wing dining room to discover it empty. The door to the kitchen opened as he stood there—he never had figured out how the kitchen staff knew exactly when he arrived—and servants came out bearing steaming platters. “Has my mother been here?” he asked.

  The woman at the head of the line said, “No, your Majesty, we never serve the food until you arrive.”

  “Yes, and I’m sure I’ve told you not to wait for me if there are others ready to dine,” he said, but it was clear no one else had arrived before him. “I’m going to find my family. Sorry about the false warning, but I should be back soon. And thank you, all of you, your service is always exemplary.”

  So. Either everyone was much later than he was, or they were all busy elsewhere. He felt a little annoyed. Elspeth he could see forgetting the time, but his mother was always punctual. He left the dining room, then stopped, at a loss as to where to begin looking. What if they were still out shopping? His stomach rumbled. How long should he wait before giving up and having his dinner by himself? Not very long, he decided.

  He heard music coming from somewhere down the hall, tinkling, echoing music that sounded as if someone had captured a string quartet and stuffed it into a giant glass bottle. He followed the sound to one of the unused parlors—really, they were all unused now that it was just the three of them failing to fill the east wing to capacity—and pushed the door open.

  “…one two three, one two back, no, forward, not back,” Elspeth said. “Mother, I don’t think this is working. I keep forgetting I’m supposed to be the man.” Elspeth and Imogen stood near the center of the room, hands clasped and arms around each other’s waists. Alison sat to one side, her hand on the knob of a music Device.

  “I do not understand why it is that the man and the woman have different steps,” Imogen said.

  “Because if they both did the same steps, they would either walk away from each other or walk into each other,” Alison explained. She pushed the large brass button that shut off the Device playing the music. “Oh, Jeffrey, thank heaven. Where have you been?”

  “I don’t mean to sound petty,” Jeffrey said, “but I did clear my schedule to have dinner with all of you and no one’s in the dining room.”

  “Dancing first, dinner after,” Alison said. “Come here, dear. Elspeth just can’t keep up with Imogen.”

  “And you already know the man’s part,” Elspeth said. She retreated to her mother’s side of the room. Imogen trailed after her.

  “Is this why you wanted me to clear my schedule?” Jeffrey said.

  “Imogen is learning to dance, and she needs a partner, so come over here before the food gets cold.” Alison pointed at Imogen. “Back to the center, Imogen, and let’s try this one more time.”

  Jeffrey looked at Imogen. “I’m not a very good dancer,” he said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a perfectly good dancer. You just don’t like to do it,” Alison said.

  Jeffrey went to the center of the room. Imogen joined him there and held out her hand stiffly. He took it and turned it over, examining it. “You should at least act as if you’re pleased to dance with your partner,” he said with a grin.

  “I am tired and this is not enjoyable. But I am thankful you will help.”

  “One dance, and then we can eat.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, making her laugh. “There, that’s better already.”

  “Hands on waists, right hands clasped, keep your elbow up, Imogen, and—” The tinny music started up again, and Imogen and Jeffrey both moved at once and bumped up against each other, then laughed together.

  “Let’s try that again,” he said, “and this time do it backwards from what Elspeth incorrectly taught you.”

  “As if you could have done better, Jeffrey.”

  “At least I wouldn’t have taught her the man’s part, tiny.” This time, they swung gracefully into the music, and after the first few steps Imogen stopped looking at her feet and could meet Jeffrey’s eyes. “Much better,” he said. The tiny lines of tension around Imogen’s hazel eyes disappeared.

  “It is more fun this way,” she said, and he laughed.

  “I’ve never danced with anyone as tall as me before,” he said. “It’s interesting. In a good way, you understand.”

  “I do because I was dancing with Elspeth and she is tiny as you say.”

  “Hey! It’s not my fault you’re both giants. Everyone around me is a giant. Except Mother.”

  “Your father never complained about dancing with me,” Alison said.

  The memory of watching his father and mother dance sent a pang of sadness through him. Imogen looked at him curiously and said, “Do I step wrong?”

  He controlled his face. “No, it was just a passing thought, nothing to do with you. You look very nice in your new clothes, by the way. Very much like a Tremontanan lady.”

  Imogen flushed. “How did I look before?” she asked, a little angry.

  Oops. Jeffrey said, “Ah…also very nice?”

  “I did not look nice. I looked like a warrior.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Which suited you very well, as I recall.”

  For some reason, this made Imogen blush. Alison said, “Jeffrey, stop implying that Imogen’s Kirkellan clothing made her look like a savage and pay attention. Imogen, keep your elbow up.”

  “I did not think you looked like a savage,” he assured Imogen. “All right, you end by turning away, then coming back together—no, further away, let’s try that again—right.” She turned and came face to face with him again, her hazel eyes dancing with pleasure. “I think you’ve got it.”

  “I think I should not dance with a shorter partner,” Imogen said with a laugh.

  “Then I’ll have to dance it with you,” he said. “I’d dance with the Veriboldan and Eskandelic ambassadors too, but they’re both male and the ambassador from Eskandel has a very jealous harem.”

  “I do not know what harem means.”

  The king turned to look at Alison. “Mother will explain it to you.”

  “But not over dinner,” she said.

  “Definitely not over dinner,” Jeffrey said, and took Imogen’s hand and bowed over it. “Please join us, madam ambassador.”

  Jeffrey tried to avoid his councilors during the next few days and was so successful he wondered if they might be avoiding him too. He’d winnowed out the proposals that were either impractical or clearly skewed in one of his lords’ favor, which left him with three. Of the three, there was one he thought was a clear winner, and after two days of consideration he almost decided to make the announcement without waiting for the full council’s presence. But no, he’d called them all to Aurilien; the least he could do was tell them in person. They needed to know he respected them, even though it was clear many of them didn’t respect him very much. He turned his attention to other things.

  On the third day he came to his office rather later than usual, having slept poorly and dreamed of things he couldn’t now remember except that they’d been unsettling and exhausting. Arthur was talking to a young man Jeffrey didn’t know, who was perched on the edge of Arthur’s desk. “I’m just saying the language doesn’t have to be a barrier,” the young man said, leaning in close to Arthur. “Some things you don’t need talking for, right?”

  Arthur grinned and winked at his friend, then noticed the King standing nearby and straighte
ned. “Excuse me, your Majesty,” he said, and the other young man stood quickly and bowed. He didn’t seem embarrassed to be caught in such an informal pose.

  “I assume you’re talking about the Kirkellan?” Jeffrey said.

  “Yes, your Majesty,” Arthur said. He exchanged glances with his friend and a sly smile touched his lips for just a second. “We—that is, many of the staff have been out to watch them exercise their horses. It’s…captivating.”

  Jeffrey grinned, for a moment just another young man who could appreciate the fairer sex—or, in Arthur’s case, his own sex. “It sounds like you’re finding ways to communicate,” he said.

  “Oh, yes, your Majesty,” the stranger said with a twinkle, then seemed to remember to whom he was speaking. “That is—we’re all interested in building bridges between our cultures.”

  “I understand perfectly,” Jeffrey said, repressing a smile. “Perhaps I should take the time to visit the training yard myself.”

  “You won’t regret it, your Majesty,” Arthur said, then he too recollected himself and handed Jeffrey a sheet of paper. “Your schedule, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Jeffrey glanced over it. There wasn’t anything this morning that wouldn’t keep. “Clear my schedule until dinner,” he said, handing it back. “I think I have a…diplomatic appointment instead. Bridge building, as you say.”

  He took a little time to change into some less formal attire, dispensing with the services of his valet for once, and went down the long, stony corridor that emerged into the training yard. To his surprise, the yard was empty. The parade ground, on the other hand, was crowded with horses and people, and the lowest tiers surrounding the grassy oval were packed with spectators, who suddenly cheered and applauded some activity Jeffrey couldn’t see through the crowd massed on this side of the oval.

  He went forward and elbowed his way through the crowd, whose members elbowed back until, stunned, they realized who it was they were prodding. Jeffrey nodded and smiled politely at the shocked faces until he reached the front of the crowd and could see what was going on.