by Serena Chase
I hadn’t even thought of the need to have more clothes, but less than an hour after our meal a dressmaker had measured me and promised to deliver a new gown by morning. I was amazed that it could be accomplished with such speed but she assured me that, in a busy city like Port Dyn, she was used to working under a tight schedule. I figured it didn’t hurt that the request had come from a Regent’s son.
Tired of wearing the hairpiece, I was content to stay within the confines of our rooms while we waited for word from Erielle as to whether or not the King’s promised scribe had yet arrived at Holiday Palace.
The sun had set and we had just finished our dinner when Julien answered a knock on the door. Not wishing to don the hairpiece again, I retreated to my bedroom, but soon Julien appeared in the doorway.
“It’s Dyfnel, the scribe sent by your father. He wants to meet you.”
I’m not sure why Julien thought Dyfnel wanted to meet me. The hunched-over, bespectacled old man barely looked at me when I entered the room, even though my hair was hanging freely down my back. With a cursory glance in my direction and a little grunt, he handed a parchment to Julien.
“You have the scrolls?” His rough voice scratched against my ears.
“Yes. Right here.” Julien handed Dyfnel the oilskin pouch containing the scrolls Erielle had discovered.
“Very good.” The old man gave me a quick nod and headed toward the door.
I stared at the back of the door when it closed. “Well,” I said, “that was certainly not what I expected.”
Julien nodded. “He’s an odd old fellow, but the King knows what he’s about.” He paused to unroll the scroll Dyfnel had given him and quickly scanned its contents. “News certainly travels fast,” he said with a chuckle. “It appears the Regent of Dynwatre is hosting a ball at Holiday Palace the night after next, and as the son of the Regent of Mynissbyr, I have been invited. If you would like to go it might be a nice diversion while we await our escort to Tirandov Isle.”
“A ball?” I looked down at the coarse fabric of my ill-fitting gown. “I couldn’t possibly!” I laughed. “Even if I could suitably disguise myself, I have nothing appropriate to wear to a formal ball!”
“There is a shop that specializes in hairpieces like yours,” he said. “As well as longer styles for women.” He grinned. “I’ve always thought it a vain, foolish expense. But in this case?” He shrugged. “I’ll run out and see if I can find something to suit.”
“But my eyes,” I reminded him.
“With Rozen’s spectacles no one will recognize you. And since the dressmaker already has your measurements, I’m sure she would be able to create a gown for you if you would like to attend the ball.”
A ball gown? The closest to a ball gown I’d ever had was still tucked away in my closet in Veetri. I bit my lower lip. “But Julien, I don’t have any way to pay for such an extravagance. Being anonymous does have its drawbacks.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he said with a shrug. “Consider it a birthday gift.”
“A what?”
The corner of Julien’s mouth turned up. “You may have forgotten your calendar during our journey, Princess Rynnaia, but I have not. Tomorrow you will celebrate your nineteenth birthday. Consider the gown my gift to you.”
“I couldn’t possibly accept such an expensive gift! You’re a knight.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I’m not a poor knight, Princess. We may have lived rather roughly these past few weeks, but I trust you do remember visiting my home?”
I blushed. He was the heir to a Regency. Of course he could afford it.
“I want to do this for you.” He crossed his arms at his chest. “I will do this for you. I’m tired of Rozen hanging about. I want my princess back.”
My princess. My pulse accelerated at his words.
“Very well,” I sighed. “If you insist.”
“I do.” He jumped up and moved toward the door. “I’ll go now to speak to the dressmaker and then I’ll find you a new hairpiece.” He threw a grin my way that was almost boyish in its enthusiasm. “Lock the door behind me.”
I did as I was told, but my hand shook a little from the tumult of unexpected emotions his words had stirred in me, not to mention from the anticipation of being held in his arms, if only for even one dance.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
The morning of my birthday I awoke feeling much older than my nineteen years. Less than a full day out of the saddle and my body had already stiffened in protestation of the lack of activity. I slipped out of bed and toward the window where the sun had just crept above the horizon. Its eastern light glinted off the sea, giving the waves a golden glow.
I had never seen the sea before, but something about it drew me. I could have stood at the window for hours, but a ship moved into the harbor, its deck bustling with activity. With a small sigh I stepped away from the window and went about brushing my hair. When the tangles had been tamed, I decided to forego the ill-fitting dress in favor of Rozen’s more comfortable wardrobe.
I pulled a bouquet of flowers from the vase on the bedside table and perched the black hairpiece Julien had procured for me upon it. Much more elaborate that my simple squire’s style, it consisted of thick, corkscrew curls, pulled back to the crown but for a few which would frame my face. I couldn’t wait to try it on. I quickly braided my hair and coiled it around my head and then pulled the tight cap sewn beneath the glossy black hair over my head.
Gazing in the mirror, the years dropped away. It was as if I was back in Veetri, so familiar was my reflection. When the knock sounded at my bedroom door, I almost expected to hear Lord Whittier’s voice on the other side.
“Come in.”
Julien came in, bearing what could only be a gown, but it was so wrapped in muslin that I couldn’t see it.
“Ah, so you tried it on. I prefer your natural color, of course,” he said, “but that hairpiece will do nicely for the ball. The style is very becoming, Princess.”
“Thank you.”
Julien laid the parcel on my bed and unwrapped it to reveal a simply fashioned but attractive gray dress, as well as a new, lighter-weight cloak, stockings, and shoes. “Oh, Julien . . . thank you! This is wonderful!”
“It would be my honor, Princess Rynnaia, to escort you to breakfast and on a stroll afterward, if you are so inclined.”
“I am,” I replied. “I am very inclined! But,” I added, “you should probably leave off with calling me princess, don’t you think?”
“Indeed.” He chuckled. “I will leave you then, to put Rozen to rest and turn back into a butterfly. Or should I say a flower, my Lady Rose?”
The new dress was simple, but charming. Flattering lines, sewn exactly to my new measurements, allowed me freedom of movement that my other dress had not. It was good to be entirely female again.
Julien guided me to an eating establishment not far from the inn where we enjoyed a light breakfast before strolling among the nearby shops. The whole morning was a novelty to me, having been so secluded all my life. I’d never been in want, for the duke and duchess provided me with more than enough of anything my heart desired, but I had never shopped beyond the village of Glenhume. There was so much to see. Jewelers, dress shops, bakeries, and oh! That entire shop devoted to soaps! Julien bought me three bars in scents that appealed to me.
We stopped at a flower cart where Julien purchased a small nosegay of hothouse flowers. “Happy birthday, Rynnaia,” he whispered as he handed them to me. He had referred to me as “Lady Rose” all morning, but hearing my real name, spoken so intimately in my ear, was wonderful.
We continued our walk near the docks, my hand resting comfortably in the crook of my escort’s arm. I raised my eyes toward the Holiday Palace. Black banners had replaced the green and white flags I’d noticed the day before. Curious, I questioned Julien about the change.
His eyes followed my gaze. “E’veria mourns her Queen today.”
Of course. The day of my birth
also marked the anniversary of my mother’s death. How stupid, I thought. How selfish of me, to forget something so important.
Although I had a vague sense of loss, it was hard to conjure much emotion. How could I mourn someone I had never met? Instead, I thought of the King. I wondered if this day still caused him pain so many years after the Queen’s death.
“Your father must have very mixed emotions about this day,” Julien spoke as if he’d read my thoughts. “Although I’m sure he mourns the loss of his wife,” he leaned in and spoke in a low voice that none but me would hear, “he must be thrilled with the anticipation of finally being reunited with his daughter.”
A sense of winged creatures fluttering within my chest accompanied my question, “And when will that be?”
Julien was silent for a moment. “I must admit surprise that he was not here to meet us,” he said. “Perhaps he thought it would be difficult to allow you to go off to Tirandov Isle without him so soon after your reunion. I can only guess that I will receive orders to escort you to Castle Rynwyk when your Andoven training is complete.”
I nodded and the winged creatures went on their merry way.
The mood of the city was subdued, which I attributed to the remembrance of the Queen, but Julien made a concerted effort to make the day special for me. After lunch he took me by the dressmaker’s shop to check on the progress of my ball gown. “We’re a little early. Shall we see if they’re ready for you?”
Much to my amazement, they were. My fitting went well, and for the rest of the day, Julien acted as if I was the only person in the world. We stayed up talking late into the night and I crawled into bed happy but exhausted.
It was nearly afternoon when I awoke, and only a few hours later the dressmaker herself arrived to help me ready for the ball.
The gown had a wide v-neckline that repeated on the back of the dress. Beneath it, what seemed like hundreds of tiny pearl buttons traced angled paths down the ruby-pink silk. Set at the tips of my shoulders, the long sleeves were encircled with more of the tiny pearl buttons at the cuffs. Other than the buttons, the rosy silk was without adornment, but the styling and quality of the fabric was of such richness that any added decoration would have been superfluous. Pearl-colored slippers slid on to my feet and a pink silk ribbon, complete with a dangling teardrop-shaped pearl, was fastened at my neck as a choker to complete the ensemble.
“All finished,” the dressmaker said as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. “I’ll fetch Sir Julien.”
She returned a moment later. “The color is lovely on her, don’t you think?” She addressed the future Regent. “She looks as beautiful as a princess.”
“I would have to agree,” Julien spoke from the open doorway. “Thank you, Clara.”
The dressmaker curtsied and Julien showed her to the door. He returned shortly.
“I have something for you.”
I turned, a bit embarrassed to have been caught admiring myself in the mirror. But in his finery, Julien took my mind completely from my own appearance. Wearing a white shirt under a silk tunic of powdery blue, Julien cut a dashing figure. His boots were polished to an ebony shine and they rested just below his knees overtop dark-blue dress breeches. The white sash across the front of his tunic bore his family crest, symbolic of his status as the future Regent of Mynissbyr.
“Would you like to see what it is?”
“Pardon?”
His eyes sparkled. I’d been caught staring.
“I have something for you,” he repeated. “A late birthday gift.”
“You’ve been more than generous with your gifts already!” I laughed and twirled around so that he could see the finished gown. “Thank you for the gown. It’s beautiful.”
“But it is, I’m afraid, incomplete.” Walking forward, he reached for my hand and turned the palm up. Pulling something from his pocket, he dropped two small objects into my hand.
Two dangling, teardrop-shaped pearls, each topped by a glittering gem that was nearly the same color as my dress, rested in my hand. “Earrings?”
He nodded.
“They’re perfect!” I quickly put them on.
“Now the gown is complete.” He smiled. “You look beautiful, Princess Rynnaia.” He reached and brushed a curl back from my shoulder, leaving a path of tingles where his fingers touched my skin.
“Thank you.” Even slipping on the gray-tinted spectacles couldn’t quench the happy feelings swirling around in my mind. I took Julien’s offered arm and he led me down the stairs where a hired coach waited to take us to Holiday Palace.
The road up to the palace was not difficult to traverse. It was a wide path that had been cut into the cliffs, winding upward at an easy grade. Julien was recognized at the well-guarded gate and we were easily admitted. I tried not to look like a naïve country girl as we approached the beautiful white structure, illumined orange and pink by the setting sun, but I knew my eyes were as wide as the wheels of our carriage.
Once inside, however, my mouth made a perfect “Oh!” that couldn’t hope to match the scope of grandeur. The first thing that caught my eye was the oversized portrait, hanging at a landing of the wide staircase at the end of the bright, cavernous entry hall.
“Is that . . .” I almost said “me?” before I realized the portrait was, in fact, Queen Daithia, my mother. But with other guests arriving and following our same path, I wasn’t allowed time to study it.
A lush, moss-green carpet covered the center of the marble steps, making our procession entirely noiseless. Hanging from long chains anchored to the ceiling, metal-worked silver chandeliers sparkled with what appeared to be, but couldn’t possibly be . . .
“Are those diamonds?”
“No,” Julien smiled. “They’re made of blown glass, and most date back to when the palace was first constructed, over a century ago.” He said. “Among the large staff there is a team of ten men whose only job is to see that the chandeliers in the palace are kept clean.”
“Only ten?” I laughed, taking in the brightness of the castle, achieved with an abundance of like chandeliers and similarly styled sconces. “I would think it would take an army!”
White seemed to be the prevalent color throughout the palace, but green touches stole the coldness from the space, imbuing it instead with a sense of life and ease that made it feel both elegant and welcoming.
Just before we reached a copse of trees sculptured from white marble, Julien paused. “You will be introduced as Rose de Whittier, daughter of the Duke of Glenhume.”
“But what if—?”
“No one will question me.”
Julien was the son and heir of a Regent, and as such, considered by many to be a branch of royalty. Of course his word would be accepted.
He led me though the “trees” which arched over our heads, framing the path into the Grand Hall, where we were announced.
“His Grace, the future Regent of Mynissbyr, Sir Julien de Gladiel,” a herald announced, “and the Lady Rose de Whittier, daughter of His Lordship Whittier de Barden, Duke of Glenhume.”
Curious eyes followed our entrance, and before I thought to block my mind from the onslaught of gossiping thoughts that accompanied our appearance, it became clear that, while Sir Julien de Gladiel was a favorite dancing partner of many ladies in attendance, other than his sister, he had never before escorted a young lady to a ball.
My smile widened, even as I stretched my mind to find the swirls of gray necessary to dim the noise in my head.
Larger than the Great Hall we had passed as we came in, the Grand Hall was as green as the rest of the palace was white. Here, even the marble of the floor was green, veined with white, which was the exact opposite of the floors I had crossed elsewhere in the palace. Rimmed with round tables, the space was no less than six times larger than where my sixteenth birthday had taken place at Mirthan Hall. The Grand Hall was well lit, but dimmer than the rest of the castle due in part to the darkness of the green stone, paneled walls,
and rich velvet curtains. The dimness gave the large space a sense of intimacy, if not a touch of mystery. On a raised dais in the center of the space a group of musicians sat on gilded chairs and accompanied the dancers already in motion around them.
“You’re here!” Erielle found us in the crowd and crushed me in a hug. Gone was the wily young squire, almost as if he had never existed. Before me stood a most elegant and lovely young lady.
Wearing a gold gown embroidered with black and liberally studded with black crystals, Erielle de Gladiel exuded elegance and youthful splendor. Her transformation was truly breathtaking and I was certainly not the only person to note her beauty. We had barely exchanged words before a young man whisked her away to dance.
“Might I have the honor?” Julien let go of my elbow and offered his hand.
“I do enjoy dancing with you, Julien,” I said after our fourth turn about the floor, “but aren’t you worried that people will talk if the Regent’s son continues to dance with the same lady all night?”
“Let them talk.” He grinned, but his smile fell when a man tapped on his shoulder.
“Might I cut in?” The young man’s question was directed at Julien, but his eyes were on me.
I looked to Julien, who scowled, but gave a slight nod and passed my hand into the newcomer’s grasp. “Lady Rose, may I present Daws de Wallis? De Wallis, this is Lady Rose. I believe you’ve met her brother, Sir Kinley de Whittier, yes?”
“Indeed.”
“Mind her toes then, Daws.” Julien’s tone was light, but his eyes as steely as his sword. “I’d hate for you to have to explain to Sir Kinley why his sister suffers a limp.”
Inwardly I winced, wondering if my new partner was, in fact, as clumsy as Julien seemed to imply, but I almost giggled when I perceived Julien’s subtle threat of a second knight who would be willing to avenge me should this young man prove to be an unskilled dancing partner.