Princess of Mermaids

by A. G. Marshall

  Although it was better than that hideous sweater.

  “It’s a mirror,” Marquis Corbeau said.

  He seemed disappointed. What had he been hoping to see?

  “It’s nice,” Gustave said.

  He also sounded a little confused.

  “Is that what Your Majesty would like to send in the thank you note?” the scribe asked.

  “Of course not. Give me a moment to think.”

  He sat down next to Fiora and looked at her. Was he asking for a suggestion?

  “It will be helpful for trimming your beard,” she signed.

  “That’s all? No witty comment about Princess Elspeth and how the gift reflects her?”

  Fiora’s expression darkened at the mention of her sister. Gustave leaned forward.

  “Please tell me I haven’t offended you again. I usually think more before I speak. I just-”

  “Don’t concern yourself about it. I often bring out the worst in people.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  He didn’t seem to realize he had spoken aloud.

  “Your Majesty, if that woman’s presence is upsetting, I am sure we can find another place for her to spend the afternoon,” Marquis Corbeau said.

  Fiora stiffened. She had done it again. Said too much and been too much herself and brought out the worst in a situation. She had even managed to shake King Gustave’s calm demeanor. Maybe it would be better if she left.

  But Gustave shook his head.

  “The lady will stay here as long as she wants. I find her presence quite refreshing.”

  He gave Fiora a bright smile. She returned it with a small one of her own. She had no idea why Gustave enjoyed her company, but she wouldn’t ask too many questions since she needed a place to stay.

  “So what message of thanks would you like to send Princess Elspeth?” the scribe said.

  Gustave turned to Fiora and raised his eyebrow in a challenge.

  Oh, it was like that, was it? Fiora considered the mirror. It was nice, as mirrors went. The glass was smooth and clear without flaws. The frame was elegant and would suit a variety of rooms.

  It looked nothing like the rest of the decorations in the castle at Kell. The tiny mirror in Fiora’s room had been framed in wood with bubbles in the glass. They must have imported it from somewhere. Perhaps sent someone on a shopping mission to find a suitable gift for the King of Montaigne.

  But why go to all that trouble? Perhaps Elspeth had set her sights on King Gustave and hoped to catch his attention and marry him.

  But that seemed unlikely. If they had never met, there was no reason for Elspeth to choose Gustave as the object of her affection.

  And if they had met, there was no need to win him over with a gift.

  It seemed more likely that the gift actually came from their father. King Fergal was always looking for allies. Perhaps this gift was a way to open communications with Montaigne and eventually seek their aid.

  But if that was the case, why send the gift in Elspeth’s name?

  Perhaps this was the match her father had in mind for Elspeth. The opportunity he had decided not to squander on his unmarriageable older daughter.

  Fiora realized she was scowling at the memory and tried to push thoughts of her family out of her mind. They were done with her, so she was done with them. It would do no good to dwell on the past.

  She wished the hurt would go away so easily.

  “The polite response is to thank her for such a practical gift and say it will suit the décor in your castle perfectly, as no doubt she intended.”

  Gustave gestured for her to go on. Fiora grinned.

  “The more tempting response is to compliment her on knowing you so well. Not everyone would realize that you find your own face vastly superior to anything a so-called master could paint.”

  Gustave snorted in surprise. The servants stared in wonder as their king doubled over with laughter. Marquis Corbeau glared at Fiora, and she gave him the most innocent smile she could manage.

  “Perhaps we should take a break from opening gifts,” Marquis Corbeau said. “It seems Your Majesty is unable to form reasonable messages of thanks at the moment. It will take months to finish at this rate.”

  “My apologies, Marquis,” Gustave said when he regained his composure.

  But he didn’t sound sorry at all. Marquis Corbeau’s scowl deepened.

  “Leave the presents here in the library,” he instructed the servants. “King Gustave will finish opening them when he is in a more suitable frame of mind. Perhaps we should all prepare for dinner now.”

  The servants nodded and returned the gifts they held to the enormous stacks of boxes. They leaned the mirror against the wall beside the sweater and painting of Lady Annabelle.

  “Your message of thanks for the mirror?” the scribe prompted.

  “I thank Princess Elspeth for a gift that is as practical as it is elegant,” Gustave said.

  The scribe nodded and began to write. Gustave stood and offered his arm to Fiora. She hesitated only a moment this time before taking it.

  27

  Gustave escorted Fiora back to her room and bowed when she released his arm.

  “I’m afraid we annoyed the marquis so much that he let us go well before dinner. You have a few hours to spend as you wish.”

  She nodded, not quite sure what to say to that. Or what to say to Gustave in general. She escaped into her room and sighed with relief. If no one had recognized her so far, surely she was safe in her disguise. She could spend the night in the castle and meet with Zoe in the morning to retrieve the shell and figure out what was wrong with her enchantment.

  Fiora considered looking for a productive way to pass the time, but decided to nap instead. It had been a trying day, to say the least.

  She slipped out of her dress and collapsed onto the bed. Her head sank into the feather pillow, and she sighed in silent contentment. She had missed human beds. They were so much better than the rocky ledges that mermaids slept on.

  She awoke to the sound of knocking. Fiora tried to call to whoever was at her door. Her lips moved but made no sound.

  She cursed silently. Not having a voice was horrendous. How many times had she called for someone to enter a room without thinking twice about it?

  Not nearly as often as she had yelled for them to stay out and go away.

  Fiora crawled out of bed, wrapped a robe around herself, and stumbled to the door. She pulled it open and blinked at the servant who smiled at her.

  The servant curtsied.

  “I’m to help you get ready for dinner, miss.”

  “A-n-d I k-n-o-w s-i-g-n-s.”

  She spelled each word slowly

  “At least, I know the alphabet,” she said with a cheerful smile. “You can spell words to me if you need to.”

  “V-e-r-y w-e-l-l.”

  Fiora signed each letter as slowly as the servant had. The girl nodded her understanding.

  “We put a few gowns tailored to your size in the wardrobe. Do you have a preference on what you wear?”

  Fiora raised her hands to say no, then stopped herself. She might as well see what was available. If something happened, and she needed to run away, she should make sure she was wearing an expensive dress.

  All the gowns in the wardrobe looked expensive. Fiora blinked, taking in the array of fine fabrics and beautiful embroidery. How had they assembled such a wardrobe so quickly?

  A pink silk gown caught her eye. She pulled it out to study the embroidery on the sleeves. It was a different style than the patterns she had learned in Kell. More delicate and intricate.

  “Very good, miss,” the servant said. “The pink fabric will look lovely with your hair.”

  Fiora blinked. What was the girl talking about? The color wouldn’t suit her red hair at all.

  Then she remembered her hair was black now. She could wear any color she wanted without worrying about how it might clash. She pulled the pink gown out of the ward
robe, and the servant helped her into it. Then she twisted Fiora’s hair into a simple but elegant style.

  That seemed to be Montaigne’s motto. Simple but elegant.

  “You look lovely, miss.”

  And she did. If Fiora’s feet didn’t ache so much, she would have twirled in front of the mirror when she finished dressing. Instead, she nodded her approval.

  “T-h-a-n-k y-o-u.”

  “Oh, it’s my pleasure. Now which shoes would you like?”

  Fiora limped back to the wardrobe and tried to convince herself that the pain in her feet was not so bad. That she could take advantage of the lovely things the royal family had provided and wear something that suited her gown.

  Her slippers were still under a chair in the dowager queen’s sewing room, so those were not an option. That left several pairs of fashionable heels in her size. Fiora selected an elegant white pair decorated with tiny pearls.

  Pain shot up her legs as soon as she put them on, and Fiora grabbed the servant’s arm to catch her balance. She kicked off the shoes and sank onto a nearby chair. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

  “Are you well, miss?”

  Blast it all, why did her feet hurt so much? It was the oysters all over again. Pain for the sake of beauty.

  Well, they could keep it. Her best efforts to be beautiful had never done Fiora any good anyway.

  “N-o s-h-o-e-s,” Fiora signed.

  The servant looked concerned but didn’t protest. Instead, she pulled a pair of elegant silk stockings from a drawer and helped Fiora put them on.

  “We’ll see how clean the maids are keeping the floor,” she said. “Yesterday one of them told me you could walk through this castle in your stockinged feet without encountering a speck of dust.”

  She smiled, and Fiora tried to smile back. Hopefully the royal family would not banish her from the palace for not wearing appropriate footwear. She was willing to spend the night in the woods, but she didn’t particularly want to.

  She stood and relaxed a little when the intense pain did not return. It seemed she would be fine as long as she went barefoot.

  Besides, the pink gown had a long, full skirt. Maybe no one would notice.

  “Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?”

  Lady Annabelle said this as if she were scolding a young child who ought to know better.

  Fiora glared at her and adjusted her skirt to cover her feet. This was not a good start.

  “I suppose we should be glad you’re wearing any clothes at all.”

  She was one to talk. Fiora wanted to make a snide comment about the painting, but that was impossible without her voice. She had to settle for a raised eyebrow instead.

  Lady Annabelle giggled and looked around the room, clearly expecting everyone to laugh along with her joke.

  To Fiora’s relief, the other guests either hadn’t heard the comment or were pretending they hadn’t. An assortment of council members, castle staff, and guests milled around the parlor talking and sipping drinks before the meal began. Not one of them laughed.

  “You look lovely, dear,” Dowager Queen Bernadine said as Thomas rolled her chair towards them. “That shade of pink suits you nicely.”

  Fiora gave a little curtsy as thanks.

  “Dowager Queen Bernadine, thank goodness you are here,” Lady Annabelle said. “I feel rude not addressing your guest by her name, but since I don’t understand sign language I haven’t been able to ask her what she calls herself.”

  Fiora shot a dirty look at Lady Annabelle, who batted her eyes, all innocence. Thomas translated Lady Annabelle’s words for the dowager queen.

  “I don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling with all that simpering,” Dowager Queen Bernadine signed. “I’ve seen cows with better acting skills.”

  Her face remained neutral, as if she were commenting on the weather. Fiora’s eyes widened in surprise, and she pressed her lips together to hide a grin. Lady Annabelle watched their interaction with a deepening scowl.

  “But we should call you something,” the dowager queen continued. “What do you prefer?”

  “What are you saying?” Annabelle asked.

  “Her Highness asked the young lady what she would prefer to be called,” Thomas said, reversing his role to translate sign language into speech.

  Fiora noticed he didn’t mention the cow comment. It was probably wise to side with the dowager queen over Lady Annabelle.

  “If she won’t tell us her name, we’ll have to make something up,” Lady Annabelle said. “Perhaps Sandy since she was found on the beach.”

  She giggled, once again laughing at her own joke.

  “Oh merciful heavens,” Dowager Queen Bernadine signed.

  Lady Annabelle scowled.

  “You can speak out loud, Your Majesty. She does seem capable of understanding speech.”

  “If you wanted to be included in every conversation, you should have bothered to learn sign language,” Dowager Queen Bernadine said. “Sometimes my voice gets tired, and it is easier for me to sign.”

  She winked at Fiora, who fought back an ever widening smile. No one with ears would believe that Dowager Queen Bernadine’s voice was tired. She was always the loudest person in the room.

  Lady Annabelle blinked, and Dowager Queen Bernadine turned back to Fiora.

  “Well, what do you think? Would you like to be called Sandy after the beach you were found on?”

  Lady Annabelle glared at Fiora as if it were her fault that the dowager queen was choosing to leave her out of the conversation.

  “Perhaps Mer?” Gustave suggested.

  Both Fiora and Lady Annabelle jumped. Neither had realized that Gustave was nearby or paying attention to their conversation. Fiora shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, ready to run if necessary. Why had he suggested such a name? Had he guessed that she was a mermaid?

  “That’s a bit short,” Dowager Queen Bernadine said after Thomas translated. “Perhaps Lady Mer?”

  “She isn’t a lady,” Lady Annabelle said. “You can’t just walk around giving people royal titles.”

  Dowager Queen Bernadine cackled.

  “That is literally one of my jobs. To give royal titles to people who deserve them.”

  “But she doesn’t deserve it,” Annabelle said. “She hasn’t done anything to earn a title.”

  “It’s a nickname,” Dowager Queen Bernadine said. “Don’t be so literal.”

  “Why Mer?” Fiora signed to Gustave.

  For that matter, why add a title to it? If they had guessed her true identity, she would rather know now instead of dancing around the matter.

  “Mer means sea,” Gustave said. “It seems appropriate.

  “It’s better than Sandy, but not by much,” Dowager Queen Bernadine said.

  She gave her grandson a critical look. He shrugged, and the dowager queen turned her attention back to Fiora.

  “Are you sure you can’t tell us your real name? I think it would save a great deal of trouble down the road.”

  She gave Fiora a searching look, and something glittered in her eyes. Understanding? Recognition? Fiora tried to remember if she had ever met Dowager Queen Bernadine. Surely not. She would definitely remember that encounter.

  But if Dowager Queen Bernadine hadn’t guessed her true identity, what was she trying to accomplish with her antics?

  Maybe she just wanted to annoy Lady Annabelle. Fiora understood the feeling.

  Or maybe Dowager Queen Bernadine was just the kind of person who was always up to something.

  That seemed likely. Fiora relaxed a little. Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary to run after all. Lady Mer was an innocent enough nickname so long as they hadn’t actually made the connection to her true identity.

  “You may call me Lady Mer if you like.”

  “Lady Mer it is then,” Dowager Queen Bernadine said. “Because you are a true lady of the sea.”

  It was closer to the truth than Fiora would have liked, and the sparkle in the do
wager queen’s eyes set off warning bells in her head. Bernadine may not know the truth exactly, but she seemed to know something.

  “I believe they’re ready for us to go to the dining room,” Lady Annabelle said.

  She batted her eyes at Gustave, making it clear that she expected him to escort her to the table and sit beside her.

  Kara hurried forward.

  “Your Majesty, I was hoping I could ask your opinion about something tonight.”

  It was the most Fiora had ever heard Kara speak, and Kara also seemed to think it was a bit much. She whispered an apology for interrupting and ducked back into the crowd to stand beside Princess Collette. Lady Annabelle’s eyes followed her, as if daring her to try that again.

  They were worse than vultures. Fiora searched the room for Elaine but didn’t see her. The other marriage prospect was either not as desperate as the rest or was playing hard to get.

  Gustave’s eyes darted around the room. He seemed well aware that he was the center of attention. Fiora felt a pang of sympathy for all the princes she had met while competing in Princess Tests. She had never considered how uncomfortable it would be to have your every move analyzed while so many women vied for your attention.

  “Lady Mer, will you walk with me to dinner?”

  Fiora blinked in surprise. Why would he choose her when he had so many ladies competing for his affection?

  Maybe because she wasn’t competing or even a viable option. Young ladies fished out of the sea did not wed kings.

  Gustave offered his arm, and Fiora took it. She tried not to look smug, but she couldn’t resist a backwards glance at Lady Annabelle. It served her right to be snubbed. Lady Annabelle stared back, meeting Fiora’s gaze with an expression that said this was far from over.

  Then she rushed over to Kara, who was staring at the floor to hide her disappointment.

  “Why did he choose her?” Lady Annabelle hissed. “She isn’t even wearing shoes!”

  28

  Gustave hadn’t expected his choice of dinner companion to cause such a stir. In retrospect, he should have expected it to cause more of a stir. He was supposed to be choosing a bride, and he had ignored the ladies hand-picked by his family and council in favor of one literally pulled from the sea.