Kingdom of Ruses

by Kate Stradling

  “Oh, it’s only you, Viola,” he said as a pleasant smile leapt to his face. It was a nice smile, Viola thought. Half the palace maids were mad in love with Victor Conrad, and she wondered if something was wrong with her that she didn’t feel even the slightest twinge of interest in him.

  Victor shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled casually forward. “Why is there a door in the hedge, if it only leads to certain danger?” he asked with a teasing glint in his brown eyes.

  “There’s a door there because the Prince wants a door there,” said Viola mechanically. “It’s no use asking why.”

  “The Prince seems to be a strange fellow,” said Victor.

  Viola unabashedly stole the adjective she had overheard in the market that morning. “He’s very capricious. Sometimes I don’t quite know what to make of him.”

  “And sometimes you do?” Victor’s eyes twinkled, but he was treading on dangerous ground. Whether he knew it or not was another matter entirely, but Viola was inclined to think that his words were calculated. “You know,” he continued, “I was talking to a couple of the maids, and they said that the Prince doesn’t even sleep in his own bed half the time. Sometimes they find the sheets rumpled, and sometimes they find the blankets stripped from the mattress and piled into a little nest on the floor, and sometimes they say it looks as though no one even entered the bedchamber. What do you make of that?”

  “The Prince doesn’t sleep like the rest of us,” Viola replied, all too ready to answer such a question. “Sometimes he rests in his bed, and sometimes he likes the floor, and sometimes he stays up in his tower for days or spends all night in the library. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve walked in one morning to discover him slouched in a chair, poring over some moldy old book—and still dressed in his clothes from the night before, mind you.”

  “Curious how he only allows your family to come and go as they please from his quarters,” said Victor, and his expression was too speculative.

  Viola didn’t bat an eyelash. “Peculiar is a better word for it. Sometimes his eccentricities drive me to madness. Everything would be so much easier if he would just let others attend to him.”

  “I would gladly offer my services,” said Victor, “only I don’t know who I would need to speak with about the matter.”

  “You’d have to speak with the Prince himself. If you’re serious, go have a word with my father about setting up an appointment.”

  “Will the Prince really see me?” Victor asked in astonishment.

  “No.” Having been waylaid long enough, Viola gave this blunt response and tried to skirt around him. “I’m terribly sorry, Victor, but I’m on errand for the Prince right now, and if I delay any longer, he’s likely to get cranky. And when he gets cranky, it’s tiresome for the rest of us.”

  Victor caught her by the arm, distressed. “You’re not going through that door, are you?” he asked, since her path quite obviously headed straight for the aforementioned portal through the hedge. “A defenseless girl like you can’t go into the forest alone!”

  Viola gently pulled away from him. “I’m on errand for the Prince,” she said again, and she instinctively touched the brooch pinned to her collar. “I go with his protection, so nothing will happen to me.” Her fingers grazed the cool, honey-colored cat’s eye set into the brooch. The stone was a symbol of the Prince’s protection and worn by those he favored, or so the palace-dwellers were told. It was another lie, of course, but cat’s eye was supposed to protect from danger, so everyone believed it. Viola didn’t believe that the stone held any intrinsic power, but she also didn’t believe any of the legends of the North Forest, that it was populated with all manner of strange and dangerous beasts, and that it was cursed to bring destruction on any who dared enter. Those were just more false tales told to keep the people of Lenore from crossing into the woodland, lest someone stumble across the secret harbored there.

  “Let me come with you,” Victor said impulsively. “I don’t feel right about letting a delicate girl like you go into the forest by herself. The Prince should be ashamed for sending you.”

  Momentary panic clutched at Viola, but she reined it in ruthlessly. “You can’t come with me. You don’t have the Prince’s protection. Don’t worry, Victor—it’s not my first time running this errand, and it won’t be my last.”

  He would have protested more, but their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a shout, and they both turned to see Charlie running through the rose garden toward them. “Victor!” he called breathlessly. “Your father’s been looking for you!”

  “Oh,” said Victor with some annoyance. “Look here, Charles, your sister’s about to go into the forest on the Prince’s orders. I don’t like it.”

  Charlie had doubled over to catch his breath, but he looked up now with an exasperated expression. “Well, it can’t be helped, can it? The Prince ordered her to go, so go she must. Vi’ll be fine,” he added. “She’s done this before.”

  “But what sort of errand requires going into the forest?”

  Brother and sister exchanged a solemn glance. “We’re not at liberty to discuss it,” said Viola. “The Prince is very particular about not having his personal business discussed.”

  “Look, Victor, you’d best be on your way,” said Charles. “If you meddle here, it’ll only make trouble for Viola.”

  For a moment, Victor hesitated, but when he realized that neither sibling was going to budge, he nodded and said his goodbye. They watched him weave his way back through the rose garden to the palace.

  “Meddling twit,” said Charlie once he was out of earshot. “We saw him accost you from the library window, and I had to run all the way here.”

  “Was his father really looking for him?” Viola asked.

  “That meddling twit. Who knows? We’ve just been informed that he’s petitioned to move this afternoon’s meeting up by half an hour, Vi, and got a majority of the magistrates to agree with him. You have to hurry and fetch the you-know-what, or the Prince won’t be able to make an appearance at all.”

  “Half an hour?” cried Viola, and her gaze immediately shifted toward the clock tower. “There’s barely enough time!” She bolted away from her brother and scrambled for the key in her pocket to open the hedge-door. “Charlie, can you lay out the Prince’s ceremonial robes for me? I won’t have time!”

  Her brother nodded curtly. Her mind at ease on that count, Viola slipped through the door and locked it from the other side, then turned and took a deep breath. This side of the wall was drastically different from the well-manicured rose garden she had left behind. Here the old-growth forest loomed high above, silent and domineering, and the ground was covered with ferns and bracken in no discernible pattern but nature’s own. The path ahead of her was small but well-worn. It was the only interruption in the otherwise sylvan landscape.

  She didn’t have time to sit and observe the majesty of the forest today. She hurried down the twisting path. It forked once, and she took the left branch. She didn’t know where the right one led, for the left was the only way she had ever come. Her destination lay not far beyond that point, in a small clearing: it was an old stone well, with a battered little roof and no bucket. An unknowing passerby would take it for a dilapidated structure no longer used, but to Viola, it housed something infinitely precious.

  The Kingdom of Lenore was fabled as a reservoir of magic, but the bald, sad truth was that the little well in the forest harbored the very last of the substance in all the land, and its supply seemed to dwindle with each passing year. Viola only had to run this errand every few months—used sparingly, the magic could last them that long, at least—but with the upcoming midsummer festival, she would have to return here within the next couple weeks, and probably more than once. She wished that a closer, more abundant source of the stuff could be found.

  With time working against her, she crashed down the familiar path at a reckless speed. When the well finally came into view, however,
she skidded to an astonished halt, hardly able to believe her bad luck.

  Someone was there.

  Stooped beneath the small roof, a young man peered down into the depths of the well. He looked up at Viola’s less than graceful entrance, and their eyes met. A shiver ran down her spine. The palace maids might have considered Victor Conrad to have a nice face, but this stranger was beautiful. Somewhere in the back of her mind Viola thought it was rather cruel to use that adjective for a man, but his features were so well formed that she couldn’t help herself.

  For a long moment, she stared into his eyes—golden eyes, like warm honey, she thought—and she felt some strange sort of kinship, for lack of a better word. The silent atmosphere between them broke when he straightened. His movement jarred Viola from her stupor.

  “You can’t drink that water,” she said, and her voice trembled in her ears. Everything about the young man was golden—his eyes, his hair, his skin. The shirt he wore was open and revealed a nicely tanned throat and chest. She kept her eyes stubbornly on his face.

  “Obviously I can’t,” he replied, and even his voice sounded golden, if that were possible. “There’s no bucket here to draw it up.”

  They didn’t keep the bucket with the well for good reason. Its supply of magic was small enough without the risk of having strangers pass by and sample it. “Even so, the water itself is contaminated,” Viola told him. “That’s why there’s no bucket.”

  The stranger tilted his head to one side and silently assessed the objects cradled in her arm, the bucket and empty flask. “I’m a poor, tired traveler,” he said with a disarming smile. “Would you mind lending me your bucket so that I can get a drink?”

  He stepped toward her, and Viola backed up a pace. “Didn’t you hear me? That water is contaminated. You can’t drink it.”

  “I’d sooner drink contaminated water than die of thirst,” he answered. “Besides, what are you coming here with a bucket for, if not to fetch the contents of this well?”

  Her father had long ago explained to her the answer she was to give should she ever encounter anyone by the well, but Viola had honestly believed that such a day would never come. People avoided the forest, and thus the well. No one had found it in her father’s time, or in his father’s either. Nevertheless, they had each prepared for such an occasion.

  She glibly recited the excuse she had learned so many years past. “This well belongs to the Eternal Prince of Lenore. It was once his favorite place for a drink, and since its contamination, he requires that its water be tested regularly, in the hopes that it may return to its former flavor. I’m only here to collect the sample for testing. If you’re thirsty,” she added, and she brandished one finger to the south, “the city is that direction, and there are many public wells there. You shouldn’t loiter around the forest. It’s dangerous here.”

  “I find it interesting to be told such a thing by a mere girl who is clearly loitering around the same place,” the stranger replied.

  Viola stiffened. “I’m not loitering. I’ve already told you, I’m here on an errand. Now, if you will please be on your way, I don’t have a lot of time—”

  “You’re really not going to let me have a drink?” he asked, and he stepped nearer.

  He was mesmerizing, his movements graceful and controlled, and Viola forcibly told herself to remain on guard at his approach. If he should try to steal the bucket, or if the flask were to get broken, she didn’t know what she would do. The fickle Prince would have to dodge another meeting in a fit of pique, she supposed.

  “I can’t let you,” she said firmly.

  “You’re absolutely certain?” he pressed as he stood before her.

  “I can’t,” she repeated.

  “Then,” he said pragmatically, “I suppose I will have to quench my thirst elsewhere.” And with no further warning, he stepped forward and kissed her.

  Chapter 3: Trickery Most Fair

  I can’t understand that person. His very existence is a plague upon my mind. What sort of man goes about kissing helpless young women they’ve only just met? There, I’ve written it. Yes, he kissed me at that first encounter, and it wasn’t a chaste how-do-you-do kiss, either. It was warm and intimate and… Well, I hardly think I need to provide all the details. Suffice to say that he did a very thorough job of it, and that I was too shocked by his actions to muster any sort of defense.

  If I had known then what sort of mischief he was capable of, I wonder if I would have behaved any differently. I should have grabbed for the nearest projectile and run him off. But he’s so very captivating—curse him for it!—that even now I’m not sure I could have done it. Much as he irritates me, I can’t seem to get the upper hand around him. I am not infatuated. There is some sort of witchcraft about him that makes it so I can’t look him in the eyes without forgetting myself, though. And it’s not only me, for the record. The infuriating creature won’t even disclose his real name, and yet somehow, he manages to get his way with everyone he encounters.

  It is supremely unfair that a man so well endowed in looks should take outright advantage of that endowment. I hardly know what to expect for the future, given his vast unpredictability thus far.

  “Most refreshing,” said the golden stranger as he pulled away with a lazy smile. “I thank you for your kindness, fair maiden, but perhaps next time you should just let me drink the water.”

  If Viola had been in her right mind, she would have slapped him. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in her right mind, so instead, she simply stood there as he slipped by her and up the path she had come. Vaguely she heard his retreat, but her mind hardly registered anything above her own shock.

  She could still feel the pressure of his mouth against hers. That was her first kiss, she absentmindedly thought, and it had been stolen by a complete stranger. Her fingers brushed dumbly against her lips, and her gaze shifted to the ground. She had dropped the bucket in her surprise.

  Viola blinked once, and then panic descended. The flask in the bucket, if it was cracked—! She stooped and quickly surveyed both objects, relieved to discover that the sturdy glass of the flask was intact. She didn’t have time to run back for another, just as she didn’t have time to be dawdling about letting strangers kiss her at their leisure. With disgust, she scooped up the bucket once more and hurried to the well.

  An apprehensive glance around the small clearing showed no signs of the stranger. She had heard his footsteps fade up the path, but she didn’t trust him not to linger. If he happened to spy on her, happened to catch a glimpse of the contents of the well—!

  She had no time for such worries, she abruptly reminded herself, and she banished her paranoia on that thought. Quickly she hooked the small bucket to the rope and lowered it into the inky darkness. It hit the bottom with a plunk, and her heart dropped.

  She should have known better than to be so optimistic. Two years ago, there had at least been a splash. Now there wasn’t even enough magic in the well to submerse the bucket even when they went months without collecting any. With a growing sense of impatience, Viola hoisted the bucket back up. A few rosy drops of magic collected on the underside, and she swiftly placed the glass flask beneath to catch them before they could fall back into the well. Then, she unhooked the bucket from the top and attached it at a small ring on its side, thus enabling it to tip when it hit the bottom of the well.

  She lowered it back down and listened for the plunk. This time, the bucket had some extra weight to it as she hoisted. It teetered as she drew it from the well, and she deftly poured the contents into the glass flask, careful not to spill any of the precious substance. The flask was only half-filled. Viola lowered the bucket one more time.

  Some of the magic slid onto her fingers as she transferred the second measure into the flask. It was oily, resinous stuff. She paused to rub her hands together, to let it seep into her skin. She would need it later, after all. Once she had shaken every last drop from the bucket and corked the flask, she placed the lat
ter in the former and set off back for the palace.

  “Charlie had better have laid out the Prince’s clothes,” she muttered as she went. The scene at the well had stolen too many precious minutes. She would have barely enough time to cast the doppelganger spell, let alone drag the doll out from its hiding place and get it clothed and ready beforehand.

  As she reached the door in the hedge, a prickling feeling raced up her spine, like she was being watched. A quick glance at her surroundings showed no signs of movement—and no signs of golden eyes, she thought ruefully—so she simply shoved the key into the lock and let herself back into the garden.

  “No time, no time,” she sang as she locked the door on the other side. She clutched the bucket and flask to her chest and broke into a run through the rose garden, back to the palace. She skirted past a couple of maids near the back stairwell, managing to murmur some sort of greeting to their pleasant hellos. From there, she raced up the first and second flights of stairs and paused on the landing to catch her breath. The third flight she took at a more sedate pace, but she walked briskly down the hallway, past the guards and toward the Prince’s private quarters.

  “Viola!” Edmund emerged from the doorway. “Where have you been? The Prince has been asking for you! He’s fuming mad that you’ve taken so long!”

  A couple of the guards shifted nervously, as the Prince was not someone to be crossed, or so they believed. Viola felt a twinge of guilt that her kid brother could lie so easily.

  “I’m here now,” she said coolly, “and I have the item he demanded, so he’ll likely return to good humor presently enough.”

  “Come on, come on,” said Edmund. “They’ll be here for him any minute, and he swears he won’t leave his room until you’ve returned from your errand.”

  She hurried through the door he held open, crossed the small entryway of the Prince’s quarters, and entered the spacious bedroom. The place was lavishly decorated, with a huge, curtained bed against one wall and a beautiful marble fireplace against another. Upon the luxurious carpet at the center of the room, arrayed in his royal garments, sat the Eternal Prince of Lenore as Viola had always known him.