Kingdom of Ruses

by Kate Stradling

  “I thought not,” said the Prince, and he lowered the page he had been reading. “And who are you, whelp?” He certainly must have recognized the intruder, but Victor didn’t know that, since the Prince supposedly never left his room.

  Viola thought it was something of a stretch for the Prince to call Victor a whelp, for they looked to be roughly the same age, but then she realized that she really had no idea how old the Prince was. As a nifara, he would look that age whether he were twenty or two hundred.

  At the Prince’s question, his unexpected visitor recovered from his stupor and dropped into a neat bow. “My name is Victor, your Highness. You… you are the Eternal Prince, are you not?” he added, and he lifted his eyes again with a sort of arrogant courage gleaming in them.

  “Who else would I be?” asked the Prince with an imperious tilt of his head.

  Viola was already hurrying down the stairs, but as she opened her mouth to protest Victor’s presence, the Prince lifted one commanding finger for her silence. He never so much as glanced in her direction, but the gesture halted her on the spot. She stared in dismay at the two men.

  “What business do you have here in my private quarters?” he asked Victor.

  “Please forgive the intrusion,” said Victor with another, shorter bow. “I had wished to offer my services to you. It is well known that the Moreland family tends to your needs, but it seems unnecessary for them to bear the whole of that burden themselves—”

  “Are you saying,” interrupted the Prince with dangerous calm, “that I am a burden?”

  Victor’s eyes widened, and the Prince’s face twisted into a predatory smile as he waited for a response. “No! No, of course not! I did not mean… only… the Prime Minister and his family are so very giving of their time that it seemed only natural to offer them assistance—”

  “Yet you are speaking to me, and not to the Prime Minister,” said the Prince, and his smile stretched to reveal pointed incisors. He could be truly frightening when he wanted to be, Viola thought with a shiver.

  “Ah, yes… that is… the Prime Minister has refused any such offers, so we thought if we petitioned your royal person—”

  “We?” the Prince interrupted.

  “Um, I—I thought that if I petitioned your royal person, that perhaps you would—”

  “I have no use for you,” said the Prince in rigid tones, and his gaze returned to his papers. It was an obvious dismissal.

  Victor began to splutter a protest.

  “Viola,” said the Prince without looking up, “he has seen my royal face. Should I gouge out his eyes so that he can look upon nothing further, or cut out his tongue so that he cannot tell the tale? Or both?” he added, raising those golden eyes to meet her gaze.

  Viola thought that Victor might very well wet himself in that moment. His protest turned to gibbering as he backed away to the exit.

  “I’ll see him out,” she said diplomatically. The Prince hummed as though disappointed, but he returned to his studies.

  Victor was more than willing to vacate the premises at that point. He bolted out ahead of Viola, but she followed nonetheless. In the entryway beyond, he held up his hands in self-defense and said, “I did not mean to offend him.”

  “You did not mean to offend? What were you thinking?” she hissed, even though she was positive that his father had put him up to this deed. “What could possibly possess you to come sneaking into the personal quarters of the Eternal Prince?”

  His arrogance seemed to return. “Dear Viola,” he said, and he caught up her hand, “I have seen how hard you work, day after day. It seems like he’s been demanding even more and more of your time lately. I only wanted to help you.”

  She snatched her hand from his grasp. “You getting caught by the Prince in his library does not help me in the least,” she replied acerbically. “Now I have to go back in there and see about coaxing him into a better mood, or else suffer his cold wrath for the rest of the afternoon.”

  “You work too hard for him,” he said.

  Viola recoiled. “What you’re saying borders on treason, Victor,” she told him in a quiet voice. “I will do what the Prince requires of me. Now I suggest you leave, and quickly.” To emphasize her words, she marched over to the double doors and wrenched one open. She gestured for him to depart.

  Victor straightened his jacket and stepped to the threshold, where he paused to look her in the eyes. “Surely you must know that I had only you in my mind,” he said. “What is a fellow to do when he sees the girl he admires having her time and energy commandeered by a… by an autocratic prince?”

  Before she could respond, he whirled and continued on his way. Viola stared at his retreating figure. Then, her accusing eyes shifted to the sentries on either side of the door. “Why did you allow him in?” she asked. “I’m having you both written up for this!”

  “He paid us,” said one bluntly. “It’s his own skin he was risking.”

  “We knew you would discover him before he could get anywhere near the Prince,” said the other.

  “I didn’t discover him first,” she retorted fiercely. “The Prince did. The only reason Victor’s walking out of here alive is because I interceded and got him out as quickly as possible.”

  The two guards gaped, and Viola strongly suspected that they had both been convinced to doubt the Prince’s existence—Victor had not expected to find anyone but her in the apartments, she guessed.

  “Victor saw his face,” she hissed in warning. “The Prince doesn’t let anyone outside his chosen circle see his face, and now he’s furious! If you dare let any other unauthorized individuals in here, I can’t guarantee their safety or yours!”

  And with that, she slammed the door with a huff.

  She paused in the hallway long enough to compose her nerves. Then, after a deep breath, she proceeded back into the library. “Your Highness,” she began, but her voice choked in her throat. The Prince was not sitting where she had left him.

  The door suddenly shut behind her. She whirled to find him leaning there against the wall. With a twinge of apprehension, she wondered just how much of the previous conversations he had overheard. There was a controlled calmness about his features, but Viola knew instinctively that he was furious.

  “Perhaps you would be so kind,” he said with cold civility, “as to instruct your boyfriends not to intrude upon my solitude in the future.”

  To Viola, this was the height of injustice. “You’re blaming me for all of this?” she cried, incensed. “How is this situation my fault?”

  “He came out of concern for you, after all,” said the Prince cruelly. “Perhaps I really should find a replacement for you, so that you can go attend to the needs of your admirers.”

  Viola raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist before she could make contact. “What’s gotten into you?” she demanded through gritted teeth. “What on earth is wrong with you, that you could become so irrational in so little time?”

  “Is this your method of coaxing me into a better mood?” he asked, seemingly indifferent. “It’s a very strange one.”

  She wrenched from his grip and backed away, glaring at him. “You know,” she said quite frankly, “I’ve always thought you were an irritating idiot, but I never realized how insufferably condescending you could be.”

  He arched one eyebrow. “Is that any way to speak to your Prince?”

  “No, and if there was any Prince worthy of my respect here, I assure you I would speak to him with the utmost deference,” Viola retorted, and then she stalked away, back to her place up on the balcony where her transliteration and book lay open. She jammed the loose leaf into the book, which she then slammed shut with some vehemence. “I’m going home,” she said irately as she shoved the book back into its position on the proper shelf. “Charles or Edmund should be along shortly. I’m sure you’ll manage well enough by yourself until they get here.”

  She stopped long enough to collect her journal from
its latest hiding place. Then, she headed straight for the door, never so much as looking at the Prince. He had not moved, but she refused to let his position intimidate her.

  As she swept past him, his hand suddenly shot out and caught her by the arm, arresting her progress with his iron grip.

  “Let go of me,” said Viola quietly.

  “I’m being an idiot,” he replied.

  “I know that. Let go of me.”

  “Viola,” he said, “I’m trying to protect you.”

  “By keeping me from going home? I don’t think there are any monsters waiting for me out in the hall between here and my family’s apartments.”

  A frustrated sound wrenched from his throat, and the next moment he pulled her back to face him. “You are so difficult sometimes,” he complained.

  The tenuous hold that Viola had on her temper suddenly snapped. “I’m difficult? I am difficult? You just blamed me for Idiot-Victor bribing his way in here! You’ve been impossible for the last two days! I’m sorry that Lord Conrad brought that sinister woman here, and I’m sorry I wasn’t able to keep from meeting her, but I didn’t have any more control over those things than I do over Victor, and I don’t see why you have to take your anger out on me for it!”

  His expression slowly changed as she spoke: the hard set to his jaw softened and his frown dissipated. As she finished, he suddenly let go of her and backed away. His eyes averted to another corner of the room.

  “You’re really not making this any easier,” he said enigmatically.

  Viola scowled. “Could you be any more confusing?” she sarcastically replied.

  His back was against the wall. As he turned his golden eyes upon her again, he tightly folded his arms. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said, “and yes, it’s making me angry. That woman, Natalia, is a monster. She reeks of blood-magic—do you know what that means? It means that she willingly captures and enslaves creatures of magic, drains them of their life-force, and casts aside their withered husks when they have nothing left to give her. I wanted—” He started to step forward here but suddenly caught himself and stepped back against the wall once more. His jaw clenched. “I wanted you to stay away from her because she is dangerous, because she poses a dire risk to you simply because of what you are.”

  “And what does that have to do with your treatment of me these past two days?” Viola asked plainly.

  His face became suddenly innocent. “I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

  Viola studied him objectively for a moment, hardly able to believe that he was really going to play dumb about this. “You’ve done everything you could to avoid me, short of leaving the room all together,” she said at last. “If I ask you a question, your answer is curt and barely civil, if you bother to answer at all. And not that I’m complaining about this last one, but you haven’t so much as tried to flirt with me, and we both know that’s an aberration from your usual behavior. So what does all of that have to do with these visitors coming from Melanthos?”

  He groaned and his attention again shifted to the side. “Don’t make me spell it out,” he said.

  A cold something slithered through Viola at those words—fear, she thought, but she didn’t know why she should be fearful of whatever it was he wanted to say. “He doesn’t like your company, stupid,” intoned a small voice in the back of her mind. “He feels a sense of responsibility towards you because you are the same kind, but he doesn’t want to have anything to do with you, other than the absolute necessities.”

  She shoved away that thought by reminding herself in a fit of pride that her life and her happiness did not depend upon the whims of a fraudulent Prince. “You’re going to have to spell it out,” she said flatly. “I’ve told you before that I don’t understand your motives in the least, so I hardly think I should have to go to the trouble of guessing them now. I don’t know what part of protecting me requires you to treat me like garbage, but—”

  “Vi-o-la,” he protested, drawing her name out into a plaintive whine. His body slumped against the wall and he slid to the floor, where he cradled his head in his hands.

  “Just say what you need to say,” she told him heartlessly. She wanted to know if he thought she was too boring or too high-strung or… or too much of any other unpleasant character trait.

  When he looked up at last, there was anguish in his eyes and a faint blush on his cheeks. “Our kind live in pairs,” he said, much to her surprise.

  Viola frowned. “I’ve seen that written in the accounts. What’s it got to do with anything?”

  “Viola,” he whined again. “You’re not really this obtuse, are you?” Clearly he did not wish to elaborate.

  “I beg your pardon?” she said, starting to get offended.

  The Prince fixed an intent gaze upon her, so intent, in fact, that she felt distinctly uncomfortable, as though he could see into her very soul with those keen golden eyes. “I thought it was more than apparent that I’m drawn to you,” he said, “that every time we’re in the same room I want to be near you, want to touch you. You’ve batted my hands away enough times to catch onto that trend, I should think.”

  A slow blush crept its way up her face as her mind processed these words. Her throat seemed suddenly dry. “That was just you being cheeky,” she said, and her voice sounded more like a croak to her ears. “You said yourself that I was too easy to fluster.”

  “You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” he replied bluntly. “You’re usually so composed, but in those rare moments when you panic, like right now…” His voice trailed off and a faint smile curled across his lips.

  Viola self-consciously stepped back and tried to regain control of her wits. “What’s any of that have to do with your behavior yesterday and today?” she demanded. “You’ve been the exact opposite of what you’re describing.”

  “I told you,” he said, and his eyes rolled toward the ceiling. “I’m drawn to you. You make me forget. I forget myself, my better senses. It’s been that way from the very first moment I saw you—you must have realized that on some level. With someone as dangerous as Natalia hanging about, I need my wits around me, but that’s next to impossible when I’m with you! So I’m trying to keep my distance, and it’s fairly well killing me, thank you very much!”

  The fear that had been twisting around Viola’s heart suddenly loosened and she felt somehow liberated. A wicked thought entered her mind. “Do you mean to say,” she began, “that it’s torturous for me to be near you, because you want to touch me but can’t?” She stepped forward and leaned toward where he sat upon the ground. A small smile curved along her mouth. “Is that what you’re saying?” she asked, dangerously close to him.

  He was wrestling with his self-control, she could tell, but it ultimately lost. He suddenly moved to catch hold of her, but she danced out of his reach, laughing.

  “That’s not funny,” he growled.

  “Who knew you were so much fun to tease?” she replied, but she had the good sense to back away further.

  The Prince pressed his lips together in a firm line, obviously annoyed. “I’m going to my room,” he said, and he stood, stiff-backed.

  Viola trotted forward to intercept him before he could leave. He froze in place, jaw clenched in anger as he internally vowed not to be fooled by her again. To his great surprise—and somewhat to her own, as well—she suddenly went up on her tip-toes and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Thanks for the thought,” she told him as she pulled away, “but you could at least be civil to me while you’re hunched over on the opposite side of the room, you know.”

  He cleared his throat, distinctly trying to gather his thoughts after her bold move. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he murmured. Then, he strode from the library without another glance back.

  “What on earth am I doing?” Viola wondered aloud, but the feelings that fluttered within her bore no resemblance to guilt.

  Chapter 14: Prelude to a Festival

  I know I s
aid in the start of this journal that I was going to be entirely honest, but now that I know that certain people may be reading this, I feel an obvious reluctance toward that honesty. I do feel a little guilty for forcing the Prince into what must have been a rather uncomfortable confession to make. Your Highness, if you’re reading this, I really am sorry that I cornered you. But you were being rude, and I do think that I deserved an explanation of some sorts. Also, put my journal back where you found it right now.

  Somehow, I wish he had lied to me. (Maybe he did, I’ve been telling myself, but there was too much sincerity when he spoke to me, so I cannot believe that it was all false.) This whole business with the foreigners has complicated life unnecessarily, but when it’s all put to rest, I’m going to have to examine my own attitude. It was an entirely different situation when I thought the Prince was just being a flirtatious idiot intent upon annoying me. I didn’t have to examine my feelings toward him because there was no reason to do so. They were kept nicely under lock and key, largely ignored but for the occasional self-denial.

  I’m not saying I’m in love with him. (I’m not!) But I don’t wholly despise him either. Several days ago he asked me if gratitude was the only positive emotion that I felt toward him. I couldn’t answer at the time, because it’s not. I just… can’t readily understand what else is there. I have already mentioned (and he has no doubt already read) that I find him captivating at times, but I also find him irritating at times, so I should think that the negative feelings would balance out the positive ones to a neutral opinion.

  Only they don’t. Botheration.

  On the evening before the midsummer festival, the palace dignitaries usually held a grand party, a dinner and dance over which the Prince would preside. At midnight, the festival officially commenced with the ringing of the tower bells and candlelight processions in the streets of Lenore, where all the citizens would carry a candle as they walked from one end of the city to another. Viola had grown up watching the spectacle from the Prince’s tower, the pinnacle of which could only be reached by a tight spiral staircase and a trap door.