Kingdom of Ruses

by Kate Stradling

  “Hush! Don’t say such things, or you’ll jinx yourself,” said her mother. Then, taking her by the arm, she pulled her from the room. Together they walked behind Charles, out of the family’s apartments and down the hall, then up the stairs to the Prince’s quarters. Viola felt self-conscious the whole way. She had never noticed how many sentries were stationed within the palace, but now she felt the stares of every single one of them.

  Her father was waiting for them at the entrance to the Prince’s apartments. He smiled adoringly at them both and kissed his wife on the cheek. Then, he took her from Viola and led her inside. It was the only time of the year that Elizabeth Moreland ever entered the Prince’s apartments, and previously it had always been a doppelganger that she encountered. Viola’s father had always conjured the banquet’s doppelganger, for as long as Viola could remember. She felt a pang of anxiety over whether any discrepancies would arise between this year’s Prince and that of former occasions. He had better behave, she thought to herself.

  The doors to the Prince’s bedchamber were open. He stood in front of a mirror, adjusting the black headdress that also masked his nose and mouth. His ceremonial attire was well-tailored but mostly unremarkable. The obvious exception to this was the cape he wore: it was made entirely out of brilliant, jewel-bright peacock feathers. It was clasped at his throat with the golden cat’s eye brooch, and was unmistakably an item that only the Eternal Prince of Lenore could get away with wearing. Viola wondered where on earth it had come from and felt like an idiot for previously worrying that her dress was too gaudy.

  As they entered, he turned in silent greeting but froze when his golden eyes caught sight of Viola.

  She promptly made a face at him.

  He arched one golden eyebrow back. After straightening his black jacket, he bowed politely to the family. “Mrs. Moreland, a pleasure as always,” he said.

  Viola’s mother blushed and made a genteel curtsy to him, suddenly shy as she stood next to her husband. A strange hush fell over the occupants of the room, broken when Edmund, who was sprawled across the Prince’s bed, called out, “I’m going to have the tower all to myself tonight, aren’t I? Since Viola’s going with all of you this year, I mean.”

  Mrs. Moreland looked to her husband in alarm. “Edmund,” the Prime Minister began hesitantly, “you’re never supposed to be up in the tower alone.”

  The twelve-year-old sat upright, indignation written across his face. “So I’m not allowed to go? That’s not fair! Your Highness, please,” he whined to the Prince.

  “Edmund!” Mrs. Moreland cried, scandalized.

  “Someone will be here before midnight to take you up to the tower, Edmund,” said the Prince, as though this was a negligible thing to orchestrate.

  Edmund beamed, but the Prime Minister looked in alarm at the Prince. Viola could hardly blame her father for that reaction, since the only people who had ever had access to the tower were in this room and would be at the banquet. Nicholas Moreland had no opportunity to protest, because there was a sharp rap at the outer door. He hesitated for a moment, but then turned to answer the summons.

  Viola sidled up to the Prince. “What are you planning to do, send Charlie?” she whispered.

  “I’ll send you,” he retorted in a low voice. “You’re really going to go out there looking like that?”

  She recoiled, more hurt by his remark than she wanted to admit. “What’s wrong with how I look?”

  “What am I to do for a secretary after tonight?” he replied, annoyed. “You’ll be too busy fending off all your suitors from now on.”

  Viola didn’t know how to respond. In her moment’s hesitation, he turned away from her and moved to a more isolated spot in the room, his back to everyone else. He had just paid her a compliment, she realized, but he seemed so disgruntled about it. She wasn’t sure she would ever understand him.

  The Prime Minister returned with the Prince’s military escort. “Your Highness, I forgot to ask—was it your desire to be carried in the litter down to the great hall?”

  With a very regal turn, the Prince looked over his shoulder and surveyed the four guards. “I hardly think that’s necessary tonight,” he said, and he swept past them in an authoritative stride.

  From the outer hall came the cry, “His Royal Highness, the Eternal Prince of Lenore!”

  Charles was at Viola’s side in an instant, offering her his arm. “Can you imagine how embarrassing it is for me to have to escort my younger sister to this banquet?” he asked just to be impudent.

  “Probably almost as embarrassing as it is for me to have to walk in on my older brother’s arm,” she replied as they fell in step behind their parents. “Get yourself a girlfriend and you won’t have to escort me anywhere.”

  “Ha,” said Charles.

  Together they progressed down the marbled hallways of the palace, down the grand staircase, to the great hall. The Prince went before them. The soldiers that lined the way stood at attention as he passed in his resplendent cape. The great hall was filled with light and the sound of many voices, with people lining the tables that had been set up around the room. As the Prince entered through the main doors, silence spread and the guests all rose to their feet in reverence.

  He processed up the center of the room, across the space where they would dance, to the table at the head, where empty places sat for him and for the Moreland family. Nicholas and Elizabeth followed him in one direction, and Charles and Viola split off and entered their places from the opposite side, so that the Prince was positioned in the middle, with Nicholas on his right hand and Charles on his left. It was a symbolic arrangement: the current Prime Minister and the future Prime Minister flanked the country’s protector and figurehead.

  The Prince took his seat with regal aplomb as the audience gaped up at him. “All hail the Eternal Prince of Lenore!” Prime Minister Moreland called.

  “Hail!” cried the crowd, and the Prince motioned for them to be seated.

  Servants entered with trays of sumptuous foods, and the banquet was underway. At first, Viola sat patiently as she was given her portion, but her eyes soon traveled down the row to where the Prince sat. He had no plate before him, she noticed.

  “Does the Prince not eat?” she inquired of her brother.

  “No. How would he?” Charles replied. “He’s wearing a mask, and he can’t very well remove that in front of so many people. Besides, tradition states that the banquet is his gift to all the dignitaries of Lenore, so he merely presides instead of participating.”

  “How unfortunate,” she said. “The food smells lovely.”

  The Prince glanced in her direction, clearly having overheard her remark. A disgruntled glint reflected in his eyes. She could tell that he was none too happy about having to preside over a huge, long dinner where everyone else was eating the most delicious foods.

  “Father’s having food sent up to Edmund in the Prince’s quarters,” Charlie whispered. “There’ll be enough left over for him to have some after the party, I’m sure.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” replied Viola. “Edmund’s been going through a growth spurt lately—he eats more than you do right now.”

  “Huh,” said Charles. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to find him something to eat.”

  The Prince leaned over to where they sat. “I ate before I came, thanks,” he said in a low voice.

  Viola smiled broadly at him and took her first bite. His golden eyes narrowed and he turned away in seeming disinterest. He leaned languidly upon the arm of his chair and gazed out across the crowd of dignitaries. The buzz of conversation had returned, though it was of a lower timbre than before they had entered. Viola glanced around the room at all of the familiar faces and nearly choked when her eyes locked with another pair among the crowd.

  That foreign woman, Natalia, was looking back at her with an almost predatory expression in her black eyes. As Viola’s gaze met hers, her blood-red lips curved into a slow smile. Viola quickl
y looked away. A terrible feeling of discomfort curled through her and settled in her bones. When she hazarded a glance back in that direction, though, the woman had turned her attention to her companion and chatted amiably with him.

  As the evening progressed, Viola cast her eyes toward that corner of the room frequently, but she never caught Natalia looking back at her again. Still, she felt conspicuous, as though there were many eyes on her at any given time.

  After several courses had been served—and Viola only picked at most of them, as she was wrapped in a corset and could barely breathe, let alone eat more than five bites—the tables were cleared of their food. The innermost were moved toward the wall to create more room for dancing, and a small orchestra began to play.

  Traditionally, the Prime Minister and his wife opened the dancing (at the Prince’s behest, of course), and tonight was no different. Nicholas led Elizabeth from behind the main table and out onto the floor, where they danced a beautiful waltz. As the song progressed several of the more distinguished couples of Lenore joined them.

  As that dance came to a close, Viola discovered no less than four young men at her side, there to beg her hand for future dances. She was immediately whisked away to join the quadrille that was forming. She had no want of partners for the next hour, but it was with some dismay that, as another waltz started, she found herself facing Victor Conrad.

  “I believe it is my turn, fair maiden,” he said with a smile that was meant to charm. Before Viola could say otherwise, he put his arm firmly at her waist and spun her out onto the dance floor.

  “I don’t recall agreeing to dance with you,” she said coldly.

  “I know. I had to buy the waltz off another fellow. It was worth every penny, too.” Viola tried to break away from him, but he tightened his grip. “Now, now, my girl, that sort of thing will embarrass us both. I don’t recall doing anything to get on your bad side, either.”

  “You don’t recall creeping into the Prince’s quarters?” Viola replied in mock astonishment. “Of all the stupid things a person could do—! And as I recall, you paid the guards for that venture, too. Is money your answer to everything, Victor?”

  “You might be surprised by how many doors it opens,” he said smugly. “Of course, since you’ve been brought up in the palace, you wouldn’t know anything of the world beyond. Viola Moreland, I could teach you a thing or two—ooh!”

  She stepped on his foot intentionally and looked the opposite direction. Her gaze happened to fall upon the Prince, who sat glowering at her. She made a face, and his golden eyes narrowed. Somehow, his gaze was reassuring to her.

  Victor was cursing under his breath. “What a vicious little devil you can be,” he uttered. “Beautiful, but vicious—I wonder how many ardent eyes you would still have upon you if your true nature was known, cruel thing.”

  “I wonder how many eyes would be on the both of us if I pretended to faint right here,” Viola replied with a dangerous gleam to her eyes. “Or perhaps I should shriek and accuse you of manhandling me?” she suggested.

  “You’re very cold-hearted to a man who merely wants to dance with you,” said Victor. “This waltz didn’t come cheap, you know.”

  Viola stepped away from him, almost violently so. “I resent the implication that you seem to think I can be bought,” she said quietly. Many stares focused upon the pair. Victor stepped forward to resume the dance, but she turned her back on him and walked away. He snatched at her arm to waylay her, but luckily, two eager young men stepped forward to receive her into the crowd at the edge of the dance floor.

  “Miss Moreland, is he bothering you?” asked one.

  “Miss Moreland, are you all right?” asked the other.

  She couldn’t remember either of their names, even though she had danced with both. “No, everything’s fine,” she replied. “I started to feel faint, so I was just going to return to my seat. I think I’ve been dancing too long,” she added with an apologetic smile.

  “As her partner for this dance,” Victor stiffly said to the two, “it’s my responsibility to see her back. If you will excuse us…”

  Then he led her away, back toward the head table. His grip on her arm tightened as they went. “You’re going to bruise me,” Viola said coldly.

  “If we were alone, I’d do more than that,” he replied under his breath. “And here we are, fair maiden,” he said in a louder voice as they reached her chair again. The affected smile had returned to his lips. “Please, rest yourself and recover your strength—I claim your next dance to make up for this lost one, you know.” He lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it, but she snatched it away before he could make contact.

  “Thank you,” she said with a brittle smile. “I’d hate to keep you any longer, Victor. After all, there are quite a few young ladies who lack partners right now. I’m sure they would appreciate your company.” She gestured across the room to a row of wallflowers. His gaze followed her fingers and when he turned back, his mouth was curling in a sneer.

  “Good night,” Viola said primly, but there was an underlying hardness to her voice that spoke volumes more than her terse dismissal. Victor’s expression turned black, but he left her then, his back straight as he wove his way back into the crowd.

  “Quite the insolent little toad,” said the Prince, and Viola whirled to discover him staring out into the crowd with a blank expression. Charles was out dancing, which left the chair between them empty. “Scoot over,” he told her. “I’m so bored I could cry.”

  Gingerly, Viola followed his command and took her brother’s seat. “What does his Royal Highness desire of me?” she asked sardonically.

  Golden eyes flitted her direction before returning to the dance in front of him. “His Royal Highness wishes you would not be such a tease as to dance with every man in the room but himself.”

  Viola’s first instinct was to scoff, and she failed in wholly suppressing it. “I haven’t danced with every man in the room. Besides that, you can’t dance.”

  “Who says I can’t?”

  “Not here,” she said. “The Prince only presides—Charlie said so.”

  “Yes, your father told me so as well, and it’s been absolutely miserable. Sitting through the banquet was bad enough, but this dance has been sheer torture.”

  “It’s not so bad as that,” Viola protested, but anything further she might have said died in her throat when he turned a stern gaze upon her. It was disconcerting how much emotion he could convey with his eyes alone, and she was somehow grateful that the rest of his face was covered, for she was certain that she would not have been able to confront his full expression. He seemed angry, almost dangerously so, and she felt instinctively that he was not in a mood to be crossed. It was wholly different from Victor’s ire only a few moments previous.

  Viola swallowed but was saved the trouble of speaking when her parents returned from the waltz and rejoined them at the head table. The Prince shifted in his chair so that his gaze looked out across the dancing couples again.

  Nicholas Moreland leaned forward to catch his daughter’s eye. “Is everything all right?” he asked, and his attention flitted briefly toward the Prince.

  Viola nodded and sat back in her chair. The Prince made no motion whatsoever, as though he had not heard the question at all. It was rather rude of him, she thought, but then, it was also totally in character. The doppelgangers of yore had never had more than the briefest of interactions with anyone.

  The thought of returning to that system of deception made her frown. She could well recall the many diversions and spectacles her family used to create, but it all seemed in the distant past. The Prince—or rather, the impostor Prince—would not remain in Lenore forever, though. Soon enough he would either find the information he sought or else determine to move on in his search, and then the Morelands would be back to sneaking around the palace and conjuring doppelgangers and such. Much as she had been against him assuming the role of the Prince, Viola did not relish this
inevitable return to the old ways.

  Three figures stepped forward to the head table. Their movement called her from her reverie. Next to her, both the Prince and her father straightened almost imperceptibly in their chairs as Lord Conrad swept into a deep bow.

  “Prime Minister,” he said, “I hope I am not being impertinent, but my dear friends wished to be introduced to his Royal Highness, the Eternal Prince. Your Highness, may I present to you Governor Josef Negri of West Anrich, and his beautiful assistant Natalia.”

  Governor Negri bowed in respect, but Natalia merely inclined her head.

  The Prince looked to his Prime Minister in disinterest, deferring the conversation to him in that mute, haughty gesture. “We do hope you’ve enjoyed the evening,” said Nicholas politely.

  “Indeed,” said Governor Negri, and he looked perturbed at being so dismissed by the Prince.

  “It’s been quite lovely,” said Natalia, and she spoke not to the Prime Minister, but directly to the Prince. “We had hoped that his Highness would join with the dancing, at the very least. It must be very boring for him simply to sit there and watch.” Her black eyes held an expression of cunning in their inky depths, Viola thought. That predatory curve was back on her lips, too.

  “I would be so bold as to offer myself as a partner,” Natalia continued, “but if that is not to the liking of his Highness, no doubt the Prime Minister’s lovely daughter would do.”

  Viola nearly choked.

  “The Prince never—” started the Prime Minister nervously.

  “I do not dance,” said the Prince in iron tones, and his gaze remained fixed on the sets of the quadrille before him.

  “In Melanthos, is it considered rude to decline a woman’s invitation to dance,” replied Natalia with an edge to her voice.

  “Lenore does not answer to Melanthos,” the Prince retorted. He turned expectantly to the Prime Minister. “Moreland, do these foreigners have business with me?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, no,” said Nicholas in a calmly distant voice. He shifted his attention to Lord Conrad.