by H G Lynch
I didn’t know what to say to that, especially with half a roast potato sitting in my mouth. While he lazily examined the meat on his fork, I hastily swallowed the creamy mush. Thankfully, I was saved from having to answer, because Adam continued.
His eyes cut to me. “I have one hundred and nine staff, each with a story. I know, I’ve listened to every single one. But none of those gripped my attention as you do. You interest me, Mademoiselle.”
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “But why?”
I wanted to smack myself. What a stupid question to ask! Don’t look a gift Prince in the mouth!
Adam’s lips curled at the corners. Abruptly, he put down his fork on his plate and leaned forward with both elbows on the table. “I do not know, Madmoiselle Agatha. That is part of your charm. You are beautiful, but shy. You think little of yourself, and yet, you walk with confidence when you forget for a moment who I am.”
His eyes narrowed, and my stomach tied itself in knots. “You have a secret, I think, Agatha,” he murmured, so low I almost didn’t hear it.
My heart stumbled, and I struggled to keep any expression off my face. After a brief, frozen moment of panic, I forced a smile. “Why would you think that?”
A painfully long second stretched out between us before Adam leaned back in his chair. “Just a...feeling, Mademoiselle.”
We continued to eat, and I relaxed as Adam regaled me with stories of the manor and such. He really did know the story of every member of his staff, and he was quite friendly with them from what I heard. He told me of the time Mrs Potts, the housemaid, caught him sliding down one of the grand staircases on her good serving platter.
He expounded the hidden virtues of his footman, Pierre, who apparently he’d caught singing one day in the stables. Pierre, it turned out, was quite a showman, with a passion for theatre that he had never had the chance to put to use until Adam found out. Now, Pierre was organising a Christmas play for the Winter Ball, to which many royals and nobles would attend.
It was clear Prince Adam cared about those who lived and served in his palace, from the lowly chimney sweep to the youngest member of the household, an eight year old boy named Chip. Mrs Potts’ grandson, Chip had come to live at the palace with his grandmother after an accident stole his parents’ lives.
According to Adam, though, the loss hadn’t tainting the little boy’s cheerful smile. Many times, Adam had found him playing with the palace dogs, as unafraid of the huge Alsatians as if they were mere pups.
Slowly, over the evening, long after the food had been cleared away, I learned about the palace staff, coming to feel as if I’d known them for years. I was enthralled in Adam’s storytelling, so much so that I didn’t realise the time until the polished grandfather clock in the corner of the room began to dong.
I looked to the clock and gasped. “Oh no, it’s late! I should really get home.” I hurriedly stood, almost knocking over the tall chair I’d been sitting on.
Adam ducked his head apologetically. “I’m sorry to have kept you so late, Mademoiselle. You are such a talented listener, I have talked your ear off about myself and my staff, and heard nothing about you! Please, you must return again so that I might make it up to you. I swear, I’ll be a better host.”
“Oh, no, no,” I fluttered. “You have been a wonderful host! I enjoyed hearing about your staff. So many people...it’s fascinating!”
Adam seemed gratified by my response, and stood form his chair. “Allow me to walk you to the door. A coach should already be waiting to take you home.”
With my hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, he led me out of the dining room. A footman opened one of the large front doors, and we stepped out onto the wide stone porch.
Outside, it had grown dark, the cobalt sky littered with tiny, sparkling diamonds. A warm breeze brought the scent of night-blooming jasmine to my nose, and my eyes fluttered at the smell of the lush perfume.
At the bottom of the stone steps, a gleaming black coach waited. The same footman that had dropped me off, the one who’d given me a funny look, stood at the coach door, holding it open. He looked distinctly relieved to see me, giving me an over-eager smile.
Before I could think too much about it, Adam spoke. “Bon nuit, Mademoiselle Agatha. I shall send a coach for you when next we should meet.”
He lifted his hand gently to the curve between my neck and shoulder, where lace met skin. It was an intimate area to touch with the footman watching, but Adam didn’t appear to care. His eyes lingered on my neck, and I wondered if he could see my hammering pulse.
His long, dark lashes swept up as his gaze came up to mine. He began to bend his head, and I tasted potent wine on his lips as he pressed them to mine. His mouth was gentle but firm, showing what he wanted, not demanding. His lips parted mine, the tip of his tongue glancing off my lower lip. I gasped at the rising, hungry heat inside me, the tightly-strung rope of my spine.
I’d thought I had been kissed before; I hadn’t. Not like this. This was like the ocean, an unstoppable push and pull, the edge of a wave as his tongue slid past my open lips. I’d never felt this kind of desire, like an inferno raging inside me. I needed his mouth like I needed air to breathe.
Suddenly, I felt static in the air, and smelled ozone. A wave of panic momentarily drowned out the gasping need for his kiss. I knew that feeling – it was the prickle of magic in the air, the forewarning that I was losing my control on my power.
Then, it was over. My power settled down to no more than a simmer. Adam’s lips lingered on mine just a second longer before he straightened. I felt cold suddenly, as if the warmth in my soul had just been taken away. The new inches of distance between us felt like a chasm.
The chill of the breeze knocked me back to reality, and I realised I’d just given the poor footman quite a show. But when I looked back, the footman was nowhere to be seen.
“Bon soir, Mademoiselle,” Adam whispered, his thumb against his lower lip, as if he were trying to hide the smile dancing on his mouth.
With numb legs, I walked down the stone steps to the carriage and got in. The footman, or maybe a different one, climbed up to the seat at the front of the carriage and set the horses moving.
As the coach wobbled along the pathway back into town, I couldn’t help but smile to myself, touching my tingling lips.
Too soon, we pulled to a halt in front of my house. The lights were still out – good. Mama had stayed asleep. It wouldn’t look good, me arriving home at this house in someone else’s carriage. I would look like I’d become a mistress of the night!
The door to the coach popped open and I saw with a little surprise that it was the same footman as before. I wondered where he’d gone while Adam and I were kissing. Maybe he’d just around the other side of the carriage, giving us privacy. Either way, I was somewhat embarrassed as he helped me down from the coach to the ground.
“Merci,” I said, a little breathless. My corset was beginning to pinch. This was the longest I’d ever worn this dress.
“Madmoiselle,” the footman said quietly, surprising me again.
“You talk?!” It sounded rude, and I immediately began to apologise, but the footman held up his hand.
“It is alright,” he said, smiling faintly. But his smile faded quickly and he looked around swiftly before pulling off his hat and wiping his brow with one arm. Without the wide brim obscuring my view, I could see now that the footman was younger than I’d imagined, perhaps around my age, seventeen or eighteen. More a boy than a man.
He had a shockingly fine face, with elegantly sculpted features. He raked his hand through jet-black waves of hair that curled around his brow. He looked frustrated and worried.
“Look,” he began abruptly, then stopped. Took a deep breath. Let it out. I waited patiently, even as confused as I was.
Finally, the footman said, very quietly, leaning toward me. “Look, I’m not supposed to do this. I could get in a lot of trouble. But...when he sends the next carria
ge...don’t get in it.”
I blinked, shocked. The boy looked at me pleadingly, his angelic face making the expression so heartfelt that I almost agreed, just to sooth his fear. Almost. “What...why would I not get in?”
The footman’s face fell, and he stepped back, his expression hardening. He slapped his hat back on his head. “Excuse me, Mademoiselle.” He bowed stiffly and hopped back up on the front of the carriage.
“Wait!” I cried, and then cursed myself. I glanced to the house, but the lights were still off. More quietly, I said, “Wait. What’s your name?”
The boy looked down at me, his eyes shadowed by the hat. “Nicholas.”
Before I could ask more, he snapped the reins and the horses whinnied into motion. He was gone in moments, just the echoing sound of the horse’s hooves lingering behind.
Chapter Two
I waited. For days, I waited at the window every night, staring out into the street in search of a fancy black coach. I strained my ears for the sound of wooden wheels and horse hooves on cobbles.
But any carriages that went by were not intended for me.
By day six, I had all but given up. I had decided to distract myself by running errands for Mama. I walked along the grey-black cobbles, crisp orange leaves swirling around my ankles and skittering across the street in the wind.
I tucked my chin into my wine-red cotton scarf, chilled by the late autumn air. My low-heeled shoes clicked satisfyingly on the stones, and I felt somewhat better. Maybe I’d just needed some fresh air to clear my head and my anxiety.
In one arm, I carried a woven wicker basket full of bread and fresh fruit. Next I was to pick up some eggs and milk from farmer Claude.
A flash of blue in the corner of my eye caught my attention, and I paused to search for the source. I didn’t see it at first, but then, through the legs of the crowd, I spotted a little girl in a pale blue dress with a white lace apron. Her rich brown hair was tied back in a matching blue ribbon. In her chubby little hand, clasped to her chest, was a storybook. Crushed in her other hand was her daddy’s coat sleeve.
I smiled faintly. I couldn’t remember my father. He’d died when I was very young. Mama didn’t talk about him much. All I knew was that he’d loved me very much, and he died saving another man from wolves while he was out hunting.
Shaking myself free of the thought, I decided to get off the busy main street. As I turned the corner, I was somewhat surprised to find myself face-to-face with a gun. For a stupid moment, I was simply perplexed, wondering why there was the long, narrow barrel of a Colt pointed at my forehead.
Then a voice snapped me out of my numbness. “Gimme your purse, salope,” the stained, ragged man behind the gun growled, using a particularly vile word for a woman.
My heart stopped. My breathing stopped. Everything stopped. Just. For. A moment.
“Give me it!” the man snapped.
I flinched, dropping my purse. The little cloth sack clinked on the cobbles, my meagre few coins inside. The man swore.
“Merde! Pick it up!” His shaking hand was making the gun wobble in my face.
Static crackled in the air around me, my fingertips tingling with the power seeping through the holes in my control. I didn’t want to know what would happen to this man if my power escaped me. It would not be the first time that somebody around me became a frog, or lost a limb, because I had lost control of my power for a moment.
I could barely breathe as I started to crouch down. My knees felt weak, as if I would just fall to the ground. The gun followed my descent, never giving me a second to think.
A sudden loud shout from the man startled me so much that I did topple onto the damp cobbles. Gasping, I looked up and saw the dirty man being held against the wall of the old flour mill. He looked terrified, his eyes bulging from their sockets, spit flopping from his lips as he begged the man holding him to let him go.
“I don’t have to tell you who I am, do I?” A familiar, silky voice crooned darkly to the man.
It was then that I noticed the new attacker, really noticed him. A long, sapphire blue, brocade coat with golden piping. Auburn hair curling around his shoulders.
“Adam?” I croaked, shocked by the look of composed rage on his face, like the still water over a turbulent current. The boiling tumult showed in his normally-calm blue eyes, turning them into churning oceans.
Evidently, Prince Adam didn’t hear me over the robber’s sobbing. He continued to hold the snivelling man against the bricks. In a cold voice, so unlike the warm, gentle tone he’d used with me the other night, Adam said, “I could have you held in the palace dungeons until you rot, you disgusting mite. I could have you hung, or guillotined. If you ever threaten another woman, I will have my Royal Guard find you. Do you understand, you dêgênêrê crêtin?”
The robber nodded wildly, blubbering agreements. Adam released him, not gently, and the man skittered away, his bare feet slipping on the cobbles. I suddenly felt a little bad for not giving him some coin. Yes, he’d threatened me with a gun, but no man should be so desperate for the simplest things in life.
“Mademoiselle Agatha, are you alright?” Adam said, his voice now soft, as he held out a hand to help me up. I grasped his hand and let him pull me to my feet. He bent and retrieved my purse and basket, returning an apple that had escaped when I’d fallen and dropped the basket.
“Merci beaucoup,” I said, my hands shaking a little as I took my things. “I...I’m fine.”
Adam didn’t look convinced, and truthfully, neither was I. I’d been horribly, stupidly helpless – not just to the robber, but to my own power. It was starting to get hard to keep it in check. Especially, I thought, when Adam is around.
He reached out and brushed my cheek with one velvet-gloved fingertip. “I’m a fool,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I should have come to you sooner,” he sighed.
I began to shake my head, to tell him that no, it was alright, I understood he was busy. But he made a disgusted sound, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Merde. You must think me a brute.”
“No,” I gasped, grasping his wrist. “Of course not. You were only protecting me.”
His blue eyes flicked open, his gaze landing on my fingers encircling his wrist. Startled by the fierce look on his face, I let go abruptly, and he blinked.
“Oh, Cherie. You are too kind.” He smiled gently. “Please, forgive me. Let me make it up to you. Tonight, around seven. I’ll send a coach for you.”
Though my heart soared, I hesitated. I remembered Nicholas’s haunting words: when he sends the next carriage, don’t get in.
Uncertain, I looked up into Adam’s patient face. A few loose strands of gold-bronze hair floated around his cheekbones on the breeze. Thick, dark lashes shadowed his eyes, intense swirling pools of cobalt.
A smile tugged at my lips. How could I say no to a Prince? Adam had done nothing but treat me kindly and protect me. I had no reason to heed Nicholas’s vague warning. Perhaps he was simply jealous that the Prince had my attention.
“Yes,” I said, blushing. “I would love that.”
Adam seemed satisfied with my response. “Until then, Mademoiselle.” He bowed gracefully and swiftly, before turning on his booted heel and walking away, his long coat flying behind him in the wind.
Chapter Three
As if this evening had been blessed with luck, Mama had a late customer – apparently the vicar was having some issues with his wife and he wanted Mama to tell him how it would all turn out – and would be out all evening.
I was lacing my boots when I heard the knock at the door. Glancing at the clock, I was a little surprised – he was fifteen minutes early. The Prince hadn’t struck me as the sort of person who arrived early to any event. I suspected that any party he was at would wait for him to arrive, no matter how late he might be.
I stood, fluffing out my skirts over my boots. I took a swift glance in the shimmery mirror by the door – as per my mother’s usual style, i
t was not an ordinary mirror. It was infused with Pagan magic, so that if you were to stare too long in the mirror, your hair would fall out. It was an old curse, supposed to keep people from being too vain.
Still, I risked a peek at the cursed mirror, just long enough to determine that my hair was neatly knotted and my rogue wasn’t too much.
The person at the door knocked again, harder this time, and I dove to open it swiftly. Behind the door, with one hand still raised from knocking, was Nicholas.
I was startled to see him again after last time. I wanted to ask him so many questions, but if he remembered telling me not to get in the coach, his face didn’t betray it. His expression was perfectly tamed, with a neutral smile.
“Bon soir, Mademoiselle. The Prince’s coach has arrived to take you to the palace.”
Stuffing my fingers into my soft cotton gloves, I nodded. “Thank you.”
Nicholas bowed before turning and walking back to the coach. I closed the door and locked it, fumbling my keys nervously before stuffing them into my purse. Nicholas held open the coach door for me as I got in.
Carefully arranging my skirts, I sat down on the leather bench seat. At first, I didn’t even notice the large shadow on the opposite side of the carriage. But then it moved, and I gasped.
“Bon soir, Mademoiselle,” Adam said in a low voice. He leaned forward, bringing his face into the slim wedge of light spilling through the carriage’s lace curtain. He smiled languorously, his eyes taking me in from head to toe.
“Sensationnel,” he whispered. “You look beautiful tonight, Agatha.”
I felt heat stain my cheeks. “Merci. You look...” I took a moment to notice how he looked – tonight he was dressed in the dark green of pine needles, accented with a white scarf. His hair was not bound as it usually was, it was loose and the ends curled around his shoulders.
Handsome. Stunning. Irresistible. I could not say any of those things. “You look...very nice, as well.”
The Prince waved a hand dismissively, as if how he looked could not matter less. “I am excited for this evening, Agatha. There is something I would like to show you.”