Princesses, Peas, and Other ImPonderables

Chapter Eleven: In which Midnight tolls

Alexander grimaced slightly as the clock tower tolled out the hour. How long could it take for Giselle to dress? He had suffered through an hour and a half of inane conversation after having to open the ball with Gemma (he had not offered to dance with her again; her mother had enough imagination as it was) before he had the fortunate idea of partnering the various ladies of the court. He had gone through another few sets, and still he had seen no sign of Giselle. What if she had simply waited until Lady Ariel left and slipped out of the castle?

Just as he thought he would lose his mind (or his left foot; his current partner seemed quite fond of treading heavily in the wrong direction), he spotted Lady Ariel among his mother's ladies in waiting.

The moment the music ended, he escorted his partner directly back to her companions, only barely managing to avoid limping as he did so. As he did so, he wondered how much ice it would take to reduce the swelling sufficiently to remove his footwear at the end of the night, to say nothing of donning it the next morning. After the most minimal of pleasantries, he left ... Alcyone? (There were too many sisters in that family and too little to differentiate between them; he was not even sure if they numbered six or seven)... and hurried over to where he had seen his co-conspirator.

Fast as he had been, someone else had been faster. Sir Robin and Lady Ariel flirted shamelessly on nearly all occasions, except when too busy regaling each other with tales of their own mischievous deeds, and as Alexander approached, the lady was failing in her attempt to conceal her amused grin behind her fan. "Oh," she giggled, "That's terrible."

As usual, this only encouraged the knight. "So here I am, crowded into the lady's closet, trying to avoid sneezing because the purple flowers he no longer wants me to deliver are aggravating my hay fever..."

Alexander coughed. If he had correctly identified the incident to which Robin referred, he did not wish to hear any more details. "I do hate to interrupt, but might your sovereign beg a dance with his favorite vassal?"

Lady Ariel chuckled as she took his arm. "Favorite, my foot. I merely happen to be the only lady you know who is both approximately the right size and can hold her tongue for more than thirty seconds."

"So she did agree to borrow a gown and slippers for the evening?" Despite his bravado in telling Giselle she could not countermand his orders to Lady Ariel, he knew full well that his princess would not meekly obey, unlike the one sitting by his mother. In fact, Giselle might just as easily have decided to circumvent the ball and proceed directly to her hiding place (either the one he had recommended or one of her own devising).

"I can't say she agreed with the greatest of enthusiasm, but when I left the room, she was wearing my clothes ... sort of."

"Sort of?" That had an ominous sound to it.

Lady Ariel shrugged. "Well, she did insist upon the least-flattering gown I own." She rolled her eyes, "not that you can tell on her, of course ... she could make a burlap sack look fashionable. And then there was the difficulty with her shoes."

"Difficulty with her shoes?" Why did everything related to Giselle make him feel abysmally unintelligent? He knew he sounded like an uncomprehending echo.

The lady in waiting waved her hand airily. "Oh, I would not worry about it. As long as she doesn't move too quickly, all will be well."

If nothing else, his verbal sparring matches with the princess had taught him to recognize the definitive turning of a topic. He waited for Lady Ariel to raise the next subject.

After a moment of silence, she frowned. "Your majesty is not curious?"

He shook his head with a smile. "I have recently learned to respect a lady's secrets."

Lady Ariel's eyebrows shot upward and her mouth twitched. Flicking her gaze from Alexander's person to the dais where his mother and Queen Yenta sat, and from thence in the direction of her room, the lady in waiting commented, "This will be a fascinating evening."

He wished he could agree; thus far, it had been quite the reverse. He sighed, and once the dance ended and he had escorted the chortling Lady Ariel back to the company of Sir Robin (whose canary-feathered smile spoke volumes for the mischief he had caused while awaiting her return), the king resigned himself once more to inane conversation, punctuated by sheer tedium.

He knew the moment that Giselle entered the room, even facing in the other direction. Every nobleman -- single or married -- who could see the side door suddenly stopped whatever he was doing, acquiring a rather poleaxed expression. Several of Peter's cronies with elevated opinions of their own worth pushed forward, each doubtless intent on impressing her with her luck in catching his eye. The jostling rush gave him an excuse for pivoting to catch sight of his guest.

It took a certain amount of will to control his own surprise. All sign of her migratory experience as a common bard had vanished. In her borrowed gown and slippers, with her braid wound into a crown, she looked a far cry from the wary maiden who had crawled out of the briars a few hours earlier. Despite her lack of jewelry, she possessed a presence that all of Gemma's diamonds had failed to give the Adamantine princess. Her poise never faltered as the noblemen pushed in on her, although he thought he might have detected a minute flicker of irritation in her eyes as Count Popinjay bowed over her hand. She inclined her head slightly, and a moment later, the smug lord was leading her away from his disappointed compatriots and toward the dancing.

Her smile looked rather fixed, and as she passed by him she hissed through it, barely moving her lips, "This is what you call safely anonymous?"

He had to admit she had a point.

Initially, he attempted to act as if nothing had happened, hoping that his seeming disinterest might convince others to return to their own affairs (in some cases literally). He quickly discovered that though he might appear indifferent, the guests had an all too lively curiosity about the newcomer and her possible identity. All around him, speculative whispers sent conflicting rumors scurrying about the room. The mystery guest was a peasant, a fairy, Gemma's illegitimate sister, a foreign queen, a phantasm ... His mother and the Adamantines wore the expression of someone biting into an unexpectedly sour lemon; he suspected the sudden dearth of flattering noblemen in their vicinity pricked their vanity.

Recalling Lady Ariel's earlier words about footwear, Alexander peered over to where Giselle was dancing with Count Popinjay. His Idiotship was mincing as if his shoes were too tight (though Alexander knew from watching his brother work on the same stride for hours that it had nothing to do with the fit of the footwear and everything to do with mincing being in fashion), but he could see naught amiss with the princess's shoes.

Several dances later, he was no closer to seeing any trouble with Giselle's shoes. Her partners were another matter. Popinjay fully lived up to his name; Lord Fop -- another of Peter's close circle -- nearly caused several accidents because he stopped to preen in every glass he passed. Lord Ogleby paid far too much attention to his partner's décolletage ... as well as that of all the other ladies he passed. As for Sir Pinch Rakeham, well, the king found it difficult to refrain from confronting the man when Giselle jumped as if she had sat on something sharp (despite being on her feet at the time).

"Are you going to introduce yourself to our mysterious guest, or merely glare at her partners all evening?"

Alexander looked over and smiled. "Frederick!" The Count of Laconia ranked among his closest friends. "What drags you to the castle?"

"Ah, so you were not behind the invitation." The count smiled. "I suspected as much, but I thought I should come and be certain that you had not suddenly turned over a new leaf."

Suddenly Giselle's mild boredom with her partner became much less fascinating. Alexander turned to give Frederick his full attention. "My mother sent out invitations? I thought the hall looked rather fuller than ‘an impromptu party for our guests' would warrant. What did the invitations say?"

"In large part, it was the usual ‘the pleasure of your company is requested' formality. However, the comment that ‘an important announcement is expected during the course of the evening' roused my curiosity. Is Her Majesty attempting to determine succession again, or has someone finally succeeded in snaring your brother? Which of the confirmed bachelors is to fall tonight?"

"Frederick, do be quiet."

"Ah, so you are the target." After a moment, the count slyly added, "I must say that if she is responsible for the vision on the floor, you won't regret being snared."

Alexander sighed. "No such luck, I fear." He pointed over to the corner where Gemma and her entourage had gathered. The princess and her mother looked half-buried in jewels, as sparkling and overwhelmed as a twig in hoar frost. His mother had rather overdone it as well, but not quite to the same extreme. "That was my mother's preference."

The count took one look and dismissed her from consideration. "Another common run-of-the-mill princess. You would think that her Majesty would learn after the first half-dozen to try another method. Is the vision one of her ladies-in-waiting, I wonder?"

Alexander started to laugh and shake his head, guiltily stopping himself mid-shake and schooling his features to blandness as he realized the gesture marked him as knowing more than he should.

As he had feared, his friend was far too quick to notice such clues. "Ahh, so you do know something about the mystery maid."

"I know enough to know she does not appreciate attempts to dispel the secrecy in which she has shrouded herself."

Frederick's laugh irritated Alexander, but the rejoinder truly added insult to injury. "How the mighty have fallen! The only manner in which you could render your jealousy more overt would be to paint yourself green. I think I shall have to steal a dance with the lady of the evening."

Alexander was left to splutter indignantly as his friend strode off, deftly timing it so that he arrived at Giselle's side just as the song ended, allowing him to claim her for the next dance. While he knew he could depend on Frederick to conduct himself in an honorable manner, the king wondered uneasily just what information the nobleman was imparting or extracting. The princess looked far too animated and amused for his peace of mind. Frederick noted Alexander's observation of them and pointedly raised his eyebrows; he had seen that look directed at others before, but never expected to receive the "Disengage stupidity and re-engage mind" look himself. Perhaps he had paid rather too much attention to Giselle...

He had done his best after Frederick's veiled warning to avoid watching Giselle too closely, even attempting to converse with some of the Adamantines. His effort at disinterest came abruptly to ruin. The pattern on the dance floor brought the northern princess face to face with Lord Aurenfae; she froze in place, throwing the rest of the dancers into confusion and causing the musicians to pause in their playing. In consequence, Alexander -- and the rest of the court -- clearly heard the lord's comment as he bowed over her hand, "Good evening, your Highness. The bard Songwynde asked me to convey his respects to you, and wondered if he might have the honor of the next dance?"

Giselle whipped around, and Alexander followed her gaze to find the bard standing beside Lady Argenfae. He had not heard the bells ring yet for midnight, and his head turned instinctively to check the clock...the hour was only moments away. Returning his attention to the floor, he saw that the princess had not even paused for that small gesture; in the few seconds his glance had taken, she had raced halfway to the stairs.

Now he could see Lady Ariel's reason for commenting on the shoes. They seemed to slop about on Giselle's feet, and as she picked up speed, one fell completely off at the base of the stairs. The first tolling of the bell nearly caused her to miss a step; her recovery cost her the second slipper. Perhaps ‘cost' had been the wrong term, he mused, as her speed seemed not in the least hindered by her unshod state. By the fifth stroke she had reached the top, and by the sixth, she had vanished through the great doors.

Every muscle and instinct screamed at Alexander to follow, but he forced himself to remain in place; he could not risk exposing her hiding place until midnight had passed. Instead, he scanned the crowd. Giselle's partner looked uncertain as to what he should do, and Alexander dismissed him from further consideration. Songwynde and Aurenfae, on the other hand, seemed to be moving far too casually toward the stairs and side door. He could block one, but not both...

Thank heaven, Lord Stewart chose that moment to pass on some errand. The king reached out and seized the seneschal's shoulder. "Stewart," he hissed, jerking his head in Songwynde's direction, "do not let that man leave the room."

"But, Majesty -"

"I don't care if you have to lecture him on household expenses. Do not let him go before midnight has passed." Not waiting to see if the puzzled seneschal would obey, Alexander strode toward the stairs to intercept Aurenfae. "Good evening. My mother has managed to out-do herself, has she not? Such a variety of decorations, refreshments, and, of course, guests."

Let the man make of that what he would. (The bells rang out for the ninth time.)

The man's face was unreadable. "Indeed. The guest list is, as you say, remarkable." (Ten)

A step as casual as the lord's sideways shift placed him on the bottom stair, once again blocking the other man's pursuit. "On the subject of things remarkable, I never realized you had such an interest in music." (Eleven) "I should like to be introduced to your guest."

The lord's eyes flickered up the stairs where Giselle had fled, then sideways to where poor faithful Stewart had detained Songwynde. A final stroke of the bells elicited a slight grimace from him, although Alexander nearly sighed with relief. The minute sagging of the royal shoulders must have registered, because Aurenfae ignored the request, muttering only a cryptic, "It will avail you nothing, too-clever king," before striding off.

Alexander watched him go, mildly puzzled by the comment. Did the man mean that Giselle was doomed in spite of having made it to midnight? There had been rather a strange emphasis on the word ‘you.' Did Aurenfae or Songwynde think that he personally intended to benefit from this situation somehow? Was he suspected of having designs on the princess? (He forbore to speculate, even to himself, on the veracity of such an accusation.)

Perhaps he should wait a few minutes before following Giselle, so that his disappearance would not immediately be perceived as connected to hers. He neither needed nor wanted someone trailing him to the princess's hiding place; if that bard followed him, he felt reasonably sure he would be lucky if she limited her reaction to a scorching glare. One last highly visible dance with one of the local beauties -- preferably one known for her flirtatious ways -- would sufficiently distract the court and his mother. If no one saw him after that, they would simply presume he had taken a leaf from his brother's book, and was off in a secluded nook somewhere, trying to press his advantage with the lady. He looked around for a suitable candidate.

He bit off a swear word before it could escape. His mother and Queen Yenta had taken up positions on the musicians' dais and seemed far too pleased with themselves. Briefly he weighed his alternatives: would it be easier to escape from a betrothal if he bolted now and could claim ignorance or should he prevent any announcement if he could? He sighed. It was his duty to maintain good relations with the neighboring kingdoms; precipitating a war over the insult of a "broken" betrothal did not make for cordial relations. Checking on Giselle would have to wait a few minutes.

Alexander made his way as swiftly as he could to the dais, arriving just as his mother called for everyone's attention. He suppressed a small smile at her shock as he stepped up to join her, making it seem as if she had been only gathering the guests for his speech. No doubt he had upset a few plans; perhaps he should upset a few more. "Lords, ladies, and gentlemen of the court, honored guests, we are most sincerely gratified by your presence at our celebration. Friends, whether old or new, make any occasion more festive, and what occasion could be more festive than Midsummer Day? So we thank you for making this a truly memorable night. Now, we know rumors have been circulating about an ‘important announcement' occurring this evening."

His mother turned purple.

"Alas, our brother has not found his courage yet, so that pleasure must be deferred to another day. Once again, we thank you for attending."

Alexander rather suspected his mother and presumptive mother in law suffered apoplexy as he stepped down from the dais, but he chose not to look back and confirm his suspicions. While he had the chance, he intended to slip away and check on his hidden guest; if he paused now, he might be caught up in his mother's machinations yet again.

When he finally succeeded in sneaking away unnoticed and reaching the kitchens, he had to concede that his hide & seek skills had grown rusty with disuse. Several times he had nearly been espied by passing servitors. It made him appreciate anew how talented Giselle must have been, in order to successfully slip past guards who actively sought her. Creeping past the last of the scullery maids, he heaved a small sigh of relief on gaining the store rooms. The only light spilled in the door from the passageway, leaving much of the chamber in shadow; the vegetable bins in the far corner, as he had hoped, could hardly be seen.

For all that he had hoped to find her there, he nearly stepped upon Giselle before he perceived her in the shadows behind the bin of peas. The princess knelt upon the floor, her skirts puddled about her, her hands crossed and clutching her shoulders, as she gazed blankly ahead. Uncertain of how she would receive the gesture, he knelt beside her and reached out a hand to touch her shoulder. Nothing in her countenance registered any recognition of his presence, but as his hand came away, she began to shake like an aspen in a high gale. He gathered her into his arms and waited for her trembling to subside.

Chapter Twelve: In which a Question is asked

Midnight had passed. It was over. She was alive. The phrases beat over and over in Giselle's shocked mind, trying in vain to be absorbed there. When she had fled Phantasea, reaching her twenty-first birthday unscathed had seemed a goal as remote and impossible as flying. Now that she had achieved it, she could not think beyond to the next step.

It occurred to Giselle that perhaps she had not escaped, after all. Someone or something held her immobile in the dimness. She threw herself backward with a gasp, calming only slightly to see that her imprisonment had been nothing more than a pair of human arms. She stared at the equally surprised king, trying to moderate her breathing into a normal pattern (according to Ettinsmore, a princess could utter a single gasp in fear, and under no circumstances should one ever pant). When had he arrived?

He had apparently been waiting for her to speak, but as the silence dragged out, he frowned and asked, "Are you all right?"

She tilted her head and answered without really considering her response. "Am I? My birthday has passed and I am still alive..."

He asked quietly, "You never expected to see it, did you?"

She shook her head. "And, truth to tell, I am at a bit of a loss for what to do next."

"You could be the Queen of Magnificat."

She could not have heard that correctly. "Pardon? What did you say?"

Alexander looked rather abashed. "I hadn't intended to phrase it quite that way, or to say it quite so soon. Nevertheless, you are the most intelligent and captivating princess I have ever met, and I would be honored if you would consider marrying me."

"No."

He looked so blank that Giselle nearly burst into giggles. "I beg your pardon?"

If the man needed it spelled out formally... she straightened her back, put on her haughtiest expression, and in good Court Diction, replied, "Noble King Alexander, I do thank thee for thy most flattering offer of betrothal. Alas, Fate decrees that I must needs decline."

He blinked.

This time, she did collapse with laughter.

"I am glad that one of us is amused."

She choked, gasped, giggled some more, and at last brought her mirth under control. "Sorry, your Majesty. You looked so taken aback that I could not help it."

To his credit, he managed a wry smile at her. "Well, you must admit that it is rather rare that a ruling monarch is refused anything by anyone."

She patted his hand. "Well, then, the change will be to your benefit. No one should have his own way all the time." She paused, before adding, "Except me, of course."

That drew a laugh from the king. Really, if he would laugh more, she might almost regret having to refuse him. "Of course, it is easier to have one's own way when one has not decided on a particular course of action. Anything can then be interpreted as ‘your' way."

"Let us say that I have ruled out a few options." She held up her hand and began to tick off points on her fingers. "I do not want to marry any of the blacksmiths who have proposed; likewise, marriage to the village idiot fails to appeal. I lack sufficient herbology to be able to live as a forest hermit without poisoning myself. The orderliness of a nunnery would drive me mad."

He perked up. "I notice that you have not ruled out marriage to a royal."

She rolled her eyes. "Let us review some of my proposals, shall we? My cousin Lucius of the Evil Isles -- I would rather drink poison. The Emperor of Id? Nasty, self-important little man. Princes Clifford, Argos, and Luath of Canis Labradoria? Sweet tempers, but excessive enthusiasm untroubled by the least shadow of thought; I would go mad within a fortnight. They can be worse than Co- oh!"

"What is the matter?" He looked at her in alarm.

"How could I have been so stupid?"

"What are you..." The king tried again.

"I knew I was forgetting something obvious."

Alexander had clearly had enough of Giselle's conversation with herself. "Giselle, if you go another moment without explaining your cryptic comments, I shall be forced to give you a very unroyal shaking!"

"Hmm?" She processed his last comment. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just realized what I should have known is my next step."

"And that is...?"

"I sent six princes -- well, five, actually, as Odette's prince sent himself -- after my sisters, but I have never heard if any were successful. Additionally, my parents just might be curious to know if I am dead or alive."

He replied dryly, "It's just possible."

She wrinkled her nose at him.

"Ah-ah-ah," he held up an admonishing finger, "even I know that princesses should not make faces."

"And kings should not sit in a darkened room with an unchaperoned princess," she retorted. "Particularly when the Queen Mother wants to marry them to another princess."

Had he just winked at her? "I would have thought that was the best time for doing so."

Cheeky, insufferable... but she should not allow herself to be distracted. "To return to the point I need to: firstly, travel home and inform my parents that they have at least one daughter still among the living; secondly, discover what became of my sisters; thirdly, see if anything can be done for the ones who have not been rescued, fourthly, ascertain whether or not I have been betrothed in my absence, and fifthly -- assuming I make it through steps three and four without losing life or sanity -- as a matter of curiosity, learn what curse I avoided."

He raised an eyebrow, "Haven't you forgotten a few points? After that Herculean list comes: sixthly, marry a prince; seventhly, raise a dozen children, and eighthly, live happily ever after. Barrington, at least, demands no less."

She tilted her head. "I suppose so, but happily ever after sounds a little dull."

He laughed outright. "Dull? With you involved? The imagination fails. Your children would catch frogs to put in the palace garden pond, play hide and seek with the servants, have impossible christening gifts, and I know not what."

That reminded her of something. "On the topic of hide and seek, do you suppose that Lady Ariel will have already retired for the night if I attempt to retrieve my satchel?"

He looked aghast. "You cannot intend to depart tonight!"

"Why ever not?"

"It is terribly late."

"I do not fear the dark."

"There could be robbers about."

"Better robbed than killed by falling off a tower of mattresses."

"Hungry bears?"

"They like berries, not bards."

"Storms?"

"I do not melt."

"You might encounter Songwynde or other elves leaving the ball."

The man did not fight fairly. She gave an exasperated sigh, "Fine. I shall stay the night."

"Would it reassure you at all to know that no bed in the castle has more than one mattress at present, and that the peas are all, to the best of my knowledge, confined to the bin behind you?"

Of course her Majesty would not risk upsetting the princess she herself had selected by subjecting her to a Princess Test, and his Majesty was too dutiful a host. Then again, Gemma of Adamantine was undoubtedly encumbered by a headache-inducing tiara, a court gown with a train which could double as a sail, and an entourage of insipid and stifling courtiers. (Giselle conceded to herself that it would probably take most of the northward journey to reconcile herself to resuming the trappings of her station; freedom had grown strangely enticing.) Realizing that the king still awaited an answer, she sighed and held out her hand, allowing him to help her rise. "It will have to do, I suppose."

He chuckled. "Charmingly consented."

She brightened. "I could graciously refuse, if you would prefer?"

Letting him have her hand had been a mistake, she realized; he could now imprison it in the crook of his arm, towing her along like a toy on a string. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. It is too late now: you have agreed and a princess should never go back on her word."

"Oh, do not remind me. Giving my word has forced me to endure more princess tests than any princess should have in three lifetimes, not to mention this evening's fiasco."

He had the grace to blush. "I admit that the ball was probably an ill-advised move, but you cannot consider it a complete disaster. You are still alive, I am still sane, and I suspect the housekeeping staff will even restore Lady Ariel's shoes to their proper owner if she has not reclaimed them already."

"Oh, by the way, do I offer my congratulations?"

He frowned. "For what?"

"Gemma." Granted, he had proposed to her a few minutes ago, but she did not know if that was a belated attempt to avoid his mother's arranged marriage schemes.

She hid a giggle as he shuddered. "Heavens, no."

"Your friend gave me to understand that an announcement of your betrothal was planned for the evening."

"Unfortunately for her plans, Mother forgot to consult my opinion." His smug expression made her wonder exactly what he had said or done. A second later, the clouds descended again. "What did he say to you?"

"Why, your Majesty, don't you trust your friends?" Giselle opened her eyes as wide as they could possibly go in order to feign innocence.

"At the moment, no, I cannot call him a man of good character where women are concerned. He is too busy being militantly available, and claims that anyone moderately pretty between the ages of fifteen and thirty may have him for the asking."

She laughed. "How fortunate for me that a princess is always the one asked, never the one asking."

He winked at her. "I may have to store that one away for future use."

She raised a hand in warning (conveniently forgetting to replace it on his arm). "If you mean Gemma, I fear that it does not apply to situations where both parties are represented by parents."

He grimaced -- and she could not, in all conscience, blame him. Lady Ariel had been quite talkative as she bullied Giselle into appropriate ball attire, and the Adamantine visit sounded like every eligible prince's worst nightmare. Granted, some of Giselle's own sisters would never top the Most Brilliant list, but, to hear the lady in waiting tell it, Gemma made even Coppelia sound sage. Moreover, her mother had the good sense not to pursue matches aggressively without first ascertaining if the prospective bridegroom felt any partiality for her daughter; the same obviously could not be said for Queen Yenta.

She should have paid more attention to her surroundings and less to her thoughts. Her stocking-clad foot landed on a slick patch of floor, she tumbled against her escort, and only Alexander's quick reflexes saved them from an ungainly fall. He somehow turned his unexpected step into a lunge that recovered his balance, at the same time seizing her about the waist and holding tight. While she was grateful for the rescue, it gave her the uneasy feeling of being a child's doll, and she mentally apologized to all the dollies she had lugged in just such a head-and-feet-dangling position. She felt terribly awkward as he gently helped her upright with an "Easy, now."

"Well," she commented, straightening imaginary creases in her skirt to cover her embarrassment, "I think I can eliminate Unparalleled Grace from my list of ridiculous christening gifts."

"Considering the side effects of the gift you have, would you really want another enchanted trait?"

She had to concede his point, and they travelled a few corridors in silence.

Odd. She thought she remembered the hallways near the guest chambers looking...well, to be honest...fussier. Yes, tapestries adorned the walls, but these had the faded air of an earlier day, depicting stylized hunts rather than the impossibly intricate bucolic scenes currently in vogue; nor did the sconces boast the elaborate metalwork that made one wonder how the maids ever kept them clear of dust. "I hate to sound inquisitive, but where exactly are we going?"

"Your former room is occupied, and I had the feeling that you wouldn't wish to be placed near Lord Argenfae's people, the Adamantines, or my mother."

She shuddered. "No."

He nodded. "So the best choice I could think of was a suite in the old wing. They are cleaned on a regular basis, but no one ventures near them otherwise. Besides," he chuckled, "you have already proved that you can find them on your own."

She took a closer look around. "Wait. This isn't ... did I almost fall out of that window?"

"I cannot vouch for the falling part; when I saw you, you seemed quite comfortably seated there."

"Appearances can deceive." She raised an eyebrow. "And unexpectedly appearing kings do nothing for my sense of balance."

Did he just smirk at her? The expression vanished too quickly for her to be certain, although the carefully bland look which replaced it fed rather than eased her suspicions. Perhaps equally importantly, did she wish him to have smirked? True, by her own standards, he had had a dull and humorless upbringing (though she had begun to wonder if everyone had a dull childhood in comparison with her own) and could stand a little more liveliness, but Serious King Alexander was, unwise as it was to admit it, oddly endearing.

She brought her thoughts skidding to a halt. She would be leaving in the morning, and it was not fair to either of them for her to indulge in flights of fancy. They each had their own duties, and hers lay to the north while his was right here; playing at a romance that could never be would only pain them both.

Preoccupied as she was, it came as a surprise when the king stopped walking and turned the latch on a door she had barely noticed, swinging it inward. "Here we are, your Highness. Sleep well." As she moved past him to the open door, he grasped both her hands. "Are you certain you cannot reconsider?"

Giselle pulled free and ducked into the room. "Good night, your Majesty."

Chapter Thirteen: In which Alexander meddles

Alexander stifled a yawn as he leaned back in his chair with a strong sense of self-satisfaction. The lack of sleep was a small price to pay for being able to face the day with some definite plans. His mother, the Adamantines, Giselle...each required careful handling, Giselle most of all. Her intelligence and determination (he would have called it stubbornness if it were not impolite to accuse a lady of such) made her far less susceptible to manipulation than the others. She could not be completely immune, though, he consoled himself, remembering her comment about his appearance affecting her balance. (He rather hoped it applied in the metaphorical as well as physical sense.)

He turned to gaze thoughtfully at the hour candle. True, he suspected that only the lowest under-servants usually stirred at this hour, but there were certain items on his list that had to be taken care of before other people (for instance, one Queen Mother and a would-be Queen mother-in-law) were awake to interfere. He could deal with two or three of the items himself, and there was no point in waking anyone else before it was absolutely necessary. Besides, there was one letter that would take all his concentration and cleverness to write. He jotted a few points on the corner of his list before reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment.

It did, indeed, require several attempts before he succeeding in achieving just the right tone. He dashed off his other letter in far less time; King Rockwell might feel disappointed at not having his daughter become Queen of Magnificat, but as long as Alexander had a reasonable alternative which would also keep Queen Yenta happy, the Adamantine king was not likely to cause trouble. When he had both epistles written, he glanced again at the hour candle. Six in the morning. He could send for Stuart without feeling too much guilt. Besides, if he waited much longer, Giselle would undoubtedly be packed and gone.

He rang the bell, and asked the footman who answered it to send the seneschal to him. Lord Stuart appeared shortly thereafter, looking far too chipper for someone who had not only attended last night's festivities but also planned and supervised every step of the proceedings. Alexander felt a slight twinge of remorse in adding to the other man's duties, but most of his requests could be delegated, and sending off a courier and carrier pigeon was not that onerous.

He finished his list of instructions. "Oh, and I shall need you to go into the Vault and retrieve some of the crown jewels for me."

The seneschal looked slightly puzzled. "Retrieve which pieces, your Majesty?"

"The ones in the rosewood box." Thank heaven that there was only one set matching that description.

Stewart choked. "The rosewood box, your Majesty?"

Alexander nodded. "Yes, I shall need it this morning."

The man made a valiant effort to collect himself. "But I thought you had given me to understand that you did not intend to offer for Princess Gemma?"

"I most certainly do not."

"But the jewelry in that box is..."

"Not going to be presented to the Adamantine princess." Frankly, Alexander shuddered at the very idea.

He watched with some amusement as the seneschal struggled not to ask the questions that his own phrasing had obviously raised in the man's mind. After all, it was not the seneschal's place to question the king, even if the seneschal suspected the monarch had lost his mind. (Alexander was beginning to see why Giselle could derive such entertainment from watching other people -- the parade of expressions across Lord Stewart's face made it difficult to keep his own countenance.) Finally, Lord Stewart succeeded in schooling his face to blandness and bowed, "As you wish, sire."

Three quarters of an hour later, Alexander stood in front of a carved door in the older wing of the palace. His letters had been sent on their way by courier pigeon; the rosewood box (its contents carefully polished and checked) rested in his left hand; and he himself had on full court regalia. The stage was set, and the time had come to face matters head on.

Bracing himself for the interview most likely to pose problems, he knocked at the door. A few moments later, the door was cracked ever so slightly ajar, and then opened wide. The princess had forgone Lady Ariel's gown, and once more wore the clothing of a commoner, albeit not a poor one. Her satchel, yet again completely packed, rested on a divan a few feet behind her. Clearly, he had been right to fear that she intended an early departure. Giselle quirked an eyebrow. "My, we look...official this morning."

He shrugged. "Well, ‘we' suspect that despite the victory in the ball skirmish, the war of the Adamantine marriage is not yet over. Formal dress helps me regain the edge of rank against her advantage of being my mother."

"If you found a princess you could respect and married her, Queen Catherine would have to concede defeat."

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows. "I tried that last night, if you recall; you said no."

She wrinkled her nose at him, and reverted to the original subject. "Very well, if we are to wallow in formality, I assume that I am to wear Lady Ariel's gown again?"

"This might help as well." The one advantage to being weighed down by the ermine-trimmed cape was that it allowed him to conceal an object more easily. He noted with some satisfaction as he brought his arm from behind his back that Giselle had not previously realized he was carrying anything...her eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in suspicion. "Open it."

She accepted the box as gingerly as if he had handed her a live snake. "You did hear me say ‘no' last night?"

He decided this would be a good time not to mention that this particular set of jewelry was usually a betrothal gift from the Magnificat king or his heir to his future queen. Instead he replied, "My hearing is unimpaired."

"That was not precisely the question I asked." She handed the box back unopened.

This would go much easier if she were a trifle less clever; of course, were she less clever, he probably would not take the trouble to make half so much effort. Taking pains to sound carelessly exasperated, Alexander dropped the box onto a nearby chair. "As you wish. I simply thought that you wouldn't wish to have Mother harass you about your station again, and this was the one set I could remember that she would not recognize."

That was not precisely a lie either. He had lost track of how many times he had heard the story of Princess Catherine refusing to wear the set, sight unseen, and insisting that her husband-to-be provide her with her own unique tiara and adornments. She would not wear Charles' "old family trumpery," thank you very much. When Alexander had had Stewart fetch the heirloom pieces from the treasury, and mentally compared them with the pieces his mother wore in her bridal portrait, he had awarded victory in that skirmish to his father. Queen Catherine's gems were large and showy, but the simplicity of the originals made the new set seem gaudy. It rather reminded him of the contrast between Gemma and Giselle the previous evening, as a matter of fact: the peacock's ostentation made a poor showing next to the swan's natural grace.

He continued, "But if you wish to undergo another cross-examination, have it as you will."

He suppressed a smile when Giselle reached over and opened the lid. Curiosity had at least lured her so far. For a long moment, she stood without speaking, her eyes alternately studying the jewelry and him. Suddenly she frowned. "You said that your mother would not know this set?"

"She has never seen it," he replied promptly and truthfully.

The princess treated him to a long and level gaze; the weight of the skepticism contained therein would have crushed a mountain. "I know you have not told me everything."

He attempted to appear as guileless as possible without being obvious in his "innocence."

"Bear in mind, your Majesty, that a clause in an agreement is not valid unless it has been made known to both parties involved."

He brightened. "So you will wear it?"

Her sigh and eye-roll made quite clear her opinion of her forbearance in dealing with him. "It seems my only way out is through the lion's den. You may as well make yourself useful and send for a maid; rebuilding my coiffure around a tiara will definitely require another set of hands."

He thought she was about to add something further, but she merely stood still, watching him with an eyebrow whose elevation continued to increase.

When it exhausted its travel, she said, "Ah, your Majesty?"

"Your Highness?"

She flicked her hand toward the door. "Out."

Was she ejecting him from a room in his own palace? "I beg your pardon?"

Apparently she was. She crossed her arms and replied, "I will not change before an audience; either leave the room or go to breakfast by yourself."

Expressed in that way, what choice did he have? Alexander dutifully gathered up the miles of his cape and trudged back into the hall to wait on a bench. A moment later, the door opened, and Giselle popped her head out. Before he could comment on her quick change -- or rather, lack thereof, given the bit of blouse he could see -- she said, "Don't forget the maid," and vanished again.

Not surprisingly, the maids he found were all quite busy, but were all equally predictable in their willingness to abandon their assigned tasks to assist in something that had the potential for novelty. He would have preferred to pick Marian again, as she already had some experience in waiting on Giselle, but he had not encountered her, so he made do with Elaine of Lis instead.

At his second knock on the tapestry door, a "gah!" was clearly audible from the room beyond. A couple of thumps followed. Elaine turned to him, "Should I just go in, sire?"

"Yes, and I hope you are capable with hair," a voice in the doorway commented. Giselle, now grey-clad, had one hand on the door handle, and the other buried in the shining mass of tresses cascading down her back.

He couldn't help but say, "I never knew your hair was so long."

"Yes, I should lop it off again. A princess sitting idle can afford hair trailing down to her heels, but for a traveling bard, it rather gets in the way. Please, do come in...what is your name? ...Elaine, and let us get started." As Giselle had closed the door on him yet again, Alexander could not help thinking that she was about to surprise him once more. Pacing the corridor, he wondered what unsuspected facet she would now display. Every time that he believed he knew Giselle, another side seemed to appear, and still he had yet to find one which repelled him. A soft click of the latch distracted him from his musings.

Turning, he saw, not Tulip, not even Giselle, but Her Most Royal Highness, the Princess Giselle of Somewhere-or-Other. It did not come from the change in her attire, but her bearing had indefinably shifted and formalized; his mother would never had challenged this woman's royalty. He found himself bowing to the stranger, and then a peal of laughter split the air. He looked up, and she was Giselle again.

"Oh, goodness. If you do that in the Hall, I shan't be able to avoid laughing, and then we shall be in the soup!" She winked. "Royal Formal is not the easiest of moods to sustain, you know."

She closed her eyes and the mask settled over her features once more; this time, though, he could see beyond it to where the sparkle still lurked in her eyes, a hint of the personality that even etiquette could not completely subdue. He held out an arm to her. "Shall we go, your Highness?"

She inclined her head. "By all means, your Majesty."

She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, and they began their stately progress down the corridor. Unlike his mother, who often closed her hand quite tightly (whether to support herself or restrain him, he did not know), Giselle placed so little pressure on his arm that he found himself frequently glancing sideways to insure that she remained at his side. He nearly laughed at his own folly: the only time Giselle had disappeared was also the only time she had clutched at his arm; he should be reassured by the lack of contact, rather than alarmed.

"How many?"

Her question, coming as it did after several minutes of silence, startled Alexander. He turned his head to the princess. "I beg your pardon?"

"How many of my titles will you need to know? I presume that you plan to stun her into compliance, so will two or three titles suffice, or do I need to produce the entire scroll?"

"She is not very alert in the mornings, and she will not be expecting anything at breakfast, so I think a few impressive names should do."

"Very well." She chuckled. "I know exactly what I shall use. Will there be a herald present, or will you be presenting me to the queens, as happened on my last visit?"

"Since we are still overrun with guests from the ball, I have little doubt that Mother has made breakfast formal enough to render the meal itself indigestible."

"Ah, yes, last night's ball. I am reminded of another point." Did Giselle even realize that the longer she held the formal air, the more studied her words became? "What stratagem have you devised to count the expectation of a marital alliance between Magnificat and Adamant?"

He chuckled. "I intend to counter it with a marital alliance between Magnificat and Adamant."

She blinked. "An interesting theory."

"However, I intend to offer the other scion of our royal house as the sacrificial lamb."

Giselle halted in her tracks, turning toward him with a most informal yet very intent frown. "Does Gemma have brothers?"

"No."

The frown deepened. "From all I had heard of your brother, he would be one of the last princes who should ever be entrusted with a kingdom of his own."

"I will admit that it began as an improvisation last night, but I did a great deal of reading after showing you to your chamber, and it is not such a mad idea as it seems."

She said nothing, but her eyebrow threatened to take flight if it rose any higher.

"King Rockwell holds the throne, but he does not in fact reign as a typical sovereign. A Council of Lords -- specifically, the nine houses that rescued the monarchy from insolvency a generation ago -- holds the actual power. Peter could bluster until the sky turned scarlet, but those noblemen will keep the kingdom running with or without his cooperation."

Alexander watched her think rapidly thorough the implications. Her smile could have doubled for the sunrise. "A plan with benefits for nearly everyone...except King Rockwell, of course. Queen Yenta gains a married daughter, Gemma gains a husband, you gain an escape from Gemma, your brother gains the definite promise of inheriting a throne, and the Council can be sure that the next king will not threaten their power. You, your Majesty, are both brilliant and very sly."

He gave a half-bow. "Thank you, your Highness."

She started to say something, then stopped and shook her head, gesturing for him to continue on their way. Nothing more was said, so Alexander passed the walk by watching Giselle transform herself into the Princess. Every few paces, her eyes closed briefly and her lips shaped words he couldn't quite decipher; he charged himself to remember to ask her about it later. Each step straightened her back and raised her chin fractionally until her spine more closely resembled a poker and she nearly had to look down her nose to view any object directly before her. He had intended to pause just before entering the hall to ask if she was prepared, but he decided against it when he saw how completely the Princess had replaced Giselle; she was undoubtedly as prepared, if not more so, than he was.

He noted with a good deal of satisfaction that the whispers began as soon as his court noted his choice of formal attire. Giselle's presence caused a second stir, even before the herald ceased gaping like a fish and announced them properly. "His Majesty, King Alexander the Second of Magnificat, and," the man paused, allowing Giselle to whisper to him, and then continued, "Her Royal Highness, the Princess Giselle Lilac Elaine Psyche Marguerite Opal of Phantasea, Archduchess of Lea Elysia, and Lady of the Northern Seas."

As they progressed further into the room, he muttered under his breath, "I thought you said you would use the short version."

"That was the short version." Her smile never faltered, and he added ventriloquism to his mental list of her abilities. "The long version fills the better part of a scroll and teems with flowery nothings."

"It must be rather time consuming at formal events."

"Oh, the full list only is used a handful of times during my life: christening, first presentation to the court, betrothal, marriage, funeral...and, if none of my sisters are rescued, coronation. For most formal events, the heralds use the version you just heard."

He might have come up with a reply to that if given a chance, but at that moment, his mother and Queen Yenta swooped down upon them. Realizing it for an attempt to separate them, he would have shaken off his mother's demand that he assist her in dealing with some matter he was quite sure was usually the province of the seneschal, but as he opened his mouth, he was stunned to hear Giselle agree in almost saccharine tones, "Why, yes, I should love to meet your daughter, your Majesty."

With a little pat on his arm, she glided away with Queen Yenta, leaving him to wonder just who was dividing and conquering whom.

Chapter Fourteen: In which Giselle meddles

The crown wasn't quite as cumbersome as she had remembered. Of course, five years might have exaggerated the memory, or this tiara could be lighter than her own, but it was still an unexpected blessing. Having hair that was two feet shorter undoubtedly helped as well. Lopping it off so that it no longer brushed the floor had been the best decision of her life, barring leaving home to avoid her potential curse.

Giselle stifled a chuckle before it could escape. Here she was, supposedly deep in conversation with Alexander's would-be fiancée and mother-in-law and she still let her mind wander to trivialities such as hair dressing (not to mention nibbling discreetly at a slice of bread). She focused on the queen's oration for a moment. Ah, Gemma's many perfections. It sounded so similar to the list recited by several erstwhile suitors that she had no doubt that she could ignore it with impunity and still carry off the pretence of having heeded the woman.

Letting the word waves wash over her head, she turned her attention to observing the pair. Acting only on hearsay from Lady Ariel and the few glances she had had time to take the night before could be a recipe for disaster; it would not do to underestimate either mother or daughter. The time had come for definite information.

Gemma first, then. (Giselle had always found it far more revealing to observe persons who believed themselves unnoticed; such people tended to react as they felt rather than as they felt themselves expected to react) Perfectly lovely, of course, but Giselle expected no less: princes selected wives on appearance, by-and-large, and were breeding to fail one of the princesses, the unfortunate girl would undoubtedly have been trained, groomed and pruned into the semblance of beauty. The almost complete blankness of the other princess's eyes terrified her, but every so often the tiniest flicker of a thought sparked in the void, giving Giselle reason to hope she had some intelligence after all. The fact that Gemma had automatically seated herself a moment after and slightly in the shadow of her mother meant that she habitually followed Queen Yenta's lead; while she might rebel against the older woman eventually, such a rebellion would only occur over something the girl held deeply and passionately dear. Sadly enough, Giselle doubted Gemma's marriage was included in that category. Therefore, any and all manipulation required to get Adamantine approval of Alexander's -- er, his Majesty's -- plans would have to involve Queen Yenta.

Which brought her to the queen (still orating, and showing no signs of running short of superlatives to apply to her daughter). From what the king and Lady Ariel had said, Queen Yenta was extremely dedicated -- one might almost say single minded -- in her efforts to see her child bestowed in matrimony. However, in listening (or half-listening, to be honest) to the queen's speech, Giselle formed the definite opinion that the queen very definitely preferred to be the center of attention and authority; like Queen Catherine, Queen Yenta's desire to see her child wed ranked second only to her desire to consolidate her position as foremost lady of the court. It might be an "only," but it was a very important only.

The change in cadence warned Giselle that the Adamantine queen had neared the end of her monologue for the moment, and she hurriedly swallowed her last mouthful of bread and returned her attention to the actual words being spoken. "...so you can see why Gemma is the perfect wife for the king, do you not agree?"

Gemma nodded. "Yes, Mama."

Heaven preserve the realm. Giselle put on her sweetest smile (the one which had been known to cause her father to inquire what she had done). "I must compliment your Majesty, for you do seem to have raised the perfect princess." Perfect for what, Giselle did not know, but that was a moot point. "I cannot wonder now that His Majesty chose not to stand in the way of her happiness, and ceded the field to his brother."

Gemma seemed oblivious as she gave a blank-eyed smile and nodded, but the faintest of frowns on her mother's forehead indicated that the older woman had sensed something not quite to her liking in that statement, even if she had yet to discern what it was. Giselle had best press on before enlightenment dawned.

"After all, how could such a paragon be content, restricted to the role of consort far from the court where she expected to be queen, seeing her beloved kingdom reduced to the status of subjugated territory? And, moreover, saddled with a resident mother-in-law reluctant to give up her place as the foremost lady of the court?" Giselle paused to let the ideas seep in, then made certain that her mask of innocence had not slipped before adding, "No, his Majesty concluded, it would be far kinder to step aside, and allow her to marry a Prince who could let Gemma fulfill her destiny."

Giselle did not actually believe that the other princess had been trained to be a sovereign Queen; in fact, she would have wagered a fairly significant sum that Gemma had been groomed to be the gracious, heir-producing consort of whichever prince married her to obtain a throne. However, phrasing her statement as she had done accentuated the differences Giselle wanted her Majesty to consider in comparing the marriage Queen Catherine advocated to the one proposed by King Alexander.

The queen said nothing for a long moment, and Giselle wondered if she had truly carried her point so easily. If so, her opinion of the queen's intelligence and determination had just sunk deeper than lost Atlantis. However, it seemed that the queen was not to be routed quite that quickly. "Surely, even an established Queen Mother must give precedence to her daughter in law?"

Thrust, parry, riposte. "May I compliment you on the ball last evening? You and Queen Catherine appeared to have left no detail overlooked. I presume the yellow garlands and roses honored Gemma's favorite color?"

"Yellow makes me look sallow."

Gemma's sudden contribution to the conversation surprised Giselle for a moment. However, the faint pursing of Yenta's lips indicated that the inadvertent admission of their exclusion displeased the queen.

Giselle pretended not to have noticed the unconscious revelation, and focused on the first spontaneous sentence to have come from the other princess. Perhaps there was a way to bring Gemma in as an ally, after all. "Is it not fortunate, then, that Prince Peter prefers purple, crimson, or blue to yellow?"

The other girl's eyes lit up for the first time. "Truly?"

Honesty forced Giselle to shrug slightly. "I have never asked him, but neither have I ever seen him wearing so much as a stocking in yellow." She did not think she had, anyway...

The Adamantine princess gave a contented sigh that would have made melodramatic Robin green with envy, causing her mother to shake her head fondly at her, and forcing Giselle to fight a desire to either roll her eyes or bury her head in her hands.

Having temporarily gained the advantage, Giselle deemed it prudent to move along. Not only did it give her the appearance of having won the discussion (though she was wise enough to know that she might have carried the battle, but the war was far from over), but it also further strengthened her position in that it forced Queen Yenta to come to her if that lady wished to continue the conversation. A familiar face spotted from the corner of her eye gave her the perfect excuse. "Please, do excuse me. I simply must thank the Count of Laconia for last night's dance."

Without waiting for a reply, she stood and walked toward the Count where he stood talking to a group of similarly soberly dressed nobles. They shifted to allow her to join their circle, and she was pleased to note that they all greeted her with a simple bow rather than the elaborate flourishes offered by her dance partners the previous evening. Clearly, she had found the responsible nobles of the court. This, however, did not preclude a sense of humor (or perhaps she meant irony), as evidenced by Laconia's greeting. "Your Highness. I gather you have escaped the southerly storms?" A look at the Adamantine queen and princess left no doubt as to his meaning.

She smiled. "I was not worried: southern storms may seem impressive, but I am afraid they cannot compare to a northern blizzard."

"Indeed. I feel certain that our King would be the first to agree with you."

She only just avoided a blush by reciting to herself the dullest passage she could remember from Ettinsmore's protocol tome. "By the by, I wished to thank you for the pleasure of the dance last night; I enjoyed it immensely. You," she laid the slightest of stresses on the word, so that no one could be absolutely sure that she had really insulted her other partners -- even boors could have influential friends -- "are a delightful dancer and fascinating conversationalist."

He bowed a little to acknowledge the compliment. "You are too kind, Princess." A nudge from one of his companions prompted him to ask, "May I present my companions to you? This is Baron George of Donwell, Sir John of Alden, Viscount Edmund of Mansfield, Sir Don of Quixote, and Sir Bertie of Wooster."

She curtseyed again to acknowledge the introductions. "My lords, this may seem an odd question, but is there anyone in this court who is known for his or her unfashionability? Someone who tends to render a style or garment passé simply by wearing it?"

The Baron of Donwell tilted his head (looking thoughtful seemed to be his normal expression, she relied on his body language to determine if he was considering the question). "I don't believe we have anyone who is quite that detested, though I must admit that Sir Malvolio's style often leaves much room for improvement."

Laconia snorted. "His manners are little better. It is hard to decide if such priggish self-satisfaction would be more or less annoying if it were justified. No common sense, of course."

Giselle allowed her princessness to slip sufficiently to allow her to tap her cheek in thought. "Could one of you point him out to me?"

Several heads jerked toward a middle-aged and slightly portly man leaning against one of the lower tables. "Over there," Donwell said, as his friend smirked, "The one with the villainously cross-gartered legs."

Giselle smiled. He looked ideal for her purpose. "Do you think he could be persuaded to wear yellow?"

"Stockings?"

Did the count have a leg fetish? She twitched her skirts minutely to be sure the hem still reached the floor, hiding her legs and feet. "Stockings, tunic, hat, it does not matter. He could dye himself lemon-yellow, just as long as doing so associates the color with him and renders it less appealing to the fashion fanatics."

Legs appeared to have been temporarily forgotten as the count gave her a sharp glance. "Does this have anything to do with His Majesty's announcement at the ball last night?"

Giselle raised an eyebrow. "I seem to have missed it. What announcement was that?"

"That no announcement could be made until his brother raised his courage."

Giselle widened her eyes and clasped her hands together in front of her chest. "Gentle lords, I am shocked. Shocked. What reason could I possibly have to interfere in a matter of the heart where two strangers are concerned?"

Laconia nearly choked in his attempts to suppress his laughter.

The baron, on the other hand, raised an eyebrow, and retorted dryly, "A fairly good one, if my great-uncle is to be believed."

This time, her puzzlement was unfeigned. "I'm sorry, I don't quite follow."

"Don't you?"

Giselle left no room for interpretation. "No."

His glance was skeptic, but all he said was, "Perhaps I should allow him to explain. Shall I introduce you to him? --He did wish to meet you."

"I think you had better."

The Baron of Donwell led her over to a pair of white-haired men, one of whom bowed and moved off into the crowd. The remaining one inspected her as she approached, his eyes going slightly wide as he took in some detail of her appearance (and leaving her with the slightly uneasy feeling that she had a streak of dirt on her cheek or other such dignity-impairing imperfection in her person or attire). The younger noble performed the introduction. "Your Highness, may I present Pellinore, the Duke of Listenoise? Your Grace, her Highness the Princess Giselle of..." he paused. "Lea Elysia?"

She shook her head. "That's my honorary archduchy. The kingdom is Phantasea."

"Princess Giselle of Phantasea, then."

She nodded approvingly and inclined her head to the duke. "Your Grace."

The elderly nobleman bowed over her hand. "Your Highness, it is an honor. I hope I am not too presumptuous in offering my congratulations?"

Giselle could not help frowning slightly in puzzlement. "You are very kind, but how did you know?" As far as she knew, she looked no different at twenty-one than she had at twenty-going-on-twenty-one.

He smiled. "The jewelry, my dear. It is rather distinctive."

They had to be talking at cross-purposes, she concluded. Not even his royal madness Caligula of Aggrippinensis had bothered to commission tiaras that served no other purpose than identifying someone having a birthday. To confirm it, she asked, "this country has a set of jewels used exclusively on someone's natal day?"

Now he looked puzzled in his turn. "Congratulations, indeed, your Highness, but I referred to the other matter."

"Other matter?"

The old gentleman's face clouded over. "Oh, dear, oh dear. I fear I have spoken out of turn. I promise I shan't mention the matter to another soul until a public announcement is made."

She began to have a nasty suspicion of just what he meant. However, it might serve better to play innocent for a while, so as to extract more information. "My dear sir, whatever do you mean?"

He looked positively distraught. "Do you not know?"

She raised an eyebrow. It rather spoiled the innocent effect, in her mind, but that had not paid off as well as she had hoped, anyway. "If I did, I would not be asking."

"Oh dear, his Majesty will be most displeased with me."

Giselle bit the inside of her lip to keep from pointing out that she would be most displeased with him if he kept dithering. He undoubtedly meant well, after all, and having a nervous tendency to meander in conversation was hardly a crime. She forced herself to be patient, hoping that the duke would calm down and explain.

Pellinore of Listenoise finally ran out of either breath or his "oh dear" litany; Giselle could not be certain which. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I think perhaps you should take a tour of the Royal Portrait Gallery, your Highness."

"What a lovely idea." She beamed and latched herself onto his arm, thereby preventing her accidental informant from escaping. "Do lead the way."

Chapter Fifteen: In which Alexander has Discussions

Having finally escaped his mother's fussing, Alexander appropriated some fruit and looked around for Giselle. He knew that she had gone to sit with Queen Yenta and Princess Gemma, but the chairs on either side of the Adamantine royals stood empty. Oddly enough, that pair seemed involved in discussion rather than the monologues-delivered-to-automatic-agreement that he had thought was their normal method of conversing. He ignored the anomaly for the moment and continued his survey of the Hall.

Peter and his cronies had clustered at one end of the High Table. Given his brother's blatant ogling of one of the serving maids, the king concluded that the prince had either forgotten or felt safe in disregarding last night's announcement of his impending betrothal. Alexander made a mental note to discuss the matter with his brother later.

"Looking for her Highness?"

He turned to see Frederick smirking at him. Knowing that the minute he said ‘yes,' his friend would gleefully point out the other "Her Highness," he replied, "I was looking for your dancing partner of last evening."

Frederick's grin became even wider, and Alexander realized slightly too late that he had left himself open for more deliberate misunderstandings rather than less. "Well," the Count chuckled, scanning the room, "Over there is the lady with whom I danced the first dance..."

"I meant the only one who, when told that you were available for the asking, replied that it was very fortunate that a lady in her station is always the asked, never the asker."

Frederick laid a melodramatic hand on his heart. "You wound me, my friend."

"Wounded your heart may be, but your impertinence is obviously unscathed." Alexander held out a minute more and then sighed. "All right, I surrender. Where did Princess Giselle go?"

He thought he heard the noble mutter a good-natured "spoilsport" before answering the question, although it had been spoken quietly enough that he could not decide for certain. "Donwell introduced her to his great-uncle, the Duke."

It took Alexander a moment to remember which duke the count meant, but when he did, he realized he should have guessed. A family with a genuine heirloom Questing Beast would be more than his mythic-mad princess could resist. Still, in scanning the room, he could locate neither Pellinore nor Giselle; the baron of Donwell, on the other hand, had seen him and come over, wearing a rather guilt-stricken expression.

"Sire," the man bowed. "I fear I may have erred in judgment. I mentioned to your guest that my uncle had given me reason to suppose that she had an interest in your courtship -- or lack thereof -- of Princess Gemma."

A cold shiver ran down Alexander's spine in spite of the warm day and near-stifling robes of state. His mother, brother, and the Adamantines he could handle -- somehow -- but Giselle in a justified temper was another matter altogether. He had known he was taking a risk in presenting her with the jewels, but he had hoped to be able to defer his explanation for a time (say, until after she had rescinded her refusal to marry him, when the implication would have already become fact, and fuss would be unnecessary). "And?"

"The princess requested to meet him, and before I walked away, I heard my uncle suggest she tour the Portrait Gallery."

The shiver became a wave of dread. This was, to use Giselle's words from the Faire, "not good" (though he might lean more toward "moderately disastrous").

Somehow, the he never quite recalled it afterward, he managed to end his conversation with the baron without alarming Donwell, and made his way out of the Hall as swiftly as he could do without raising suspicion, though unfortunately, this meant that a lame turtle could have outpaced him. Once through the doors, he discarded dignity and ermine cape and half-ran along the passageways. He caught up with the pair more than halfway down the gallery, roughly in the High Baroque (or Potentially Fatally Frilled & Bucolic) period of portraits. Their conversation apparently covered any sound of his approach, and he listened for a moment before announcing his presence.

"And what should happen next," chuckled the Duke, "but I come to my senses to discover that after years of chasing that foolish Beast, as per the family tradition, the moment I fall off my horse, the Beast has come and found me!"

"What sort of beast was it?" Giselle asked (her voice had too much interest for it to be a polite query of the Princess of Phantasea).

"Don't rightly know, m'dear. It dragged me back to the castle by the back of my surcoat, dumped me in the courtyard, and was off into the forest before anyone could so much as blink."

Alexander cleared his throat, both to announce his presence and to cut off the line of inquiry he could foresee coming from Giselle. The last thing he needed was for her Highness to smugly inform him that thus-and-such imaginary creature had been happily roaming his kingdom for generations.

"Your Majesty." The Princess was as cool and formal as was possible without having been carved from a glacier. "Tell me, sire, were you aware of the history of the gift you so graciously bestowed upon me?"

Perhaps the imaginary beasts would have been better, after all. The Duke seemed to agree, for he murmured a hasty excuse, and departed with the air of one narrowly spared the executioner's axe, leaving Alexander to face Giselle's "We Are Not Amused" expression alone.

"Well?"

"Of course I knew." The look in her eye said quite clearly that verbal slaughter was about to follow, so he rushed to explain. "That was why it made such a good choice for a set my mother would not recognize -- she refused to use the traditional jewels, sight unseen, and demanded that my father present her with a unique tiara and jewelry of her own design. I had not given much thought to the idea of any of the court recognizing the set, except to think that it might make them less willing to believe my mother if she attempts to insist that the Princess of Adamant and I are betrothed."

She shook her head. "That sounds almost stupid enough to be believed."

He was smart enough not to try to respond.

He thought he saw the corners of her mouth quirk briefly before she asked her next question. "So why, pray tell, did you decide that I needed jewelry this morning, if it was not necessary last night?"

"As I told you, I knew that Mother had only felt herself temporarily set back after I headed off her announcement last night. I took some rather more permanent measures to block the matter late last night, or perhaps I should say early this morning, but it will take a little time before I know whether those measures were successful. And, you must forgive me, but a visiting princess made a very handy diversion."

"Your friend gave me to understand last night that I was considered a fairy, a princess or both last night ... and that, I remind you again, was without any extra adornment."

He shook his head. "To the Court, you may have been a princess, but to the Queens, you were simply a nuisance. The jewelry forced them to re-evaluate that stance and prevented my mother from attempting to subject you to another Princess test."

She winced. "You win."

He couldn't help grinning. "If I want something badly enough, I usually do."

"Does your brother own any yellow clothes?"

Alexander blinked at the non-sequitor. "I'm not certain. He might."

"Burn them."

He could not have heard her correctly. "I beg your pardon?"

"Burn them, give them away, or confiscate them for your own use...just don't let your brother wear them around Gemma." Giselle elaborated. "It seems she has an aversion to the color yellow."

Alexander raised an eyebrow. "Queen Yenta looked quite determined when she demanded your attention. Do you expect me to believe that it was simply to have a chat about fashion?"

Giselle laughed. "I suspect Her Majesty is always determined to gain attention, be it mine or another's. Realizing that she might perennially rank behind your mother in power and prestige made her pause for further consideration."

"Mother can be rather demanding," he conceded.

She said nothing for a long moment, then thoughtfully commented, "If we had our liberty, would we not all do our liking?"

He tried to think of a suitable response, but could come up with none. Since she seemed to have rescinded her desire to rake him over the coals, he tucked her arm through his, and began to lead the way back toward the Great Hall.

After a moment, she shook her head slightly, as if to recollect her thoughts. "However, to return to the main point, I made what I believed to be a random remark on last night's decorations, mainly implying that if they hadn't been allowed any influence in the ball, neither should expect that your mother would grant them more power in her Court, should they become permanent residents."

Now it was Alexander's turn to shake his head. "I never would have thought to use something as trivial as decorations to make such a sweeping political statement."

"They're not as trivial as you think."

"Come again?"

"Decorations are not as trivial as you think."

He thought she might be joking at first, but when he looked for that twinkling eye or raised brow, he found only a serious, slightly sad gaze. "You can't be serious."

"What else do women have to do? Read any guide you like, and they spell it out in black and white. A ‘proper' woman of any genteel rank is supposed to raise children and beautify herself and her surroundings. Period. Nothing more."

He protested, "but you..."

"I was never proper."

"Not even before you left home?"

"Not even then." She shrugged. "Even though the kingdom is known for its strong-willed princesses, and Northern princesses in general are expected to have a wider range of abilities than here, I was still far from proper."

He floundered, trying to think of something appropriate to say.

After a moment, she took pity on him and patted his cheek. "Don't fret yourself. What matters in the long run is not when our how you realize that princes and princesses are raised to two very different standards, but what you do with that realization."

"Such as beginning a tradition of strong-willed Magnificat princesses?" He added another item to his list of reasons not to give up on his courtship; an unconventional queen would not balk at the idea of unconventional princesses. He and his brother, on the other hand, offered living proof of what happened when parents had directly conflicting ideas of what constituted proper behavior and education. He imagined for just a moment, what a gaggle of such daughters would be like...surprisingly (or not) the girls he pictured all bore a marked resemblance to Giselle.

Her voice brought him back to reality. "It could be as simple as not condemning the ‘stupidity' of other princesses in having such a narrow range of interests, because you now know they have never been encouraged to go beyond that limit."

Alexander flushed at the direct hit. "I still must confess that it sounds to me as if such girls would be more suited to marrying my brother. Fashion is his life."

"Which brings us back to the color yellow."

"Do you want me to ban it?"

Was she counting to ten? "No. Unless I misread your brother, that would make him more likely to wear it, not less."

"So what should I do? As you pointedly remind me, my brother is hardly inclined to follow my lead in matters of dress."

"It's very simple. You take care of removing all the yellow items from his closet. I will make sure he does not choose to replace them."

"Oh?"

She smiled, almost smirking. "Sir Malvolio will look simply charming in yellow, don't you think?"

He choked. He might have chosen rather a different term, such as, say, jaundiced. "Charming. Oh, indeed." Another attempt at choking back a snicker succeeded somewhat better, and he managed to add, "Do you think you will have any difficulty in persuading the baronet?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Do I look dead to you?"

He laughed, "Not at all self-confident, I see."

She smiled. "But of course. Arrogance is required if you're a bard. Now," she peeked in the mirror just outside the door to the Hall and made some adjustments so minute that Alexander could not determine exactly what they were, then turned and patted him on the hand, "just watch this performance, my friend. And don't forget to raid Peter's wardrobe."

She started into the room, caught her eye on the chair where he had dumped his cape, and turned back. "Tsk, tsk, sire. You simply must learn to put things away when you are through with them -- or at least, to ask the servants if you haven't the time." Dumping the cape in his arms, she sashayed across the room, and he couldn't help noticing the number of male heads that turned to follow her progress.

For a minute or two, he watched Giselle do her best to charm the pompous baronet. The man's bearing had improved as he realized to whom the princess intended to speak, and Alexander stifled a chuckle in watching Sir Malvolio attempt to puff out his chest, pull in his abdomen, and continue breathing -- he couldn't quite manage all three feats simultaneously. When it became clear that the princess was going to wrap the noble around her finger as easily as she lost hair ribbons, the king turned away to fulfill his part of the arrangement.

It had taken very little time to traverse the passageways back to the royal quarters, once he had dispensed with the official cape and crown. Finding a handful of servants who dared to touch the prince's clothing without Peter's own permission took slightly longer, but the reminder that he, and not his brother, had paid their wages proved terribly persuasive, and he soon had the satisfaction of watching a growing pile of yellow clothes fill the floor in front of Peter's oversized wardrobes.

"What are you doing?"

Alexander turned to see his brother angrily watching from the doorway. "Supervising the revision of your wardrobe."

This earned him a crack of sarcastic laughter. "You? The new expert in fashion?"

"No," the king refused to rise to the bait, "merely the person with additional information on your fiancée's preferences."

"I don't have a fiancée."

Alexander smiled grimly. "Oh, yes, you do. I have already sent a proposal on your behalf to the lords on the Adamantine Council of Advisors, and I have every confidence that they will accept it."

"Ah," Peter smirked, "but you cannot make me accept it."

"Oh?" Alexander discovered he had adopted Giselle's tendency to raise an eyebrow at statements of doubtful veracity. "I had no idea that you found the life of a commoner so appealing."

"I am not a commoner, I am a Prince! By divine right of birth!"

"Sorry. Divine right of birth -- or sheer blind luck -- made me older than you, which means I am king, and kings have the right to take away the rights of princes."

"You can't do that!"

"Actually, I can...and come to think of it, I should. The Captain of the Guard informed me yesterday that you failed to report for duty for the second time in a row."

Peter sneered. "So? I have better things to do than act like a common soldier. There's nothing old Fussbritches can do about it anyway."

"You should really pay a little more attention to the law, you know. A noble who is reported as derelict in his military duty ‘shall have his lands and monies confiscated unto the Crown, and his title(s) shall pass directly to his heir.' So, as I see it, you have two choices: marry Gemma and become heir to the Adamant throne, or stay here and become a commoner on your former estate."

"I'll tell mother! She won't let you do this!"

Alexander looked at the stomping, pouting figure and wondered when his brother had reverted to infancy, or if he had never left and Alexander had simply failed to notice it until now. "My dear brother, since you seem to have missed a few things, allow me to clear up some confusion. When Father died, and the onus of kingship fell to me, Mother's importance dwindled to Queen Mother. In other words, I now outrank her."

"The servants don't think so."

Alexander wondered if his brother had lived in a cotton ball for the past month, and then realized that there was little difference between being muffled in cotton fluff and being entrenched at the local tailor's establishment. The Great Room Exchange Fracas had, it seemed, passed completely unnoticed by his brother's set. "They do now."

"You can't make me get married!"

The king decided he had better things to do than be stuck in an infinite conversational loop. Sparing a glance to make sure that the servants had, in fact, removed every item with even a yellowish tint from his brother's wardrobe, he rose and shrugged. "True, the decision must be yours: poverty or marriage. I suggest you spend a little time contemplating that today instead of your reflection."

He walked out of the room, leaving his brother fuming behind him.

Chapter Sixteen: In which a Departure occurs

The sun shone down, clear and bright; a light breeze kept the day from crossing the line between "warm" and "sultry." Rain the night before had dampened the roads just enough to prevent the dust from rising, but not so much as do make the path muddy. Giselle reflected that one could hardly have created a better day for traveling if one had raided the entire repertoire of bardic clichés. A tap on her shoulder, and the comment, "they are waving," caused her to turn her head and wave farewell until a twist in the road hid castle and travelers from mutual sight.

Giselle turned away from the embrasure, and gave a small sigh of relief as she made her way back down to the gardens of the inner ward. Thank heaven, they had finally gone. She still was not quite certain how Alexander had tricked her into agreeing to stay until everything had been arranged for Peter and Gemma, but now that all four royal headaches (Alexander had conveniently reminded his mother that someone had to represent the Magnificat royal family at the wedding) had departed to organize what promised to be the most fashionable wedding of the year, provided they ever agreed on decorations, surely, surely Giselle was free to head northward at last. She put a hand to her hair. At the very least, she could finally be rid of the wretched tiara; that foolish misunderstanding in the court had gone on quite long enough.

"Oh, I wouldn't recommend removing it just yet."

She turned to glare at the speaker, who had descended the steps behind her. Could the dratted man read minds? "And why not?"

"Protection."

"Against what?" She knew she sounded incredulous, and slightly sarcastic, but she felt justified in her reaction. A tiara was a target, not a shield, in her not inconsiderable experience.

"Peter's friends, Sir Pinch and Lord Ogleby especially. They would not dare harass a princess, but a mere commoner..."

She raised an eyebrow. "I had no trouble as Tulip."

"But you were in the castle barely two days, and mixed not at all with the Court. Such has not been the case for you this visit."

"Fine," she said flatly. "It stays." The unspoken ‘for now' hung in the air.

"How long do you think it will take for us to be ready to go north?"

Giselle could hardly believe her ears. "‘We' are not going north; I am going north. You have responsibilities here."

He chuckled. "There is such a thing as a regency, you know."

She could not help gaping slightly. "You would honestly leave your people to the mercy of your brother or mother?" So much for her impression of his sense of duty!

She had to admit she found being on the receiving end of a look doubting her intelligence was less than flattering. "Of course not," the king replied. "Why do you think I made you promise to stay until after they were safely on the road southward?"

"And just how long do you think it would take for your brother to turn the procession around once his friends sent him word that you had abandoned the castle?"

He gave a rather mirthless laugh. "I have no doubt that he could probably rally every tailor in the region to his cause, but it is rather difficult to raise an army capable of fighting when you spend every copper on your own wardrobe. Soldiers have an unreasonable desire to be paid, you see...and a conscripted serf is no match for a trained soldier."

"So you had better hope that he doesn't offer an individual challenge ‘to the stitch.'"

He shrugged. "In that case, I shall appoint Baron Blakeney my champion."

She suppressed the urge to bury her face in her hands. She could just see where this discussion would end, and first of all, she hated to lose an argument, and secondly, the idea of a grass-green monarch tagging along behind her, no matter how handsome he was, made her want to pull her hair out in anticipated frustration. "And just whom have you appointed Regent?"

"I think a little more responsibility will do wonders for Laconia's character, don't you?"

She considered every aspect of the suggestion for a moment, more than half hoping she could find some reason (no matter how trivial) to reject it. Admitting it was a good choice would seriously undermine her efforts to depart unaccompanied. Honestly, though, she had to admit that he had chosen well. The Count was honest, intelligent, responsible, and moreover not the type to be tempted by power. In fact, if she had read his character aright, the man would probably count the days until he could be relieved of the additional responsibility; a regent had less time for, and was less tolerated in having, fun than a mere count.

The king smirked, as if he could tell what she was thinking and was enjoying his success at outmaneuvering her.

At that moment, a second sun came out, and she covered her eyes with her hands to shield them from the glare. Yellow was bad enough; yellow with golden sun-motif embroidery was downright painful. If she ever discovered which tailor had introduced Sir Malvolio to the wonderful world of gilt embroidery, she would petition to get his guild membership revoked.

"What are..." the king began, then stopped. "Oh."

Not lowering her hands, Giselle said, "I succeeded too well, did I not?"

"I do not believe you can take credit for all of it, my dear." He ignored the glare his endearment had garnered from its recipient. "Some must have sprung from his tailor's worst nightmare. Do note his legs."

She squinted through her fingers, then squeezed her eyes tightly shut. "Now I may have nightmares. Whoever told that man that he had the figure to carry off cross-gartering lied through his teeth."

"Isn't there some obscure section in that protocol tome you seem to have memorized that allows me to forbid such unspeakably bad taste?"

"Alas, no."

She heard Alexander start to chuckle. "Another reason for me to join you on you journey north. We shall let Frederick endure the visual agony."

She drew herself up absolutely straight and in her best imitation of the pompous protocol tutor, sententiously intoned, "It is the duty of a monarch to lead his people, and never to forsake them in times of trouble. Their lot must be his lot, their suffering, his suffering, and their joy, his joy."

His lips twitched for a minute, and she held the pose, hoping to set him laughing and thereby distract him. Sadly, just when she thought she might have won the victory, his eyes gleamed with their own mischief, and he replied, "This is not trouble, just a minor irritation. You would hardly expect me to fill my shoes with pebbles if one of my subjects had a bunion, would you?"

She seriously debated ignoring Ettinsmore's strictures and sticking out her tongue at the impossible fellow.

Her frustration must have shown, despite keeping her tongue where it belonged, for Alexander chuckled. "I never thought I should find myself quoting my mother, but ‘do you want your face to freeze like that?'"

The conversation had degenerated quite far enough into nonsense, so she resisted the temptation to inform him that her skin might feel frigid, but it never actually froze. Instead, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the emotion leach from her expression, until she could reasonably well suppose herself to have assumed the mask-like pose of True Royal Dignity. "To return to the topic at hand, Your Majesty, why should you suppose that I would need or desire your company to return to my home? It seems particularly absurd when one considers that I know exactly where I am to go, while you had never even heard of my kingdom."

"Would you not feel safer with soldiers to guard you from any ruffians that might lie in wait along your path?"

She shook her head emphatically. "No. No! I should claw my way out of my skin, hemmed in by people and propriety, unable to see what dangers approached. If you must come along, so be it, but not a single soldier or attendant, do you hear?"

He grinned at her, and she buried her face in her hands as she realized what she had said. Several unprincessly thoughts crossed her mind, including the possibility of blinding him with Sir Malvolio's doublet and escaping in the confusion. Much as she hated the thought, she had committed herself to bringing the king along (she doubted not that she would do far more in the way of escorting him than he, her) and that left her morally obliged not to escape from him as soon as, if not before, they crossed the border.

She took a moment to calm herself, as well as ascertaining that Sir Malvolio was still safely beyond earshot as he admired himself in the fountain at the far end of the courtyard. (Personally, she pitied the fountain.) "And dare I ask, pray, in what guise you plan to present yourself once we depart, if not this city, certainly this kingdom?"

His brows arched. "Am I not a little too old to be playing with black cloaks and masks?"

She shook her head. "Not disguise in the terms that you might be thinking, with horsehair false beards and the like, because the average citizen would not recognize their ruler without a crown, but a role. A richly clad young man travelling without a clear aim would be the target of every band of robbers from here to the Great Northern Sea...both for the riches he would presumably carry and for the ransom that his undoubtedly wealthy family would pay. To be blunt, you need a profession or a company of guards for the journey, and I will not travel with guards."

"I bow to superior experience."

She suppressed the very undignified desire to remind him to bear that experience in mind the next time he chose to argue with her. "So, what will you become? You cannot be an acrobat or juggler, as they travel in troupes. I simply do not see you as a mendicant or a tinker. Anyway, neither would have any reason to travel with a bard."

"Another bard could travel with you."

She shook her head. "True, but you don't play any instrument, and though you have a pleasant enough voice, it is not so perfect that you could make a living without being able to accompany yourself." She softened the last criticism by adding, "In my experience, only elves or fairies sing that well...or my sister."

She realized a moment later that she should have omitted her correction, because he immediately allowed himself to be distracted from the matter at hand. "I sense a story there."

"You don't, however, sense a profession. Besides, it is not so much of a story as a different fairy gift." She tilted her head to one side. "What is a fair price for an ounce of salt?"

He blinked, and she could tell he was taken aback at the seemingly random question. "I haven't the foggiest."

"We can cross merchant off the list." She could also privately discount allowing him to do any unsupervised bargaining for at least a month, probably longer. Someone who had never had to buy basic necessities would not know how to haggle (or even know that such behavior was expected in common transactions).

"What about a scholar?"

She burst out laughing. "Have you looked at your scholars? They tend toward one of two categories, and neither is ‘muscular.' On the other hand, you're not strong enough for a wrestler."

He frowned at her. "Are you trying to discourage me from accompanying you?"

"Would I do that?" She opened her eyes wide.

"Considering that you are listing professions that I cannot be, instead of ones I can? Let me think for a moment." He frowned as she obligingly let the silence drag out between them; she would willingly wait a week or more if it meant he conceded the argument. Just as she thought she could relax, he perked up. "A questing knight! Surely it would not be remarked upon for someone of that sort to be followed by bard."

She fought the urge to grind her teeth. "I am not going to spend the next five years waiting for you to disenchant every spellbound maid and vanquish every Black Knight from here to Phantasea. No true questing knight would pass them by."

"A mercenary, then."

Dearly as she wished to, she could find no fault with that suggestion.

He chuckled. "I presume your silence means that you agree."

She sighed. "I cannot see an argument against it."

He smiled and held out his arm to her. "Then shall we inform Frederick of his pleasant surprise?"

A week later, Giselle still wished she had found a way to leave him behind. Alexander had quite obediently gone to the armory and exchanged all his metal-chased or jewel-studded weapons for unadorned but well-made replacements, and the armorer had even produced a plain shield for him, but now the monarch had taken it into his head that he, and not she, would see to the rest of their supplies. She had already endured several blinding headaches trying to explain that this item or that -- specially recommended as "necessary" and "a wonderful bargain" by a merchant with an eye for naïve but rich royalty -- was in fact more bother than its worth, which was not much. She had nearly screamed when Lord Stewart informed her that morning that the king had gone down to the village to see about their transportation.

She tried to suppress an eye-roll as she came into the pen and found Alexander standing with the horse coper and two horses that were open invitations to being robbed. She had suffered through her own transition from sheltered princess to somewhat wary bard; the idea of enduring that transition a second time did not appeal. Pity that Alexander had confiscated her bag of maps so that she would not slip away without him. She took a moment to remind herself that "a princess is always polite and patient" (Barrington was quite fond of alliteration; the next line was "delicate and dutiful"), squared her shoulders and walked over to join them. "Did you need extra horses for the palace stables, your Majesty?"

"Oh, no," he replied. "I thought these would do well for the journey north, and they were such a bargain, as well."

From the fleeting smirk on the merchant's face, she had no doubt they were anything but a bargain. Poor innocent king -- no wonder his seneschal handled all practical matters. Of course, had his seneschal involved the king in practical matters previously, he would not be so innocent now. She could pursue this chicken and the egg logic at another time, however. Opening her eyes wide to seem vapid, she inquired, "And how much will they cost?"

He cheerfully named a sum that was at least four times what the horses were worth.

She dropped the vapid act. "Too much. We are leaving."

It was debatable whose face wore a stronger expression of shock, the king's or the merchant's. "But, Miss," the coper protested.

"Your Highness," she corrected coldly.

"...your Highness, you would not have an honest merchant surrender all his profit?" The man definitely whined.

"There is a vast difference between making a profit and outright robbery. If I want to throw away my money, I'll leave town and let the real bandits rob me." She turned on her heel, and began to walk away.

"Wait!" Alexander hurried to catch up with her and touched her arm. "What about the horses?"

She raised an eyebrow. "If you're convinced that you have to have the horse back there, I cannot stop you from spending your money, though I would have personally chosen something less showy. However, if you thought for a moment that I was going to ride such an impractical creature, you had better think again."

"What do you intend to do? Ride pillion?"

"I keep telling you: a bard with a horse is a bard worth robbing. However, if I must ride, I'll get a mule." She held up a hand as he opened his mouth, forestalling his offer before it could be made. "And I'll purchase it myself."

"Can you afford it?"

She smiled, thinking of the handful of small gems she had removed from her vest's side-seam that morning. While purchasing the best horses and best accommodations to be had would be more than her stash could support -- particularly if she allowed his Majestic Gullibility to do the bargaining -- she was hardly reduced to begging for charity. "If I can't, I shouldn't be buying one, now should I?"

His expression was rather dubious, although nowhere near as doubtful as it looked twenty minutes later, after a rather spirited bargaining session with a different horse trader. As they walked away, leading a mule of uncertain temperament and even more questionable lineage, Giselle caught the king regarding her with an expression of near horror. "Well?"

"Was that really a fair price for the mule? He said you were taking food right out of his children's mouths."

She couldn't help laughing. "Oh, his children -- if he even has any -- are in no danger of starvation. The threats get a lot worse as you approach the actual market value of whatever you're buying. Until you're the seventh son of a sea cook or worse, there is no need to worry that you have driven too sharp a bargain."

©2006, 2007, 2008 Copyright held by the author.

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