by J. M. Stengl
“Strange,” he said. “I feel better already.”
The scooter slowed slightly. Ellie couldn’t help herself. “Your headache is gone?”
“It is, though I still feel as if I’m in a dream. Ellie, while I floated there, I could think of nothing but you. Everything about you. And then you appeared out of the fog.” His voice was low and intense. “I feel enchanted, but you’re not using your magic. Knowing you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
She could not speak or move. The scooter slowed to a crawl then stopped there in the middle of the lake as she turned her face slightly toward him. No dream could equal this moment.
“However, I realized while I was floating in the fog that I know almost nothing about you.” His voice became more practical but no less urgent.
Against her own better judgment, Ellie laid her arms over his, wrapped around her waist. “You know everything that matters.” She suddenly felt guilty, defensive, and frightened. His sweet words couldn’t begin to touch the barriers between them, and she was a fool to let them melt her. But oh, being in his arms felt so good!
“True, I know all the things that matter most, but I’m missing your history. Where do you live when you’re not at Faraway Castle? I want to meet your family.”
“I have no family,” Ellie said. “I was raised by a burva who taught me how to use my magic. I live with Arabella when I’m not working here.” Her voice sounded normal though her emotions were in turmoil.
“Your parents?”
“I think they are dead.” But her voice held a question, because her mind had always held that question. Arabella never would talk about Ellie’s family or history. When asked, she always said that Ellie knew. But she didn’t.
The mood was shattered. Just as well. She revved the engine and drove directly for the dock. Omar shifted slightly away. “Have I offended you?” he called against the wind. “Please forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive,” she shouted back.
Omar felt Ellie’s withdrawal like a physical sting. A moment before, she had melted back against him and he thought their hearts were one. Now, she was as remote and cool as the mountain peaks surrounding the resort. Why had he brought up her family just then? What a stupid thing to do! He had been thinking of how he might ask her parents for her hand, how he could best introduce her to his parents, how he would go about dropping the bombshell that he was in love with the magical-creature controller of Faraway Castle and intended to make her his bride. But Ellie could not have followed his rambling thoughts.
He squinted at her slender neck through her ponytail, which blew into his face. She was a stranger again, and it was his fault.
A small crowd awaited them at the dock. Omar climbed off the scooter as calmly as if he had not just ruined his own life, then removed his life jacket, sat on a bench, and pulled off his soaked running shoes. He felt people gaping at him.
He looked up, frowning. “I’m not siren-addled,” he said distinctly. “Madame Genevieve is rescuing Tor, Lord Magnussen.” At least, he hoped she was. That woman was seriously unpleasant.
One of the lifeguards was saying to Ellie: “The director took the boat and told us to stay here. Did you find the crazy guy?”
While Ellie explained, Omar looked over his shoulder toward the island still hidden in that weird bank of fog. His obsession with her had driven his old friend from his mind for a time there. Now he remembered the agonized intensity of Tor’s voice and expression. Would he, Omar, smash a kayak if someone tried to keep him away from Ellie?
“Your Highness, Prince Omar,” a strange voice said, “I am John W. Smith, the resident psychiatrist. Madame the director requested me to interview you upon your return. If you will come to my office adjoining the lobby as soon as you are suitably clothed, I shall be much obliged.”
Omar turned to see a man dressed in white, as if he had been called out during a tennis match, beckon with one hand. He looked back at Ellie, but she was surrounded by other staff members, answering questions as if nothing unusual had happened.
Feeling sick at heart and light in the head, he nodded. “I’ll be there shortly.”
When he stood up, his wet clothes clung to him like a memory of that fog, and as he walked away he heard Raquel’s laugh, followed by, “Don’t be ridiculous. Cinder Ellie is a nobody, an orphan. She traps pests for a living. No prince could be serious about her.”
The meeting with Dr. Smith lasted well over an hour and seemed pointless. Aside from a lingering headache, Omar felt fine and answered every question easily. At last the doctor leaned back in his chair. “Thank you for your time. You may go, Your Highness,” he said, scribbling something in his notebook.
“Your diagnosis?” Omar inquired as he rose from the uncomfortable chair.
“Perfectly normal. I see no need to administer an antidote to siren enthrallment. Which is, in truth, remarkable. Everything connected with your siren-enthralled friend defies reason. He proved resistant to the antidote, an unprecedented occurrence. I intend to study files on the history of that island and past events connected with it, if Madame will allow me the key.”
“I would be interested to hear what you discover,” Omar said with minimal genuine interest. He left the office intending to return to the lakeshore in search of Ellie, but just as he stepped outside, his younger siblings approached the portico, obviously coming from the lake. “There he is!” The children shouted with delight and charged him like an army, brandishing water toys like weapons.
Rafiq reached him first. “Omar, did the sirens steal your brain?” he asked with disturbing hopefulness.
“If they did, no one has noticed a difference,” he answered.
Yasmine and Rita caught hold of his hands. “We were swimming and saw you riding on Ellie’s scooter. Did she rescue you again?” Yasmine inquired. “Wait until you see the picture I drew!”
“She did, and I look forward to the unveiling of your newest masterpiece.”
“I got a color book!” Rita shouted, and whacked him with her rather sandy treasure to draw his attention.
“Awesome! May I color a picture in it with you?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” She let go of his hand to dance a happy jig.
“Since Ellie’s rescued you three times now, do you get to marry her?” Karim asked. “Rita says you do. But Rafiq wants to marry her, if she will wait for him to grow up.”
With a gasp of inarticulate protest, Rafiq grabbed and quenched his little brother. Omar would have enjoyed this banter and roughhoused along with them had he not seen their parents approaching at a more measured pace. “Hush now,” he said, still grinning.
But when he looked up again, the Honorable Gillian and her parents had appeared behind his own. His grin froze and wilted. Premonition of trouble pinched his stomach, but he greeted the entire group politely.
The queen spoke first. “Children, go inside and find your nanny. Yasmine, watch Rita.”
Rafiq gave Omar a pitying look, gathered up his siblings, and escaped indoors. Then Queen Sofia turned her tender gaze upon her older son. “Omar, dear Gillian has told us of your very difficult situation, and we are resolved to approach the resort director to demand resolution.”
Omar looked to his father for an explanation, but the king, a man of few words, nodded agreement with his wife. “Let us move away from the doors here,” King Aryn suggested, and led the group toward a ring of benches surrounding a firepit near the covered boat landing.
Only Queen Sofia and the countess sat down. Gillian hovered behind her mother and tried to catch Omar’s gaze.
Omar had followed his parents, but he was in no mood to tolerate Gillian’s games. “May I ask what situation concerns you?” he asked, trying to catch his father’s eye.
“This must be terribly trying for you, Omar dear,” the countess said before the king could speak, “but it should be easily resolved.” Her face, as pink-and-white and lovely as Gillian’s, expressed sympathy.
Omar glanced from face to face and guessed they must be talking about Tor’s flight to the island. He propped one foot on the side of the firepit. “Actually, my part is over,” he said, “so there is no need of intervention. Madame Genevieve herself is even now resolving the problem, and I suffered no ill effect.”
“The resort director is involved?” the king asked with evident surprise.
“Yes, I saw her myself on her way to the island.”
“On her way to the island?” the countess said. “Why would she go to the island?”
“To resolve the problem, as I said.” Omar held out his arms to display his undamaged condition. “As you see, I escaped unscathed from the sirens, aside from a headache and wet clothes. How that happened I don’t quite understand, but I’m not complaining!”
“Sirens,” the queen said, looking puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
Omar met his mother’s gaze, equally puzzled. “This morning’s emergency. The difficult situation. My friend, Lord Magnussen, who ran away to the island? It’s all resolved now. He smashed my kayak and left me floating in the lake, but one of the staff members picked me up, and here I am. No harm done.”
Queen Sofia glanced at Gillian. “I had not heard of this trouble. Our concern is this servant girl who keeps throwing herself in your way. The situation, left unaddressed, could damage your reputation.”
“Servant girl?” he echoed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His gaze alighted on Gillian, who gave him a gooey smile. Realization arrived, with horror on its heels. Omar’s mouth dropped open.
The king spoke in his quiet way. “Your mother refers to the young woman known as Cinder Alice who follows you everywhere.”
“Ellie. Cinder Ellie,” Gillian corrected bluntly. “It is completely obvious that the girl is throwing herself at you, Omar, probably hoping for money. Everywhere you go, she shows up. At the lake, in the castle, at the stables—she is a stalker, and you’re too naïve to see it.”
Omar laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Miss Ellie Calmer rescued our entire family from cinder sprites the morning after I arrived,” he told his parents. “Sunday, she pulled me out of the lake after the lake monster knocked me off my skis and then persuaded it to stop harassing me. Today, she pulled me out of a dangerous situation yet again.” His anger burned hotter with every word he spoke, yet he kept his voice down. “In the past few days she has rescued several other people, including Lord Magnussen. She has been doing her job, following the director’s orders.”
Now furious, he turned on Gillian. “Did you make up this story about Miss Ellie to try to get her fired? What reason can you possibly have for slandering a poor working girl? She didn’t make you look foolish yesterday on the riding trail; you did that to yourself.”
Gillian gaped, then gave a treble roar of rage. “Oooh! How dare you! I hate you!” Ending with a pitiful wail, she covered her mouth with one hand and ran under the portico and through the castle doors.
The countess rose to stand beside her husband. Drawing himself up to his full height, the earl took a step forward and addressed King Aryn and Queen Sofia. “All wedding plans are off until your son apologizes to our daughter.” Then, united in outrage, he and his wife followed Gillian into the castle lobby.
Knowing the worst was yet to come, Omar braced himself.
“Omar, how could you make such a scene?” his mother asked in a stage whisper. “Where are your manners? Where is your self-respect? Do you wish to cause an international incident?”
“I am not the one who shouted,” he pointed out firmly. “And if those people intend to start a war based on their daughter’s lies, they are unworthy of political leadership.”
His mother paused, blinking, her expression startled.
His father glanced around. “Rather than display our disagreements in public, we should retire to our suite. I do apologize for this unfortunate public confrontation. It was ill conceived.”
The apology softened Omar’s expression. He nodded and followed his parents into the castle and up to the royal suite, maintaining a polite distance as they talked quietly. His mother kept wiping tears from her face and shaking her head.
As soon as King Aryn opened the door to their rooms, Rita ran out, embraced the legs of each of her parents, then ran to Omar. He scooped her up into his arms, and she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I love Miss Ellie,” she confided in a stage whisper. “She herds cinder sprites. Do you love Miss Ellie?”
Grateful for the moral support of this small ally, he put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Yes, but it’s our secret, okay?”
Bright-eyed and smiling, she nodded then giggled.
Carrying his baby sister, he followed their parents along the hall. Just as he entered the family sitting room, Yasmine rushed in, waving a paper which she handed to him with great pride. “See? It is you and Miss Ellie!”
Karim hovered behind her, jumping in excitement.
King Aryn sat in a comfortable chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, while his queen gracefully reclined on a sofa beneath a huge picture window overlooking the lake. Rafiq watched over all from a doorway.
Omar looked at the drawing and felt his stomach turn over. It was a brightly colored and highly detailed drawing of a smiling, yellow-haired Ellie holding a glass cage containing a smiling cinder sprite in one hand . . . and Omar’s hand in the other. He was colored brown, with black hair and a huge white smile. Pink and red hearts floated above their heads. Additional furry cinder sprites cavorted around their feet; two were tiny balls of fire with red eyes. Squiggles of smoke rose from a black blot on the ground. “My baby sprite,” Rita said, pointing at the blot.
“That’s really great, Yasmine,” Omar said, trying to sound appreciative.
He folded it, but too late. Their mother reached out both hands. “Come and tell me about your picture, Yasmine.”
The little girl eagerly reclaimed her artwork. Nestled against her mother’s side, she explained each detail. “This is Miss Ellie after she saved us from the cinder sprites. These are the sprites, see? One is in the cage, and these two went ember, and Ellie already sprayed this one. And . . . and we all wish she would marry Omar, because she is so kind and pretty.”
“And she herds cinder sprites!” Karim added from his current position, head-down on the rug with his feet on the sofa.
Rafiq, better attuned to the current parental wavelength, groaned softly.
Queen Sofia looked from the drawing to Omar to her husband in visible dismay.
King Aryn cleared his throat. “Children, please return to your nanny. Mama and I wish to speak with Omar alone now.”
“Awww, we always have to go to Nanny at the interesting time,” Karim whined, but scrammed at a glance from his father.
Omar lowered Rita to the floor, and she caught his shirt, stood on tiptoe, and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. With another beaming smile, she trotted away.
All too soon, Omar stood alone before the King and Queen. All three looked intensely uncomfortable until his father spoke quietly. “Tell us the truth about this young woman, Omar. I hope you did not lie to us.”
Omar drew a deep breath. “Everything I have told you is the truth, but not the whole story. Ellie Calmer has never stalked or annoyed me in any way. I am the one who has, for the past few days, tried to be wherever she was working.”
“But why, Omar?” His mother was near tears. “You, of all people, a womanizer! I would never have thought it.”
“Mama, I am no womanizer,” he protested, stung. “What have I ever done that you would think the worst of me? I would never insult an honorable young woman like Ellie. Neither would I disgrace my family.”
“Then why seek her out, son?” his father asked.
Omar stood as if frozen. He knew the answer but wasn’t yet ready to share it with his parents. Ellie should be the first to know. Or the second, since Rita already knew . . .
The king and queen exch
anged a glance, and she nodded. King Aryn sat upright, straightened his broad shoulders and spoke in his usual rather formal manner. “You are now twenty-one, the age at which a Zeidan man traditionally chooses a wife. Your mother and I had thought you would wish to marry the earl’s daughter, who is both beautiful and eager, but last night we detected a lack of enthusiasm in your manner toward her. After this morning’s altercation, I believe we both better understand your opinion of the young lady.”
The Queen caught Omar’s eye and nodded with apparent sympathy.
“We bring our children to this resort each year largely for socialization—for where but at Faraway Castle can be found a finer selection of noble and royal young people gathered in one place? You have had many years to observe the eligible young women of your age. It is time to make your choice. The annual Summer Ball will take place at the end of this week. If you will choose your wife by that evening and her parents are amenable, we will announce your betrothal that very night. Your mother and I do not intend to be dictatorial—you may choose your own wife. But she must be of noble or royal birth.”
Omar could think of no response. He had never felt more miserably unhappy.
“Omar dear,” his mother said, rising from her seat to place one slender hand on his arm, “although Gillian’s deportment leaves much to be desired, her friend Lady Raquel might suit you, and she is also quite stunning. Her father is a mere viscount, but her blood is very good on both sides. My grandmother came from Auvers, you know. And these are only two of the lovely young noblewomen you have associated with these past ten years and more. Can you not think of even one among them you would be happy to wed?”
Omar swallowed hard. “I will choose my own wife, and I will not disgrace the family,” he said at last. He could not consider marriage with Ellie to be a disgrace. She was the best woman he had ever known. He had observed her from afar for several years, even before the incident with the lemonade, and had seen nothing that did not impress and attract him. Her reputation was flawless, her intelligence high, her dignity and manners equal to those of any duchess or queen. And she was ambitious, honest, hardworking, funny, virtuous, kind—in short, she was the only woman he intended to marry.
