“He garbles like a toad, Helena! Are you quite certain he is a prince?” Stepping closer, the red-haired girl reached out and grabbed his hand and Simeon blushed ever more hotly for he knew she would find it clammy to the touch. “How is he to rule a kingdom when he cannot even speak?”
“Melisande, please. He is a stranger to our country and thus is unfamiliar with our language. You are being ru-” Helena started, a plea in her eyes, but the other girl cut her off.
“Rude? I think not. How is it even possible to act in an ill-mannered fashion when one is speaking to a frog?” Releasing his fingers, the girl Helena had called Melisande wiped her now damp hand against her skirts, her disgust at having touched his hand showing clearly on her face before she opted to poke him in the chest. With one finger, she jabbed at him, accentuating each word as she said, “A big, fat, dumb, slimy toad!”
“Melisande, girls, your mothers are waiting in the drawing room below,” a woman's voice called from the doorway of the schoolroom who, judging by her clothing, Simeon decided must be the childrens' governess.
The girl, Melisande, snatched her finger from his chest, her demeanor now one of a contrite, dutiful child, and turned to address the woman. “Yes, Miss Nellie.”
The trio of girls filed out of the room behind the governess but Helena, he noticed, held back, allowing her friends to precede her from the room.
“I shall be along in a moment,” she promised the woman and her friends and Simeon felt the muscles in his abdomen pull taut. A cold sense of dread filled him. Why did she not leave with the others?
“I-I should like to apologize, Simeon, for Melisande. The things she said were quite hurtful and completely uncalled for and I am ashamed on her behalf.”
Barely understanding her rushed spate of words, Simeon said nothing.
“I think you are rather astute,” she offered. “At the very least shrewd enough to realize Melisande was merely being spiteful because you had my attention and not her.”
Without warning, she leaned in and pressed her lips against the softness of his cheek. “Such intelligence will make you a fine prince someday.”
Before Simeon could gather his wits enough to say aught or even to push her away, Helena whirled about on her heels and rushed out of the room.
He wondered at her motives.
What kind of girl would dare to kiss a fat, slimy toad of a boy when her friends quite obviously considered him beneath their notice or regard, prince or no?
The thought that she might not regard him with the same level of disdain made his cheeks burn and his tummy ache...and it was a feeling he never would forget.
Chapter One
Twelve years later...
“Do you think he will come?” Melisande wondered aloud, rising up on her toes to peer across the ballroom, her avid gaze busily searching for...someone.
Helena blinked. Having been lost in her own search for Evan, the charming and handsome Lord Baldwin, she had neglected her friend's conversation severely. “Who are you making a cake of yourself over now, Merry?”
Catching her friend by the arm, Helena pulled her along beside her as she made for the refreshment table. She remembered having seen Lord Baldwin's sister there earlier. Perhaps he had joined her?
“Have you listened to nothing I've said all evening, Helena?” Melisande grouched, exasperated. “The prince! I am talking about the Kozlavian prince, of course! Do you think he will attend the ball tonight? Arabella's mother has confirmed that he did receive an invitation and...”
“You asked her?” Helena winced. “Sweet Christ, Merry, could you possibly be more obvious?”
“I should be more circumspect and simply refrain from doing anything more revealing than crane my neck like a goose until I locate Lord Baldwin in the crowd, I suppose,” she snipped. “And then, having located him, I should follow him about at every turn, exactly as you have done, Helena, since your come out two weeks ago.”
Had she really been so obvious with her intentions? Her cheeks hot with the stain of mortification, Helena stopped in mid-stride and closed her eyes. “I have, haven't I?”
“Yes, you have,” Melisande confirmed, but her eyes were already too busy searching the crowd for her prince again to notice just how her astute observation had affected her friend. “Not everyone favors the haughty blond god, you know. They say he has the eyes of an angel, did you know that?”
Helena's brow furrowed. “Evan?”
Melisande glared and Helena's eyes widened in sudden understanding. “Oh! Your prince. No, I had not heard. Or perhaps I had, and have simply misremembered to give the matter my due attention. Perhaps-”
“There he is!” Melisande's squeal of pleasure caused quite a few of the countesses guests heads to turn and look in her direction and, not wanting her best friend to be pinned by the censorious stares of the elder set, Helena swept her further along into the crowd.
“Shush! Sweet grief, Melisande, you are all but gawking and the elders have noticed.” Her warning delivered, Helena found that she, too, had become curious. “Where is he? I should like to see for myself this fellow who has you acting a total cake when you should be focused upon winning your future husband.”
Helena did not bother to add the words, “As am I,” but they were implied and she was well aware Melisande knew it because, since her come out a mere three weeks ago, Helena had thought or spoken of little else. Well, other than Lord Baldwin...
As it had happened, Evan had been the most handsome, charming, eligible gentleman in attendance at her come out ball and after a single dance with him, Helena had decided she simply must have him as her husband, and soon. All that remained was to convince Lord Baldwin of the fact, but he had, unfortunately, become rather elusive.
Helena had hoped to dance the first waltz of the evening in his arms tonight, but when the music struck a moment later, he was nowhere to be seen.
“Might I have the pleasure of this dance, my lady?”
The slightly foreign-accented request sent a tingle of warmth spiraling through her and Helena turned, an amused, curious smile tilting her lips upward as she half expected to find Melisande wilting gracefully to the floor in a swoon.
She glanced over to catch the other girl's reaction at having been asked to waltz, only to discover the dark-haired, blue-eyed rogue of a gentleman whose voice had wrapped around her like fine silk was speaking to her. A disconcerted frown knit her brow. “I do beg your pardon, my lord, but-”
Refusing her declination out of hand, the gentleman took her by the hand and led her into the crowd of dancers.
“Your Highness,” he said.
It took Helena more than a moment to realize she was being corrected. Her gaze sharpened. This was the Kozlavian prince Melisande had been so eager to meet? How dare he sweep her onto the ballroom floor without first receiving her acceptance as was proper? She scowled at his haughty presumptuousness. “In that case, it seems I must beg pardon yet again...Your High and Mightiness.”
The fellow merely chuckled at her impolite response.
“Such ill manners are unbecoming from beautiful ladies like yourself, Helena Blackthorpe,” he chided. “Or have you forgotten?”
Forgotten? Helena searched her thoughts while her eyes examined his as she tried in vain to remember ever having been in his presence before this very moment.
Again, he chuckled, obviously delighted by her confusion.
“Allow me to re-introduce myself, dear lady.” Bowing low over her hand, he said, “Prince Simeon of Kozla, at your service. I am called Simon by most these days, however, as it is far more pleasing to and less likely to trip up the English tongue. Still, allow me to admit it is my very distinct pleasure to make your acquaintance yet again.”
Prince Simeon?
The name did seem vaguely familiar, Helena thought. Where had she met him before, if indeed the two of them were previously introduced?
His eyes sparkled, glinting with teasing merriment while he wait
ed for her mind to make the connection but, much to her embarrassment, it did not.
He must have realized she truly could not recall ever having made his acquaintance because the brilliant fire in his gaze dimmed somewhat and he sighed in apparent disappointment.
“Ah, I see. You truly have forgotten me after all. Do you not recall, Mistress Helena, a simple moment inside the schoolroom at Blackthorpe with a rather squat, rotund lad about this height-” He held out a hand to mark the distance, “whom your titian-haired friend pouting at us from the banquet room over there once likened to a toad?”
“It took me several weeks to decipher her rather unflattering description, as I recall,” he explained, flawlessly following the intricate steps of the dance.
Helena struggled to focus.
The feel of his palm at her waist while his eyes seemed to notice only her was doing strange things to her concentration, but he was apparently enjoying every moment. The dance brought her close and he nuzzled her ear. Helena gasped at the impropriety of it, but he merely continued his explanation as if nothing untoward had occurred. “Once I had it figured out, I must admit my self-confidence was quite smashed.”
She was trying to do a bit of deciphering herself – of the reason her cheeks felt flushed and her palms tingled where they touched his, not to mention the heady rush of warmth she had felt when his lips had touched the delicate skin below her earlobe. Then, her memory of the event he had described unfolded before her in a rush, and Helena's cheeks burned with remembered embarrassment – not for herself, but rather, for having recalled how badly Melisande had behaved.
“Simeon Gustav Mikhail Peitroc, the Kozlavian prince. Yes, I do remember the moment now – rather well, actually.” She glared at him. “It was my birthday and your arrival quite ruined my celebration.”
He actually blushed. “I do apologize for having spoiled your special day, Helena.”
His continued use of her given name made Helena feel warm and uncomfortable. She did her best to ignore it, to simply finish the dance as quickly as possible so that she might renew her evening's quest for Lord Baldwin's attention. He did not unnerve her with his mere presence the way the prince was doing.
“Apology accepted, Your Highness,” she offered with a tight smile while her gaze sought and found Melisande. She was sitting at one of the tables near the terrace doors, a dejected expression marring her otherwise lovely features, as she watched Helena dance with the prince.
Melisande would have a thousand questions for her later, Helena knew, and so she asked, “What brings you to our country this time, Prince Simeon?”
“I have come to collect my bride.” He answered without hesitation and Helena's lips twisted wryly.
Poor Melisande. So much for her dreams of landing a prince.
“There are some here tonight who will be quite crushed to learn of this, Your Highness,” she hinted, tilting her head toward Melisande. “Does this bride you have journeyed so far from home to collect perchance have a name?”
The dance drew her away from him for a moment, after which he whirled her about before pulling her close once more, his dark eyes suddenly aglow with some fathomless emotion she could not name.
“Of course. She is Lady Helena Brianne Blackthorpe. I shall wed none other than yourself, Helena, and having renewed our rather brief previous acquaintance I find myself most eager to make you my bride. Perhaps we might convince your father to hasten things along?”
Chapter Two
“No!” Helena declared before resuming her frustrated pacing across her father's study, where less than an hour ago she had learned from her father that she and Prince Simeon were, indeed, betrothed to be married. “No, no, no, and simply – no!”
The wedding, he had explained, would take place in Kozla but Helena had ignored that bit of information because she simply could not accept the matter of their betrothal as a fait accompli and was even now expressing her disbelief and unhappiness to her puzzled betrothed.
Simeon watched, amused, while she spent herself in yet another brief tirade. He could not blame her, really. She had been truly stunned by his announcement last night at the ball and, while he had no qualms against allowing her to express her shock and even a bit of denial over having had her future decided in such a matter, her utter refusal to accept the matter chafed his manly pride no small whit.
“Helena, if you will cease your feminine histrionics for but a moment, you will realize your father has not left you completely without recourse in the matter,” he finally conceded.
“He has not?” Her head came up and she spun around to stare at him, a spark of hope mixing with the confusion in her eyes. “Why did you not say so?"
Apparently his gruff confession had settled her dilemma and the spark of good humor returned to liven her mood.
“In that case, Your Highness, I do thank you for your generous proposal and I am flattered by your offer of marriage but I must politely beg to decline.”
Simon peered at her, bemused by the mercurial change, and shook his head at her wrong assumption. “You cannot decline, Helena. However, your father wishes for me to allow you time to come to terms with the fact that, as my princess and future queen, you will be leaving the country soon.”
Doing so had gone against his better judgment, but in deference to her father, he had consented to a brief staying of the vows. “He has asked that I give you a short space of time to adjust to the idea before we return to Kozla for the wedding, and I have agreed.”
“Your princess? I do not wish to be anyone's princess. In fact, I have no wish to marry you at all! Ohhh! Why must I adjust?” she cried in frustration and shook her head in firm denial. “Nay. I am afraid this time it is you who shall have to adjust, Your Arrogance. To my refusal.”
To her credit she had not cried. In his experience, women often used tears like men of old wielded their swords to gain an advantage and he was afraid had she done so, it would have been he who capitulated. Why was she so completely set against this?
“Why do you seem to be adamantly set against this, Helena? There must be a reason for such an impassioned refusal. Have you no wish to marry at all, or does your difficulty with accepting the idea arise from being asked to marry me in particular?” His brow furrowed in confusion, Simeon crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against one side of the tall fireplace to wait for her confession for he knew there must be one.
She did not hesitate to prove him correct.
“That is just it – I was not asked. I was told. I did not have a choice in the matter at all and having a choice was important to me! I-I desired to marry for love, Simeon,” she expounded, her gaze pleading with him to understand. “A meeting of hearts and souls as well as a joining of families and lands and loyalties and I had hoped to let my heart decide. Is that too much to ask?”
Dropping down onto the curved settee, she put her face in her hands and lamented, “Why is it too much? Why should I be left with no say in the matter? Can you not see how outrageously unfair it is of you to simply waltz into my life and ruin my dreams of finding love? With your secret arrangements and...can you not see how unfair this is?”
Simeon did not bother to remind her she had only described the way betrothals were made every day and that hers was no different from hundreds of others. Nor did he bring to her attention the fact her own father had said nothing of their negotiations or mention that their particular match had actually been in the making for years.
Instead, he said simply, “You could learn to love me, Helena.”
She lowered her hands from her face and stared at him, nonplussed.
“I am not a cruel man,” he continued. “I am neither boorish nor ignorant. Our conversations to date have been at least stimulating if not pleasant and although it took quite a bit of discipline on my part during my youth to affect the transformation from grotesquely obese toad to something slightly more resplendent, I do not think myself too unpleasant to look upon...”
> Looking at him from beneath the cover of her lashes as he cataloged his features for her benefit, Helena decided his 'slightly more resplendent' description did not do his stunning male beauty justice. Nay, far from it. The Prince of Kozla was breathtakingly handsome – frightfully so. Any sort of relationship with him would create a constant struggle for any woman, one in which she would always be left to wonder if she were enough to hold his attentions. Sadly, Helena feared she would not be.
“Reduced to courting for compliments now, are you, Your Haughtiness?” He straightened, obviously taken aback by her comment, and Helena sighed. “If you must have a bride, why not simply apply for Merry? I vow she was practically in a swoon over the mere thought of your appearance at the ball yester-eve. I have it on the best authority she would be most delighted to accept your suit.”
Simeon shook his head, refusing the matter out of hand. “Your friend will not do. Melisande and I would not fare well together at all, I am afraid.”
“How do you know?” Helena countered. “You have barely even met her, Simeon. Well, other than the time when she was six and mean to you, but she was naught more than a child then! Once you get to know her, I am sure you will see-”
“I will not be marrying Melisande.” His tone was flat and final, brooking no rebuttal.
“And I will not be marrying you!” Helena declared hotly, but the prince, sadly for her, was not obliged to agree.
“You have yet to give me ample reason for withdrawing my suit, Helena, and lest you forget, your father has already agreed to the match,” he said, watching her carefully. “Therefore, unless you can give me reasonable grounds for retracting my plea, I am afraid you are quite stuck with me.”
“She wishes to wed Lord Baldwin, I believe,” Henry, her eldest brother, interjected from the doorway. “Though I confess I cannot imagine why. The fellow is entirely too taken with himself for my liking and there is talk at the Gentlemen's clubs that he often engages in illicit-”
Fancytales: The Once Upon A Time Collection Page 15
