by K. M. Shea
“I told him you were more likely to attempt breaking and entering at night, when the dinner goes late,” Emele said.
“Wrong! I wouldn’t have to break and enter at all—Heloise has the set of spare keys so I could sashay inside whenever I like. But that is nothing—I am hurt that you all insist I keep up my old ways. My days as an Intelligencer are in the past!”
“That would be more convincing if you didn’t ditch your guards whenever you ride out to pay social calls,” Emele said.
As the princess and lady’s maid bantered, Ariane stood—intending to retrieve Lucien. She made it to the glass door before she spotted him and again burst into great snorts of laughter.
The little girl who had first captured Lucien had shucked the dress off her doll and stuffed Lucien into it, so the prince now sported a fine blue gown with a gauzy underskirt. The gown fit him so tightly, fat rolls gathered around his neck; based on the awkward angle he was holding his head, he probably couldn’t move. To complete the look, the girl had sprinkled several yellow flower petals on his head—probably to serve as hair.
Ariane opened the door just in time to hear the little girl giggle. “Princess Golden Curls—princess of the rose pond—would like some mud cake!”
“No, she would not,” Lucien said. “Princess Golden Curls would like to be put down!”
“You should call him Princess Wart Skin, ‘cause he’s a frog,” the older boy said.
“I beg your pardon!” Lucien thundered. “I do not have wart skin! In fact, many court ladies have declared how jealous they are of my complexion. Now either set me down, or go fetch a servant. Princess Golden Curls is thirsty.”
“Princess!” the toddler chorused.
“I beg your pardon, mademoiselles and messieurs,” Ariane was barely able to contain her laughter at the sight of “Princess Golden Curls.” “But the princess must retire for the moment. She is quite fatigued.”
Lucien eyed her over the head of the toddler. “If you laugh, I will have you tossed from Chanceux,” he warned her.
The little girl sighed and hugged Lucien closer. “Must she?”
It took Ariane a moment before she felt she could reply without laughing. “I’m afraid so.”
“Very well.”
Ariane picked up Lucien’s cushion and held it out so the little girl could set him down upon it. “Thank you for understanding. Perhaps Princess Golden Curls can play with you another day.”
“Do not volunteer the princess for social calls without her permission!” Lucien said in a falsetto voice—making the children giggle.
“Goodbye, come again!”
“We’ll watch for you, Princess Golden Curls!”
The children giggled then ran off through the gardens, leaving just as swiftly as they had arrived.
“Wait—the dress,” Lucien called after them.
“Don’t be silly,” Ariane said. “As you have worn it, you must have Henry wash and dry it. It’s common courtesy.”
Lucien turned to look up at her with narrowed eyes.
“It would be the right thing to do…as a princess,” Ariane said seriously.
“YOU!” Lucien thundered.
Ariane laughed so hard she almost dropped the cushion when she stood upright again.
“Insolent maid,” Lucien grumbled.
Ariane’s laughter died down to chuckles as she turned to re-enter the Rose Salon. I think Princess Elle might be overestimating my interactions with Lucien…but I can see what she means. Though he doesn’t say it, he has a heart.
Chapter 6
New Fears
The following evening—on day nine of the Summit—Ariane again walked Lucien back to his room after the dinner meal.
“How much longer do you think the Summit will last?” Ariane asked as she marched into the family wing.
“Another week at least. I suspect we’ll adjourn, but many of the representatives will remain behind for a bit longer.” Lucien was flipped on his back and held his bulging stomach with his webbed feet. He had eaten too much again—which was probably why he replied to Ariane’s probing questions without thinking.
“Who do you think will stay?” Ariane asked.
“Colonel Friedrich and the bluestockings from Arcainia,” Lucien guessed. “Queen Linnea will if she can swing it, and Princess Astra will if she’s feeling nosey enough.”
“Not the Ringsted Representatives?”
“No. Prince Callan and that Selkie Princess—Dylan—are getting married in several weeks.”
Recalling the bronze-skinned beauty and the large cake she had finished off on her own, Ariane smiled. “I like Princess Dylan. Her love of food makes her appreciate those who make it.”
“Maybe, but if she has any brats with appetites like hers, the food budget for the royal family will triple,” Lucien predicted as they reached his rooms.
Ariane momentarily balanced his cushion on one hand and fumbled to open the door.
“Henry,” Lucien wailed. “I’ve eaten too much—prepare the tonic for over indulgence.”
Ariane peered into the room—which was surprisingly dark. Only a small fire glowed in the fireplace—Henry had not lighted any lanterns or candles. “Monsieur Henry?” She stepped into the room, searching for the valet. (She felt no small amount of vindication at viewing the clean and tidy room—Lucien could not mess it up as he did as a man.) “Are you here?” The scent of cedar tickled her nose, but Henry was nowhere to be seen.
Lucien snorted and patted his rotund belly. “He might have wandered off to practice swordsmanship with the guards—he does that when he’s bored sometimes.”
When Ariane navigated her way around an armchair, the door abruptly shut behind them. She whirled around, her lungs freezing in her chest when she saw the mage.
It was one of the two rogue magic users who had attacked Lucien previously—the male who wore silk robes and a white mask. She shouted before he could move. “Help! Assassins in Prince Lucien’s room!” As she screamed, she tried to remember, when did I last see a guard or soldier? How far away are they?
She sucked in another breath of air to scream again, but the rogue mage made a clenching motion with his hand, and a black shadow clasped Ariane’s throat and squeezed. She could still breathe—barely—but her shouts were cut off.
“You again!” Lucien leaped to attention on his pillow. His body was stiff with fury, but the effect was rather unimpressive given his small—and green—stature.
“Good evening, Prince Lucien.” This voice was female.
Ariane staggered, putting her back to the fireplace so she and Lucien could face the female magic user.
She was barely visible thanks to her black clothes, but the black bandage that covered her eyes was a stark mark against the white of her skin. “Tonight, you die.”
“Awfully melodramatic, aren’t they?” Lucien grumbled. “Henry!” he shouted. “Where the blazes are you?”
The female magic user opened her mouth, and again a buzzing sound emitted from her throat. Wasps swarmed the room in a thick cloud—entering from the open window.
Ariane’s mouth turned dry even as she still struggled to breathe fully. “Hide,” she whispered. Using all the strength she could muster, she threw Lucien and his pillow across the room. He yelped as he crashed into the bed and disappeared under the covers that spilled over the side of the mattress.
The wasps tried to follow him, but they couldn’t wriggle their way under the covers like Lucien had. Instead, they covered the bed in a thick blanket and crawled across its surface, searching for a way in.
The female mage—who was still controlling her bugs with a buzz—snarled in irritation and motioned at her companion.
The masked mage casually blocked the door off with a wall of shadows, then ambled to the bed. He reached for the bedcovers—to hold them up for the wasps most likely.
Ariane coughed and felt her lungs crumple in her chest. I need more air! She stumbled and crashed into an end ta
ble. Fumbling, her fingers closed across a crystal chalice. Blessings be said for Lucien’s alcoholic demands. Her sight half fuzzy from the increasingly smaller amount of air she managed to choke past the shadows that gripped her throat, Ariane chucked a glass and the chalice at the mage. The first missed, but the second hit him on the head.
He stumbled, and Ariane felt the grip of the shadowy fingers evaporate. “Help!” She shouted as she picked up whatever she could grab—books, a log, a chess board—and chucked it at the mages. “Someone—help!” She ran across the room—still throwing whatever she could—and pounded against the door.
The black shadows that covered it were tarry and sticky. She heaved on the door with all her strength, but it would not move. The muscles of her arms burned as she pulled and her face heated with exertion. “Help!” she shouted again.
After a moment, the door gave, opening a crack that was about as thick as a blade of grass. “We’re being attacked!” Ariane tried to yell through the crack.
Lucien yelped, and Ariane whirled around—her heart beating twice as fast as normal. “Lucien!”
The frog prince hopped out from under the bed, covered with wasps. It took Ariane a moment to realize the wasps were trying to sting him, but their stingers could not dig into his oozing, mottled frog skin.
“I say, get off!” Lucien said, sounding cross as he tried to shake the wasps off.
Behind him, the male mage raised a sword made of shadows.
“Look out!” Ariane shouted. She threw a vase at the mage, but he dodged it as he lunged forward and stabbed his sword at Lucien’s side.
Ariane’s ears rang, and her heart shuddered as the sword hit the prince.
However, instead of slicing through him, the sword appeared to hit Lucien rather like a stick smacking into a ball, and Lucien was sent sprawling across the floor.
The mage glided after him and attempted to spear Lucien on the point of his sword.
Once again, Lucien was sent flipping head over feet, a green ball of indestructible amphibian as he ricocheted off a nightstand with a rather painful sounding crunch.
Her heart stabilizing, Ariane went back to pulling on the door, her muscles buckling as she yanked.
Angered, the masked mage kicked Lucien—who bounced off furniture like Princess Sylvie’s golden ball.
“Would you stop that?” Lucien demanded when he finally rolled to a stop.
“What sorcery is this?” the rogue mage hissed, his voice muffled by his white mask.
The female directed her wasps to Lucien, covering him in a thick blanket. It did no good—the wasps were unable to succeed and instead were crushed when Lucien rolled around on his back, flattening them. She shut her mouth with an angry snap, cutting off the buzzing noise. “This reeks of Angelique’s self-righteous magic.”
“If that is so, how do we kill him?” the male asked.
“We could kidnap him,” the bug mage said.
The male mage sighed behind his mask. “That’s not good enough. Kidnapping won’t have the same effect on Severin as finding the prince’s dead body.”
What are they talking about? Ariane’s feet nearly skid out beneath her as she put all her strength into yanking on the door.
The bug mage scooped Lucien up and tried to dig her nails into Lucien’s body. Ariane paused from pulling on the door—which hadn’t budged any more than she managed to yank it previously—to watch in a moment of fear. But all the bug mage managed to do was make Lucien’s eyes bulge with the pressure.
“I said, stop that!” Lucien bit the woman’s finger.
She yelped in surprise, pulled her hand free from the prince’s mouth, and shook him.
The male mage made a noise of disgust and folded his arms across his chest.
“He has teeth!” the bug mage snarled.
“Yes, veritable fangs,” her companion said dryly. “But we still have not solved our assignment—how do we kill him?”
The woman held Lucien by one leg and crossed the room—which was now in shambles as Ariane had thrown a lot of books and dinnerware. When she reached the window, the rogue mage threw Lucien with a grunt, then leaned out of the window to watch his decent.
“Lucien!” Ariane shouted. He can take a lot, but is Angelique’s spell strong enough to stand a multi-story drop?
There was a splat, and Ariane’s heart stopped.
“You hag! I am a frog, not a bird!” Lucien shouted.
Ariane’s legs almost gave out in relief at his arrogant complaint. “Lucien—hide yourself and get help!” she shouted, hoping he could hear her.
“That was idiotic,” the male mage said. “I could have suffocated him.”
“And you didn’t say so sooner because…?”
“You didn’t give me the time to think over our options.”
The bug mage sniffed. “Have at it, then.” She eased herself over the window sill and clung to the side of the chateau. “I’ll hold him until you make it down.” The woman whistled, and her wasps cleared the room. “Just kill the girl first.”
A chill crawled up Ariane’s spine.
“Ariane!” Lucien shouted. For the first time since the attack, his voice was not cool or crisply arrogant. He sounded…frightened.
Ariane stepped away from the door and planted herself against the wall. Where’s a broom when you need it?
“Ariane—run!” Lucien shouted.
Ariane darted to the fireplace and grabbed the fire poker. I just need one good hit to his head, but he’s going to expect that.
The mage raised his sword to shoulder height, but before he could move, Ariane swung her fire poker, hitting him in the kneecap.
The mage fell to his knees with a shout.
Ariane adjusted her grip on the fire poker and stepped towards him. The mage raised his hand and clenched it into a fist, and the shadow fingers were back around Ariane’s neck, choking the life from her.
They were tighter this time, and she struggled to breathe as the mage stood.
“Ariane!” Lucien shouted.
Ariane fell to her knees, her lungs sputtering.
The mage pointed his sword at Ariane and stepped in her direction. He was flattened when a heavy form hit the door, making it careen open. The mage was flung across the room.
The abuse made the mage release the shadows strangling Ariane, and she greedily sucked in air as she watched a man stalk into the room and roar. It took her a moment to place the newest arrival as Prince Severin—for the prince was usually neat and tidy, and the man standing before her snarled like a ferocious beast.
The bug mage stuck her head in the window. “What is taking you so long?” She shrieked and pulled back when she almost took a crossbow bolt to the face.
“See, I told you I need to start practicing again.” Elle stepped into the room, cradling a crossbow with the assurance of someone who had spent countless hours handling one. “I’m not as fast as I once was.”
Prince Severin unsheathed a sword and stalked in the masked mage’s direction.
The shadow mage scrambled out the window and followed the bug mage on to the roof. Elle—her crossbow slung across her back—slipped after them. She hefted herself onto the roof and out of sight of the windows with a great deal more grace than the two mages managed.
Severin stuck his head outside the window. “Lucien, are you all right?”
“How’s Ariane?” Lucien shouted back.
Severin glanced over his shoulder. Ariane, still wheezing a little, nodded at him.
“She’s fine. Are you injured?”
“No. Your guards arrived about the same time you entered my room from the sound of it. Ariane, are you really all right?”
Severin turned back to her. “I don’t think he’ll be satisfied until he sees you.”
Ariane slowly stood and rubbed her bruised neck. She offered Severin a curtsy, making him chuff, then joined him at the window and shouted down at the garden courtyard. “I am well enough, Your Highness.” Ar
iane squinted out in the gloom. Soldiers bearing torches flooded the courtyard. A captain held what appeared to be a wet mound of leaves—but was probably Lucien. “I am glad you survived the fall.”
“Thank you,” Lucien said.
“I’m sure you were very graceful,” she added.
Lucien croaked. “You can bet I was.”
Ariane jumped when Elle abruptly rejoined them, skidding down the side of the chateau and then stopping herself by gripping a decorative flourish carved from the stone. She held on to it with a single hand and braced her feet against a different flourish—looking as calm as she would serving tea.
“They pulled their little disappearing act as soon as they reached the roof,” she said. “I searched the area, but they’re gone.”
“It bothers me that they managed to slip past security.” Severin offered an arm to his wife. “I’ll have to speak to the mages about increasing it—it’s a miracle they stayed their course and went after Lucien and not another visiting dignitary.”
Elle patted her husband’s arm. “I’ll go check on Lucien.”
“Be careful,” Severin warned her.
“I always am!” Elle said. “Especially given that there are no stained-glass skylights here.”
Ariane’s heart sputtered again when Elle released her hand-hold on the stone flourish and skid down the wall. When she neared the bottom of the chateau, she leaped and landed in the courtyard—still wearing her beautiful evening gown from dinner. “Lucien, you frog—why didn’t you call for us?”
“Ariane did!” Lucien snapped, sounding mad. “And a load of good it did us.”
“Worry not, Severin. Lucien is feeling feisty—a sure sign he’s fine,” Elle called up to her husband.
“Ariane and I were just attacked by two rogue mages—no, I am not fine!”
Ariane abruptly pulled back from the window when Lucien’s complaint sparked her memory. “Henry—His Highness’s valet! He is always here when we return from dinner, but we did not find him—”
Prince Severin held up a hand to forestall her. “A maid found him in the larder. It is believed the mages shook him down to get the keys to Lucien’s rooms. He is fine.”
