by K. M. Shea
“Ariane?”
Ariane turned around, then smiled. “Marcelle!”
The grinning maid swept down the hallway at a brisk pace, carrying a broom and a small, rolled up rug. “I haven’t seen you since the first day of the Summit—though I heard you had been chosen to escort His Highness about.” She nodded at the simple yet elegant gown Ariane wore.
Ariane self-consciously smoothed her skirts. “Yes, it’s been going well.”
“I hope you weren’t involved in the incident when those rogue mages tried to jump the prince?” Marcelle asked.
“I was; I was there with His Highness.”
Marcelle gasped and fumbled with the rug so she could put her hand over her heart. “You weren’t hurt, were you?” Her eyes skirted Ariane, searching for injuries.
“Not at all. Prince Severin and Princess Elle broke into the room before the mages were able to lay a hand on me,” Ariane said, omitting the two times she had nearly been strangled.
Marcelle shook her head. “May His Highness and Her Highness be blessed,” she murmured. “But it is positively awful you were caught up in it! What were you doing?”
“I was delivering His Highness to his quarters. His valet did not greet us as usual, so I stepped inside his room,” Ariane said.
Marcelle winced. “That was terribly brave.”
“Not really. Lucien is a frog—he’s not going to paw at me,” Ariane said.
“No—I mean your willingness to accompany Prince Lucien,” Marcelle said. “A position like ours is supposed to be a safe thing. I’m sorry you were caught up in it.”
Ariane tilted her head. “Weren’t you with Prince Severin when his household was cursed?”
“Yes, I was—but that is different. We servants stood with His Highness—we always will—so it was proper. But to have a rogue magic user come after you with the thought of killing you?” Marcelle shivered. “As I said, you are very brave to take on such a task.”
Ariane blinked, surprised by her fellow maid’s words. She’s right. Normally, as a maid, I would never have been involved so intimately with Prince Lucien. I had nearly forgotten. Lucien’s complaints and willingness to converse have lulled me into informality. But he’s a prince, and I’m a maid.
Since she had been asked to shepherd him around, Ariane’s estimation of Lucien had greatly changed. She liked him now and respected him more. But she hadn’t really connected this new version of Lucien with the Crown Prince of Loire. After all, he was a frog. His temporary form made it easy to forget what he really was.
I’ll have to be careful. Though I don’t believe there is harm in being friendly with Lucien, I will make a giant fool of myself if I grow any fonder of him. Ariane winced when she realized she had even occasionally slipped and refrained from using his title. Yes, I’ll have to be more careful. I’m happy I have this chance to interact with my future monarch, but it won’t do me any good to start giggling over him.
“In any case, I am glad you are safe—and I am proud of the way you’ve been conducting yourself. Some of my friends have served you during lunch and dinner—they said you give great credit to us in your actions,” Marcelle continued.
Ariane forced a smile. “Really I just sit there and carry Prince Lucien whenever he is needed. It’s not particularly taxing—though occasionally I want to tweak one of His Highness’s feet when he starts snoring.”
Marcelle giggled. “That’s our prince—as cool as ice.”
“Yes,” Ariane hesitantly agreed.
“I would love to chat more, but I’m afraid I must be off. You be safe, you hear? I don’t want to learn that you’ve fended off another assassination attempt with His Highness!” Marcelle eyed her and purposefully shifted her grip on her broom.
Ariane laughed. “I’ll try.”
“Don’t try—succeed,” Marcelle insisted as she began up the hallway. “I shall see you again!”
“Farewell—take care,” Ariane said. She waited until Marcelle was gone before she continued down the hallway with new resolve. Yes, it’s even more important to clean tonight than I thought. It would do me some good to remind myself what my real role is—and whom I serve.
Ariane was surprised when, on the morning of the twelfth day of the Summit, she received a summons to report to Prince Severin and Princess Elle before breakfast.
Are they going to give Lucien-escort-duty to soldiers now? It would be the safest precautionary measure.
She was a little disappointed with the thought—both because it had been amazing to attend the Summit and also for reasons pertaining to Lucien that weren’t particularly productive. Ugh. If they are assigning him guards, they likely would save me from embarrassing myself.
Ariane knocked on the door to Prince Severin’s study. The door immediately swung open, and Elle smiled at her.
“Good morning, Ariane. Come in!”
Ariane dipped a curtsey. “Good morning, Your Highness.” She slipped inside the study, then curtsied again when she saw the room’s occupants.
Severin’s study was stuffed even fuller than usual as—in addition to himself and Princess Elle—Lady Enchantress Angelique was present, as was Craftmage Stil and his wife, Gemma.
Gemma sat in an armchair, her eyes—a strong mixture of gray and blue that resembled the snows of her Verglas homeland—narrowed in concentration as she added a few more stitches to the elaborately embroidered handkerchief she was working on. She looked up from her work long enough to smile at Ariane and push the ringlets of her dark brown hair out of her face before she returned to sewing.
Craftmage Stil stood behind his wife, drumming his fingers on the edge of her armchair. He gazed down at her with obvious adoration that glowed in his rather glorious blue eyes.
Ariane blinked as she studied him. Did his hair change? She could have sworn it was in a short military cut as late as last night’s dinner, yet this morning, his black hair was long enough and thick enough to pull back in a silky ponytail at the nape of his neck.
“Have you had a chance to look at that copy of King Steinar’s diary that King Toril lent us?” Stil asked Prince Severin.
Severin—seated at his desk—glanced at the mage. “Beyond the cursory glance I gave it when you first brought it, no. I have been tied up with preparations for the Summit.”
Craftmage Stil nodded. “I thought as much. I had just hoped it might help us. The Veneno Conclave has no documents or works that go back that far. I thought maybe it would contain something useful seeing as we’re facing a revival of dark magic.”
“I am only a seamstress,” Gemma said without looking up from the green handkerchief, “but having read it, I can say the diary is mostly a historical record. It focuses on conflicts between the mages. While we do have rogue mages running around today, it seems the greatest threats come from creatures—like goblins or wraiths.”
Princess Elle placed her hand on Ariane’s elbow and gently drew her into the room. “You have read the diary, Gemma?” She added as an aside to Ariane, “King Steinar was Princess Rakel’s—the Snow Queen of Verglas’s—little brother.”
“It is required reading for the basic schooling classes I received as a child,” Gemma said.
Stil flipped his ponytail over his shoulder. “I still cannot believe your government did not notify any universities—or the Conclave—that you had such detailed historical recordings.”
Gemma raised an eyebrow as she tied off her thread. “It is not our fault the Conclave let them all burn.”
“That was centuries ago—and it was not by choice,” Craftmage Stil protested.
“What do you mean?” Princess Elle asked.
“Before the Conclave was formed, the official base for mages—and the Academy—was in Verglas. It was started by Princess Rakel herself.” Lady Enchantress Angelique said. She smiled serenely and mindlessly brushed the iridescent fabric of her gown. “A few centuries ago, it was decided to move the base and the school to Mulberg—it was then that the Ve
neno Conclave was formed. Shortly after the move, there was a fire in the Academy’s library, and we lost many historical documents as a result.”
Ariane cocked her head as she listened to the discussion. She had heard the bedtime stories about the Snow Queen of course, but it was surprising to hear there was documented proof of her existence.
There was a knock on the study door, and Elle opened it so Henry—carrying Lucien on a pillow—could enter as well.
“Good morning, Brother-in-law,” Elle said.
“No, it is not,” Lucien grumbled from his splayed out position on his cushion. “How could you get me up at this ungodly hour?”
Prince Severin set aside the book he had been perusing. “We have gathered to discuss your safety.”
Lucien groaned. “Please tell me you’ve at least called for wine?”
Ariane impatiently pushed her hair out of her face as she studied Lucien’s dramatic display. I know everyone treats him like a drunkard, but I have yet to see him drink enough wine for it to negatively affect him. It seems like he drinks copious amounts because bottles randomly go missing…but could it be a ploy? Another part of his disguise?
“We’re on a bit of a tight schedule, so we need to finish this before the rest of the representatives rise to break their fast.” Princess Elle motioned for Ariane to take a seat in the remaining armchair before she slipped around her husband’s desk and leaned against his chair, almost sitting on the arm rest.
“That’s a no to the wine.” Lucien sighed like a martyr. “You may put me down, Henry.”
Henry bowed to the group, then lowered Lucien’s cushion. When it was approximately a hand off the ground, he tilted it so Lucien—protesting—skid off the side, then Henry passed the cushion to Ariane with another bow.
“We have assembled today to discuss the additional security measures we will take to assure Lucien’s safety and the safety of those who are near him,” Prince Severin rumbled.
“Wait a moment, just wait.” Lucien waddled across the floor. “I thought we already discussed this, with Colonel Friedrich of Erlauf no less.”
“Those were chateau precautionary measures,” Prince Severin said. “Increasing guards and patrols and the like. What we are here for today is to add more magical security to you, and Henry, and Ariane.”
Ariane perked at the sound of her name. What?
Lucien paused. “You’re going to enchant them as well?”
“No enchantments—or the three of you would be running around as small animals—but a few basic protection spells.” Lady Enchantress Angelique smiled like sunshine.
Lucien grumbled. “I notice you said animals—not frogs.”
“Naturally,” the lady enchantress said. “Mademoiselle Ariane strikes me as more of a flying squirrel, and Monsieur Henry is most certainly a cat.”
Elle patted her husband’s shoulders. “See, you’re not the only feline-esque male.”
Severin eyed his wife, but before he could say more, something scratched at the study door.
“Oh, Esses!” Elle glided back to the door and opened it to reveal a rather large black cat that had a great amount of fluffy black fur. The princess caressed his face—making the creature purr deeply—then rejoined her husband.
Ariane cleared her throat. “What sort of spells?” she asked. She was not by nature a shy girl, but as a maid, she was very much aware she wouldn’t normally be conversing with so many people who belonged to the upper echelons of society.
“We have whistles for you—they are actually standard soldier whistles, but Master Stil has spelled them so they are far louder and more piercing,” Princess Elle said.
Esses meandered in the princess’s direction, but paused when it strolled past Lucien. It circled him with fascination, then sniffed his head.
“I say, stop that,” Lucien said in irritation.
Angelique smiled and looked from Ariane to Henry. “The main spell you will carry will not be attached to you, but to handkerchiefs Mistress Gemma has made for you.” The enchantress gracefully gestured at the seamstress.
Gemma snipped a stray thread off one of the silk handkerchiefs, then unfurled it and held it up. The seamstress had embroidered, with gold thread, beautiful lily pads and a large frog with a crown perched on its head. “I made them as you specified, Elle.”
A squealing croak slipped from Lucien’s throat, and he almost tipped over when Esses rubbed against him and purred.
Princess Elle’s laughter filled the room. “They are perfect!”
“The handkerchiefs will hold a spell that will cancel out any weak or low-level magic. It’s the same spell Colonel Friedrich mentioned, Lucien—albeit a far more temporary one,” Prince Severin said.
“There is a frog on that handkerchief.” Lucien’s voice sounded strangled as Esses kneaded his paws on his back.
Stil winked at Lucien. “Usually a spell that powerful would have to be placed on something like a piece of jewelry. But because my Gemma made the handkerchiefs, they’ll hold the spell just fine. The only problem is Gemma was limited to making handkerchiefs given the short timeline, which means the spell won’t last as long as it would on something like a cape or a scarf. As a result, we’ll have to re-apply the spell every morning at breakfast.”
“Technically the spell will last three days, but we don’t want the charm dissipating at a poor time,” Lady Enchantress Angelique said.
“Do you understand?” Prince Severin asked.
Ariane’s desire to stand was rekindled when he glanced at her with glowing eyes. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Ouch! Elle—control your blasted beast!” Lucien complained as the large cat tried to stand on top of him.
“Esses, don’t touch him. You never know what sort of diseases he may be carrying,” Princess Elle said in a coaxing voice.
Esses finally abandoned Lucien—who was now liberally coated in black cat fur—and walked towards his owner.
Lucien croaked, then waddled his way over to Ariane, dramatically collapsing on her feet.
Ariane picked him up and placed him on his cushion that rested on her lap.
“Is there anything else, Your Highness?” Henry inquired.
“This is what we have come up with thus far,” Severin said. “Lady Enchantress Angelique has asked the other magic users for their thoughts. If someone has more ideas, we can add to our plans.”
Craftmage Stil gently took the handkerchiefs from his wife. “When you come see me, bring your handkerchiefs, and I’ll apply the spell. Since I was with Gemma while she made these, I laid the base work of the spell in her stitches. When I renew it, it’s just a matter of giving the spell another burst of power.”
The craftmage snapped the handkerchiefs, then breathed on them. “Safeguard,” he said.
The gold embroidery on the green silk glowed, following the embellishments and patterns with golden light. Eventually swirls of light shaped in Gemma’s embroidery pattern lifted off the handkerchief. A haze the shape of a shield settled over it, then sank back into the handkerchiefs.
“Here.” Craftmage Stil held one of the handkerchiefs out.
Ariane slowly took it, surprised by the warmth of the fabric.
“Keep it on you at all times,” Craftmage Stil said.
“It will work best if it is in direct contact with your skin,” Lady Enchantress Angelique said.
Ariane and Henry exchanged nods before Ariane stood and set Lucien—and his cushion—down on her vacated chair.
“Thank you all for your aid, Your Highnesses, Lady Enchantress, Master Stil, and Mistress Gemma,” Ariane said as she curtseyed.
She was simultaneously grateful and slightly unsettled. I am glad they value Henry and me enough for these additional safety measures. But to know that they believe these may be necessary…
Ariane was no weepy girl. She had stood up to the assassins twice now without letting fear get the best of her. But…. She was also level-headed, and she had no desire to willful
ly jump into danger. It seems, however, it may be too late for that…
She tucked the handkerchief in her pocket—intending to slip it into her bodice later, when she was not in front of an audience.
“Yes, thank you. I am honored.” Henry made his own bows to the royalty and magic users.
“We will do more,” Elle said stubbornly. “But this is a fine start.” She smiled as she picked her cat up, which purred as it snuggled into her chest.
Gemma’s forehead wrinkled. “I hope the handkerchief is adequate to hold the spell.”
“It’s lovely.” Stil kissed his wife on the top of her head. “It’s stronger than a fabric spell has the right to be since you stitched it into the fabric.”
“Stil is right.” Lady Enchantress Angelique smiled at Gemma. “I was hoping you would demonstrate for me how you embroidered while Stil laid the groundwork for the spell.”
Gemma’s smile was small but as genuine as a bell’s chime. “I would be glad to.”
Severin stood. “I believe it is nearly time to break our fast with the others. Thank you for your co-operation—Stil, did you need a larger payment?”
Stil shook his head. “A gold coin is enough. I just need the transfer for my magic to work. Come, Gemma, I’m starving.”
“We are to sit with Prince Callan and Princess Dylan today,” Gemma reminded her husband.
“Good. The servants will bring extra food for Dylan, so I’ll be able to snag some!” Stil held the door open for his wife. “Angelique, you’re sitting with us, as well, right?”
Angelique shook her head as she followed Gemma out the door. “I promised Mage Donaigh I would sit with him.”
“Ahh, yes, another one of your adoring fans,” Craftmage Stil said.
“Let’s go, Ariane,” Lucien impatiently scooted around his pillow. “We must get to breakfast.”
Ariane picked up Lucien’s cushion, purposely holding it like a serving tray at a much higher height than usual. “You seem unusually enthusiastic.”
“Of course! I’m parched.”
Prince Severin raised an eyebrow at him. “You aren’t getting any wine with breakfast.”
