by Julia London
He mentioned the conditions to his father one evening during a private meal. “Don’t listen to the false prophets, Leopold. The man wants fame. That’s all.”
Leo had tried to start a conversation with his father about it, but as usual, his father was uninterested in what he had to say. He’d smiled and said, “Worry about your studies, son.”
In the end, it was Leo’s mother who had turned the tide. “I don’t think you should ignore this man,” she said to her husband. “He seems dangerous to me.”
Leo never really knew what had happened after that—he returned to England and his very vibrant social life. But the Alucian Parliament took up the cause, and the workhouses were eventually shut down. Now factories provided modest housing for the workers.
By the end of his bath, Leo had determined it didn’t matter what Lysander wanted—Leo wouldn’t involve himself with it. He wouldn’t be in the garden tomorrow, because Leo was setting sail in two nights, no matter what.
There was a soft rap at the door, and then Leo’s valet, Freddar, appeared, holding a large towel. “Will you dress now, Your Highness?”
Leo sighed. “Je.” He couldn’t avoid the ball. All eyes would be on Leo tonight, more so than ever before. He was the new prized bull, the one everyone wanted as sire. For years, he’d watched Bas endure these evenings and the endless introductions to all manner of women—short and round, tall and thin. Beautiful and plain. Women with pleasing dispositions and those who were cold as fish. All of them wanting an opportunity to woo a crown prince. Leo was no crown prince, but as of today, he was the next best thing. It hardly mattered that his father had already negotiated a marriage—the wealthy and privileged would present their daughters and sisters to him like gifts from the Magi.
His long black formal frock was embellished with the dignitatis epaulets on the shoulders, denoting his rank in the military. A rank that was achieved by virtue of his birth and nothing else. He would also wear a royal blue sash onto which medals of his family’s name, military achievements and honors would be affixed. None of them belonged to him personally.
Those medals would complement the larger, ribboned medals that were pinned to his chest, also granted because of his titles and privileges and for nothing that he’d done. Such as the large bloom of white ribbon with a gold circle and pearls encrusted in the middle, the Order of the King’s Garter. There were more medals that signified his rank in the navy and the army—bestowed on him because he was a prince—as well as the Order of Merit and the Order of the Reeve, given to him by his father. And of course, his father’s coronation medal, another large gold piece with dark blue and gold ribbons, that celebrated Leo’s royal birth.
He was doused in the symbols and trappings of his family’s wealth and privilege, and he’d done absolutely nothing to deserve any of it. How was it fair that by virtue of his birth alone he should have such fortune? How was it fair that another child, born into lesser circumstances, would struggle through his or her life and accomplish far more than Leo ever would, yet not have a single medal worth so much? Any one of these medals on his chest would bring prosperity to a family for several years.
Why me?
That question had plagued him at various times in his life. He was eight years old the first time he’d asked it. He’d befriended a boy in the stables. His name was Tadd or something close to it. Leo couldn’t rightly recall his name, but he could still see his face, as if he’d spoken to him only yesterday. He and Tadd had formed a friendship over a horse. Tadd had taught him quite a lot about horses—how to brush their coats and manes, how to clean their hooves.
It had been Leo’s idea to sneak the horse from the stables and ride him. The freckle-faced lad was reluctant, but at Leo’s insistence, he went along with it.
When they were discovered, Tadd was dragged off the horse and roundly beaten in front of Leo, even as Leo cried for the stable master to stop. And then Tadd simply disappeared. Leo had been left with a searing sense of responsibility and unfairness about the whole thing.
That was the first time he’d been aware of the enormous privilege he enjoyed and how little he’d done to deserve it.
He had learned in the years that followed to turn a blind eye to those feelings and accept his life as it was and be grateful for it. That was easy to do when surrounded by the children of aristocrats who similarly had their lives handed to them. It was easy when he had the luxury to spend his days with his friends, or abroad. He’d grown lazy in that way wealth had of making a man disinclined to lift many fingers. Nothing was expected of him other than to finish his studies and not impregnate a chamber girl. That he could do.
He had learned to dull the tedium and the unfairness of it all with alcohol. What he wanted was to go back to England and the dissolute but happy manner in which he lived.
* * *
LEO WAS ANNOUNCED with enough fanfare to make his head throb, then escorted by two footmen on either flank to the dais where his parents sat on their thrones. As he walked, people on either side of his path bowed and curtsied. Such ritual, such unnecessary pomp.
Two chairs had been added to the dais beside the king for Bas and Eliza.
Leo greeted his father stiffly. “You look well enough,” his father said, his gaze apprizing.
“Where have you been, darling?” his mother asked. “You’re late.”
“Out,” he said, and bent to press his lips to her cheek. Queen Daria looked regal in her diamond-and-sapphire crown. On her gold gown, she wore nearly as many medals as he did. She was a beautiful woman, and when Leo was a boy, he’d worshipped her, held in thrall by her beauty. He’d longed for her attention and her smile, but both had been sparingly applied to him.
She smiled at him now and cupped his face when he leaned over her to kiss her cheek. “It has been the happiest of days to have my children here with me. I can’t wait for the day that you will make me as happy as Sebastian has today.”
Leo suppressed his groan.
“You’ll not wait long, my love,” his father assured her.
His mother leaned forward and whispered, “Have you met Lady Eulalie? She’s quite attractive.”
Leo shook his head. If he spoke, he wouldn’t be able to hide his anger.
“She is illunis,” his mother said, using the Alucian word for beautiful. “I think you will find her appealing.”
“Hopefully,” he said with a shrug.
“You will! We took into account your likes and dislikes, my darling.”
That was absurd. He’d never told his mother or father what he found attractive, and if they had truly taken into account his dislikes, they would know he disliked this exceedingly.
“Ah, here is Sir Ravaneaux,” his mother said. He turned to see her private secretary approaching the dais. “Sir Ravaneaux will see to it that the introduction to Lady Eulalie is made.”
Would he not be allowed as much as a glass of wine before the task of strengthening the ties between Alucia and Wesloria began? “Should I not congratulate the happy couple first?”
His mother’s eyes narrowed slightly. “But you’ve congratulated them, darling! We all have. Sir Ravaneaux, if you would,” she said, and waved Leo away like she did when he was a boy and he’d become bothersome. A flick of her wrist and a firm Off with you now, Leo.
Ravaneaux led Leo across the crowded ballroom with the two footmen trailing behind. It was a spectacle, people stepping out of the way to allow him to pass. Leo was keenly aware of the number of eyes on him, the low hum of whispers around him. As they neared the opposite side of the ballroom, an attractive woman came forward in the company of a man who looked to be about his father’s age. He was fit, with strong features, his clothing that of an aristocrat. The woman was as small as he was large. She was dressed in silk and jewels, and when she curtsied, she sank low in the way young ladies were taught at finishing schools. She wore the
Weslorian dark green pinned to her breast. The gentleman likewise wore the band of green around his arm.
Ravaneaux said to him, “Your Royal Highness, may I introduce Lady Eulalie Gaspar of Wesloria,” he said. “And her father, the Duke of Brondeny.”
Leo bowed. “Your Grace,” he said to the duke. “My lady.”
They exchanged a few pleasantries, and the duke offered felicitations on the occasion of Sebastian’s marriage, then deftly stepped away under the pretense of speaking to Sir Ravaneaux, leaving Leo and Lady Eulalie alone...except for the attendance of dozens upon dozens of onlookers.
Lady Eulalie had small brown eyes and full lips, and her hair was the color of English tea. She arched a brow as she gave him a very thorough once-over, as if he were the milk cow she was considering purchasing. “I understand we are to befriend each other, Your Highness, and do it rather quickly.”
He appreciated her forthright manner and that she’d dispensed with the tedium of asking how he found the weather this time of year or mentioning how grand the ball. “I understand the same.”
“I’ve only recently been made aware of this friendship, so if I may make one small request?”
He nodded.
“I should like it to be quick.” She glanced away from him and across the ballroom.
Leo followed her gaze and noticed a stately Weslorian captain staring back at her. Well. At least she was open about her true intentions. He didn’t know how he felt about such openness, but he couldn’t help but admire it. “I will make this initial meeting as quick as the horse your ambassador boasts about.”
She laughed with surprise. “He does boast. I’ll go first, if I may?”
“Of course.”
“May I compliment you on how well your brother looked today? His bride is lovely.”
“Thank you. Very kind of you to say.”
“She is an English commoner, is she not?”
It was not a question, but a comment that Leo supposed he was to confirm or deny. He didn’t suspect Lady Eulalie was doing anything more than attempting to make small talk as the situation required, but the question rankled him nonetheless. He hated that sort of question—it was not meant to inform, but to get at the heart of the matter: who outranked whom. He wished he was at the Foxhound with a tankard of ale instead of playing this game. Mercy, how soon he’d forgotten his vow not to drink. “She is not,” he said politely. “At least not anymore.”
Lady Eulalie laughed with delight. “Quite true,” she cheerfully agreed.
The trumpets suddenly blared from an alcove above their heads, announcing the arrival of the happy couple.
“Ah, here they are now, the handsome prince and his very fortunate bride,” Lady Eulalie said, and craned her neck forward to see. A line of English soldiers marched into the room beside a line of Alucian soldiers, and in a choreographed move, they turned to face one another, unsheathed their swords and held them aloft, crossing the tips. The effect was to form an aisle. A moment later, Bas and Eliza entered. Bas was dressed in his full military regalia, and Eliza in a frothy peach gown. She had donned a crown that Leo recognized as belonging to the royal collection. Her hand was on Bas’s arm, and from where Leo stood, he could see the slight tremor in her. He hoped one day soon she would become accustomed to all the attention—she would have it all her life.
He, along with everyone else in the ballroom, respectfully bowed to the future king and queen as they passed, and when he straightened up, he looked to his left to follow their progress to the dais. But when he did, instead of seeing the dais, he saw the glittering green eyes of Lord Hawke’s sister, the one who was clearly convinced of her own appeal. What was her name, for God’s sake? Why could he not recall it?
Leo liked Hawke quite a lot. He’d met him at a gentlemen’s club in London one evening some months ago, when they’d ended up at a gaming table together. They’d had a good laugh. They’d seen each other at various occasions since. But it was Hawke’s arrival in Alucia that had sparked their friendship. Leo had spent quite a lot of time in the gentleman’s company and now considered him a friend.
His sister, however, was a nuisance. Even now, when the entire ballroom seemed to understand that he and Lady Eulalie were to be allowed this moment, she was smiling at him with the eagerness of someone who meant to hop over to his side for a chat.
He averted his gaze. He was quite good at ignoring pointed looks. And women who smiled too eagerly. And women who thought they could merely bat their eyes and he would demand an introduction and offer her a kingdom. He was good at ignoring men, too, particularly those who wanted to know him with a hope for gain. And practiced politicians who wanted to whisper in his ear.
A pretty, green-eyed English miss was no challenge for him.
Bas and Eliza had walked the length of the ballroom to the throne dais and Eliza curtsied. The king stepped down from his throne and took Eliza’s hand, then escorted her up to the dais to sit in the chair beside him. Bas took his seat beside her. His father gestured to the couple and began to applaud. Everyone in the ballroom joined in, their applause hearty, shouting, “Vivat regiis reginae!”
Long live the royal princess.
The orchestra began to play in earnest, and it was official—against all possible odds in the known universe, Eliza Tricklebank was a Chartier, a member of the Alucian royal family.
“People are staring at us,” Lady Eulalie murmured.
“They will always stare,” Leo said, trying not to sound bitter about it.
“Yes, I suppose. The two of us have been tossed into a tiny boat on this sea of hopeful diplomacy, and we must make do with each other.”
At least she understood the rules of the game. “It would seem so.” He glanced at her, but Lady Eulalie’s attention was directed across the room, to her lover. Leo supposed he ought to be bothered by her brazen regard for the captain while standing next to him, and maybe he was, but at the moment, he couldn’t summon enough heart to care. Maybe they could enter this devil’s bargain with no expectations whatsoever. Perhaps he ought to keep more of an open mind about...
Leo was startled by what felt like an elbow or a shoulder to his back. He jerked around and looked right into the eyes of Hawke’s sister.
“Oh dear, I do beg your pardon!” She laughed and smiled so sunnily that, for a moment, Leo forgot she’d bumped into him. “How clumsy of me! I stumbled over my train. Oh!” She jerked the train around and, with one hand, reached behind her, he presumed, to fasten it. “I really do so admire the Alucian gowns, but the trains are beastly to wear.”
Once again, she had approached him without the slightest hesitation given that she was interrupting his conversation with Lady Eulalie. Once again, she was smiling and speaking to him as if they were fast friends. It was beyond his comprehension how the sister of a revered English baron could have so little care for proper etiquette. Not that he was devoted to proper etiquette and the rules that governed courtiers in this palace, but on this occasion, to bump into him and interrupt a conversation with another woman was too much. “Lady...” He paused, struggling to recall her name. His memory, he’d noted, was not helped when he overimbibed every night.
“Caroline,” she happily finished for him. “Caroline. Caroline Hawke? I am Lord Hawke’s sister.”
Ah, yes, Lady Caroline. “Yes, of course. Lady Caroline.” He inclined his head. Where was her brother? Better yet, where was the footman with champagne? Really, Hawke ought to keep a closer eye on his sister. Leo intended to ask her to fetch her brother, but she was leaning a bit to her right to see around him, her smile pointed at someone or something else. He realized then that she and Lady Eulalie had made eye contact. Lady Caroline was like a bird hovering, her head darting back and forth trying to get a good look at Lady Eulalie behind him. This was not how this meeting of his future wife was supposed to go, but Leo had neither the energy nor the de
sire to stop it. He sighed and said, quite reluctantly, “May I introduce you to Lady Eulalie of Wesloria.”
“A Weslorian!” Lady Caroline said with great enthusiasm. “How do you do? I’ve hardly met a single Weslorian. Yes, of course, there’s your bit of green. I’m surprised I didn’t spot it straightaway. I’m very observant, generally speaking. What an interesting habit it is for all Weslorians to wear a patch of green, isn’t it? I suppose it’s a bit like the Scottish and their tartan. I wish England were so inclined. We should wear ribbons to signify we are English, preferably yellow, as that is the color of happiness, and frankly, it goes well with my skin coloring. But I suppose the color of the ribbon would be left to the queen, wouldn’t it?”
Leo didn’t know what to say to the steady flow of words that came from the lady’s mouth. Neither did Lady Eulalie, as she was staring dumbfoundedly at Lady Caroline. No doubt she’d been raised, like all ladies, to believe that a woman should be demure in the presence of gentlemen and a prince.
“Lady Caroline Hawke of England,” Leo added unnecessarily. “As no doubt you just heard.”
Lady Caroline curtsied. When she did, Leo saw that everyone’s attention had turned to the dais because Bas and Eliza were coming down. The orchestra began to play an Alucian native dance.
“Very pleased to meet you,” Lady Caroline continued, rising from her curtsy. “Your gown, if I may say, is remarkable. I should ask for the name of your modiste, but I will be leaving for England soon, and quite honestly, I think my brother would have my head if I spent as much as a single farthing on another gown.” She laughed gaily, as if her brother’s displeasure at her spending habits was a lark. “Isn’t the ball lovely? The whole day has been such a delight and I’m very much looking forward to dancing. It is my absolute favorite thing. I adore it. Do you, Lady Eulalie? Do you, Your Highness?”
