So here she was at the palace, asking where she might find Miss Moreland.
The sentry pointed her to the left. “Go ’round that corner. About halfway down the long wall, you’ll come to a stone staircase that leads up to their apartments.”
Flora thanked him and continued on her way.
She rounded the corner as instructed, only to have someone heading the opposite direction barrel right into her. They both fell hard on the ground from the collision.
“Oh! It’s you!” her unwitting assailant cried joyfully. He leapt to his feet and offered her a hand.
Flora took it. “Edmund? Are you all right? I didn’t see you coming.”
“I’m fine,” the boy replied. “Are you all right? Mother’s going to have my head if she finds out I knocked someone over!”
“I’m none the worse for wear,” said Flora as she brushed some powdery snow from her skirt and coat.
“Did you come for lessons?” asked Edmund curiously. “They’re already done for the morning. Charlie has to play guard, so he let me go early.”
“Actually, I came to see your sister,” said Flora. Suddenly she was questioning the boldness of her actions, showing up at the palace unannounced. She should have sent a message first to ask whether she could come at all.
If Edmund thought her presence was a breach of conduct, he didn’t show it. “Viola’s with the Prince. She’s his secretary until I’m old enough to take over the job. At least, that’s what Father used to say. I don’t know if that’s changed now that—” His voice suddenly caught in his throat and he scrutinized Flora with narrowed eyes. “Say, have you ever met the Prince?” he inquired.
“No,” said Flora.
“Wanna see him?”
Before she could answer, the boy snatched her wrist and practically dragged her back the way she had come. “Wait! Edmund!” she said frantically. She might have dug her heels into the ground, except that it was snowy and frozen and she was leery of falling. “I can’t just go see him unannounced!”
“Oh, we’re just going to watch the procession,” Edmund told her. “I know the perfect hiding place. I’ve watched it a hundred times from there and haven’t gotten caught once!”
“What procession?” asked Flora warily.
“There’s a meeting of Parliament this morning, and the Prince is to attend. Ordinarily they hold the ones he attends in the afternoon, but today they made a special exception and he’s going to the morning one. Viola’ll be with him. Father’ll be there—your father too, I guess—and Charlie gets to stand guard at the doors, just in case anything goes wrong.”
Flora’s heart twisted nervously at his choice of words. “What could possibly go wrong?”
Edmund favored her with a sidelong glance. “You never know with the Eternal Prince. Especially since… Well, never mind that.”
“Especially since what?” she pressed.
“Since he suddenly asked for permission to take a consort,” Edmund replied. His quickness made her question whether it was what he had originally meant to say. “That’s the whole reason they’re having this special meeting today. He’s going to present his plan for choosing a consort to the members of Parliament for their approval.”
Flora really did dig in her heels at this piece of information, snow and frozen ground notwithstanding.
Edmund stopped and stared at her like she’d gone crazy. “If you don’t hurry, you’re going to miss it. We have to get into place before they come from the Prince’s corridor, or else they’ll see us.”
If the Prince was presenting his plans this morning, her false plans were soon to be discovered. Flora had confessed her sins to Viola, Will, and Charlie, but the consort hopefuls were still balancing books on their heads wherever they walked and spending hours a day practicing their various talents. This morning marked the beginning of Flora’s end, for she was certain those hordes of aspirants would never forgive her the trick she had played on them when they learned the truth.
Edmund had no clue why she had stopped, and he had no patience for the delay. He snatched her wrist again and yanked her forward, past a couple of sentries and through a nearby door. Flora allowed him to lead her. They traversed a narrow corridor that joined the main hall. Up ahead, a couple of black-robed lords mingled in front of a pair of wide, opened double-doors, the entrance to the assembly of Parliament. Edmund pulled Flora up short of the corner and peered around it. The main corridor was huge, with a grand staircase at the end. A painted ceiling loomed at least three stories above and a set of columns lined each side. Guards stood in position at precise intervals along the way.
“This is your perfect hiding place?” she whispered, terrified that someone would see them. The Parliament of Lenore was closed to the public, and she imagined that they would welcome spectators outside the main room just as they welcomed them inside—which was to say, not at all.
“Shh,” Edmund retorted. “The hiding place is up there.” He pointed above to a long balcony that overlooked the hall. “The lords haven’t all sat down yet, so we still have time to make it. C’mon!”
Before she could ask what he meant, he backtracked to a narrow door. Flora followed, unwilling to be caught without her pint-sized escort to explain their presence.
Edmund produced a spindly key from his pocket and surreptitiously unlocked the door. It opened to a dark spiral staircase. He ushered Flora inside and shut the door behind them.
“C’mon,” he whispered, and he scrambled up ahead of her. His footsteps echoed eerily through the close passage. She had to feel with her hands as she followed, step by step in the darkness.
“Just come up on all fours like a dog!” Edmund called down to her encouragingly. “Hurry!”
She was grateful when, after a few dizzying turns, a pale shaft of light broke through the darkness to illuminate her final steps. Edmund waited for her at another narrow door, which he had opened a crack. From beyond, a couple of percussive shouts broke the air.
“It’s started,” he hissed. “Crouch down and crawl through. Be careful not to be seen! I’m right behind you!”
Flora felt like a child out to perform some mischief. The balcony upon which they emerged overlooked the wide double-doors of Parliament and the grand staircase that led from the upper floors. It also had the advantage of being secluded from those upper floors. It was accessible only from the narrow stairs they had used to get there and a more proper door further down the way. The balustrade curved to meet the wall just beyond that.
“Charlie’s at the door,” Edmund whispered as he crawled forward. “Keep low so he doesn’t see you.”
The balustrade, a series of squat, ornamental columns topped with a stone handrail, provided the perfect lookout. The guards below, Charlie included, had their attention trained upon the grand staircase. Flora did the same.
A processional of soldiers appeared at the top. They bore on their shoulders a litter upon which sat, with utmost dignity, a figure more regal than any Flora had ever beheld.
“There’s the Prince,” said Edmund needlessly.
It could be no one else.
The Eternal Prince of Lenore was garbed from head to toe in royal robes. An elaborate headdress covered most of his face. Only his eyes showed, and they gazed woodenly ahead as his soldiers carried him down the staircase. Their progress was slow but so stately that Flora hardly noticed how long she stared. The Prince commanded attention. He was almost magnetic to her eyes, such a resplendent figure that she could not bring herself to look away.
She’d heard tales of him, of course, but this was the man in the flesh. She pinched herself to make certain she was not dreaming.
“There’s Viola,” whispered Edmund.
Flora looked to the end of the processional where, indeed, Viola Moreland came last of all. Her pale hair and simple dress were unmistakable. She walked with a quiet dignity. Although she was the only woman in the scene, she seemed to belong perfectly to it. She was lovely and regal in
her own right, reserved as her manner was.
A pang of dismay stabbed at Flora’s heart: never would she be able to match such poise.
But she didn’t want to match it, she recalled. Resolutely she shifted her attention back to the Prince, but only to receive a bone-rattling shock.
His piercing eyes were upon her. Their gazes connected, and Flora’s breath hitched in her throat. In that moment, the distance between them was nothing: he might have held a knife to her throat with much the same effect upon her. Rigid his posture remained. No gestures or sounds did he make. He simply stared—accusingly so, to Flora’s eyes—and she could do nothing but stare back.
The soldiers who bore him arrived upon the ground floor. The Prince abruptly turned his attention to the looming doors of Parliament.
Flora, as though freed from unseen chains, wrenched backward, away from the balustrade.
Edmund’s eyes had been elsewhere throughout this interchange. “What’s wrong?” he asked at her sudden movement.
She couldn’t find her voice to reply.
With a shrug, he resumed his spectating. Presently he reported, “They’re going into Parliament now. Come quick or you’ll miss the end of it.”
Gingerly she crawled forward, careful to keep herself low to the ground as she peered through the ornate columns. The Prince’s back was to her now, but even from this angle he was captivating.
His contingent carried him through the huge double-doors. As the processional passed Charlie’s sentry post, the mesmerizing Prince fluidly extended one hand and dropped something upon the ground, as though casting away a piece of rubbish.
Charlie stooped to pick it up. He examined the object, his body angled to hide it from view.
Foreboding raced up Flora’s spine.
Someone from within called a salute, and the assembly of lords answered with a resounding, “Hail!” The final members of the processional, with Viola last of all, entered the meeting of Parliament, and the sentries shut the large double doors.
“Oh, nuts,” said Edmund. “Charlie’s posted outside. We’ll have to be extra quiet when we go back down. Come on.”
Flora had already retreated to the wall, more than ready to depart. He joined her there, eased open the narrow door, and in they both slipped, to be swallowed by darkness once more.
“Careful as you come,” Edmund called back to her. “There’s a railing cut into the wall—hang onto that, or you might trip and break your neck on the way down.”
Her clumsy hands sought out this help. She gripped it tight as she navigated the descending spiral staircase. Silently she vowed never to let Edmund drag her into anything else as long as she lived.
Toward the end, a thin shaft of light cut through the solid black around her. Edmund had cracked the narrow door on the ground floor to peer into the hall. Flora stopped five steps from the bottom. He beckoned her to follow, and passed outside.
“Ha!” crowed a triumphant voice.
Edmund yelped. A struggled ensued, during which someone kicked open the narrow door. Flora saw two bodies whirl into her line of sight and back out again.
“Lemme go, Charlie!” cried Edmund.
“Say uncle!” his brother retorted.
Edmund’s further cries were muffled. Flora eased down the last few steps and discovered why: the elder brother had pinned the younger to the carpet in what might have been a vicious stance except for the open grin on Charlie’s face.
“Spying on the Prince and Parliament is an act of treason,” Charlie said in a sing-song voice.
Edmund lifted his face to protest, “You cheat! You’re not supposed to leave your post!”
“My post is to guard the halls against intruders, you ninny!’
“Lemme go!”
“Never!”
Out of the corner of his eyes, Edmund caught sight of Flora within the narrow door. “Flora! Help me! Help me!”
The words made Charlie freeze in the act of rubbing his brother’s face back into the carpet. His attention snapped to the open stairwell door, where his horrified gaze met Flora’s.
Immediately he recoiled from Edmund’s prone figure and stood upright. Flora hardly knew what to say at being discovered in such a ridiculous situation. Blood rushed to her face as her scattered mind tried to gather itself again.
The awkward atmosphere broke when Edmund rolled to one side and viciously kicked his brother’s leg. On instinct, Charlie snatched at his collar, but Edmund scrambled away too quickly. Charlie would have chased him, but recollection of their observer in the stairwell arrested his movements.
Silence stretched across the area in the wake of Edmund’s retreating footsteps.
“Miss Dalton,” Charlie said at last, and he straightened his uniform with what dignity he could salvage, “I must admit I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I’m sorry,” said Flora for lack of anything better. “That is, um… I’m surprised to be here.”
“I take it Ed dragged you into his mischief-making?”
She didn’t want to get the youngest Moreland into trouble. “Is it so bad, watching the start of Parliament?” she inquired, a little helplessly. He had spoken to his brother of treason, but it wasn’t as though she and Edmund had really been spying.
“He’s not supposed to be up there, and he knows it. We keep that door locked. You didn’t give him any magic to open it, did you?” he asked suspiciously.
“What? No! He had a key!”
Charlie grunted. “Figures. Well, the Prince slipped me a note that said there was a visitor, but I assumed it was only Edmund. I’m sorry for the…” He made a vague gesture behind him, and then decided to let the matter drop. He straightened and adopted a more formal tone. “What brings you to the palace, Miss Dalton?”
“I came to speak with your sister,” she replied, glad for the change in subject.
“I’m sorry, but she’s with the Prince in Parliament right now.”
“Yes, I know. I mean, Edmund told me. He showed me. That’s why we were on the balcony.”
“I see. Was it anything important you needed to speak to her about?”
She was at a loss how to answer this question. The missing application might not be important at all.
“Is it about the well?” he clarified.
“Oh! No! It’s about the applications. I don’t know whether it’s important or not—that’s why I thought I’d ask her.”
Charlie’s expression turned knowing. “Is there something wrong with her application?”
Flora’s heart sank. So Viola had submitted one after all.
“There is no application for her,” she confessed. “I must’ve lost it when I dropped all the files out in the courtyard—”
“Wait, wait,” said Charlie, and he held up one hand. “You don’t have an application for Viola? Are you sure?”
“I’ve looked,” said Flora helplessly. “It’s not there.”
“That’s impossible. I know Father gave it to her. There’s no way she wouldn’t have turned it in, except… well, this is Viola we’re talking about. What on earth could she be thinking?”
He was talking to himself more than her. Flora remained silent, observant, as Charlie glanced first at her and then back down the corridor to the grand hall.
“We’ll fix this, Miss Dalton,” he said. “I’ll tell Father, and he’ll have Viola complete the application. Better yet, I’ll tell the Prince and he’ll have her complete it. He’ll complete it for her if she balks. We’ll have it to you by the end of the day, I promise.”
“That wasn’t what I—” Flora began, but she caught herself. “I mean, I didn’t intend to cause any trouble,” she quietly amended.
“It’ll cause far more trouble if Viola doesn’t apply,” he said. “Trust me on that one. Thanks for bringing the oversight to our attention. We’ll remedy it as soon as we possibly can.”
It was a very diplomatic dismissal, Flora thought. “Thank you,” she said simply.
&
nbsp; He needed to return to his post at the large double-doors, but he escorted her to the exit first. It took every ounce of Flora’s willpower not to bolt as soon as she caught a whiff of cold air. Mortification rode upon her shoulders as she maintained a respectable pace; by the time she had crossed the palace courtyard and passed through the gates, her desire to flee the palace grounds had all but left her.
Her desire ever to return was nonexistent, of course, but she already knew she wasn’t lucky enough to be getting away for good.
Chapter Eleven: Shades of Malice
I suppose I deserve what I get for allowing someone to lead me around. I hope that Edmund was not scolded, for I’m convinced that it was my presence that gave him away. I doubt I’ll ever be able to look Charles Moreland in the eyes again without reliving my embarrassment of this morning.
At the same time, I don’t entirely regret it. I did get to see the Eternal Prince, after all (what little anyone can see of him, I mean). He wasn’t what I expected. The word “eternal” invokes an ancient image, and all my life I’ve heard how the Eternal Prince has ruled for centuries. I just always pictured him to be hunched with age and covered with wrinkles from head to toe. But he’s not.
Suddenly I understand a little better why girls like Priscilla Irvine (who, insofar as I am able to discern, is the least frivolous of the Frivolous Four) would want to marry him. I thought Georgiana was in it simply for the status it would bring her, but the Prince has a very dignified figure as well. I’m sure now that she took that into account. (I think she even said something to that effect once. I really should pay better attention to those gossipy conversations.)
If we’re speaking of a match for someone so dignified, though, I must say that Viola Moreland suits the Prince’s atmosphere perfectly, even though she’s not as ornate in dress as he is. Poor Will. Viola really suits him perfectly as well. I wonder what she’ll decide.
Viola Moreland’s application made its appearance late that afternoon, as Charlie had promised. In fact, he brought it himself, though he seemed reluctant enough about the task. He could hardly even look Flora in the eyes as he handed over the file along with a few other late-comers. Last of all he produced an extra document for her perusal.
Tournament of Ruses Page 11
