“The one who didn’t cry, right?” Alarice asked, absently as she walked side-by-side with Herbert through the halls of the Lician palace. He nodded in reply. The Princess bit her lower lip to suppress a smile as some noble ladies walked up to them. Occasionally, the bolder ones would steal glances at the handsome Deamone guard while he waited patiently. This happened several more times as she was stopped by passing nobles who offered their greetings, support, general well wishes and occasionally (frequently) tedious small talk. It had been her intention to re-join Francois Moreau as soon as possible – but as soon as possible ended up being “You can see him in the morning.” In no small part due to Herbert’s hovering.
“Have you eaten today, Princess?” He’d asked – already heading in the direction of her dining room without hearing her answer. Unlike the dorms at Licia School her quarters in the palace spanned almost an entire floor or the palace. They were second in size only to that of the King and Queen, which actually did span an entire floor. Both were supplied with their own kitchens, bathrooms, a main bedroom as well as those for guests (one of which currently housed Francois himself), studies, dining room, small meeting rooms and shared a large private library, ballroom, greater meeting rooms and other amenities which had thus far escaped her notice.
There was some humor to the fact that some of the doors they passed opened to rooms she had not yet explored. Secretly, she’d been working on her own map of the Palace – which bore less tiresome titles and more functional ones, her greenroom on the first floor bore tiny hearts and the second Protocol room featured rows of “ZzZzZz.” Corridors with portraits of her mother featured neatly stylized skulls and crossbones, hidden in delicate fleur de lis. Of course, there were some rooms she had no intention of opening. Her quarters were those designated for the second-born…her mother’s old rooms, those for the heir, had been offered to her and she had promptly refused. The dead Queen’s memory already haunted her too much for her liking, Alarice didn’t need any more reminders of her. This arrangement suited her much more anyway, her quarters were more intimate and housed fewer staff than any of the other nobles’.
Many of her staff were actually those of Licia school, who did not work during summer breaks. It helped to have familiar faces in the vastness of Court, moreso after a rattle like the one she’d had. She offered her smiles to them as Herbert lead her by the shoulders into a chair. Less than a minute later, a large meal was set on the table before her. Herbert stood idly to the side, checking his nails for imperfections. “Would you care to join me, Herb?” She asked as she speared a selection of vegetables with her fork and ate them. He took one glance at the selection of steamed fish, salad, fruit and chicken and gave a heavy sigh. “I guess.” The Deamone guard replied, as he took the seat next to her and attempted to create a sandwich from the chicken, some bread and the bits of bacon scattered in the salad.
“Why is it always rabbit food?” He muttered darkly, biting into the makeshift sandwich and not bothering to dab the excess from his mouth. “It’s like they want you to starve before you hit the throne. What, are they afraid the crown will be too tight on your head?” The young royal laughed as her guard and friend affectionately ruffled her hair. These were the moments she’d craved – an informal sort of closeness with one of the only people who knew her for whom she was instead of just what she was. They had become fewer and farther apart over time and she knew her upcoming coronation might mean their end entirely. Even now, some of the maids were eyeing the affectionate pair with suspicion. But if there was anything that Alarice did not plan on giving up for the throne – it was her friendship with Herbert.
“I think it’s because it’s neater to eat.” Of course, there was something inherently delicate about a fish fork. “Or maybe bloody steaks aren’t pretty enough?” The outskirts had provided her a fair amount of mixed cuisine and she had to admit sometimes she missed red meat and more flavorful foods. Of course, how would she explain a craving for a hearty Mosh Stew when she had no way of having learned about the mixture of leftover vegetables and discarded fats with small quantities of sliced beef during her “studies?” No. She had to sustain herself on greenery and light meats, insubstantial though they might have been to the Deamone palette. If nothing else the food was helping to ease the shaking of her limbs and the fluttering of her heart. The darklore, which had been mostly dormant over the summer, had begun its teasing whisperings. Most of them about the shirtless man currently residing in one of the guest bedrooms.
“Do you think she’ll accept?”
“If she’s anything like Rob? She’ll probably jump all over it.”
The Princess’s eyes and fork lowered, she wasn’t unaware of the dangers Robert and Herbert faced on a daily basis because of her. But Eirian Lindval was around her age, as far as she knew. “Is it wrong? To offer it to someone that young…” But she stopped herself before the thought went on. She knew exactly how old Herbert’s mother had been when she started working as a handmaiden.
“Assuming she’s competent? She knows what she’s getting into. Of course, none of it would be necessary if they’d just get the damn sticks out of the…”
“Shhh!” The Princess admonished, before thanking the servants who removed their empty plates and replaced them with a selection of deserts. “Language, Mr. Dubhan, really!”
Herbert just snorted at the airy tone she’d taken for the benefit of the staff. When they’d gone, he reached across her and picked up a chocolate éclair. It was gone in two bites before she’d even begun on the fruit tart she’d selected. Over the last of their meal the Princess inquired into how he’d spent his vacation (“In Bed.”) and remarked that she hoped there were not too many scandals for the crown to pay off. “Looking after my reputation, little dove?”
The rest of the day was a flurry of paperwork, some of which was so tedious that she was half-sure it was unnecessary and that Herbert was just trying to keep her mind occupied. Some documents she rejected, what need did she have for a back to school party at court, did the royal gardens need another five dozen small trees along the pathways? Others were actually legitimate concerns; she needed to review the Royal Guard before she left – it was a twice yearly tradition that ceremonially cemented the royal’s place at the head of the military. With only a week left for school – she agreed with the proposal that the event take place in two days’ time. By the time the stack was gone and she had time to look out the gilded window it had grown dark outside. Blowing air between her lips like a disgruntled child, she slid down on the great plush chair in her study and removed her gloves. Underneath them, her fingernails still had some remnants of dirt.
“Herb?” She called out, only to find that he was already standing behind her. “All done?” He grinned down, gathering the papers and passing them off to a waiting maid. “Yes.” The young royal replied primly as she stood and walked to another maid, whom she asked to prepare a bath for her. Even if Alarice had been allowed to draw her own bath – the materials used for it remained hidden in one of the many unexplored rooms. It was only seconds later that the maid re-appeared, informing her that the bath was ready for her. “Herbert, can you please see to it that my greenroom was otherwise untouched when they returned the Calabar?” He would know she didn’t trust anyone else in her one sanctuary in the gilded world of Court. “If I’m done (with what, she did not specify) I’ll be in my room.”
The bath, as usual was heavenly. The water was infused with gardenia and jasmine oils; the scents of which clung to her skin as she dried off. It had been quite a journey from having to have attendants PRESENT while she bathed (what if she slipped and fell?!) to them merely joining her when she rang the bell to inform them she dressed and was ready for them to help her with the long mane of a Lician noble. She’d never allowed them to dress her again post puberty – that had been too drastic a line for her to let them cross. After picking the simplest of the offered nightgowns, she sat and let them dry her hair, comb it free of any tangles and help her braid it off to the side.
Herbert wasn’t outside the door when she was done and a thought struck her. Her head cocked high, she informed the guards to tell Herbert she’d be “where she told him” (she had said she’d planned to visit Francois Moreau…he’d just denied the request). The bowed and didn’t protest when she walked in the opposite direction of her room and towards the bedroom where Francois Moreau was resting.
There was a chair in the hall that she immediately recognized as belonging to Francois’ room. Two guards stood in front of the door, one appearing to snore and the other looking off in the distance. Whatever reservations courtiers might have had about attending to the third realmer, she’d thought she could trust the guards to be steadfast and loyal. He’d saved her life – they should have shielded his too. The bored one woke the other upon seeing her and both men fell to the knee.
“Why is this here?” She asked motioning to the chair.
“The…chair, Princess?”
“Yes. Why is it not in the room? And where is the rest of the furniture”
“…We…had the furniture removed from the hall, Majesty. We did not think it would be needed…”
With a soft sigh, Alarice tried to calm her temper. A maid walked down the corridor and stopped to bow and ask if “your majesty needs me, for anything?”
“Yes. Please take note…”
Quietly, the Princess entered the room, behind her the maid had pulled out a small pad and a pencil. Her eyes flickered and her head lowered at the sight of Francois’ assistant before moving over to his master. Francois laid in the bed, sweating, groaning and struggling in his sleep. “How long has he been like this?” She asked the assistant, who said nothing. His silence befuddled her, but not as much as the fact that he was standing in the corner of the room – looking more than a little uncomfortable.
“Has Mr. Moreau’s assistant been standing here the entire time?”
“He refused to leave, Princess.”
“Yes…naturally. I was referring to the lack of bed.”
“There’s a chair…highness.”
“Indeed. Please have a bed brought immediately, as quietly as possible.”
The maid nodded and jotted down the note, following it up with the rest of Alarice’s commands.
“Also, please send for medicines from Dr. Sewe ask her for Essence of Ziziphus as well. Arrange for some food to be brought, something easy and plain and something else for Mr. Moreau’s assistant – preferably something palatable to a Deamone palate. ”
As she’d spoken, she’d walked up to Francois and had laid her hand gently on his forehead. He was burning hot and the saline solution that dripped the fever medicines into his system was all but empty.
“Ah yes…Please find and ask Mr. Dubhan to investigate the identity of the nurse that was left in charge of Mr. Moreau and have him dismiss her. …That will be all.”
With a deep bow, the maid left Alarice alone with Francois Moreau and his assistant. She could hear the maid whispering to the guards and one of them departing, while the other peered protectively inside. Her attention wasn’t on him anyway, rather, it was on the man experiencing a deeply troubled sleep beside her. Carefully, she bent over him and placed a hand on his chest.
“Mr. Moreau…? Mr. Moreau?” He stirred beneath her touch. Very quickly, his cat-yellow eyes snapped open and looked up at her. Underneath her fingertips, she felt the muscles of his chest ripple and the pressure of him trying to sit up – still half asleep.
“Francois…” She made a soft shushing noise, brushing the hair away from his forehead. “It’s okay. Everything is all-right now…” The cloudiness of sleep left his gaze and finally he stopped trying to push himself up. His smile brought color to her cheeks and his voice caused a rumbling sensation beneath her fingertips.
“…Princess. You…came back.”
“I’m sorry to wake you, Mr. Moreau, But you seemed to be having some….restlessness.”
It was the most pleasant way she could think to mention nightmares. They were all too familiar companions of hers – she didn’t want to intrude on his. He nodded his head in understanding and she removed her hand from the bare skin of his chest. It was slightly damp with sweat and a small frown crawled onto her face as she realized that the sheets were the same ones that had been on the bed as he’d been treated; they were dirty, blood and sweat no doubt soaked into the crisp white silk.
“Can you stand? I’d like to change your bed sheets and I’ve some food coming.”
Although he nodded and agreed, she was vastly grateful for the speed with which Francois’ attendant helped her hold the stranger up. Together, they settled him down onto the chair. Moving deftly, she pulled the dirty silk off the bed and pillows, folding them neatly and setting them aside before pulling out fresh ones from the armoire in the room. As a child, her head of household had always made her make her own bed. It was not a skill she’d had to use again in a long time – but she was satisfied to find she could still manage to leave it crisp and lineless. So engrossed in her task was she that it took her a second to process Francois Moreau’s words.
“I’m not used to being this…in need of assistance, I’m truly sorry for all the trouble.” Inside, her darklore laughed and she cracked a sympathetic smile. “Mr. Moreau…you saved my life. There is no way you could trouble me. In fact, I’ve been meaning to ask…why did you come?” In neat, short movements, she slipped the pillows into new cases. Absently, she added on “And if there is anything I could do for you, please name it.”
“I came to offer my support. I suppose…it isn’t of much consequence; loyalty from someone like me hardly means much—but having been given the honor of speaking with you, I know now more than ever I want to give it. All I can ask is that you accept it.” Alarice wondered if Francois Moreau knew just how much like him she was. The thought brought touch of sadness to her eyes and she let herself process it before replying, retreating to the mechanical act of layering another clean sheet and then a comforter on top of it. Her eyes wandered over the finished product – Mathilde would have been proud.
“Prince Dwayne once said that the loyalty of one man meant more than the falsity of a thousand.” Smiling at Francois Moreau came easily as the thought completed itself. It was nice to be able to quote her father without having to fear Orion’s conflicted gaze…Or at least, that was what she told herself as her eyes locked with his. “Mr. Moreau no one who pledged their support to me could ever be of no-consequence. I am honored to receive, “someone like you.” to court.” Heat flushed throughout her face as she noted the slight mental slip-up. Unconsciously, she tried to cool her face by brushing her fingertips along it in the guise of correcting a stray strand of hair. “to the Court…I mean”
The bareness of her hands reached her notice around the same time as it apparently reached Francois’. His question was (thankfully) interrupted by the arrival of her requests – first the furniture, then the food and medicines. She was glad that they had arrived after she’d finished changing the sheets – though the maids flashed her the quickest of glances as they collected the discarded ones. Trying to maintain an aura of control, she took a seat besides Francois on the recently-returned chair. The staff looked at her, then to Francois, then his assistant, than her again. The disdain was practically written out on their foreheads.
“Mr. Dubhan will be joining me shortly.” She smiled, waving her hand in Orion’s signature sign of dismissal. Out of the corner of her eye she watched as Mr. Moreau’s attendant enjoyed his meal, his silence a curiosity to be remarked upon at a later date. Ever-more conscious of her bare hand now, she felt her cheeks flush as she brought it up to his forehead. Still warm, too warm. The needle of a more immediate-acting version of the fever medication was prepped and slipped into his arm with his thanks. She nodded mutely and then began to mix the Ziziphus into Francois’ own meal. But his gaze was not on her, or even fully in the room as far as she could tell. She said nothing – some things were better left unsaid.
His distaste at being fed like a child bemused her, but only in a nostalgic sense. How many times had an injured (arguably due to his own foolishness) Malek done the same? The task was performed with the expertise she owed it – each tablespoon carefully measured and cooled. She was silent for the most part, her eyes remaining demurely on the bowl and on his lips – cheeks still reddened at the sight of her bare hands (which suddenly seemed as scandalous as a bared anything-else.) Thankfully, the flush had subsided by the time Herbert stepped into the room. The glint of fury in his eyes told her she was in for it later, but even he knew better than to disturb the scene before him with his over-protective anger.
“Is everything all right, Princess?” He murmured into her ear. She smiled and nodded in response, her eyes flickering to Francois who was already starting to look a little drowsy.
“I’ll be outside the door. And we’ll…speak…then.” His hand came up to rest on her shoulder in a gentle pat, she covered it with her own and gave it a squeeze before he stepped out of the room. Rather than be able to fully enjoy Francois company – she was interrupted once again, this time by Robert. He was more alarmed than Herbert had been at the fact that his charge was alone with two men. But his displeasure only showed in the line of his mouth and the presentation of a gold-brocade robe and gloves. His knowing look shamed her enough that, when it was time to put Francois to bed, she slipped them on before laying a hand on the handsome stranger.
“Good night, Mr. Moreau.” She all but whispered as he was tucked in. With surprising ease, muscle memory was a wonderful thing, she collected the discarded dishes and medical implements. “And to you, Sir.” She murmured to his assistant before slipping out of the room. Waiting for her outside were both Herbert, Robert, the two guards other than the ones who had been originally assigned to the post and the same maid as before (who insisted on taking the dishes with a an aghast expression at the sight of her Princess holding them.) Leaving her and the two guards behind, she, Robert and Herbert headed back down the corridors towards her own chambers. Once they were far enough away that they could speak without disturbing anyone – well…
“The next time you sneak off again…”
“I didn’t sneak off! I told you I would be attending to Mr. Moreau later.”
“And I told you you’d be attending to him tomorrow.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
Robert’s disapproval was both more severe and much more silent. Her lips pursed and she sighed out an apology to both men (which neither seemed to accept wholeheartedly.) Trying to change the subject she turned around and walked backwards so as to be able to face the two.
“So…” She began coyly, fingering the end of her braid. “How was Miss. Lindval?”
Herbert let out a whoop of a laugh and immediately covered his mouth with his hand; only revealing it again when he’d settled it down to a teasing grin. “Ah yes, Robert. How was she?” Robert paused walking just enough to show he’d been thrown off guard – a costly mistake in the presence of his two dark haired companions. They exchanged eager glances and each wrapped an arm around Robert’s shoulders.
“Did she agree?
“Did she recognize you?”
“Did you recognize her?”
“What does her mother look like?”
“Wh…what does…that….” Robert’s mouth hung slightly ajar, frowning in confusion in the general direction of the Princess – who only burst into laughter at his reply. “I hardly think that would play a role in her ability to fulfill her duties.”
“Now, now.” Herbert chuckled. “I think you can afford to be a little pickier than that! I happen to believe looks are very important in the fulfillment of…duties.”
“You’re mistaken, Herbert.” Robert replied, bewildered. “A soldier only need be dutiful, prepared, capable and honorable…physical appearance plays no role in the appointment of Miss. Lindval to the task…”
“You still haven’t said whether or not she accepted.”
“I haven’t?” Herbert snorted and the Princess shook her head deftly. “Forgive me, highness. Yes. She has consented to be reviewed.”
“It shall have to be a most thorough review, wouldn’t you say Robert?”
“Y..yes. Of course…”
“Will you be taking part in the review, tomorrow?”
“Yes, Princess. I believe I shall be one of many.”
“Easy tiger! I thought she was young? 18, right? And you want the entire council to take part? I think we’ll just hang back and let you handle her…”
“Why would that be necessary?” Robert asked. “She’s perfectly able to handle herself and the small council…”
The three of them were now standing just outside of Alarice’s bedroom. The Princess remained outside, biting down on her lower lip to suppress a laugh while the two older men swept her room. Deciding to take it easy on her Lician guard, Alarice bid the two men good night and settled into her bed after what had proven to be a long day. Behind the shut doors, she could hear Herbert and Robert continuing to chatter. The sound had become a comforting one and she fell asleep to it; a smile playing on her lips.