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I found out that afternoon.

A knock rang through the house, and I hurried to open the door. Hubert stood there, glass slipper in hand, Curtis right behind him.

“I have come for Lady Cynthia Elenora,” Hubert intoned blandly.

I bobbed a curtsy. “Please, come in.”

Hubert didn’t move. I stood back a little, and gestured him inside. He still stood stock still. Curtis’ head poked up over his brother’s shoulder.

“He is waiting for you to address him properly,” he said and rolled his eyes.

Inwardly chuckling, I swept my finest curtsy and said very formally, “Your Royal Highness, Crown Prince Hubert of Islandria, would Your Majesty please grace us with your esteemed presence in our humble home?”

Hubert inclined his head. “Indeed.”

Curtis followed after him, still shaking his head. He gave me a one-armed hug as he passed and jerked his head toward Hubert. “What a doofus, am I right?” he said quietly.

I hurried off to get Cynthia. When I came to her bedroom, I knocked softly. “Cynthia?”

“I told you to go away!” she snapped through the door.

“Should I tell your fiancé to go away too?” I asked.

There was a long pause.

“Because he is downstairs waiting for you.”

“I will be right down.”

I went back to the sitting room. Hubert was sitting stiffly upright on a chair, the glass slipper clutched in his hand, and Curtis was reclined back on the sofa, the epitome of relaxed, chatting merrily with Mother. Everyone looked up when I entered, and I relayed Cynthia’s message. Curtis patted the cushion next to him, and I sat next to him. Curtis turned back to Mother, and continued to ask questions about the manor. Mother cheerfully told a story about her childhood here, one of my favorites. She and her sister had climbed out of an upstairs window and dropped things off the roof to see how quickly they would fall. One of the things had been a chicken egg, which landed squarely on the top of a maid’s head as she had opened the door, and she stumbled and dropped what she was carrying, which unfortunately, was the contents of a chamber pot. Curtis laughed easily and remarked that that sounded like something he would have done as a small child.

“Oh, you are limiting that to when you were a small child?” Comfort laughed. “It seems I remember Truly telling me about more than one or two pranks you have pulled in recent years.”

Curtis spread his arms out defensively.

“Pranks are childish and undignified,” Hubert contributed in his monotone voice.

“And fun!” retorted Curtis.

“Such juvenile tomfooleries are unbecoming of a member of the royal family.”

“Tomfooleries?” Curtis hooted. “What, are you going to call them shenanigans next? But no, such vocabulary would be too immature for the future king!”

Hubert looked aloof and gazed intently at the wall straight across from his seat. Mother nervously folded and unfolded her hands. She didn’t like any sort of conflict. Eager to break Hubert’s discomfort, she addressed him directly.

“So, Your Majesty, how is your mother? I wasn’t able to speak with her last night at the ball.”

“Very well, thank you,” said Hubert, and lapsed into silence. Comfort coughed.

“And your father?” Mother asked.

“Also well, thank you for asking.”

Silence loomed over our group again. Curtis stood and jerked the glass slipper out of Hubert’s hands. “This thing is tiny! No one can actually fit their feet into this, can they?” he bent down, slipped his own shoe off, and tried to wedge his toes in. His foot was nearly twice the size of the glass slipper.

“Give it back!” said Hubert angrily, swiping for the slipper. Curtis tossed it to me.

I caught it, kicked off my shoe, and tried to shove my foot in. I managed to wedge four of my toes in, then pretended to walk around in the shoe. “A perfect fit!” I cooed, and Comfort and Curtis snorted. Hubert was turning purple with rage.