Page 7

Eventually, the stubs of the candles began to burn out, and Curtis walked me to my room. As the sounds of the laughter and music from the ballroom grew fainter, I became acutely aware of just how tired I was. “Your dancing has improved,” I told Curtis teasingly. “My feet aren’t even sore this time around.”

“And you have always been a good dancer,” replied Curtis sincerely.

We reached my family’s quarters, and Curtis inclined his head formally to kiss my hand. “Lady Truly, until we meet again.”

CHAPTER 6

The days fell into a comfortable rhythm as the months went by. I continued to tutor younger students when not traveling as a member of the foreign delegations. With my earnings, I purchased a horse—a beautiful black mare that I named Storm. Even with all my duties, I still managed to find time each day to ride and groom her.

Curtis and I, when not in lessons together, would ride horses, practice archery, or simply go on long walks around the grounds, discussing everything from childhood memories to pressing matters of state. We frequently played practical jokes on castle staff, though Hubert was also a common target as well. His stuffy, pompous ways were tolerated by all—being the heir to the throne came with certain privileges—but everyone liked to see him riled up when Curtis poked fun at him.

At night before bed, my father would tell our family animated stories. Most children stop getting bedtime stories around ten years old, but it was different with my father. Everyone loved listening to him. He was the best storyteller I knew and could make each tale come alive so that I felt as if I was living the story as it unfolded. He would impersonate voices with impressive accuracy, create a whole world with his words, and would hold us all spellbound as he spoke, often for more than an hour at a time. If he hadn’t become the Chancellor of the Exchequer, he would have made a wonderful bard.

As an official court linguist, I was often sent to Avivia, always accompanied by Father. Hubert would occasionally come with us. Any voyage that involved Hubert was tedious and dull at best, as he sat formally and straight-backed in his seat, speaking only when necessary and after a great deal of thought. Hubert would only stay at the finest of inns and would remain aloof from the innkeepers and servants scurrying around to serve him. He deemed it prudent to have a certain amount of distance between himself and the common class of people. I kept a close watch anytime Hubert and Aria were near each other, but far from the flirty teasing I would expect to see from a betrothed couple, they seemed to tolerate each other at best.

Formal negotiations involving Hubert were rarely productive. Hubert was always convinced that his way was the only right way and would never bargain or deviate in the slightest from his proposal. It was frustrating for both the foreign delegates and embarrassing for our own.

Eventually, I suggested to Father that Curtis come in Hubert’s stead. Father brought the proposal to the Council, who agreed. The following journey to Avivia was resoundingly successful. Negotiations went forward quickly and fairly and with a great deal of jokes. Curtis and I would listen to the bard for as long as he was performing in the evenings, no matter how tired we were.

Everyone in our company preferred having Curtis along. Instead of staying at remote and upscale inns, Curtis would stop at small villages and mingle with the commoners, insisting on purchasing meals from the humblest of homes and trinkets from every tiny shop. By the end of our stay, most village members had at least one silver coin, and would bow us out of town, waving scarves and calling out “Long live Prince Curtis!”

After each return from Avivia, I found myself looking forward more and more to the balls. Comfort was always the girl who turned the most heads and had the most invitations to dance. Mother and Father would waltz together in such perfect unity they were often called upon to lead the dances. My dancing skills were not nearly up to the standard of Comfort or Mother, but Curtis was getting better all the time, and we would whirl across the floor with dizzying speed, or else sneak out of the ballroom to slide down the long banisters in the entrance hall.

One afternoon found Curtis and I racing our horses across the fields, trying to leap them over hedges and narrow streams. As we reached the outer stone wall, the furthest point from the castle while still remaining on the grounds, we reined in our steeds. Curtis’ stallion had beaten my mare. Again. I wasn’t surprised—his horse had a pedigree just as long as Curtis did.

We dismounted, and I fed Storm a few sugar cubes from my skirt pocket. “Good job, girl! We will get them next time.” I rubbed her nose and patted her neck. She and Pooter began grazing while Curtis and I plopped down on the grass. Pooter’s real name was actually Xanatas the Twelfth, named after a famed ancestor’s horse, and the name had been passed down through the generations.

Curtis had declared to me that Xanatas the Twelfth was a dreadful name for any horse, let alone his horse, and had rechristened him Pooter because of his frequent flatulence. You would think that hundreds of years of trying to achieve the ideal horse would have resulted in one with fewer episodes of passing gas, but it was not to be. In public however, Curtis would revert to the pedigreed name. Queen Evelyn had nearly fainted when Curtis once let slip what he had dubbed his horse.

“Your birthday is next week,” I told Curtis, making sure to sit far away from Pooter and his dangerous hindquarters. “What do you want?”

Curtis shrugged. “I don’t need anything. Mother and Pops always give me some boring, ceremonial gift with some history attached. You know, the sword of my great-great-great-great grandfather who fought during the Second Avivian Rebellion, or a ring that my great-great-great-great-great uncle during his coronation.”

“Oh come one,” I wheedled. “With all those boring presents, you must have something that you want.”

Curtis shook his head. “What would I ask for?” he asked. “I have everything I need and many more things I don’t need or really even want.”

It was true. As prince, he lacked nothing. But I wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Sixteen is a big birthday. I want to get you something. Or I could make you something!”

Curtis raised his eyebrows at me. “You aren’t thinking of cooking again, are you?” he asked. “That wouldn’t be much of a gift.”

“Hey, you be nice!” I teased, pushing him over into the grass. The previous year, I had managed to convince the pastry chef to allow me into the kitchen to make Curtis a birthday cake. The result had been disastrous—a soupy concoction that refused to bake correctly and tasted terrible.

“I will only be nice if you promise to never cook for me again,” Curtis snickered mischievously. “I would have to get a new taste tester after every meal if you were the chef.”

“I don’t remember your culinary skills being anything to brag about,” I shot back. “It seems like you burned, what was it again? Water?” Father had told a story recently about one of the hunting trips that the men in the castle had gone on, during which time Curtis had been in charge of boiling water, but forgotten about it and boiled away all the water and burned the pot.

Curtis put his hands up, admitting defeat. “I guess it is a good thing I am a prince and have people to cook for me, or I would shrivel up and die of starvation.”

Undeterred, I went back to our original topic. “You still haven’t said what you want for your birthday. A fine outlook it would be for your best friend to not give you anything for the big sixteen!”

“Why is sixteen such a big number to celebrate?” he asked curiously.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems like it.” That wasn’t entirely true. I had been looking forward to my sixteenth birthday because Father said his daughters couldn’t be courted until age sixteen, but I didn’t want to tell Curtis that part. People already mistook us for a couple often enough.

“Okay then,” he said casually, and flipped the bill of my riding cap down. I righted it and pushed him again, but before he fell, he grabbed my wrist and I was half pulled over him as he rolled onto the grass. I snatched my wrist back, suddenly shy about being too close to Curtis.

“If you are going to fight me, m’lady, I would suggest you improve your wrestling skills!” Curtis laughed at me.