Page 10 of The Ostler's Boy

T he Palace was in a desperate fit of panic, but all its pieces moved diligently in anticipation of the evening’s affair. The Prince’s army of footmen saw to my every luxury except control and to the extent that I had no choice but to nearly fall asleep on my feet from pure boredom. A loud, frustrated grunt broke my would-be slumber—Josie’s.

I listened for a second longer to pinpoint it in the foyer, but as I waded toward it, she whined and grew frightened.

“Oh! Oh! Oh, no!” she cried.

I hurried to see her teeter beneath a large heap of silk. The bundle vowed to swallow her. She struggled to keep the fabric off the ground, snatching at its tails and ends every few moments. I reached out to attempt to aid her–

“Steady on!” someone else said.

A shape emerged from the other side. Lord Evergreen. He took the mountain from my maid, then held his free arm out for her to discover her balance again.

“Miss Jocelyn, correct?” he asked. “There you are. I think I caught you just in time.”

He and I instantly locked eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” Jocelyn replied. She breathed relief and shook out her hands. “I almost lost it; if not for– Beg my pardon, sir. How do you know my name?”

Finally, he broke my gaze to find hers. “Your name?” he asked. “We’ve met.”

“We’ve met?” she checked.

“Yes. Er. I was standing next to His Highness when you met him,” he said.

“I see,” she said. “I’m so very sorry for my misplacement of that moment.” Through semi-flushed cheeks, she added, “How kind of you to remember my name then, sir,” and offered him a curtsy.

“A person is not hard to remember,” he said. Then he found my face again.

Miss Josie began to apologize a second time but then stopped and looked between us.

“What?” he asked her.

She shook the thought, whatever it was. “Just my apologies, sir,” she said. She tried to take the fabric back, but he swung his body barely out of her reach.

“I said I’ve got it,” he said.

“Thank you.”

“Where does this thing go?” he asked.

“Miss Jocelyn.” My mouth was oddly dry; I nearly coughed her name out. “Is that what I think it is?” I asked.

She nodded.

Cyrus said, “I’ll head to the dining room if you wish to follow.”

We paused.

“The dining room, sir?” Josie asked.

“It’s for the party, yeah?” he asked.

“Yes, but–”

“Where else would you put a tablecloth?” he asked.

“A what?” I scoffed at that. “Are you quite serious?”

Jocelyn snickered, then covered her mouth at my despair. She dropped her eyes.

“What did I say?” Lord Evergreen asked. Abruptly, he looked over my shape and then took a moment to say, “Your Highness, you look well.”

“I look well?” I asked. “In what manner, sir?”

He didn’t answer right away. His moody dark eyes glinted toward the ceiling, then back to mine, and as I hated how striking they were to find, over and over again, he said, “Your dress, I suppose. I like the color.”

“My dress looks well?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied.

“But not my gown?” It was an accusation.

“What?” he asked. He shook his head. “Did I not just compliment it?”

Lord Evergreen had the nerve to seek Josie’s confirmation. She looked away.

“My dress, yes,” I said. “But we are speaking of my gown.” He looked confused. “The one you are holding, sir. The one you’ve called a tablecloth.”

His mouth parted with hesitation. Then he pinched one of the garment’s finely manicured cords. “This? This is a gown? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” I said. “It’s a gown. My gown for the ball this evening. Obviously.”

I rolled my eyes and said Josie’s name in the sternest tone. She cleared her throat and directed the lord down the hall, but not toward the dining room, to my bedchamber. We followed him.

“You’re headed to the Rose Suite,” she explained while I fumed.

Lord Evergreen confirmed it with a muttered response, something that sounded like just the room again. As he walked, the flowers upon my gown’s skirt glittered across its ivory, precisely as they had in the tailor’s hand, and for it, I did not know why its existence was such a baffling concept for him to grasp.

I tried to move around him to grab the door, but he was too broad an obstacle. He tried to open it himself, despite his hands wound up into the fabric.

“Sir!” I said. “Sir, just–”

Finally, I snaked into the port and propped it open.

“If you would be so kind, you may deposit my gown onto the bed as quickly as possible, then go on about your way.”

“Miss Svana,” Josie whispered.

“With respect, Princess,” Cyrus replied. His tone readied me for anything but. “This thing weighs more than you do. I am moving as quickly as possible.”

I frowned. “How?”

“How? It’s heavy,” he said. “About as heavy as its pattern is bold.”

“No, how do you know what I weigh?” I dared.

He didn’t bother to answer me. He made a soft sound, some sort of concealed distress; then I watched him step one foot after the other at a rate slower than molasses might slide off a hill.

“How close am I?” he asked.

“To the bed or to my death?” I asked.

“Miss Svana,” Josie said again. I scowled at her; she flashed her brow back.

“You’re not close,” I told him. “And pray, what do you mean by bold? Bold bad or bold good?”

“Just bold,” he said with a bit of a pant. “Am I closer now?”

“Barely,” I gave.

Jocelyn touched my arm. I frowned harder at her, but she insisted, gently nudging me behind him to help the lord maneuver. I complied, placing my fingers to his shoulder in an attempt to guide him.

He jolted, nearly losing the dress, and both Josie and I had to leap to help him hang onto it.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

Cyrus sighed. “Yes, fine.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “It was just my hand.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he said.

I touched him the same way; his back completely tensed.

“It’s just my hands,” I told him.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“Let me help you,” I said.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, but I’m already giving it,” I replied.

“And I’m–”

“You’re dropping it again!” Josie cried. She shoved the gown back into its center.

“Fine,” Lord Evergreen relented, taking a breath. “Fine. Help.”

“Was that so hard?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Well, I’m not going to help if–”

It began to slip. Josie pushed me toward it, and together, we caught the thing another time.

“We’re almost there,” she said.

“We are?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “But I thought it would encourage you both to collaborate.”

“Lovely,” Cyrus said.

“It’s not as though–” Josie breathed through his nose, “your bickering is helpful in nature… Your Highness. Sir.”

“You’re probably on to something,” Cyrus said.

“Don’t encourage her,” I muttered.

A second later, my knee banged into the base of the bed. I yelped, releasing the lord’s body to grab for my wounded limb, and in the process, he lost control of the dress, and it toppled over, thankfully, onto the comforter and not onto poor Josie for all of her concern.

He exhaled, making a point to turn and look at me.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Am I alright?” I jeered my hands at my knee. “No! Obviously!”

Jocelyn came and urged me to sit.

“Let me look at it,” she said. “Are you bleeding?”

We bundled my skirt high enough for her to see just above the wound. When Lord Evergreen did not turn to avert his eyes, I loured at him.

“Ahem.”

He quickly complied, finding something else to focus on, but then I watched him settle the hem of his shirt a couple of times, and I felt a strange seizure inside my chest. Something sinister made me say, “Are you well, my lord?”

Josie choked, which prompted me to pause and reevaluate the taunt.

“I’m just asking if he is well,” I told her.

She pulled her bottom lip into her mouth, but she said nothing.

“What? Is my leg so mangled?” I asked, trying to see.

Cyrus looked himself. When he was caught, he cleared his throat, and Miss Josie covered me again.

“No mangling here, Your Highness.” She stood and curtsied for the lord. “A minor bruise. No need to start the doctor. Thank you for carrying that, sir. You saved me quite the hassle and, apparently, an injury.”

“Yes, praise Lord Evergreen,” I muttered.

“The Rose Suite, huh?” he asked, perhaps impressed. “Quite the honor. This was his mother’s room, in case you didn’t know.”

“I knew,” I declared.

He nodded.

I was bothered by his observation. Why did Lord Evergreen even care what honors I was bestowed?

“Good,” he said. “He told you? Or?”

“Yes, he told me, and?” I asked.

“And nothing,” he replied.

“Good,” I said. “Goodbye then, Lord Evergre–”

“It’s just that no one’s stayed there in some time,” he noted.

“Again, I’ll say yes, and?” He didn’t answer swiftly. “And?” I pressed.

“Just a sweet gesture is all,” he said.

“Sam told me the woman of the house stays here. Should it not belong to me?” I asked. “And what of it if it were sweet? Should my husband not be sweet to me?”

Then he frowned.

“It was a beautiful gesture,” I declared.

Josie slipped between us, a fabric brush in her hand. Her voice was sing-songy. “Don’t mind me. Just need to tend to this.”

I stepped back, and so did the lord. We didn’t speak; we only watched Miss Jocelyn as she swept the gown a few times back and forth.

“It looks better spread like that,” Cyrus said.

“Come again?” I asked.

“Your gown,” he said. He even pointed to it. “It looks better in its totality rather than balled up. Like it was before.”

“Do you think so?” I asked. “It doesn’t look like a tablecloth?”

He shrugged. “Does it matter what I think?”

“I suppose not, no,” I said. “Anyway, thank you.”

“Thank me?” he asked.

“For carrying the gown,” I said. “What else should I be thanking you for?”

“Ah. Right. Nothing of it.” There was another pause. “Farewell then,” he said.

He headed toward the door. Some fiendish excitement possessed my arms, and I caught him by one of his before he touched the knob.

“Wait!” I cried compulsively.

He looked down at it, and I let go.

“But if it did matter?” I asked. “What, uh, what would you say?”

Cyrus cocked his head. “You care what I think of your gown, Your Highness?” His voice was lower than it had been, and the way he searched my face….

“I mean.” A thousand bees swarmed my stomach. “I mean, you’re Sam’s confidant, are you not?” I asked. “Do you think he will like it?”

“The Prince?” He looked at the bed.

Josie spoke next. “I’m not sure Lord Evergreen would know that, Miss Svana,” she said.

“Why wouldn’t he?” I asked. “They’re friends.”

“Men hardly speak of such things,” she explained. “Not when there is so much else to discuss. Now, if we could find a lady that Sam was close with, we might draw a closer answer.”

“Of course, they talk about fashion,” I dared her. She wasn’t convinced, so I shelved my hand at Cyrus to emphasize his clothes. “Look at him, Jocelyn. Look at the Prince. Sam wears his body weight in rings, and Lord Evergreen is perpetually expecting royalty! See?”

Cyrus laughed. “I’m in a palace,” he said.

“What?” I asked.

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m dressed to expect royalty because I’m in a palace,” he said slower.

“Ah,” Josie said. She tapped the hilt of the brush to her other hand. “Then you do discuss fashion, and I am mistaken, sir. I see you don’t need my help either. So never mind me at all.”

“Well?” I asked the lord.

“Well, what? Will Sam like your tablecloth?” he asked.

“Yes!” I cried. “My god, it’s like pulling teeth from you, isn’t it?”

“She means that politely,” Josie hummed.

“No, I do not,” I said, but at the same time, I sighed. “I mean, yes, of course. Of course, I meant it politely. It’s just… Do you like it? Or do you think the Prince will like it? Or have I wasted my time with it all? Will I offend everyone with such a disaster? I can’t do that! I’ll be the laughing stock of all of Chalke and–”

“I like it,” he said.

“You liar!” I cried.

“Now I’m a liar?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not. I like it. It’s… It’s very elegant.”

Josie went between us another time to the armoire and then back with shoes as she compared the color to the skirt. She said, “You will be the talk of the ball, Your Highness. Not the joke. I’m sure of it, and I’m quite certain the Prince will not be able to look at anyone but you.”

“I don’t know about that,” I replied, ringing the back of my neck and still internally begging for it to be true. “Do you think so?”

“Of course,” she said. “Don’t you agree, my lord?” she asked.

We both sought his response.

He said, “…There will be no face so fair for miles.”

Then I met his deep, steely eyes another time.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he begged. “I do have somewhere to be.”

“Yes. Of course,” I said. I straightened. “Thank you.”

Lord Evergreen left before I could offer anything more to my gratitude and before I could apologize for keeping him for it. And before I could acknowledge his comment about my fairness, which disrupted me too devotedly.

No face, so fair for miles. I asked about my dress.

For a fleeting moment, I forgot what it was that terrorized me about Lord Evergreen in the first place. I thought only about the way he struck the dummy form—the way his body bent with every attack. Then my throat was parched, but then! Then his stupid market lies stole my praise.

Angry, I chased Lord Evergreen’s waning shadow, my heels clicking after him into the hall.