While Beauty Slept (11 page)

“Have a care, girl!” he cried out. “Leave some for us to drink!”

My face flushed with embarrassment, I left the wet tray on the trunk and carried the glasses over, serving Prince Bowen first. His hand reached around mine as he took the goblet, imprisoning it for a moment.

“Straight off the farm, are you?” he asked.

The insult stung, but I stared straight down, silent. Better he think me slow than insolent.

“I can feel it in your hands. Rather rough for a lady’s maid.”

Queen Lenore reached for her glass, and I pulled away from Prince Bowen’s grasp.

“One can have both a modest upbringing and gracious manners,” Queen Lenore noted.

“Wise words, and a wise choice. Simple girls are less likely to turn your husband’s head.”

“Is this how you would speak of your brother before his wife?” Queen Lenore asked stiffly.

Prince Bowen laughed. “I beg your forgiveness. Too much time at decadent foreign courts has given me a taste for lewd humor.”

He drained his glass and motioned me to refill his goblet. “Do you know why Ranolf summoned me here with such urgency?”

Queen Lenore’s face tightened. Prince Bowen’s visit had been discussed among the ladies as a social call; this was the first I had heard of the king’s sending for his brother. Apparently the news was a surprise to the queen as well.

“Wives are not privy to all their husband’s decisions,” she said.

“God help us if they were!” Prince Bowen laughed.

We heard footsteps approaching, and a slim young man in a long cloak and muddy riding boots stepped inside.

“Beg your pardon, my lady,” he said with a bow. “My lord, I was sent to inform you that your rooms are ready, if you wish to change.”

“Thank you, Hessler.”

This, then, was Prince Bowen’s valet, Isla’s future husband. I could see how she would have been dazzled by him, with his clear blue eyes and tall, elegant bearing. Were it not for his servant’s livery, I would have mistaken him for a gentleman. His eyes searched the room quickly, then lighted upon Isla, who smiled shyly but with evident pleasure.

Prince Bowen stood from his chair and wagged a finger in my direction. “Enough gawking, miss, my man is already spoken for.” I blushed, mortified at being singled out, and Prince Bowen’s eyes flashed with amusement.

Ducking his head toward Queen Lenore, he said, “I must make myself presentable before Ranolf returns.”

“Until supper, then,” she said, rising to see him off. “Isla, you may take your leave as well. I am sure you and your intended have much to discuss.”

After Prince Bowen strode off, followed by Hessler and Isla, the queen collapsed into her chair, spent of her charm.

“Ladies, you may see to yourselves,” she said. “We must welcome our guest and his men with suitable ceremony tonight.”

The ladies-in-waiting chattered brightly as they left the room, relishing the opportunity to preen before a new group of potential admirers. The queen and I remained alone. She had not moved.

“My lady?” I asked cautiously.

“It has always been this way between us.” She sighed. “Bowen flirts and flatters, yet does everything in his power to lessen my influence with the king.”

“Shall I leave you to rest?”

“Yes. Please tell Lady Wintermale that I am not to be disturbed for the next hour. After that you may help me prepare for this evening.”

“Yes, madam.” I placed the glasses on the tray and picked it up. As I walked toward the door, she called out my name, and I paused.

“How did the prince strike you? Speak plainly.”

Taken aback by her familiarity, I tried to order my thoughts. My immediate reaction was to tell her that Prince Bowen made my skin crawl. But he was the king’s brother. I had to consider my words carefully.

“He appears very confident. A man accustomed to having all eyes upon him.”

“So he is,” said the queen. “Yet he remains a younger brother without a title, and these are treacherous times.”

I was not sure how to respond. Isla and the queen had an easy rapport, but they had grown up together. How could I presume to offer advice to a noblewoman? I simply nodded, my face impassive.

“With no heir, the king and I find ourselves in a precarious position,” she continued. “Bowen is next in the line of succession, and he is young and vigorous. He may covet the title before we are ready to release it.”

My heart sank at the thought of arrogant Prince Bowen ruling over us. But he was the rightful heir.

“Elise, will you inform Mrs. Tewkes that my digestion is unsettled? I would like to be served plain chicken and bread this evening.” She looked so distressed that I wished I could embrace her, the way my mother had comforted me when I was a child. Of course, such an intimate gesture was unimaginable. Queen Lenore was a porcelain figure, to be set on display and admired from afar. She would shatter if I touched her.

She looked up at me with worried, exhausted eyes. “Do not be fooled by the fine manners. At court, enemies hide in plain sight.”

Mrs. Tewkes and the kitchen staff prepared a splendid banquet to celebrate Prince Bowen’s return. I peeked into the Great Hall as the festivities began and was awed by the opulence before me: silver platters piled high with roast quail, cured ham, and other delicacies; cut-glass goblets catching and reflecting the candlelight; the sparkle of gemstones adorning the ladies’ wrists and headdresses. Prince Bowen was huddled with a group of knights, their raucous laughter provoking a frown of disapproval from his aunt Millicent. Wrapped in a voluminous black cape, she was the only woman who had not clad herself in bright colors, and she drew my eye as a raven would amid a gathering of songbirds. Perhaps that was her intention. Millicent was never one to blend meekly into a crowd.

I made my way to the Lower Hall for the servants’ dinner and took a seat beside Isla and Hessler, curious to know more about the man who might one day rule the kingdom.

“Congratulations on your upcoming marriage,” I told him after we had been introduced. “Have you made plans for your wedding?” Though I genuinely wished Isla happiness, I had begun to dread her departure. Without her help, I worried that my clumsiness and ignorance would be on full display.

“We will be saying our vows in a few days,” Isla said. “The queen has made all the arrangements.” The placement of her arm suggested she was touching Hessler’s leg under the table.

“Where will Prince Bowen be traveling next?” I asked.

“He has been courting a daughter of the king of Grenthia, so I imagine he has plans to return there.” Isla turned to Hessler. “Has there been a formal announcement of their betrothal?”

He shook his head quickly. “The girl’s father has objected to the match. We will not be going back.”

I was impressed by his discretion. Gossip is rampant among servants, especially those who bask in the glory of their patron. But I had heard nothing of Prince’s Bowen’s courtship—or his rejection.

Hessler refilled Isla’s wineglass and addressed himself to her. “Have no fear. We’ll be well taken care of. My lord is resourceful.”

It was not long before they were exchanging the affectionate glances and whispers of a couple who wish to converse in private. I finished up my food quickly and returned to the queen’s chamber. As I expected, she had left the Great Hall early, avoiding the post-supper entertainments.

“Madam,” Lady Wintermale was protesting as I entered. “Prince Bowen was preparing to sing a song in your honor. To leave before he has done so . . .”

“I have no interest in Bowen’s false adulation,” Queen Lenore snapped. I had never heard her speak with such bitterness.

Lady Wintermale’s face froze in an expression of scandalized dismay.

Queen Lenore sighed, then waved her hand, pushing her hard words away. “Forgive my outburst. I spoke without thinking.”

“You must not forget they are brothers,” Lady Wintermale said urgently. “Bowen has always been a rogue—I know that as well as anyone, after all my years here. Yet he remains heir to the throne. A situation for which
you
are directly responsible.”

“As I am forever reminded.”

“Hate him if you must, but conceal it with honey. You may depend on his mercy one day.”

Mercy was not a quality I sensed that Prince Bowen possessed. Was that the reason I found myself so uneasy in his presence?

“Please, rejoin the festivities,” Queen Lenore urged. “Make my apologies.”

Lady Wintermale nodded, her silent stare bristling with words unspoken. After she had swept out, I moved away from the wall and asked the queen if she wished to prepare for bed.

“I have asked the king to join me this evening,” she said. The king’s and queen’s bedchambers adjoined each other, connected by a door concealed behind a hanging tapestry. In the weeks I had been an attendant, the king had availed himself of it on only a handful of occasions.

“Shall I fetch a nightdress?” I asked.

Queen Lenore smiled, her expression tinged with sadness. “Alas, it is not that sort of visit. I will receive him as an adviser, not a wife.” She fidgeted with the rings on her fingers, twisting them in circles, and I realized she was nervous. How had it come to this, that the queen was afraid of speaking to her own husband?

She sat in the chair before her dressing table, and I took my place behind her. Carefully, I unclasped her necklace, a three-tiered marvel formed of delicate gold flowers so lifelike they might have been blooms dipped in liquid metal. She smiled when she saw how my gaze lingered upon it.

“It was a wedding gift from my mother,” she said. “I planned to pass it on to my own daughter one day.”

Many maids would have offered false comfort, reassuring their mistress that her prayers for a child would be answered in time. But Queen Lenore valued my honesty. I had no words to lift her melancholy, so I simply took the necklace and placed it gently on her dressing table. Then I released her thick, rich hair from its pins and ribbons. The fashion at court in those years was for hair to be braided and tied in elaborate arrays, but Queen Lenore looked most beautiful when her dark locks hung simply around her face and over her shoulders. Seen like this, without jewelry, she could have been a maid of eighteen rather than a woman who had already passed her thirtieth birthday.

I brushed her hair until it shone, sending both her and me into a trance with the rhythm of the strokes. The knowledge that I was able to release the queen from her cares for these few moments brought a rush of satisfaction, and I smiled at her reflection in the mirror even as her image smiled back at me. The sound of a door opening jolted us both from our reverie, and we turned to see the king walking in, alone. He held up his hand as his wife rose to greet him.

“Sit, sit,” he urged.

She walked to the bed, where the king took a place next to her. His hand lingered a moment on her hair. He must love her still, I thought, if he could touch her so. But his face betrayed no tenderness; he watched Queen Lenore as if she were any other subject come to make a plea before him. I wondered if I should leave the room but did not want to draw attention to myself by asking. In truth, I did not want to go; I was desperately curious to know what Prince Bowen’s return portended for all of us. If power was the true currency at court, as my aunt had warned, then I must know whose hands would command our fates. I slid into the corner behind the dressing table, where my figure would be partly obscured by shadows.

“Forgive me for retiring early,” Queen Lenore said. “I am too tired to join in the revelry.”

“It’s all as it was years ago,” the king said. “Bowen preening before the blushing young ladies as Aunt Millicent scowls with disapproval. You’ve seen it a thousand times before.”

They smiled at each other, understanding flashing between them. I was accustomed to seeing them in public, presenting the united front of rulers joined by marriage. But this was the first time I had heard them speaking a private language of shared memories. It did not seem right that I overhear such a conversation, but they appeared unmindful of my presence. Raised in privilege, both had been surrounded by servants and attendants since birth, never knowing what it was to be truly alone.

“Bowen told me you summoned him,” Queen Lenore said. “I had not known that his visit was your doing.”

The king shrugged. “I’ve told you often enough our situation is precarious. And now Marl deRauley has been heard questioning the line of succession.”

I had not heard the name before, but from the king’s tone this mysterious figure carried some weight in the kingdom.

“Such talk must be stopped, and soon,” the king continued.

“How?”

“Bowen must be acknowledged as my heir.”

Queen Lenore’s fingers picked at the embroidery in her skirt, even as the rest of her body remained still.

“I know he is a man of many vices,” the king said wearily, the weight of the decision evident in his grave expression. “I wish better for my subjects. Still, he is my brother. We have no choice.”

Queen Lenore nodded slowly but her expression did not change. This could not have come as a surprise. I felt a pang of compassion for her plight, knowing that her own failure to conceive a child had brought Prince Bowen to the throne.