-oOo-
The last 3 months had been hideous beyond belief. Tailors, shoemakers, dancing masters, lessons in the more extreme forms of Court etiquette (and Maker help anyone who ever dared suggest instituting any of that nonsense at his Court), and of course all the usual day to day running of an entire country, which by rights should be receiving all of his attention.
All this followed by several days on a ship in dreadful weather. In order to get to Orlais in time for the Rite of Spring, they had been forced to take one of the first ships to make the run after winter ended. Alistair winced at the memory. Thank the Maker he hadn't been seasick, but it seemed at times that he was the only one. With a full complement of the King's Own Guards and servants, all throwing their guts up, things had got messy, smelly and downright ugly.
After that, it came as rather a shock to the system to be installed in a set of apartments in the Imperial palace that the word 'sumptuous' didn't even begin to describe.
He'd attended a formal presentation with the Empress, and felt he'd brushed through it fairly well on the whole, and hadn't looked too provincial. The woman was incredibly regal (Anora would have given her eye-teeth to have that bearing and manner), and beautiful in a cold, emotionless, utterly terrifying kind of way. He felt a reluctant respect for Cailan for even considering making a marriage alliance with her.
There had been a sticky moment when one of the courtiers tried to denounce Leliana as a traitor and have her arrested; for one horrible moment years of training had taken over, and he had instinctively reached for a sword that wasn't there. Fortunately Eamon had stepped in and made it clear that Leliana was by birth a Ferelden citizen, and now a Royal Advisor, and causing an incident would be a Bad Thing.
Now, Alistair stood at the head of a huge sweeping staircase, wearing clothes finer and more elaborate than any he had ever owned, groomed to within an inch of his life, and desperately wishing he was elsewhere. As the guest of honour at the Spring Ball, he apparently had to stand here and have the guests presented to him as they arrived.
His face hurt from smiling. And he was running out of compliments.
-oOo-
"Her Imperial Highness Princesse Violetta and Mademoiselle Henriette d'Arlesans," intoned the herald.
Alistair found himself faced with a dowager in an imposing turban with the haughtiest mien and coldest eyes he'd yet seen, and a pale slender and immaculate blonde girl who had not yet raised her eyes from the floor. He felt a pinch on the back of his arm; the signal from Leliana which meant that this was one of what Eamon kept calling 'the Candidates'.
He remembered to bow first to the older woman, who swept a flawless curtsy, and held out her hand with a smile that in no way reached her eyes. He took the tips of her fingers in his as he had been taught and barely brushed her glove with his lips before releasing it. I think I'd rather kiss a darkspawn, flitted through his mind. For some reason, this woman was giving him the heebies.
"Your Majesty, such a pleasure to meet you. May I present my daughter, Henriette."
-oOo-
Henriette sunk into the deep curtsy suitable for greeting a King, and as she rose and extended her hand, she finally dared to peep up at him. Warm brown eyes, and an even warmer smile, greeted her, and she felt a blush rising in her cheeks. Her mother had ensured she was briefed with all the snippets of information concerning this King that their contacts could provide, but no-one had seen fit to mention that he looked kind. The sweetness of his smile gave her the courage to murmur a greeting as he brought her hand to his lips.
"I'm very pleased to meet you my lady. I hope to have an opportunity to speak further with you later."
His accent sounded so strange, but his voice was pleasant and soothing to her overwrought nerves. She gave him a shy smile and said softly, "I would like that Your Majesty." She was surprised to find that she even meant it, a little.
-oOo-
Alistair presented his compliments to the scary turban on the loveliness of her daughter, and the two of them moved on. The poor girl looked terrified, he thought, as he prepared to smile and make pointless remarks to a Comte and Comtesse. Although, it's hardly surprising with a mother like that. To find out what she's really like, I need to work out a way to separate her from the Dragon.
Bow, smile, compliment.
Bow, smile, compliment.
The next pinch to his arm came as an extremely handsome, and beautifully dressed, young man approached up the stairs with a petite brown-haired girl at his side.
"His Imperial Highness, Prince Philippe and Her Imperial Highness, Princesse Madeleina," the herald intoned.
No shrinking violet this one, thought Alistair. Her head was up and she looked around with no trace of self-consciousness in her green eyes. She prepared to ascend the final stair to the hallway where he stood and caught her heel in her skirt, crashing to her hands and knees on the marble floor in front of him.
"Merde!" she exclaimed explosively, and stunned silence spread out around them…
-oOo-
Madeleina was having the worst day of her life. She'd been forced to sleep in gloves for a week, while some special lotion attempted to overcome the ravages of years of gardening. Her face had repeatedly been covered in what appeared to be the crushed contents of an entire fruit basket, in a futile attempt to eliminate her suntan and freckles. She had been prinked and preened and pulled about until she could no longer endure it. Her hair had taken hours, and it felt like every single pin was driven directly into her scalp. Her shoes pinched and had high heels, which she hated.
And now she had caught her stupid high heel in this ridiculous lace petticoat. With both hands and her right knee stinging from the impact, she had sworn out of sheer, unbridled frustration.
Her brother immediately moved to help her, saying, "Maddy, are you alright?" but the King was nearer and quicker.
Large hands gripped her arms and hauled her to her feet. "Are you hurt?" he asked, and without any preamble he stripped off her gloves to inspect her hands.
Definitely not a subtle man; any Orlesian noble would have proffered his arm to support her in rising, not hauled her upright like a fallen toddler.
"I'm fine really," she answered, as capable, calloused fingers checked gently for broken bones. Philippe said he was a warrior, so of course he would know about injuries.
"I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, about…" She broke off, not at all sure how to politely say, "Sorry I fell at your feet and said shit at an Imperial Ball, Your Majesty"
"Hey, it was an accident; I'm actually surprised it happened to someone other than me. Just so long as you're not hurt, that's the main thing." He finished his inspection and gave his diagnosis. "No bones broken, I think, but you'll be bruised tomorrow."
Best not mention my knee, thought Madeleina hysterically, trying to push away the irresistibly amusing image of this surprising monarch plonking her on the steps like a child and solemnly inspecting her leg. She bit her lip and tried to suppress her shaking shoulders.
He relinquished her hands and took a step back. She looked up and saw him properly and whole for the first time; tall and broad, golden skin, short, dark blonde hair, eyes somewhere between green and brown. Like sphagnum moss, she thought inconsequentially.
King Alistair smiled warmly at her, his eyes dancing with mischief and stuck out his hand. "As we appear to have dispensed with formality - pleased to meet you, I'm Alistair."
She took his hand with no hesitation and shook it firmly. "Hello Alistair, I'm Maddy… Madeleina," she corrected herself. Now why did I say that, only Philippe calls me Maddy.
Alistair turned to Philippe, who had been watching this exchange with obvious interest, and offered him a similarly warm greeting. She saw her usually urbane brother flush slightly as he took the King's hand, and her lips twitched.
There was movement behind the King and he leant back while someone murmured in his ear. He looked down at Madeleina's feet and nodded in apparent agreement. "Your," he waved his hand vaguely at her skirt, "lace is torn." Maddy looked down and saw a swathe of petticoat hanging below her dress. Alistair was flushing, seeming uncomfortable at having to point this out. "My advisor Leliana will escort you to one of the… um… ladies retiring rooms and assist you in… er… sorting it out."
A beautiful red haired woman stepped out from behind King Alistair and introduced herself with an open friendly smile. "I am Leliana and I'm very happy to meet you Your Highness. I know of a room well supplied with pins and thread and I'm sure we can fix that up in a trice. Shall we?" Leliana linked her arm through Maddy's and bore her off.
-oOo-
Well, that was… different, thought Alistair, as Philippe bowed and thanked him and also moved on. It was kind of a relief to just be me for a few minutes, instead of a Kingly exhibit.
Bow, smile, compliment.
Bow, smile, compliment.
After some time, the stream of guests thinned out to stragglers, and Alistair was considering making his own way into the ballroom, when a Vision glided up the stairs towards him and coherent thought ended abruptly.
Wow.
She was tall, slender and radiantly beautiful. Black hair piled high, bright blue eyes, long neck and creamy skin.
Wow.
He was vaguely aware of the herald introducing both her and the dumpy overdressed woman at her side, and remembered the name Eloise from Eamon's briefing that afternoon.
Merciful Andraste, she's a Candidate.
He blushed and dragged his eyes from her to bow over her companion's hand. Fortunately she wasted no time in presenting her daughter, and he turned back to Eloise as if pulled on a string.
She rose from her curtsy and proffered her hand with a sweet and beautiful smile, wide blue eyes gazing into his.
Wow.
Alistair stumbled over his words as he paid her the required compliment. He truly couldn't think of anything to do her justice, and it seemed so hot in here. He realised just in time that he didn't have to let her pass him by; he had been about to go into the ball right?
"Would you… um… do me the honour of granting me your first dance?"
"The honour would be mine, Your Majesty." She smiled dazzlingly at him and laid her fingers on his arm.
They floated into the ballroom.
-oOo-
Leliana steered Maddy to a retiring room designed for ladies to repair their hair, loosen clothes if they felt faint, or pin up hems mangled by overenthusiastic dancers. There was a maid on duty there, but Leliana waved her out and said she could manage just fine by herself.
Maddy was therefore free to indulge her curiosity. "You are Orlesian, Leliana; may I ask how you came to be an advisor to the Ferelden Crown?"
She waited a moment, while Leliana secured a section of petticoat and removed the remaining pins from her mouth.
Leliana sat back on her heels, looked up and smiled. "Actually I am Ferelden by birth, but lived most of my life in Orlais. This is not a permanent appointment, Your Highness. I have known Alistair for a long time, and he asked for me to accompany him here to help him in a country he finds a little strange and unknown. I am an official advisor only while we are in Orlais."
Her smile became a little wistful. "I was glad to come not only because Alistair is a good friend. I have missed Val Royeaux very much, and to wear proper dresses and shoes again is an enormous treat."
"The ladies in Ferelden don't wear dresses?"
"Oh, the court ladies do, although nothing as fine as in Orlais. But I spend a lot of time in the Deep Roads tracking darkspawn, and there one needs armour and clumsy boots, of course."
"You track darkspawn?" Maddy was astounded; Leliana looked so pretty and delicate and not at all like a warrior. "So are you a Grey Warden, then?"
"No, not a Warden, but I fought a lot of darkspawn during the Blight travelling with Alistair and…" Leliana looked grieved, stumbled briefly and recovered, "and Melissa, so now I collate information on them. Very little is known about darkspawn, and Alistair wanted that to be corrected."
"Melissa Cousland, the Hero of the Blight?" There was far more to this Leliana than met the eye. "You… you were one of the Blight Companions," she said, rather awed. And so was Alistair, she reminded herself. She had heard the stories - they were the last two Grey Wardens in the land, and the Hero had made him King before ending the Blight - but it was different to actually meet them.
Leliana smiled reminiscently, and then bent down to carry on pinning. "That sounds far grander than it was. We were cold, and filthy, and in fear for our lives most of the time." she gave an unexpected giggle. "Especially if Alistair was cooking. But I would not have missed it for the world, it was a great adventure."
There was silence for a while, as Madeleina digested this and Leliana industriously pinned until Maddy's train of thought led to another question. "So, is Ferelden much less formal than Orlais?"
"Oh, much less; the Ferelden nobles believe their Court and their Landsmeets are formal, but it is very easy-going compared to here."
Leliana finished her task and sat back to inspect her handiwork. Without raising her eyes she asked, "Do you like the Imperial Court, Your Highness?"
Maddy shook her head emphatically. "No it's horrible. It's all pointless ceremonies, scratchy clothes and foul gossip. A lot of my family live here, but Philippe and I come only when we have to. And don't call me 'Your Highness' Leliana, my name is Madeleina, or Maddy if you prefer."
As I seem to be handing out my pet name to these Fereldens, I may as well go the whole hog.
Leliana sprang to her feet with all the grace of a hunting cat and in that moment Maddy saw the accomplished scout hiding behind the fine clothes. "Could you walk around for me, please, Maddy? To make sure the pins are secure."
Maddy complied, turning away from her and trying not to stick her heel in the hem again. When Leliana's voice spoke again it sounded oddly bland. "Alistair would agree with you about Court. He says formal occasions drive him insane and only holds the ones his advisors tell him are absolutely necessary."
Maddy turned to face her with a frown, wondering exactly what the King's Advisor had been trying to glean from her, but Leliana's clear blue eyes were as open and innocent as a child's.
-oOo-
Leliana escorted Madeleina safely back to her brother and left them to their own devices for the moment. Maddy had, rather shyly, invited her to their apartment tomorrow morning to drink chocolat, the rich heady fashionable drink of Orlais. She was left with the impression that Madeleina had not had many female friends and was unsure if she would be refused. Leliana had been delighted to accept; she liked the unpolished young woman, and was pleased to pursue the acquaintance.
But, for now, she needed to catch up on some gossip. After checking to ensure that Alistair was still stationed on the stairs, she began to circulate through the various antechambers, where those not inclined to dance, or to frequent the card rooms, clustered and chatted.
She found many who were willing, nay eager, to dish the dirt on the Candidates to the King's Advisor. Everyone had their own axe to grind, of course, that went without saying, so the information would have to be sifted for truth. She heard a great deal of troubling information about one Candidate in particular, then headed back to the ballroom just in time to see Alistair leading Eloise onto the floor with all the air of a man whose dreams had just come true.
Oh perfect, thought Leliana crossly, setting off in search of Eamon.
-oOo-
Naturally, the Barbarian King couldn't dance. Oh, he knew the steps and didn't tread on her much, but proved virtually incapable of talking and dancing at the same time. He had no idea how to manage the conversation around the complex measures that regularly separated them and then drew them back together.
So Eloise contented herself with smiling radiantly, secure in the knowledge that everyone knew she was the one who had him in her toils. Not that this was a major achievement when her competition consisted of a mouse and a hoyden; but it was vital that the Empress see her conforming to the Imperial will… for the moment, at least.
The whole thing had been absurdly easy. If he had any polish at all she would have needed to at least make a small effort to ensnare him. Timing her arrival to when he would be entering the ballroom was a trick no experienced courtier would have fallen for. He was handsome enough, she supposed, but his bastard blood was far more apparent than his royal blood, as was displayed by his fumbling manners. She deserved a more… sophisticated kind of man.
When the dance ended she could see he was about to ask for the next; did this bumpkin not know what kind of signal it sent, dancing twice consecutively with the same woman? At the crucial moment his grey-bearded advisor appeared at his elbow, murmuring some excuse or other designed to ensure that he didn't do anything so indiscreet. She took the opportunity to gain a far better advantage, securing him for the dance before the supper break; this ensured that she would go into supper on his arm.
In the meantime, perhaps she could enjoy some real dancing, with the spice of a beautifully polished flirtation.
-oOo-
"For the Maker's sake, Alistair, show some sense. However beautiful she may be it is far too soon to be showing such a decided preference. Go and find Henriette, or Madeleina, and ask them to dance. Please bear in mind that all these ladies are members of the Imperial family, and we do not wish to cause unnecessary offence to anyone."
"I suppose I was a bit… obvious. Alright, Eamon, you've made your point, I'm going."
Alistair stood looking around the crowded ballroom for a moment, trying to suppress the feeling that everyone was watching him. He couldn't see either of the two Candidates right now, but through the glittering, heaving throng he spotted a recognizable turban and headed over in that direction.
By the time the crowd shifted enough for him to see that Henriette wasn't sat with her mother, he was too close to change direction without it being offensive, so he was obliged to make his bow to the Turban and enquire after her daughter.
Dear Henriette was dancing right now, but would be desolate to have missed him. Somehow he doubted that, but made some appropriate response. Princesse Violetta was quite sure that her dearest girl was free for the dance before supper, if he was not engaged. He was? What a shame, then perhaps the one after supper? For some reason, missing the dance before supper seemed to annoy the Turban. What was so special about that one, anyway? He engaged himself for the dance after supper.
He bowed himself out of her presence and caught a glimpse of Madeleina, sat with her head close to her brother's ear; he was laughing uproariously at something she was whispering to him. He began to thread his way around the room towards them. As he approached their seats Maddy looked up, favouring him with such a genuine smile that he immediately felt more comfortable than he had all evening.
Alistair made his bow to Madeleina and Philippe, and straightened up to find Maddy laughing at him.
"Are we to be formal again now, Your Majesty?" she asked teasingly, and made him a sweeping curtsy before resuming her seat.
Philippe rolled his eyes. "Please excuse my sister; you can see why I have to lock her up in the country most of the time."
Alistair nodded, quirking his lips. "So she doesn't fall down and hurt herself?"
Over Philippe's crack of laughter, he turned to Madeleina. "I was hoping you'd do me the honour of dancing with me."
Maddy bit her lip looking doubtful. "Yes, of course, I'd be pleased to."
Alistair looked mournful. "This is what happens when I ask women to dance; they fear for their feet. Please don't think you'll offend me if you say no. I know exactly how bad my dancing is."
Maddy shook her head. "Oh no, I'm sure your dancing is at least as good as mine, which unfortunately isn't much of a compliment." She hesitated, and then confessed. "The thing is… my shoes are killing me."
A surprised laugh burst from him. He suspected every other woman here would lacerate her feet to ribbons before admitting such a thing.
His spontaneous response seemed to reassure her; she smiled up at him confidingly and patted an adjoining chair. "We'd be very happy to have you join us if you wish, but I need to warn you; we are verbally annihilating the dancers as they pass us by, so you may be even more shocked at our lack of decorum than you are already."
He took the offered seat. "You haven't shocked me at all so far. Do your worst, I can bear it."
The direct gaze of those green eyes was slightly unnerving. "No, I really haven't, have I? Why is that? It's not only you - Leliana was lovely too, so natural and honest. Are all Fereldens this way?"
"Well, not all, but in Ferelden it's much less…" he waved his hand vaguely, trying to find a way to sum up the gilt and glitter and falsity of the Orlesian court, "not like this," he finished lamely.
"Leliana told me that you don't like pomp and fuss."
"It's on a shortlist of my least favourite things; which is a bit of a disadvantage when you are a king. It comes of not having been born to it, I suppose."
It was Philippe who responded in an amused drawl, "You would be surprised. There are plenty of people here who were not born to all of this." He gave a snort of derision as he surveyed the posturing multitude. "Yet see how they positively gorge themselves upon it."
The minstrels struck up another tune and Alistair leapt from his seat. "Oh Maker, I'm engaged for this one. Please excuse me, Maddy, Philippe."
He bowed and dove into the throng in search of Eloise.
-oOo-
Leliana had a plan.
It was not foolproof, and it required a sacrificial lamb which was a pity, but one could not make an omelette without smashing some eggs. It was definitely worth a try.
With this in mind, she ensured that she was at the same table as Henriette for supper. Striking up a conversation with her was not difficult; her sources had told her that the young woman had a strong scholarly interest in ancient manuscript versions of the Chant. An idle comment, at the right moment, sparked a discussion on the Forgotten Verses that had been found in the ruined Temple of Andraste. Henriette was enormously excited to hear that Leliana had actually been present when they were found, and had also spent time with Sister Justine during the translation process.
A striking change came over the blonde scholar once the discussion was underway. She was animated and intelligent; eyes glowing, cheeks flushed, displaying no signs of the shyness and timidity she was usually crippled with. Leliana saw that she was going to have to revise her opinion on this girl. It was all a bit of a shame really, but needs must.
Timing would be everything for this to succeed. Leliana worked the conversation round to the manuscripts held in the chantry here in the palace. She had never seen them and wondered if Henriette would be interested in going over there with her to view them? Supper would run for ages yet, they would be back in time for the dancing.
Upon Henriette eagerly agreeing, she stood up and picked up both of their goblets, handing one to her companion. They walked across the crowded room, Leliana staying very close to her side. This was going to require all her skill and dexterity, not merely to achieve her aim, but in order to ensure that Henriette had no idea what had occurred.
As they approached a certain table, where a couple sat at supper talking and laughing together, Leliana counted down carefully; the positioning must be perfect. 3…2…1… Leliana carefully tripped her companion. Henriette lurched forward, and her goblet of red wine poured all down the front of Eloise's exquisite, white lace ball gown.
There was a small frozen moment while Leliana's carefully arranged tableau held, and then it exploded. Leliana deliberately faded back slightly, taking herself out of the picture for the moment.
"You clumsy fool, look what you have done!"
"I'm so sorry, so stupid of me; I don't know what happened." Henriette was horrified, her hand up to her mouth, her eyes wide with dismay.
"What happened? What happened was that you are too clumsy to be let loose with a drink in your hand," raged Eloise, her voice climbing the register and becoming more strident by the syllable.
"Hey, steady on, it was an accident, let's get you cleaned up."
Eloise towered over the trembling blonde, face red and contorted with rage, ignoring Alistair's mild intercession completely. In blind fury, she slapped her distraught cousin hard across the face. "Admit it, you did it on purpose, you sly creature. How dare you try such a trick on me?"
Tears flowed down Henriette's face, her shoulders shook, and Leliana moved forward to comfort her. "Of course she didn't do it on purpose, why would she? Can't you see how upset she is?"
"Who cares about her? My dress is ruined! I'm the one with reason to beupset."
Then perhaps we should allow you to retire and compose yourself." The voice was cold and so entirely unlike Alistair's usual way of speaking, it stopped Eloise in her tracks for a moment.
She turned to him and saw, not the blushing, stammering, worshipful young man who had been hanging upon her every word, but a remote, aloof King who waved forward a servant. "Please be so good as to escort this lady to a retiring room, and assist her in any way you can." Alistair bowed distantly to Eloise, and turned away without another glance.
-oOo-
Alistair fished out a handkerchief and offered it to Henriette. "Hush now, it's over. It wasn't your fault."
He was furious with himself. Andraste's flaming sword, the woman was worse than Morrigan. How had he not seen it?
"Alistair, we need to get her out of here, give her a chance to compose herself without all these people gawking."
"Yes, of course, perhaps a walk in the garden?"
Leliana shook her head. "That will be full of people too. Take her down to the chantry, we were about to go there to look at manuscripts. Henriette is quite the scholar; it will be quiet there and will help her to calm down."
Alistair took Henriette's small hand in his large one and tucked it over his arm. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly. "Come then, my lady, let me demonstrate to you how abysmal my scholarship is."
I'm such a raving idiot. Thank the Maker for that accident.
-oOo-
Alistair did his best to distract Henriette during their walk to the chantry by rattling on about any absurdities that came into his head. He could feel her hand trembling on his arm, but after a while she became a little calmer, and even managed a tremulous smile.
He couldn't remember ever having to be the big, strong, protective man before. He had spent his entire life surrounded by either men or tough, powerful women. It was a strange feeling, but not unpleasant.
No, definitely not unpleasant.
When he led her into the chantry, the change in her was palpable. She was immediately calmer, more serene, as if absorbing tranquillity from the air itself. The trembling stopped; she smiled gratefully up at him and released his arm. "Thank you so much for your kindness, Your Majesty. I'm dreadfully sorry that I interrupted your supper with my carelessness."
"Please, call me Alistair. And really, don't mention it; I am just sorry that you were exposed to such a… harridan? bitch? shit-storm? …to such a scene." Let's put the whole thing behind us, shall we? We came to look at manuscripts, did we not? Lead the way, my lady."
She smiled shyly. "If you are to be Alistair, then I should be Henriette, no? Unless you think that is too forward." A tide of red flushed her pale features.
A memory flickered across his mind - Maddy poking fun at him so casually - and it suddenly struck him forcibly why she expected him to be shocked by her behaviour. Unmarried Orlesian maidens were required to behave impeccably, although from what he had seen the matrons had far, far more licence.
"Terribly forward, I'm shocked," he teased gently, and when her grey eyes flew to his the twinkle there reassured her. "So, tell me about your researches; is it the Chant in particular that you find most interesting?"
They moved through the chantry, Henriette leading him towards a door on the left. "Yes, I love to study and compare older versions of the Chant. Language changes over time, did you know that? Lots of sections of the current Chant are open to interpretation, as later copies depend upon the inscriber's understanding of what a particular archaic word or rune would translate to in our modern language."
She fumbled in a small bag at her waist, producing a key for the door, "The Chantry tends to take the view that the monks copying the text are guided by the Maker, or Andraste, and that therefore the current version of the Chant is always the correct one, unless a glaring omission is found."
She looked up, unexpectedly mischievous, as she opened the door and beckoned him inside. "From what I have read, I think that would mean that the Maker changes his mind quite often."
Alistair was surprised into a snort of laughter. "Wow, you made a joke! I was beginning to think you were always serious." He looked around at the racks of scrolls, shelves of books and expensive glass-fronted display cabinets. "How come you have a key? Do you live here, in the palace?"
She walked to the display cabinets, her mind obviously on the contents, and replied absently. "Oh no, I live in Arlesans. Mama is Princesse of that province and we have a palace there. When we arrived yesterday I slipped away to the chantry to speak to the curator, and he gave me a spare key so that I may study whenever I can esca…" She stopped dead, the colour draining from her face.
"Escape?" asked Alistair softly.
Her grey eyes pleaded with him. "Please don't tell Mama. She would be very displeased if she knew I came here."
"I don't understand. Why is it so terrible?"
She gave a small hopeless sigh and explained. "Mama does not think it a proper interest for a lady. The Empress supports scholarship and the arts, so it is very fashionable; where the Empress leads we follow." She spread her hands helplessly. "But Mama says that we should only do as the Empress does; employ scholars and artists, and provide funding for museums and galleries. That soiling our hands with the actual work is beneath us."
"I see."
Henriette regarded Alistair's ominous frown anxiously. "You are not… angry with me, are you? I do try to be a dutiful daughter, but this," she waved her hands at the shelves and cabinets, "makes me so happy, I cannot always resist."
He took her hand, squeezed it encouragingly and released it. "No, I'm not angry with you. Come; show me some of your manuscripts."
-oOo-
Much later, Alistair sprawled in his bed, aching with weariness. What a night. It seemed to have lasted several lifetimes.
The court was so complex, he didn't even know if he had made an idiot of himself, or not. He'd stumbled through the evening only vaguely aware of the undercurrents rippling around him; of who was trying to curry favour with him, and who was sneering. Of what the raised eyebrows, the shrugs, the smiles, the fan waving actually meant.
And, at some point in the next couple of days, he was going to have to decide on a bride. He pulled a pillow over his head and whimpered slightly. He really, really didn't want to think about that. The only good news was that at least the two remaining ladies seemed nice. Neither of them had looked down their noses at him, as he had feared they would. This was a definite plus.
But Eloise had been nice to him as well, and look how that turned out. She had re-appeared later in the evening in a fresh gown, full of smiles and soft apologies. Did she really believe that he could so easily forgive how cruel she had been to that gentle girl? He had excused himself as quickly as possible, and avoided her for the rest of the evening.
The real question was this; are either of the others just as false? He moved the pillow back where it belonged, linked his hands behind his head and considered that notion. He instinctively felt that both Madeleina and Henriette were genuine, but right now he didn't know whether he trusted his intuition.
Despite really, really not wanting to think about it, he thought of little else until sleep finally took him.
-oOo-