Seducing a Queen

By: Itachi Black

Chapter 3

ELSA wore her elegant gold gown to Duchess Tindall's ball. She had bought it with her sister, Anna, at the end of last Season, a foolish extravagance, she had thought at the time, as she had no such opportunity to wear it before returning to her righteous duties as Queen of Arendelle. But she had loved it from the moment she saw it, ready-made and ready to purchase and her exact size- though she had been a little afraid it was too revealing at the bosom. Anna, who had been with her at the time, had assured her that it was not, that since she had a bosom she might as well show it to best advantage. It was an argument that was not necessarily reassuring, but Elsa had bought the gown anyways.

She felt young and attractive in it now. She was not really young, of course. But was she still a little attractive? Modestly said no, but her glass assured her that what beauty she had been blessed with had not altogether faded yet. And she had never lacked for partners at any of the balls she had attended during the past few years.

She had attracted the eldest Danish Prince, had she not? And he was without a doubt one of the most eligible matrimonial catches for any women throughout Europe.

Oh, she hoped he would be at the ball tonight.

And she dearly hoped Prince Hans would change his mind and stay away. She really did not want to see him again.

The underdress of fine ivory-colored silk clung to her every curve and the transparent gold overdress shimmered in the candlelight. It was a high-waisted gown cut daringly low at the bosom, its sleeves short and puffed above her long gold gloves, which matched her dancing slippers.

She almost lost her courage before leaving her dressing room. At her age she should surely be wearing far more sober and decorous gowns. But before she could give serious thought to changing into something lese there was a tap on the door and when her maid opened it, it was none other than His Royal Highness Conner, who poked his bearded head inside.

"Oh, I say, my dear Queen Elsa!" he exclaimed, his eyes moving over her with open appreciation. "You look quite stunning, if I may say so. People will think I am escorting a young princess. I am going to be the envy of every gentleman in the ballroom when I enter it with you on my arm."

"Thank you, sir." She laughed at his absurdity and made him an elaborate curtsy. "And I am going to be the envy of every lady. Perhaps neither of us ought to go and save everyone all the heartache."

The King of Weselton, who was very much like her father, was considered to be old, but he was also an extraordinarily good-looking with his tall, lean frame, unruly chocolate brown curls, short and dark whiskers by his chin, bright greyish green eyes, and open, good-humored face. And tonight, he looked much taller, his curls had been tamed somewhat by an expert barber, and his features had the obvious sign of maturity and a vivid handsomeness. Perhaps, she was biased because the man reminded her of her late father, but she saw the way King Conner turned female heads wherever he went. And it was not just his title and wealth that did it, though she supposed they did not hurt.

"Better not." He pushed the door wider, made her an elegant bow to match her curtsy, grinned at her, and offered his arm. "Are you ready to go? I would not deprive the male world of your lovely company."

"Well, there is that." She smiled at her maid, wrapped her silk shawl about her shoulders, picked up her fan, and took his extended arm.

They arrived at the Tindall Estate half an hour later and had to wait only five minutes before their carriage took its place at the end of the red velvet carpet and King Conner handed Elsa out. She gave her shawl to a footman inside the grand hall and ascended the stairs toward the receiving line and the ballroom on the king's arm. And if they were attracting admiring glances- and they surely were beyond a doubt- she was free to believe that some were intended for her, even though most were undoubtedly for His Majesty Conner.

She felt as excited as if she were attending her first ball with her younger sister- although she wasn't here tonight. Excited- and apprehensive too.

She fanned her glowing cheeks after they had passed along the receiving line. A quick glance about the ballroom revealed the fact that neither Prince Christian nor Prince Hans had arrived yet. It was early of course. But King Conner's two beautiful daughters were both present- as the king had mentioned the night before which led to his generous offer to escorting her to the ball. And there was Crown Princess Rachel and Princess Vanessa at the far side of the ballroom with their respective husbands, Archduke Simon and Duke Edmond.

She and King Conner crossed the room, nodding to acquaintances as they went and stopping a few times to exchange verbal greetings and short conversations.

They both hugged the two princesses and each duke took their turn to address their father-in-law.

"Father," Rachel said sweetly, "I absolutely insist that you dance the Roger de Coverley with me later in the evening. No one dances the steps better, which I am delighted to say, since you were the one who taught them to me when I was thirteen. Besides, you are looking quite gorgeous, and I do have a strict rule that I will dance only with the most handsome gentlemen."

"That is a relief to hear," Simon chuckled, "Since you have already promised to dance every waltz with me, Rachel. But poor Edmond will be afraid to ask to dance with you now lest you say no."

"My knees are already knocking loudly," Edmond said.

They all laughed merrily.

"I must beg you to grant me the opening set, Elsa," Simon said, "Kyle having already solicited Rachel's hand for it."

"Kyle is here?" Elsa asked, looking about eagerly. And there he was some distance away with a group of gentleman. She caught his eye and they both smiled and raised a hand in greeting. "He had not called on me from where I am staying right now. I shall scold him for gross neglect as soon as we come face to face."

Kyle Magnus was her second cousin. He would have inherited the throne as the next ruler of Norway instead of her if his father had been born five minutes prior to her father, the older twin. The fate of her father and Kyle's grandfather had costed Kyle his possible birthright and Margret had often marveled over the fact that he did not appear to hate her- or her sister, though there was a coolness between the two. He and Anna had opposite personalities since they were children which led to their estrangement by a long-standing quarrel over something Elsa knew nothing about and naturally enough, Elsa had silently taken her younger sister's side. It truly was a pity. Kyle and Anna physically shared a resemblance though which made them look like siblings than cousins, with their lighter Greek-like good looks they had inherited from their fathers. Elsa sighed briefly. Families ought not to quarrel over silly, old trifles.

When the lines began to form for the opening set, Simon- Archduke of Weselton- led Elsa out to join them. She loved visiting other countries, such as Switzerland, and often told herself that she would be perfectly happy if she never had to leave her home for the busy frivolity of fancy balls and old customs- but deep inside, she did enjoy it. And there was something very alluring about this particular country, especially around the Season. It felt so wonderful to be in one of its ballrooms once more, surrounded by the flower of the ton, the jewels sparkling and glittering brightly in the light of the hundreds of candles fixed in two great chandeliers overhead and in dozens of wall scones. The polished wooden floors gleamed beneath her feet and large pots of seasonal flowers and decorative greenery provided a bountiful feast for the eyes and filled the air with their sweet fragrances.

Yet there was still no sigh of the Crown Prince of Denmark. Nor, to her relief, of Prince Hans.

The music began and Queen Elsa curtsied with the line of ladies to a bowing Simon in the line of gentlemen and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the intricate figure of the traditional dance. She always loved the delicate sounds of the violin and the rhythmic thumping of the dancers' feet.

But halfway through the set she was distracted by the sight of a swatch of scarlet at the ballroom doors and saw that it was Hans arriving with two of his men with whom he had been riding yesterday. Her heart fluttered uncomfortable, then swayed, and sank in the direction of her glistening slippers.

There went her peace.

The three of them were causing a noticeable stir among those who were not dancing.

He looked about until his sharp eyes found Elsa and then he smiled so sweetly. She might have pretended that she had not seen him, she supposed, but that would be silly. She smiled politely in return and was very glad she was looking her best as she danced beautifully beneath one of the large chandeliers and her gold gown sparkled delightfully. And then she felt a pang of annoyance at such a vain thought.

I will give you my company whenever I have the time…

There was still no sign of the other prince. He might not even be in this country, of course. And even if he were… if he were to even come later this evening…

"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly, returning her attention to Simon with a start as she shamefully trod heavily on his shoe. "I am so sorry. Please do forgive me."

She had stumbled awkwardly too and he had to grasp her arm firmly until she had righted herself and picked up the steps of the dance again. It was very humiliating. Her cheeks reddened as a few of the dancers around them looked at her with concern.

"My fault entirely," Simon assured her. "I only hope Rachel did not notice that I almost toppled her best friend. But if you do need someone to plant him a facer or worse, my dearest Elsa, do feel free to call upon me at any given time. It would serve me the greatest pleasure. As expected, I have not been embroiled in any good brawls lately. Marriage does that to a man, alas."

Elsa looked at him, clearly startled. And it was no use pretending that she did not know what he meant by his words. He had obviously seen Prince Hans too, and guessed from his uniform who he was. That meant that Rachel had told him the story. How utterly embarrassing! She was twenty-five years old and a single woman at the age because the only love of her life had abandoned her and married someone else in Spain. And all she had to do was see him again and she went stumbling over the feet of her dancing partner like a drunk.

The pattern of the dance separated them for a while, but Elsa replied as soon as they came together again between the lines to circle each other back to back.

"That all happened years ago," she informed him. "I have quite forgotten it."

Which was a remarkably ridiculous thing to say. What all happened years ago? He might well ask. And how would she even be able to refer to it if she had truly forgotten it? It was illogical. She had only made herself look more abject in Archduke Simon's eyes.

Oh, how she hated this! Where had the years gone? And how had she somehow been poorly left behind? And where was Prince Christian when she most needed him? Whatever would she be able to say to Hans if he talked to her later and asked where her betrothed was? She was just going to have to tell the shameful truth, that was all- that there was no such man, that there was no such betrothal. And she must not even add the face-saving words not yet, anyway. She would thereby risk humiliating herself further needlessly if for some reason the Danish price was not in the city this year.

And let her learn lesson from this, she prayed. She would never allow herself to be goaded into telling a blatant lie again- even the smallest of white lies. Lies could only bring one grief.

And then abruptly, just before the set came to an end, there he was at last- the Crown Prince, His Highness Christian, strolling through the grand ballroom doors, looking dearly familiar. He stopped and looked about carefully. He had not seen her yet, Elsa realized as she circled about Simon again and returned to her line. But that did not matter. The important thing was that he was here- and looking very distinguished indeed in his black and white evening clothes. There was a natural stateliness of manner about him which helped him look more royal and important. He must have seen someone else he knew and moved purposefully in that direction.

The set came to an end and she rested her hand on Simon's sleeve.

"Thank you," she said, laughing. "I must be quite out of practice. I am all out of breath. But it was a delightful way to begin the evening."

"It was," he agreed. "For a few minutes I was assailed by the uncomfortable suspicion that all the other gentlemen in the ballroom were watching me. I thought perhaps I had put my dancing shoes on the wrong feet or that my neckcloth was askew. It was an enormous relief to discover that it was, in fact, you they were all watching with their green eyes. You look outstandingly lovely tonight, Queen Elsa, as I am sure your glass informed you before you left home."

Elsa laughed again. "But it is far more satisfying to hear it from a gentleman," she said, "even if he is prone to exaggeration."

Before they reached the place where Vanessa and Edmond were standing with Rachel, Elsa saw that they were about to pass close to the prince whom she had been long waiting for. At the same moment he spotted her and his face lit up with a very warm smile as he stepped away from the group he had just joined.

"Queen Elsa," he said, bowing to her. "What an unexpected pleasure. Archduke Simon?"

"My lord." She curtsied and stayed where she was while Simon continued on his way after returning the friendly greeting.

"You have also come to this event after all, then," Prince Christian said. "I concluded when I did not see you anywhere that perhaps you had decided to remain in Norway this year."

"I was detained with my duties as Queen at Arendelle until just a week ago," she explained slowly. "But here I am at last to enjoy what is left of the Season. Duchess Tindall must be very pleased with the success of tonight's wonderful ball. Her ball is always well attended, is it not?"

"It is a veritable squeeze," he remarked, "and therefore must be deemed a great success. May I compliment you on your appearance? You look lovelier than ever."

"Thank you," she said.

"I hope," he said, "you have a set of dances left to grant me, milady. I arrived rather later than I would have liked, I am afraid."

"I do indeed," she told him with a charming smile.

"Shall we agree to the set after this next one, then?" he suggested.

"Yes, milord." She smiled at him again. "I shall look forward to it."

And perhaps another set later in the evening- a waltz, she hoped. He waltzed well.

It had amazed her now that she had not accepted his offer last year. Even then she had known that she must marry, if she were not to burden her country. And even then she had practically known that she could not possibly do better than marry the Crown Prince of Denmark, whom she liked exceedingly well.

"The next set has not even begun to form yet," he said, glancing beyond her. "There is plenty of time. Do come and meet her."

He took her gently by the elbow and turned her toward the group of people with whom he had been standing.

Her?

"My dear," he called to a pretty auburn-haired lady in rich forest green, "do you have an acquaintance with Queen Elsa of Arendelle, sister of Princess Anna? She had been a dear friend of mine for a number of years. This is Crown Princess Daniella, my affianced bride, Queen Elsa, and her sister, Princess Amber, and …"

Elsa did not hear the rest of the introduction as her face whitened.

my affianced bride …

He was betrothed. To someone else.

For the moment the realization bounced off the outer layer of her consciousness and did not really penetrate- which was perhaps fortunate.

Elsa smiled- brightly and warmly- and held out her hand to Princess Daniella.

"Oh, this is an unexpected pleasure," she said. "I do wish you happy, though I daresay my wishes are unnecessary."

She smiled- very brightly and warmly- at Princess Amber and the other members of the large group and inclined her head affably to them.

"Princess Danielle and I met at the home of mutual friends at Christmas," Prince Christian was explaining. "And she utterly made me the happiest of men just before Easter by accepting my hand. But you must have seen the notice of our engagement in the Morning Post, Queen Elsa."

"I did not," she said, her smile still firmly held in place. "I have been in the heavily occupied until very recently. But I heard of it, of course, and I was delighted for you. Congratulations."

Another lie, she cringed internally. Untruths had come easily to her tongue recently.

"The next set is forming," remarked a lady whose name Elsa had entirely missed and the Danish Prince extended a hand toward Queen Elsa.

With her peripheral vision Elsa became aware of a flash of scarlet off to her right. Without even needing to turn her head to look she knew it was Hans and that he was steadily making his way toward her, perhaps to ask her to dance with him, perhaps to seek an introduction to the eldest of son of the Royal Danish Family, who was betrothed to someone else.

The ghastly truth rushed at her like a strong gale during a winter storm.

She was not engaged.

She was not about to be engaged.

She was twenty-five years old and horribly, irreparably single and unattached.

And she was going to have to admit it all to Prince Hans, who had earnestly believed that she needed his gallantry since no other man could possibly want to offer her his company. Her stomach clenched tightly with distress and incipient queasiness.

She could not bear to face him just yet. She really could not. She might well cast herself, weeping, into his open arms.

No.

She needed time to compose herself.

She needed to be alone and secluded.

She needed…

She turned blindly in the direction of the ballroom doors and the relative privacy of the ladies' withdrawing room was beyond. She did not even take the time to skirt the perimeter of the room but hurried across it, thankful that enough dancers had gathered there to prevent her from looking too conspicuous.

She felt horribly conspicuous anyway. She remembered to smile sweetly.

As she approached the doors, she glanced back over her shoulders to see if Hans was coming after her. She was in a ridiculous panic. Even she knew it was fully ridiculous, but the trouble with panic was that it was beyond one's power and effort to control.

She turned her head to face the front again, but she did so too late to stop herself from plowing into a gentleman who was standing before the wooden doors, blocking the path.

She felt for a moment as if all the breath had been forcibly knocked from her body. And then she felt a horrible embarrassment to pile onto her confusion and panic. She was pressed against a very solid male body from shoulders to knees and she was being held in place strongly by two hands that gripped her upper arms like a vise.

"I am so sorry," she hurried, tipping back her head and pushing her hands against his broad chest in a vain effort to put some distance between them so that she could step around him and hurry on her way.

Instead she found herself gazing up into very steely blue eyes, which reminded her of the deepest end of the darkest ocean during a storm, set in a harsh, narrow, angular, dark-hued face- an almost ugly face framed by hair that could be deemed as an extremely light hue of blond, although it almost look white. A very unusual color. All of which scared her in a way.

"Excuse me," she said when his grip on her arms did not loosen.

"Why?" he asked her coldly, his eyes roaming boldly over her face. "What is your hurry? Why not stay and dance with me? And then marry me and live happily ever after with me?"

Elsa was simply startled out of her panic.

His breath smelled of hard liquor.


There had been no ball the evening after Jack's interview with his grandfather. Not one single one. Bern positively teemed with lavish entertainments every day and night of the Season, but for that one infernal evening there had been nothing to choose among except a soiree that was being hosted by a lady who was a notable bluestocking and that would doubtless be attended by numerous politicians and young scholars and old poets and intelligent ladies, and a concert with a program clearly designed for the musically discerning and not for anyone who happened to be shopping in a hurry at the marriage mart.

Jack had not attended either but had been forced to waste one of his precious fifteen days. He had gone to Jeremey's Boxing Salon yesterday afternoon when he might, he thought too late, have joined the afternoon promenade in Spinner Park to look over the crop of prospective brides. And today, when he had thought of going there, rain had been spitting intermittently from low gray clouds and all he met were a few hardy fellow riders- all male- and one closed carriage filled with dowagers.

He had been reminded of those dreams in which one tried to run profusely but found it impossible to move even as fast as a crawl.

But tonight there was Duchess Tindall's popular ball to attend and it was most definitely a promising event. According to his mother, who planned to be there, it was always one of the grand squeezes of the Season since the Duchess was renowned for her lavish suppers. Everyone who was anyone would be there, including, Jack fervently hoped, armies of young, marriageable hopefuls who were running out of time in the Season to find good husbands.

It was enough to make him feel positively ill and weak.

He had not told his mother about his grandfather's ultimatum though he might have to enlist her help if he found himself unable to come up with a suitable bride on his own within the next few days. His mother knew everybody. She would be sure to know which girls- and more important, which parents- were desperate enough to take a man of such notorious reputation in such indecent haste.

He arrived late. It was perhaps not a wise thing to do when time was of the very essence, but earlier in the evening he had acquired cold feet- the almost inevitable consequence of having been forced to wait more than twenty-four hours to begin implementing his search- and had stayed at White's Club long after he had finished his dinner and his few companions had left to go about their evening business, some of them to attend this very ball. He might have come with them and hoped to enter the ballroom almost unnoticed. Instead he had stayed to fortify himself with another glass of port- only to discover that fortification had demanded several more glasses of port than just one.

He did not have a formal invitation to the ball, but he did not fear being turned away- not after a few glasses of port, anyway. He was, after all, the Crown Prince of Switzerland. And if anyone remembered the rather spectacular scandal of five years ago, as everyone surely would- well, they would undoubtedly be avid with gnawing curiosity to discover what had ever become of him in the intervening years and how he would behave now that he was back in the public affairs.

Jack wondered suddenly if any of the Milfords were present in the large city this year and fervently hoped not. It would not be a comfortable thing to come face to face with Randolph Milford in particular- the man he had boldly cuckolded.

And he was not turned away from the ball. But of course he had arrived late enough that there was no longer any sign of a receiving line or even of a majordomo to announce him. He stepped into the ballroom, having left his hat and cloak downstairs in the care of a footman and looked about him.

He felt very much on display and half expected that after all there would be a rush of outraged persons, led by ladies, to expel him into out darkness. It did not happen, though undoubtedly he was attracting some attention. He could hear a slightly heightened buzz of sound off to his right.

He ignored it and walked on forth in a dignified pace.

It was indeed a squeeze of a ball. If everyone decided to dance, they would have to push out the walls. And if everyone decided to rush him… Well, he would be squashed flat as a pancake in a matter of seconds.

He had arrived between sets, but couples were gathering on the floor for the next one. Good! He would be able to view the matrimonial prospects at his peaceful leisure provided that buzz of interest to his right did not develop into a swell of pure outrage to fill the spacious ballroom.

He could see Marquess Kyle Magnus, whom he met during his diplomatic journey to Norway, and a few other male acquaintances some distance away, but made no move to join them. He would become far too involved in conversation if he did and perhaps allow himself to be borne off to the card room. He would be willing enough, by God. He could feel his mood turn bleaker and blacker with every passing second. This ought not to be happening.

He had not planned to go wife hunting yet- or perhaps ever. He had certainly not planned to come to Bern any year soon either.

How the devil was he supposed to begin any courtship?

There were pretty women and plain ones too, young ones and old ones, animated ones and listless ones- that last group being the wallflowers, he suspected. Most of them, indeed, were still standing on the sidelines, nary a partner in sight though the dancing was about to resume. He should probably concentrate his attention upon them.

It was one devil of a way to choose a bride! Pick the most bored-looking wallflower and offer to brighten her life. Offer her marriage with a man who had abandoned his last bride almost literally at the altar in order to run off with her married sister-in-law and live in sin with her for almost five years. A man who had no inkling of a desire or wish to marry but was being forced into it by the threat of penury. A man who no longer believed in romantic love and had never practiced fidelity. A man with an illegitimate child he refused to hide away in some dark corner of the country.

He had fixed his narrowed gaze upon a mousy-haired young girl who, if his eyes did not deceive him from this distance, had a flat chest and a bad case of facial spots, and who was beginning to notice his scrutiny and look decidedly frightened by it, when he was distracted.

A sudden missile almost bowled him off his feet- something hurled his way in order to expel him after all, perhaps?

He clamped his hands about the two arms of the missile in order to save himself from landing flat on his back- what a spectacular re-entry into society that would be! And soon realized that it was a human missile.

A female human, to be exact.

Very female.

She was all generously sized breasts and delicious curves and subtly fragrant light hair. And when she tipped back her head to apologize, she revealed a face that did the body full justice, by thunder. She had wide eyes and a porcelain complexion and features that had been arranged beautifully on her face for maximum effect. She was loveliness personified from head to toe with no faults for the world to point at.

He held her against him longer than was necessary- and far longer than was wise in such a public setting, when his sudden appearance was already provoking large amounts of attention. But she would surely fall over if he released her too soon, he reasoned.

She had long legs- he could feel them against his own.

She was literally and poetically breath-taking with her beauty and voluptuous- and pressed by some happy chance to his body. Could any warm blooded male ask for more? Privacy and nakedness and a soft bed, perhaps?

The only negative thing that could be said about her- on the spur of the moment anyway- was that she was not young. She was probably only a few years younger his own age, give or take a few years for a fair estimate. That was not at all young for a woman. She was undoubtedly married, then. She must have been snaffled up off the marriage mart five to ten years ago. She also probably had half a dozen children. A pity that. But fate was ever a joker, he mused. He must not expect his search to be this easily or happily concluded.

There was no ring on the left hand that was splayed over his chest, though, he noticed.

All of which thoughts and observations flashed through his head in a matter of moments.

"Excuse me," she said, flushing and looking even more beautiful, if that were possible.

She was pushing at his chest. Trying to get away. The prince smirked as he thought there is no harm in being hopeful, was there?

"Why?" he demanded of her. "What is your hurry? Why not stay and dance with me? And then marry me and live happily ever after with me?"

He felt her body grow still and watched the arrested look on her angelic face. Then her eyebrows arched above her eyes- and even they were lovely. It was no wonder some poets wrote poems to their ladies' eyebrows.

"Does it have to be in that order?" she boldly asked him.

Ah. An intriguing answer indeed. An answer in the form of a question.

Jack pursed his pink lips. She had bowled him over after all- and rendered him temporarily speechless for the second time of the wondrous night at a ball he did not want to attend.


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