Char came by early, as he'd promised. Mandy and I were busy with our baking when Bertha, flushed pink and curtsying, showed him in. She lingered until Mandy suggested pointedly that the laundry wouldn't wash itself, and Bertha hurried away, barely containing a fit of giggles.
She wasn't the only one. Over the course of half an hour, I watched every member of the household parade past the kitchen door, some more discreet than others in their ogling. Nancy sauntered by three times, waggling her eyebrows at me and grinning like a fool. If Char noticed, he ignored it, and I concentrated on my baking.
Mandy, for her part, was more composed than the others. When Char offered to help shape the scones, she made no remark about sullying his royal hands—only pulled him in and set him to work. She even peered over his shoulder, criticizing his first effort as too small and thin and making him start over. "The butter's got to stay cold," she told him. "You're handling it too much. It'll melt."
She coached him mercilessly through three failed attempts, until she deemed it beyond repair and made him move on to the next one. I marveled at her audacity in bossing around a prince, even if he was mine.
Char was good-natured as always, and despite what Mandy said, he caught on quickly. His second scone, though not perfect, was a vast improvement over the first. I told him so, and he glowed.
"You'll have to excuse Mandy," I told him when she stepped into the pantry. "She's gotten so used to ordering me about, I think she's finding it difficult to break the habit."
He managed a grand total of three scones. He had flour on his hands and doublet, and when he rubbed his brow, he left a streak of white across his hair. I wiped it off.
"They look nothing like yours," he said when we pulled the trays from the oven. It was true—they were lumpier and not as round than the rest—but I was exuberant in my praise, and they tasted just as good, anyway.
After proclaiming our recipe to be the best he'd ever sampled, Char suggested a trip to the pastures, and I was thrilled to accept, despite the December chill. It had been so long since I'd seen Apple. We piled a basket with fruit, wrapped ourselves in furs, and made the short walk to the castle together.
"I just thought of something," said Char as we walked. "That's one more good thing about getting married. We won't have to worry about setting Apple up at your manor. You'll be living in the castle—you can see him any time you like!"
I nodded. Anything to do with Char was a pleasant topic, but with the warmth that spread in me when he talked about our marriage came an odd shiver of uncertainty. I knew I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with him, but now that it was to be a reality, I found the thought of joining the royal family a bit dizzying. What would it be like? Would I have to be dignified at all times? What royal duties would be appointed to me? Would they make me a princess? I hadn't given it much thought. I supposed I would find out soon enough.
"I can't wait for you to meet Cecilia," Char was saying. "You two will get along beautifully. You're so alike. And Mother and Father were in raptures over you. Although—" he grinned— "they wonder what you look like."
I was so startled I nearly dropped the basket of apples. "Oh, I'd forgotten! It was so disrespectful of me, wearing a mask before them." I felt my face growing hot. What they must think of me!
But Char only laughed. "Don't worry. They're not strict about protocol, anyway. I think my father would prefer if everyone did away with the bowing and the curtsying and the My Liege and the Your Grace. Goodness knows I'm sick of it, and I don't have it half as bad as he does."
"It was still rude of me."
"You had no choice," Char said solidly. "If your family—your step-family—if they had known you were there, they could have ordered you to leave. I might never have seen you again. No one's going to get upset because you had to disguise yourself to come to a party. If anything, they'll be flattered you went to such pains to see me."
His words were reassuring, but only partially. I would still have to face his parents, and I still found myself dreading the thought. And something he'd said . . . I realized he didn't have the story quite right. He thought I'd only been hiding from Mum Olga—still thought the letter that broke his heart had been from Hattie. However little I cared for her feelings, it wasn't right to leave false blame with her. I'd eventually have to give Char the full explanation. In that moment, though, we'd reached the pasture, and I put the letter from my mind.
Apple cocked his head at the sound of our footsteps, and when he saw who it was, he bounded up to his fence, grinning and wide-eyed, hands reaching for a treat. I laughed. "Remember me, boy?" I offered an apple and petted his flank as he ate it.
"I've had a squire tending him while I was abroad," said Char. "Look what he's learned." He took an apple and extended his free hand. In a commanding voice, he said, "Apple, shake hands."
Apple looked at him blankly.
"Shake hands," said Char. "Shake hands, Apple. Shake hands!"
Apple blinked a couple of times. Then, tentatively, he lifted his own slender brown arm and touched his fingers to Char's. Char grasped his hand tightly and gave it two firm shakes. "Good boy, Apple!" He gave him a treat, which was happily received.
I clapped. "Very good, Apple," I said.
Char grinned. "Apple, clap," he said. He clapped his hands together, once. "Clap your hands."
Apple clapped twice, and I cheered. "You're so clever!"
Char had Apple's attention, now. "I wonder if he remembers this one," he said. "I taught him some time ago, but I never had the chance to show you."
He raised his hand chest-high and brought it in a semi-circle down to his stomach, the shadow of a courteous gesture. "Apple, bow," he said clearly. "Bow to the lady. Bow."
Apple watched him carefully, trying to understand.
"Bow," said Char. "Bow to Ella. Bow." He demonstrated.
Apple tossed his head. He shuffled backward. Then he looked directly at me, spread his arms, and dropped both front legs to dip into a more graceful bow than I would have imagined possible from a quadruped.
I gasped with delight. "That's wonderful," I said. "Char, you did a magnificent job." I gave Apple a treat. "And you, of course," I told the centaur.
After a while, we left Apple to explore the menagerie. Many of the animals were shut inside for the winter, but with the prince at my side, I had free rein where others did not. A groundskeeper pulled open the heavy outbuilding door, and we were struck with a heavy burst of warm, animal-scented air.
We stopped by the bird cages, first, per my request. Char demonstrated what Ayorthaian he had learned. Mixed into his phrases were words I didn't recognize and pronunciations I found strange. It occurred to me that what lessons he'd had—at home and abroad—had all taken place in a castle, among nobles. What I'd learned from Areida was probably the equivalent of a commoner's drawl. The thought amused me. I'd have to ask her about it the next time we met.
"You've gotten much better," I told Char.
"My accent's terrible," he said, laughing. "You sound better. That bird sounds better."
"But you've learned more words." In Ayorthaian, I said, "I like to hear you speak."
He puzzled over it for a moment, and then he grinned uncertainly and said, "Thank you. I . . . try many hard . . . to make you pleasant."
I giggled.
We skipped the ogre huts. "Truthfully, I don't know why we keep them," said Char. "Father says it's good for the people to know what danger is out there. I say, if danger is out there, let it stay there. Ever since that one bewitched you, with the dwarf child—" He stopped as his mind, imbued with new knowledge, worked out what had really happened. "Oh," he said slowly. "He told you to bring the child . . ." He looked at me. "You told me it was something in its eyes."
"I couldn't tell you the truth," I said. "I'm sorry. My mother forbade me from telling anyone about the curse. When I was very small."
Char looked surprised, but the sense of it came to him. "Couldn't someone have undone it? Your cook, Mandy. She could have ordered you to tell me. Or to tell anyone you pleased. For that matter—" He hesitated, unsure whether he should finish his thought.
"You think Mandy could have undone the curse that way," I said. "If she had told me to do whatever I wanted, that could have broken it."
Char looked apologetic. He nodded.
"We tried that, once," I said, "when I was about ten. It was Mother's idea, actually. She told me, 'Don't obey if you don't want, Ella. Do whatever you like.' It worked for a day, until we realized I couldn't take my tonic because I didn't want to. Believe me, we spent a very long time thinking about it. One day, Mother said simply, 'Don't be cursed anymore.' That gave me such a terrible headache she had to countermand it right away. And Mandy doesn't believe in big magic, so she was against trying to 'hoodwink the spell,' as she called it, in the first place. She wanted me to break it on my own.
"Now that everything has worked out fine, I'm glad I did break it on my own. I feel stronger. And I appreciate things more. This morning, Mandy told me to wash my hands before we started baking. And do you know what? I did it. I didn't make her tell me to use soap, or to scrub my hands together, or to wipe them on a towel afterward, or anything I used to make her do. And when she told me to stand up straight, I was slouching—"
"You did it?" he guessed.
"No. I leaned my shoulders down and walked like a hunchback until . . . well, until you came in, actually. And there was nothing she could say to stop me." I grinned. "Char, I can't explain how good it feels to be able to say 'no.' It's as if I've finally come up for air after a lifetime underwater."
Char was watching the ogre cages. "It must have been miserable," he said softly.
"It was."
He put his arm around my waist.
When we'd warmed up a bit, we ventured back outside. The dragon cages were warm enough to endure the weather. We were admiring the new golden-scaled specimen the king had imported from far-off Jindari when Char's eyes landed on something over my shoulder, and he straightened up. I turned to look.
It was Princess Cecilia, and she was headed straight for us.
I straightened next to Char, and when his sister was upon us, I made my best finishing-school curtsy, wobbling only slightly due to nerves.
I had seen her at formal events, but we had never been so close before. The princess could have been Char's twin, they were so alike. She had the same brown curls, though hers were styled into ringlets under her hood. She had his freckles and his broad, enthusiastic grin. She was taller than me, but just slightly, and though I knew she was my age almost exactly, she had a roundness to her face and limbs that made her appear younger. Her cheeks were flushed red, but whether from the cold or from exuberance was impossible to tell. She took me by the hands and beamed at me.
"Is this Ella?" she asked. Her voice was musical—strong, like Areida's, but higher-pitched, and soft and smooth as cream. "It's an honor to finally meet you."
"I'm sure the pleasure is entirely mine, Highness."
"Cecilia," she corrected firmly. "There's to be none of that from you. You're part of the family now." She grinned at Char. "Just try calling Philip 'Your Highness,'" she said. "He'll run screaming from the hall."
"He might, at that," Char agreed.
Cecilia studied my face. "So you were the mystery maiden," she said. "I told Armand you weren't disfigured. He owes me ten KJ's."
They'd been betting on me? I had no response. Char made a face.
"Tactful as always, sister," he said. "You have some business in the menagerie?"
Cecilia finally released my hands. "I've been sent to fetch you," she told her brother. "Aunt Hilde and the lads will be here within the hour."
Char groaned and put a hand to his head. "That's today? Bloody—" He glanced at me, checked himself, and heaved a sigh. "We're hosting a birthday dinner this evening for my beloved aunt," he explained. "I . . ." He looked torn. "Ella, I hope you will not bear me too much ill will for suggesting you skip this particular dinner," he said. "Aunt Hilde is . . . well, she can be . . ."
"Insufferable," offered Cecilia.
"Distraught," said Char, giving her a look. "Since the loss of her son."
"More than two years ago," said Cecilia.
"Even so, we cannot begrudge her the sensibilities of motherhood."
"She was insufferable before Marten's death," said Cecilia. "And he was a prick."
Char shut his eyes. "Cecilia, for heaven's sake . . ."
She looked at me, then kicked a toe behind her ankle in an abbreviated curtsy. "Begging the lady's pardon." Char looked mortified. "In any case, Ella, you don't want to meet our family when Aunt Hilde is around. She puts everyone in a foul mood."
"It's up to you, of course," said Char quickly. "You're more than invited."
Meeting Char's parents would be stressful enough. I wasn't sure I was ready for extended families just yet, especially one he clearly didn't get along with. Thankfully, I had an excuse. "It's my first day back home," I said. "Regrettably, Mandy has already claimed me this evening."
"Ah." Char looked relieved. "We'll have you to dinner soon," he promised. "Tomorrow, even. They're not staying, are they?" he asked his sister.
Cecilia tilted her head. "Mother will inevitably invite them to stay the night," she said, "and dear Aunt Hilde will inevitably accept. But they'll be gone by midday. In fact, dinner would be perfect. Father won't have left yet, and after three balls and a birthday dinner, Mother can't possibly have anything else planned. I'll speak with her tonight, but I'm sure she'll consent."
Char grinned at me. "Will you join us for dinner tomorrow? Unless you'd rather stay in your manor," he added.
I shook my head. "I'd love to come. Thank you."
His grin broadened, and Cecilia clapped her hands together. "How exciting! It will be fine to have another lass to talk to."
After such a long time under Mum Olga's thumb, I thought it would be fine to have anyone to talk to. Cecilia was as vivacious as I imagined Char would be if he weren't so burdened with duties, and from her easy conversation, it was safe to assume I'd met with her approval. "I look forward to your company," I said. "And to meeting your brothers."
Cecilia waved a hand dismissively. "They won't be able to get a word in," she said. "I shall keep you all to myself. Come, brother. Time to make yourself presentable."
He looked questioningly at her, and then he noticed the flour on his doublet. He laughed and dusted it off. "I suppose I ought to change before our honored guests arrive," he said. "I'll be right behind you, Cecilia."
Cecilia took the hint. She nodded at me. "Good day, sister."
Sister. She would be my sister. "Good day, Cecilia."
When she'd gone from earshot, Char shook his head. "There's Cecilia," he said. "A bit . . . enthusiastic, at times, but kind to her very center."
"I like her," I said. "You're very similar."
He laughed at that. "I suppose we must be, though I confess I am hard-pressed to see it."
I frowned suddenly as I thought of something. "Does she know about the curse?"
"Ah—no, she doesn't," he said. "I haven't told any of my family. I thought you would prefer to do so yourself."
I nodded. It would couple with the explanation of my subterfuge. I remembered I still had to explain to Char why I'd been hiding from him. But in my short silence, he straightened up and looked grudgingly up at the castle. "I suppose I ought to go," he said. "My aunt does not take well to tardiness."
"Duty calls," I said. "Shall I see you tomorrow?"
"I fear I'll be wanted during the day," he said, "but if Mother agrees to dinner, I'll come for you in the evening."
I didn't like to share him, but I supposed it was something I'd have to get used to. I nodded. "Tomorrow evening, then. Enjoy your aunt."
He shook his head. "I shall make a valiant, princely effort," he said, and he sighed. "As I always do."
