「The Secret Life of Gardenias」

「September, 181: Quid Pro Quo – Wild Thistle」

...

Milliard waited before stepping out into the hallway, giving his treacherous staff time to usher the children out, though not quite enough to reveal his knowledge of their "adventure club meetings". He would have exposed them all except the resulting confrontation would inevitably betray how little control he had over his portion of the Palace, and that would be downright embarrassing.

He criticised Boy-Number-Nine for her rumpled gown, deducing from it that they had been hiding under the nearby side-table, and made a mental note to have that table moved. Perhaps he will need it in his bedchambers in the morning to build a new toy fort.

Under the constraints of etiquette and royal expectation, the dinner table was the last battlefield open to him and his opponent. Every evening when he was not required to join the Court's formal dinner, the Prince dined in his very own dining room with his most intimate subjects and whatever guests he chose to entertain, on a menu of his own design. This, too, was a crucial part of his education.

Until a month ago, Prince Milliard was a host of impeccable taste. Then he started ordering the occasional side of culinary oddity such as banana soup and fish jelly, and it went downhill from there. Courses of unidentifiable parts and dubious-sounding names paraded across his table with a five year-old boy's bloody-minded enthusiasm, turning the meal into a spectacle. For the fifth day straight, the only recognisable item was the customary dinner rolls. Milliard had been secretly relieved to discover that the "ants" featured in the traditional Chinese dish from the previous night were really preserved black beans. Alas, the same may be too much to hope for the golden silkworms nestled before him on a bed of mulberry greens.

He cringed and prodded gingerly at the succulent larvae when he thought Boy Nine wasn't looking. The rest of the meal was not any more promising.

It was clear to everyone involved that he was grasping for something with which to drive the young Lady Larucca screaming from his life, but whether it was the karmic lesson or the sheer sadistic pleasure of watching children suffer their own misfired pranks, neither his butler nor his chef deemed it important enough to mention that as an intimate member of the Court of the Iron Crown, high sovereignty of kingdoms that included parts of the South Slavic nation and Upper Arabia, Lucrezia Larucca would be well-used to the sight of exotic cuisine.

She inspected the main course gamely and took a small, curious, bite. Milliard held his breath. She chewed and swallowed, showing no ill effects or the slightest loss of composure. Pride demanded that he do the same. So eyes screwed shut, lungs clambering for air, the Prince chomped down a crispy forkful and promised himself that tomorrow, the dinner fare would return to being edible.

Several hours and bouts of teeth-brushing later, he sat sleepless in his window and reconsidered. Surely if he was close to breaking, she must be a miserable tortured heap ready to make her escape. It would be foolish to give up when victory was so close at hand!

As if on cue, a knock. It was her.

"You didn't seem to have much appetite at dinner, Highness, so I wondered if you might agree to join me in a light snack," she explained meekly, holding out a basketful of warm madeleines for his inspection.

The words "I accept" rolled off his tongue and back into his belly in confusion. He had not caught any of the keywords he had expected to hear, most notably, "I resign". A number of responses flashed through his mind, some not as appropriate as others. In the end, he settled for a relatively neutral "Thank you, I'd rather not think about eating right now."

"It helps to keep telling yourself there's no way they could have gotten into your stomach alive," she said, genuinely sympathetic.

He made a queasy grimace. "I'm not sure which is worse, the thought of them wriggling around in there or mashed up in a gloppy mess."

Lucrezia didn't know either.

There was a moment of mutual silence. Finally, Milliard accepted one of the little cakes. "Maybe if my stomach isn't rumbling I won't keep thinking about it."

Lucrezia nodded, biting into a clam-shaped pastry. "At least they were cooked," she shuddered, remembering the raw jellyfish that passed their table unmolested two nights ago.

"Cucumber sandwiches and macaroni chicken soup for the rest of the week then?" He mumbled to no-one in particular, naming the safest, blandest, foods he could think of.

"I liked the gazpacho," she ventured shyly. The chef made good gazpacho, though Lucrezia's pride would not let her admit that it reminded her of home.

"We can have some of that too," Milliard said graciously, hoping on crossed fingers that gazpacho was what he thought it was. Now that they were talking about it, he began to wonder how he could have let things gone this far. There were creatures in this world that little boys were simply not intended to eat, unless it is on a dare. Anything's fair game on a boys' dare.

He let her climb up the other side of the window-seat and sit with him, the basket of fragrant baked goods and an open pot of whipped butter between them.

"This does not mean we're friends," he cautioned.

She shrugged and, after a moment, added cryptically: "You're allowed more than one friend, you know."

Milliard stopped chewing and cast the strange girl-child a grim appraising look.

.
"I know what's wrong with the Captain," the boy smiled, shaking lank brown hair out of his earnest eyes. The other Knights under the long table huddled closer in anticipation, with exception of their Captain, Lucrezia, who fought to keep any expressions of fear out of her face. She had been so careful with her secret, and she knew her cousin would not have told anyone, even the King, since he had promised her as much.

The adults say that discrimination is a crime of the past, but all the children knew better. People will always need some way to tell each other apart, and some differences are more unforgivable than others. Otherwise, who would you rally up together against?

"Vous êtes belles mais vous êtes vides…" Alain continued to smile, fixing Lucrezia with a deep knowing look. "'The little prince went away, to look again at the roses',"

And she started to smile too, a mix of relief, from having dodged the bullet, and dawning understanding. She recognised the passage, of course. Le Petit Prince is the standard reader for elementary French everywhere. "'You are beautiful'," she translated, "'but you are empty'."

"What does that mean?" Spencer demanded, exasperated at being handed a riddle in answer to a question.

"It's from a book about an alien kid who got lost on earth," Cammie took pride in being able to inform him. "Is His Highness an alien?"
.

Lucrezia studied his clear blue stare. Under the moonlight, haloed in glowing ash-blonde hair, the Prince did look like he could have been from somewhere other than Earth.

"I know," he replied lightly, "but I don't want to."

"I don't need to be your friend to serve as your Boy," she changed tact.

Milliard rolled his eyes and sighed. "What planet are you from? The whole point is for you to become my best friend so that your family can enjoy the benefits of knowing someone dear to the heart of a future King. Why else would they have sent you here?"

Lucrezia winced. "I do not think that is the case with my family, your Highness," she said, and added, with a haughty toss of her chin that she and the other Knights had picked up from Dimitri's sister, "my family produces plenty of kings and princes of our own not to need anything from you. Can you say the same for your friend?"

Sparks flew when their eyes met.

He was almost certain she was bluffing, but did not want to appear foolish on the off chance that she wasn't. All he could remember about her for sure was that she is his Chief Tutor's cousin, and that she has an older brother his step-cousin's age.

"Don't say bad things about Rex," he snarled darkly. "He's better than any of you can ever hope to become."

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Elisa grinned, catching on. "It means there's already someone he wants. In the book, the little prince found roses on Earth that were just like the one he had on his planet, then realises that none of them were good enough because they were not his rose."

"He's acting out?" In a way, it came as a great relief to Dimitri to learn that the bullying was not personal. On the other hand, it was also greatly disappointing to find out that the Mastermind of such legendary pranks as the Prince's was just being a brat over the rules about who he got to play with.

"There you have it," Spencer threw his hands up in disgust. "You might as well give up now, Luc. There's no way anyone can beat that!"
.

"How would you know? You rip everyone out like baobabs before they have a chance to sprout," Lucrezia lashed out, "without seeing what they are!"

Milliard smirked. "Because Rex is the only person to have ever beat me at anything."

She could hardly believe her ears.

"You're not that good. We only let you win because it'd be too embarrassing otherwise. After all, a future King can't lose to just anyone." Those were potent words and she knew it, but the surreality of standing in the dark and staring defiantly up at the elfin figure reclined against the starry window had brought her beyond caring.

The princeling's eyes narrowed.

"Take that back," he said flatly.

"No."

He jumped off the windowsill to find that he was an inch too short to tower over her, adding to the rising colour in his cheeks.

"Take it back," he demanded again, head held high.

"I will prove it," she retorted giddily, "I will beat you at anything."

He chose fencing; she called him 'sly'. Fencing was not due to begin in their syllabus for several weeks, although she knew from her cousin that he has been given instruction since the age of four.

"Aus Schaden wird man klug," he declared remorselessly and readied his weapon.

"I'm certain you're using that wrong," she muttered, securing her netted fencing mask. The child-sized practice epée was cold, dead, weight on her delicate arm. Her last memory, as he came towards her in a barrage of flashing blades, was of being thankful that he had not elected to compete in algebra. She hated algebra.

Lunge, parry, counter, feint, he chased her down the strip. A sometimes-student of the greatest swordsman in the world, Milliard was more than confident of his victory… and similarly shocked when, at the end of the long padded area, she suddenly struck back in an attack of her own and proved that she was no amateur herself by taking the first point.

Milliard responded by diving back towards her. Though he did not let up, his defence had been shattered, leaving him open to as many jabs and thumps as he dealt out. They shuffled clumsily off and on the practice mat, chasing each other intently across the Salle for close to forty minutes before the Royal Chief Tutor arrived to put an end to it.

"You can fence!" The Prince cried out, throwing down his epée in disgust.

"It wasn't very gracious of you to propose a competition in something you thought your opponent couldn't do, Highness." Baronet Darlian scolded, rebuking the pair severely for their irresponsible behaviour.

"But she can fence!"

"Injury grows intelligence," Lucrezia replied in brusque German. "In Roma, every child of breeding is taught the art of swordplay as soon as they are old enough to hold one. If you insist on making me an enemy, Highness, perhaps it would be in your interest to get to know me."

On the mezzanine overlooking the entire exchange, a white-armoured sylph breezed away from the banister, attended upon by a handful of ladies-in-waiting. One of them carried an ornate foil with an expression of abject terror, as if any minute, the blunted smallsword will leap out of her hands and decapitate someone.

"Your thoughts, Katrina?"

Katrina Peacecraft turned to the Royal Fencing Master. "He is too impetuous, strikes before he's thought things through, too anxious about receiving his blows," she assessed, accepting water from her attendants. "I'm afraid we've spoiled him rotten. You'll have your hands full."

"I have to earn my keep somehow," Dennis Weridge returned lightly. If he seemed unmoved by the conversation, it is because he was far more interested in assessing the Queen's comment. The skill of making accurate character observations is one that required constant honing. In this respect, he was the royal couple's trainer as much as he will be the Prince's.

"You know His Majesty would never allow that," the regal woman chuckled. "He's afraid you'd kick his ass if he works you too hard. Or, as we say in Royal-ese, 'your continued contentment is far too valuable to the realm'."

Master Weridge hid a smile. "And the girl?" He asked, returning to business.

"In some cultures," Katrina started thoughtfully, her eyes dancing after the feuding duo, "when a gentleman loses to a lady, he is expected to marry her."

This provoked a pause and a deep guffaw from the normally wary man that lasted several breaths. He remembered the surprising little girl's mother: a copper-headed wildcat with a temper to match, Sanq's former Grand General's youngest, and a natural with a sabre. Lucrezia has inherited her instinct for footwork.

At age seventeen, Elena Beicher had done just that, winning the hand of her elusive object of longing, to the astonishment of all the European dominions.

"She certainly takes after her mother," he managed to agree mildly, "but I'm not sure His Majesty would approve."

"Wouldn't it be interesting, though? Ellie's daughter and Marina's son…" The beautiful Queen smiled.

...

A/N:
And so concludes chapter 2.
Strange foods and children— I remember being at an age when we'd eat anything that didn't bite back or burn the roofs of our mouths off. My little brother ate little domestic black ants. Then one day, all of a sudden around age five, we stopped for no apparent reason and decided some of that stuff was really icky. I guess it's a phase kids go through. Naturally, exceptions have to be made for cultures in which some of the less universal foodstuffs are the norm. That said, you'd be surprised at how many cultures do consider the commonly exotic 'common'. Sheep eyeballs are not exclusive to the Arabs!

Aus Schaden wird man klug— This is German, literally "through injury one becomes more intelligent", ie "you learn from your mistakes". So when Lucrezia says "Injury grows Intelligence", she is saying the same German words Milliard did earlier, only using them in a more appropriate situation. (I hope lol)

Revision History:
Original Posting- 8 Feb 09

Flower Language 花言葉:
(cont'd from part 1) The Japanese Wild Thistle is notably differentiated in Japanese flower language (possibly because it isn't supposed to grow anywhere else) from the Thistle and has the unique meaning of "Please get to know me more".