Prince Erik, otherwise known as Liam, stumbled through the starlit garden toward the Duke’s villa. With luck, he would be able to reach his room without meeting anyone who might pose awkward questions.
Luck was not with him. Obsidian, Duke of Westother, met him at the door.
“So there you are,” the Duke remarked. “We need to talk.” He turned to a passing servant. “Please ask Lady Agate to join us in my study.”
Erik knew where the study was, but it had always been locked when he tried to enter. The lock was a good one, and had a whiff of old magic about it. This told him that the room was worth seeing, but not worth the risk of forced entry.
Being invited past that door was serious. It was a not a room reserved for casual conversations. He had heard stories about the Dukes and Duchesses of Westother, which often ended with, “…and he was never seen again.”
Still, if Agate was joining them, he was probably not facing imminent murder. She hadn’t seemed like that kind of girl.
“Whiskey?” the Duke asked, as they settled in the fireside chairs.
More mixed messages, Liam thought. “Yes, please,” he said. He watched carefully as the Duke poured, and was satisfied that nothing was being slipped into his drink.
The whiskey was very good. The fire crackled low in the grate. The old woman in the portrait above the mantel seemed to be glaring at him.
It’s just a painting, he reminded himself. She’s glaring at the Duke too. The thought gave him comfort.
“Here I am, Father,” said Agate. She paused at the sideboard and poured herself a glass of sherry. Obsidian moved a third chair near the fireplace, and she settled gracefully into it, crossing her legs at the ankles.
“Oh, it’s you, boy,” she said to Liam. “Where have you been all day?” She sipped her glass in the firelight.
Obsidian coughed. “Thank you for joining us, Agate. Today, I received a letter from the capital.” He held up a parchment signed with a sigil and a conspicuous red wax seal.
“From Westport?” Agate asked. “Or from Arden?”
“The latter.”
“Oooh! From the King?”
“Not directly. From the Royal College of Seers.” The Duke looked sharply at Liam. “I sent them a query when ‘Prince Erik’ first arrived.”
“Nice of you,” said Liam. He was starting to guess where this conversation was headed.
“I was pretty sure we didn’t have an actual wandering prince in our guest bedroom. But diplomacy dictated a little fact-checking. One of the duties of the Seers is to keep track of all known Royals. In case one goes missing. Or turns up somewhere unexpected. As they sometimes do.” Obsidian tapped the parchment. “Here’s what they sent me:”
The sole prince hight Erik or Eric in our purview is Prince Erik of Nord, eldest son of King Olf III and his Queen Consort, Helva.
“There you go,” said Liam, nodding. “Good old Dad. And Mater.”
The prince is, at present, residing safely in Nordberg, being in fact engaged in a two-month betrothal ceremony with Princess Frigga, eldest daughter of Her Sublime Majesty, Queen Grimme of Zeäland…
Obsidian looked up. “In case you have forgotten your world history and geography lessons, Grimme of Zeäland is commonly know as ‘The Ice Witch’. It is not a courtesy title.”
“The Battle of Lake Funda,” Agate whispered.
“The massacre, rather. Five thousand fully armored knights and horses, turned to ice statues mid-charge, and shattered with thunder. The moral: you do not anger Queen Grimme. And so I deduce that the true Prince Erik of Nord is not currently galavanting around the Duchy of Westother, annoying our local Wizard and bothering my daughter.”
Liam squirmed. “It’s an alias? To avoid embarrassing my royal father?”
“I don’t believe that one either,” said Obsidian. “You are just an adventurer. And not a very good one. Lord knows why Gerrit didn’t turn you into a garden gnome. But now it’s time for you to go.”
Liam made eye contact with Agate. “About that, your Grace. I spent today, er, wandering in the woods building up my courage. To ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage.” He flashed his most winning expression, a wide-eyed smile that had opened many doors and gotten him into several beds.
Agate laughed, and downed the rest of the sherry.
Obsidian looked from Liam to Agate, and back again. “Have you spoken to my daughter about this?”
“Er, not yet.” Liam dropped to one knee in front of Agate’s chair. “Lady Agate, please, would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?”
“Nope,” said Agate.
Liam blinked.
“That sounds final to me,” said Obsidian. “Thank you, my dear.” He turned to Liam. “The night is fine. If you leave now, you should reach Westother Cross in time for breakfast.”
Liam scooted around so he was kneeling in front of the Duke. His face became a mask of tragedy. “Alone? Friendless? With just the clothes on my back and not a penny in my pocket?”
The Duke shrugged. “With the skin on your back intact. That should count for something. I have horsewhipped men for less.” He looked toward his daughter, who signaled a tiny “no”. Obsidian shrugged. “We’ll grant you the leather rucksack you arrived with, an extra pair of socks, and five silver in loose change. You won’t do better than that.”
“Ten silver would be better. With ten, I could get…”
“No.”
“Can you at least spare me a horse? It needn’t be a good one…”
“No,” said Obsidian. “And don’t ask me again. I am losing patience with you.” He stood, and motioned to his daughter. “I believe we are done here.”
“Pretty much,” said Agate. She gave Liam a searching look. “You were very sweet, boy. And I enjoyed kissing you. But you were just after the garden key, and I found that rather insulting.”
She joined her father at the study door, and they walked out together. Inseparable. Forever beyond his reach.
A servant entered holding Liam’s familar leather rucksack. “There’s a coin-purse inside,” he stated. “It’s more than you deserve, if you ask me. I’ll see you out.”
He handed the bag to Liam, and they both left the study. The servant made a great point of locking the door and rattling the handle.
While he was so occupied, Liam brushed against a side-table and swept something small, heavy and silver into his jacket pocket.
An adventurer is always alert for opportunity.
..
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