He needed a drink and looked around for a footman. Not wine, thank you. Something heartier. Gin. Whisky.

He turned to see where the Weslorian ambassador was standing and spotted him in lively conversation with Hawke’s sister. Or rather, she was holding audience, her slender hands animating whatever tale she was imparting to the circle of gentlemen around her. Always attracting a crowd, that one. She suddenly tossed back her head and laughed loudly.

The ambassador seemed taken aback by it.

That woman. Gregarious and loud. She laughed carelessly; she told tales that apparently required the expansive use of her hands. She touched an arm here, a back there. She was in a royal palace at a royal reception, having the time of her life with not a single care for how she appeared. Meanwhile, he was an impotent prince, where the rules of society and royal protocol dictated what he said, what he ate, who he bloody well would marry. He was the one commanded to make small talk about a bloody horse with someone he hardly knew and didn’t want to know, while she breezily chattered on about God knew what.

Leo must have been standing and staring for too long—he slowly became aware of people looking in his direction. People who looked as if they might want a word. A “word” generally led to unusual requests and introductions he did not want to make.

No. Leo wanted to escape this palace and everything that went with it. But since he couldn’t do that, he determined he would escape to meet his friends as planned.

In a poor attempt at self-encouragement, he told himself that all he needed was time. Just a little bit of time to figure out how to postpone his fate a little longer.

CHAPTER THREE


Celebrations of the royal nuptials were held all over the city of Helenamar, including at the Foxhound Public House, a unique gathering place in the center of Old Helenamar, where it was rumored Prince Leopold made an appearance. Monsieur Bernard, a notorious Frenchman who is believed by some Alucians to be plotting with the Weslorians, was also spotted at the Foxhound in the company of Prince Leopold.

White satin boots are on the feet of every discerning Alucian woman in the evenings. They are often decorated with beads and ribbons to complement the gown, and the heels so high that the casual observer fears the lady may topple right off.

—Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and


Domesticity for Ladies

SHORTLY AFTER ELIZA and Bas made their escape from the afternoon’s private reception—no doubt to find a room, as their esteem for each other had now become notorious in every corner of the palace, if not the entire city—Leo managed to take his leave, too.

He’d been looking forward to this reunion with old friends since arriving in Helenamar. It was unavoidable that so much ceremony would attend any event that included the royal family, and it was unavoidable that he would chafe at it. But he was fortunate in that he had a pair of palace guards who had been with him for many years and were accustomed to arranging these outings for him.

The Foxhound was situated between a pair of stately gated homes, and across from a public stable. It enjoyed a rare and curious mix of clientele—this was the one place in all of Helenamar where aristocrats mingled with ordinary residents of the city. It was the one place Leopold could go without being beset by men or women who wanted something from him. It was the one place he could hear the news of the country that hadn’t been filtered for him or painted in a most pleasing light by palace personnel. The truth won out at the Foxhound.

His friends were all on hand today, and already three tankards into the afternoon. When he entered, a rousing cry of delight went up.

“What of the evening’s festivities?” Leo laughingly asked, gesturing to the empty tankards scattered among them.

“There’s plenty of time to sober up and make ourselves presentable,” Francois said, and threw a collegiate arm around Leo’s shoulders as he bellowed for the barmaid to bring more ale.

Francois was a Frenchman who had immigrated to Alucia at a very young age and had attended the same hallowed halls of education as had Leo and Bas. With the fringe of dark ginger hair that hung over one eye, he was charming and always jovial. He was a raconteur as well, and today he’d brought an entertaining tale of an encounter with a dance-hall girl.

Leo and his friends drank more ale, toasted his brother and his bride, reminisced about their school days and laughed uproariously at bawdy jokes. At some point in the afternoon, Leo found a barmaid seated on his lap. He didn’t recall the specifics, but there she was, casually stroking his hair behind his ear.

It would seem, he thought hazily, that he’d had too much to drink. Again.

Apparently, Harvel, another school chum, thought the same. “Look here, Your Highness, you ought to carry on, hadn’t you? Are you not required to attend the ball?”

“I am indeed,” Leo said, and put his tankard of ale down with a thud. “As brother of the new duke, as son of the king, as...” He tried to think.

“As squiffed as a bloody prince!” shouted Voltan.

“As squiffed as a bloody prince!” Leo heartily echoed, and lifted his tankard, sloshing a good deal of ale onto the table. He was indeed inebriated. So much so that it took him two attempts to push the girl from his lap and find his feet. He stood up, patting down his coat and trousers in search of coins, and finding none. Ah, of course. In Alucia, he had no need of money.

He was feeling a little dizzy and regretting that he’d drunk so much, but his friends were quite amused by his attempts to find a purse and waved him off. “Think nothing of it, Chartier,” Francois said. “We’ll pay for your ale. Consider it our last gift to a free man.”

“What’s that you say?” Leo asked, and surged forward, planting his hands on the table. “Do you know something I ought to know?”

“Only what all of Helenamar knows, lad,” Francois said. He winked, and all of them laughed. “Go on, then, enjoy an evening of royal repast as is your due, and your loyal subjects will pay for your ale.”

“I am in your debt,” he said, and with a flourish of his hand, he bowed grandly. “Where are my guards? I am all but certain I came with guards.”

“Here, Your Highness,” said Kadro, and put his hand to Leo’s arm to turn him about. His other guard, Artur, stood stoically by.

Leo smiled. No, he laughed. “There you are!” he said gaily. Jmil, he was drunk. If he didn’t dry out quickly, he’d have hell to pay tonight. His father’s displeasure was something that could be felt to the depth of one’s marrow.

Leo blathered his farewells to his old friends, and God help him if he didn’t get a wee bit teary. He invited them all to call on him in England, and they all very earnestly agreed to come.

Leo emerged onto the quiet street between Kadro and Artur, blinking back the late afternoon sun, but managing to walk a fairly straight line to the curb. “Look at me, lads,” he said, laughing. “The king will have my bloody head, will he not?” He wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t notice neither guard disagreed with him.

He looked up and down the street. He’d expected the coach to be waiting—in Helenamar, Leo was accustomed to walking out a door and straight into a waiting conveyance. With all the unrest on the border with Wesloria, maximum caution was taken every time one of the royal family stepped beyond the palace walls. “The coach,” he said, as if his guards hadn’t noticed it missing. “Where is it?”

There was a discussion between the two guards—something about the driver being instructed to wait at a distance so as not to alert anyone to the presence of the prince in the pub—and then Kadro said, “I’ll have a look around the corner, Your Highness, if I have your leave?”

“Have a look wherever you like,” Leo said, and watched rather stupidly as Kadro disappeared around the corner. Behind him, something made a strange noise, like the staccato of gunfire. Artur jerked in that direction. “If you please, Your Highness, wait here,” he said, and went striding in the direction of the sound.

Even in his state of inebriation, Leo thought this was all highly unusual, to be left standing on the street without anyone about. He slumped against the side of the building, smiling to himself. He’d had a good day, all in all. Well, save the wretched headache he’d begun the day with. And his father’s pronouncement to him. Leo had managed to forget that unpleasantry over the space of a few hours, but now it came tripping back to him, disturbing the buzzy tranquility he’d developed in the company of his friends.

He was thinking of all he wished he’d said to his father instead of bumbling through it and didn’t notice the two men darting across the street in his direction until they were upon him. When he realized they were not passing by, it was woefully too late, as they were pulling him into an alley next to the public house. When he understood what was happening, he tried to shout for his guard, but his voice was garbled with his confusion and his inability to make his feet work properly beneath him.

The next thing he knew, he was caught in an alley with two men he’d never seen before. A sick punch of dread hit his belly, threatening to purge all the ale he’d so recklessly drunk.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded in Alucian.

“Please be calm, Your Highness,” one of them said as they dragged him toward the dead end of the alley, then attempted to prop him up against the wall.

“Calm?” He flailed, waving them away. “Who are you? I have a right to know who or what is about to befall me.” A flurry of watery thoughts and emotions suddenly swirled in him—fear, regret, impatience—and all led to the same conclusion rather quickly: the inevitability of this very thing.