I stood aside, uncertain what to do with myself or the unwieldy artwork. “Prince Simeon was quite thoughtful to send a gift when it is he that saved us. I do not know what got into Arno. Our horse.”
Otto nodded. “Simeon possesses an undeniable skill for charm.”
“Skill implies practiced effort,” I mused. “I would say his charm is more constitutional.”
Otto only tilted his head in response and then went to the back of the chaise to retrieve his saddle. He concentrated on putting it on the horse, while I, arms growing weak from holding the heavy painting, attempted to sustain our foundering discourse.
“You know your way around this area well,” I observed.
“Yes,” he agreed.
I waited half a minute. Then: “Have you been in the kingdom a long time?”
“Yes.”
“You are not from here.”
“No.”
It was clear he did not wish to have a conversation. After many long moments—him fastening the girth and adjusting the stirrups— I exclaimed: “You have a penchant for silence.”
Otto straightened, ran a hand through his hair, and fixed me with his dark eyes. “You, it is clear, do not.”
I glanced at him, sharply. His hand dropped to rub his mouth. Half shutting his eyes, he said: “I apologize. That was impolite. I am preoccupied today.”
“I thank you for the painting,” I told him, voice tight. “And I’ll trust you to see yourself down the drive.”
I was finally willing to concede: I would not win over Otto Abensur.
Rosie and Mathilde came to my chambers that night. They climbed up into the bed beside me and settled, one at each of my sides.
“Mama,” Rosie whispered. “We finally finished our dresses.”
“With almost no time to spare.” Mathilde sank back into the pillows next to me.
The ball was the day after the next. I held a hand in the air, the candle causing a flickering, oversized shadow on the canopy above us. “You have done the impossible. A gown in a week, and all the other work as well. Not to mention, charming an actual prince.”
“He is just polite, not charmed,” Rosie said. She waited hopefully, and both Mathilde and I laughed and contradicted her.
“I saw his eyes lingering on you,” Mathilde cried. “Polite eyes do not linger.”
“Who would not be charmed by your sweet, happy disposition?” I asked. “And any argument should be put to rest with one glance at that painting.”
Rosie pawed at the blankets. “What could he mean by it?”
“That he is thinking of you. That he wanted to do something for you,” I ticked off the list. “That he is a prince and can send grand gifts on a whim.”
She nuzzled into my shoulder. “Do you think he might ever love me?”
I considered. “Your father and I were an unlikely match. He wasn’ta prince. Or anything close to it.” I laughed to myself. “But it wasn’t expected.” I took each of their hands and laid them in a little stack upon my lap and pretended to climb them with my fingers. “You must learn the rules and then climb them like a ladder.”
“We have a surprise for you!” Rosamund cried, pushing herself up off the mattress.
“Go on,” Mathilde told her, and then we both watched as Rosie rushed from the room and returned a minute later, her arms full of layers of taffeta.
“You are going to a royal ball, too. And you need something to wear, even if you won’t have feathers in your hair.” She spread the dress out across the bed, on top of me.
“Rosamund did most of it; she is so quick.” Mathilde watched my face.
