“Forgive me, your majesty…?”
“What?” Fatima said. She was busy watching Prince Hiro thrash the living daylights out of the Marquis de Montferrat.
She rather fancied Prince Hiro.
“Forgive me,” Roxana said. “Is his majesty the king not interested in who will win?”
Fatima sighed and peeled herself away from the telescope to look her lady in the eye.
“Roxy, it does not matter who wins,” Fatima said slowly,so she could keep up. “What matters is finding a nice man to distract him with. To stir his passions. To make him feelaliveagain.”
“Oh, yes.” Roxana nodded nervously. “Yes, your majesty is quite right.”
“Of course I am right,” Fatima said, and turned away before Roxana saw her smirk. “I am rarely wrong.”
“Any favourites so far?” Roxana asked.
“Yes, one or two seem interesting,” Fatima said. “Let’s see how they fare tomorrow with what I have planned.”
Chapter 7
Despite Gustav visibly panicking about his choice to withdraw from the rest of the afternoon, Francis assured the older man that he would dutifully go to the supper that night and pick up the tournament again tomorrow when it resumed.
He decided to take Archie as his plus one for supper. Since this trip was turning into a social nightmare, Francis felt he needed the support.
Archie was boisterous and intimidating in a way that Francis was not, especially wearing an eye patch, and he guessed that his annoying rivals would be less inclined to bother him with Archie there.
After an afternoon nap, wash, and change, it was straight on to an early supper.
“Is old Gustav upset that you gave him the heave-ho?” Archie asked, as they entered the Harem.
That’s what this hall was, Francis now knew. The Harem. He couldn’t wait to tell Archie.
“I’m quite sure he will welcome an evening off,” Francis replied. “He appears fraught.”
“Yes, if he wasn’t grey already, he would have turned it by now,” Archie quipped.
They were early to supper, some of the first guests to arrive.
Francis wanted to switch things up this time. He refused to get stuck down at the bottom of the table again.
“Archie,” he whispered, gesturing at the head of the table. “Secure a good spot.”
“Right.” Archie flew in, pouncing on two empty cushions just before the Count of Pertengo could nab them. “Taken!” Archie declared, spreading himself across two cushions. “Better luck next time, Pertengo.”
“Well, I never!” the count huffed, and had to find another seat.
Francis tried not to chuckle. Things were more bearable with Archie. He sat down as Archie made room for him.
“I could get used to these relaxed suppers,” Archie commented, lounging back on his cushion.
Francis glanced around the table as it filled up, noting the dirty looks from several of his opponents. “I’m not sure how relaxed this will be,” he said.
“Is the king gracing you all with his presence?” Archie asked.
Francis had no idea. Whether he did or not wouldn’t make all of this less awkward for him.
All during supper, as Archie ate and chatted away, oblivious to Francis’s inner turmoil, Francis kept noticing who among his rivals were making alliances. Which ex was speaking to which enemy. Prince Hiro was cosying up to Wittensbach, of all men. Montferrat was conferring with Haugwitz. And Visconti kept shooting Francis dirty looks, as did Pertengo.
