I spluttered. “He what? I’m thirty-five!”
He grinned suddenly and thrust his hands in his pockets.
I studied the smug look. “Did he put you up to that?”
He nodded. “He wanted to know how old you were.”
I couldn’t explain the sudden flush of warmth I felt wash through me at this. I wanted to ask the boy what else Aleksey had asked about me but had the certain belief that this would be reported straight back to the subject of the inquiry. I held my tongue. With some prompting and reminders to try and simplify the names, I managed to get out of Stephen that the king had two living brothers: Harold, who was never to be called Hal, and John, who was a fool. Whether the boy meant John was a literal fool in a cap with bells or whether he was just deemed stupid by a stupid nine-year-old with too much time on his hands, I could not decipher.
I was soon able to make up my own mind on this, as I met the prince almost as soon as I entered the dining hall. This was an impressively long, high chamber with two tables arranged to form a T: a short table at the top for the more important diners and the long one laid on both sides for the less significant. I gathered that the farther you were from the high table the less was your perceived importance and wondered where I would be seated. Apparently I was considered to be very important: I was right at the top, in the junction between the lesser beings and my illustrious betters. Before I could sit, a man who introduced himself as John accosted me. I will skip all the titles and His Highnesses and whatever elsehe gave himself. I was tired of them already, and I’d only been in the castle a few hours.
I’m not given to snap judgments about others. Most people I have discovered have hidden depths, and if given a chance, they will reveal treasures they might otherwise have kept private. This man, however, I disliked on first sight. I might even go as far as to say detested. I almost recoiled from his handshake. Why? He was it. He was that one hidden fear we all have, that one secret we keep from everyone. He was a man who preferred the company of other men—as did I. I suspected he acted upon his preferences, however, in a way that I had renounced. But he showed me that terrible path. He reminded me that it existed and that with one slip, one weak moment, I too could be following its siren call. From the look he gave me, I believe he would have taken my hand and led me down that road personally.
I swallowed deeply, trying to concentrate on his words of greeting, not on his scent, his hand in mine, his knowing eyes. He was disturbingly seductive. I was extremely relieved, therefore, when Stephen tugged my arm and said I had to meet the rest of the herd (his word, not mine) and pulled me over to a small group of beautifully dressed men and women who comprised the main body of the court.
Prince Harold was away on a visit to southern Europe, so the only other member of the family I had yet to meet formally was George. I was about to ask Stephen where the king’s eldest son was, when there was a little commotion at the end of the room, and I turned to see Aleksey enter. The smile that had begun to creep over my face at seeing someone I was beginning to think of as an ally, even a possible friend, faded, leaving a slightly sick feeling in my stomach. A striking, beautiful young woman accompanied Aleksey down the room. They were arm in arm. I could not deny they made a stunningly attractive couple as, indeed, nature intended.
Stephen was tugging my arm. I ignored him, then changed my mind and asked in sotto voce, “Who is that with Prince Christian?”
He looked faintly amazed and then replied, “That’s Princess Anastasia,” as if he were surprised I could walk and talk at the same time, being so impaired as to not know the name of this apparition.
The paragon and her escort reached us. I bowed low. Aleksey waited until I’d straightened and then said rather grandly, “Doctor, may I introduce the Princess Anastasia,” and added after a slightly telling pause, “my fiancée.”
I gave him an open, unreadable look and turned to her. I went against all my better nature and used and abused the power I knew I had. I smiled; I had perfect teeth too. I spoke; I was educated and traveled, clever and witty. I charmed; I was amusing and self-deprecating. I totally and deliberately ignored Aleksey, and within half an hour I had the princess on my arm, and we were taking a slow turn around the room.
To my great disgust, Anastasia was utterly delightful. She was unassuming, funny, intelligent, and surprisingly independent. She was from Vienna, which helped. She didn’t appreciate Hesse-Davia and its antiquated ways much either, although when I told her some of what I had seen on my journey—obviously not the final and worst horror—she was appalled. Much of the poverty and degradation had been hidden from her. She had gained most of her impressions of the country from her maids, with whom she seemed to have a very forward relationship: they gossiped like sisters.
I had been in the castle almost five hours, and I was beginning to regret my sleepless night and very hurried breakfast. I felt an unreasoned and unjustifiable anger at everything, but I could not discern its provenance other than hunger and fatigue. To say something, rather than allow the silence to say what I did not mean it to, I asked politely, “When is the wedding to be held? Surely not in the winter?”
“Wedding?”
I frowned. “Your wedding to Al—to His Royal Highness Prince Christian.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Forgive me. In the spring. As you say, winters here are very unfortunate. We could not travel on our wedding tour in the winter.”
“Have you been here long?”
“Forever.” She pouted a little and added, “I came here when I was fourteen.” Seeing my hesitation, she helped out, “I have been here five years.”
“Five years!”
She chuckled and patted my arm again. Strangely, it was not patronizing. “I have a very fortunate life, Doctor. God has blessed me.”
I wondered whether she meant by being engaged to Aleksey. I could see how she might think this. I glanced around to see where he was. He was watching us, leaning in a very unroyal manner against the wall, the wolf lying alert at his feet. For a moment I thought Aleksey’s eyes were on me, but clearly they would not be, for I was walking with his beautiful bride to be. I suggested that if we made for the table, some food might appear, and she sighed softly. “I’m afraid we are all waiting for George. Nothing will happen until George arrives.”
She was right. Half an hour later, His Royal Highness Prince George did arrive. He marched in, demanded to know why luncheon was not already served, and sat down at the head of the table. I wondered where he sat when his father was well. Did everyone shuffle down one space every time one of these entitled royals got sick? Platter upon platter of rich food arrived. It was enough food to feed a peasant village for a whole year. I felt sick just watching them eat. Then the reason for my sick feeling washed over me once more. I leaned back, unable to eat even the small amount of food I’d taken.
What had he thought as he’d been dragged naked through the street? Had he looked around for his… lover and, not seeing him, despaired? Was I creating fantasies out of nothing? It was entirely possible he had been a pervert indulging in shameless fornication. I glanced at John. He was eating sparingly, finicky little mouthfuls, patting his lips between chewing. I took up an apple and bit into it savagely. Fornication. Wanton.Fiancée. I was a fool. I resolved to keep my thoughts more to myself, guard my behavior around them all, and do the job I was here to do. With this in mind, I suddenly rose, bowed to my neighbor to excuse myself, and left. I shouldn’t be eating and passing the time in idle conversation. I had a man dying in my care. He deserved better, despite being the king of a court of deceiving liars.
Pleasantly cheered by my angry and miserable thoughts as I walked back toward the king’s chambers, I was annoyed to have them interrupted by the cause of them. Aleksey jogged up behind me and caught my arm. He handed me a bread roll with slices of cheese and apple pressed into it. “You didn’t eat anything.”
“Are you a servant now? Responsible for my eating habits?”
He didn’t seem offended. “Your servant is busy fetching your trunk from Mme. Costain’s, and as I suspect it weighs more than he, I felt duty bound to ensure our new physician does not faint on his first day at work.”
“Do I look like someone susceptible to fainting?”
He actually had the nerve to hold my arm, stop, and assess me, rather as if he were buying a horse. I almost expected him to check my teeth. I shook him off and said less irritably, “Stop it. You’re acting like a fool.” I plucked the bread from his hand and bowed deeply. “Thank you for your kind gesture. I am charmed.”
