She didn’t attempt to take hold of it, and not just because it wouldn’t do to reveal her secrets in a public place. It would have been pointless given, as with all sources of perpetual movement within the castle walls, the Dust produced by this fountain was protected by a magical barrier. One couldn’t have magic leaking freely throughout the castle grounds for any passerby to take hold of, no matter how small the trickle produced by the fountain might be.
But magic craft was a sore spot she didn’t need to dwell on right now. She had plenty of other grievances clamoring forher attention, such as the unintended group outing. She hadn’t minded Sophia joining them. In fact, a cowardly part of her had welcomed the insulating presence of her friend. But that was because Sophia was good at melting into the background when necessary. Bertrand was another matter entirely.
A scowl crossed Elowen’s face at the thought of the viscount. She was miserably conscious that the dinner hadn’t gone as well as she would have liked, and she laid the blame at his feet. Bertrand had always been irksome, but she’d never seen him as brazen as he’d been the night before. She would never have dreamed he would be so insulting to the foreign prince’s face. What could he possibly hope to achieve by embarrassing her and insulting Prince Theodore?
Prince Theodore.
Her thoughts turned yet again to the Siqualian prince. She wished she’d had more success figuring him out. But she supposed there would be time enough for that. They had the rest of their lives, after all.
The thought didn’t excite her, but at least it didn’t fill her with dread. He hadn’t shown much warmth—all right, he hadn’t shownanywarmth. She wished he’d given some indication of admiring her. She was used to overblown compliments, weary of them even, but still, the absence of admiration had been notable. It was probably vain of her to think it, but she’d been dressed to her very best, and she hadn’t been able to detect even a flicker of appreciation in his gaze when he laid eyes on her.
She was being foolish. He’d been in no way unkind, and at leasthewas pleasant to look at it. She pictured in her mind his dark hair, straight nose, and slightly pointed chin. His appeal wasn’t primarily because of his features, she decided. It was in his bearing—his stride, his unruffled posture, his steady gaze. He wore his confidence like a well-fitted coat, and it was attractive.
If only he wasn’t so…she winced to echo Bertrand in her mind, but…stiff.
“It’s strange to see an empty fountain.”
Elowen started at the voice, spinning around to see Prince Theodore himself behind her. He was dressed in a thick, embroidered coat of a deep blue, the garment perfectly fitted to his muscular form, with dark breeches and tall riding boots. One of his guards had accompanied him, but the man slid discreetly past, following her servant toward the stables.
Left alone with the prince, Elowen smoothed her skirts self-consciously, feeling as discomposed as if he’d been able to read her thoughts about him.
“Good morning, Princess Elowen.” The prince smiled, the expression friendly, but in a cautious way. His eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners.
“Good morning,” she said. “And please, call me Elowen.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded, his smile marginally more relaxed. “Thank you. Feel free to call me Theo.”
Theo. She felt a flicker of surprise.
Apparently he could read it, because his smile turned slightly rueful. “Even stiff princes have nicknames, you know,” he informed her. “Theo is what my friends and siblings call me. My parents, too, but only if they’re particularly pleased with me.”
Elowen fought back the color rushing to her cheeks. His use of the wordstiffwas an uncomfortable reminder of her embarrassment from the night before, but at the same time, it made her like him more. He’d surprised her for the second time—she hadn’t expected him to make a light joke of the gossip about him.
“That sounds pleasant,” she informed him. “I don’t think the thought of giving me a nickname has ever crossed Patrick’s mind.”
Prince Theodore—Theo—tilted his head slightly to one side, his expression searching. “You and your brother aren’t close?”
“No, I didn’t mean—” Elowen stumbled over her words, alarmed that she’d cast her family, and thus the kingdom, in a poor light. “Patrick and I are very amicable. We don’t. I mean, we’ve never—”
“It’s all right,” Theo cut her off, his tone gentle but still managing to remain light. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and you have no need to explain anything to me.”
Elowen drew a deep breath, deciding to take the opening. “Actually,” she said, “I do wish to explain something to you. I’m afraid the wrong impression was given last night. The incident with the watchtower yesterday was nothing but an inconvenient accident, and the timing was purely…coincidental.”
“Of course it was coincidental.” Theo raised an eyebrow. “What else would it be?”
“Well, nothing else, of course.” Elowen fidgeted uncomfortably, starting to wish she’d never brought it up. “I just…Lord Bertrand spoke out of turn at dinner, and I didn’t want you to…”
Her voice trailed off as the stiff politeness returned to Theo’s face.
“To get the wrong impression?” he finished for her. “Not at all.”
Elowen felt herself deflate. She could see she’d made it worse. She should have left it alone. Why must Bertrand be such an interfering nuisance? She bit back the urge to keep trying to explain herself, wise enough to know she would just embroil herself further.
“What…what did you mean about the fountain?” she asked instead.
“The fountain?” He was politely bemused.
“When you first arrived, you said it was empty,” she explained, glancing at the still-tinkling water. “It doesn’t look empty to me.”
