She is simply Rinka.
On the opposite page was a picture of Rinka in Idris, this one in black and white, taken by a real picture-taker.
“I bet she loved having these portraits done if nothing else,” said Alison.
“Read it to me,” said Willow.
She sits across from me in Her Highness Princess Chloe’s parlor sipping a cup of tea delicately, her pinkie finger neatly extended. It isn’t difficult to see how people could be fooled.
“We weren’t trying to fool anyone,” she says, glancing back at his Royal Highness, Prince Idris of Loegria and Wilderise, for reassurance.
His Royal Highness looks dapper in the regalia of Winwold College, where he is serving as a guest lecturer for the year. He gives Rinka a nod and a tense smile. “Well, that wasn’t the primary goal, anyway.”
The primary goal of their charade—a charade that had everyone “quite convinced,” according to Princess Chloe, was simply to see more of each other, Prince Idris explains.
Prince Idris goes on to tell a story of falling in love at first sight that, as outlandish as it sounds, I believe immediately. His affections are so plainly written on his face, I scarcely need him to speak to understand the details.
But as they are rather extraordinary, I’ll include them here for your benefit, dear reader.
“This should be interesting,” said Willow. “I wonder how much of the truth he told.”
Alison wondered the same. There were parts of their story that made little sense without magic.
“I travel in disguise,” begins Prince Idris, setting down his teacup and glancing at Rinka as if to ask her permission to share the details. Rinka nods regally. “It prevents attracting too much attention. When I ran into Rinka on the rail-wheeler, I’m afraid I looked quite down on my luck. Rinka was kind to me. She offered to mend the holes in my trousers. I was taken with her at once.”
Rinka, for her part, didn’t share the prince’s immediate affections. “There were little things about him that didn’t add up. The holes in his trousers, for one. They were in the wrong places. I thought he might have been in the picture-show.”
Rinka regales me at length with her extensive knowledge of the picture-show. At one point, impressed by her erudition, I offer her a position here atThe Loegrian Womancovering the new pictures as they’re released. She blushes and declines the suggestion, clearly embarrassed by her outburst. But, dear reader, if you could only see how charming she is when she talks of something she loves! (The only other subject that seems to merit such enthusiasm is the prince himself.)
“She was on to me from the start,” says Prince Idris. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he looks at her. “I’m certain she would have figured me out, too, had it not been for a little interference from Burning Ash.”
Yes, dear reader, Burning Ash. The notorious pirates hailing from the Western Isles, whose raids on innocent cargo vessels and small port towns went from a source of annoyance for the King’s Navy to their top priority following their attack on an unarmed passenger ferry.
The very same ferry that Prince Idris and his new companion were traveling on.
“Of course, there was little I could do with no weapon on me. They knew my identity—knew I’d be on the boat. I foolishly attempted to challenge the pirate captain to fisticuffs, and it landed both of us overboard.”
This part was definitely untrue. “A peace offering to the king,” Alison explained to Willow. “He wants support for stepping up the action against Burning Ash. Idris must have dropped that in there to soften the blow of Rinka’s announcement.”
Miles from the shore and alone at night, Prince Idris and Rinka were all at sea. “I’m an okay swimmer,” begins Rinka, but Prince Idris interrupts. “She’s being modest. She’s an excellent swimmer. It saved our lives.”Rinka explains she learned to swim in the waters of the River Eabrun, a common pastime for those without a summer home to escape to.
“The way they talk about the common folk like they’re some sort of wild species. As if most of their readers aren’t common,” muttered Alison, stroking her dark braid in indignation as she read on.
“We also had some help from a lovely pair of mermaids. They helped us to the shore in exchange for stories,” says Rinka.
I ask them about the stories they told the mermaids, but they get uncharacteristically cagey. “Just tales of life on the land,” says Rinka. She quickly changes the subject. “Once we made it to the shore, we found our way to the main road, and from there it was just the matter of a pleasant country walk to Fossholm.”
But they’ve left out the part I wanted to hear the most—how Rinka reacted once she heard who the prince was.
“Oh, I’ll admit I was a bit upset. I had grown rather fond of him, and once I knew who he was, I knew my hopes were in vain.”
But once they’d arrived at their destination, Prince Idris had an idea: “Let’s tell them you’re a noble,” he told her. “Then we can spend the summer together getting to know each other.”
“It was only meant to be for the summer,” says Rinka. “It wasn’t meant to hurt anyone. I thought I’d go back to my life—or I’d start a new one there in Wilderise like I’d planned—and no one would need to know about Lady Rinka of Paistos.”
But they found they couldn’t bear to be apart. “I knew I couldn’t say goodbye to her. This isn’t the kind of woman you say goodbye to.”
I ask if that means what I think it does.
