“It’s not a—”
“Besides, your aunt Genevieve arrived this morning and expects you to accompany her to lunch.”
The prince started. The name was one he hadn’t heard in years. “Aunt Genevieve is here?”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
A muscle twitched in Charles’s jaw. Now he understood why his father looked so preoccupied. His aunt, the Duchess of Orlanne, hadn’t visited in nearly a decade; in fact, the last time she’d been there, she’d sworn never to return to the palace. She and his father famously did not get along—and Charles didn’t understand why, given he thought the world of her.
“Where is she now?” Charles asked.
“Still sleeping, I should hope.” King George shoveled the rest of his pastry into his mouth. He began to cough violently as he chewed, the color draining from his face.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the Grand Duke, springing to action. He tapped the king’s back with his scroll, but it only made the coughing worse. By now, the king’s face had turned an alarming shade of purple.
Charles rounded on his father, hoisting him out of his chair and pumping his chest as the duke rang the nearest bell.
“Come help His Majesty! He’s choking!”
Just as the servants began clamoring inside, the pastry shot out of his mouth onto the table.
“Breathe, Father, breathe.”
The king tugged at his collar, recovering his breath.
“Sire,” said the duke, “that’s the third time this week. Are you—”
King George grunted, a signal for the duke to be quiet. “Nothing’s the matter with me. Drank my tea too fast, that’s all. Pass me the sugar, will you?”
“Father, are you sure that’s a good idea? You just choked.”
The duke complied before Charles could argue further, scooping a heaping spoonful for the king. George leaned back in his chair, a contented smile cheering his expression.
“Perhaps you ought to sit out on meeting with the council this morning, Your Majesty,” Ferdinand said, once Charles’s father took another long sip. The duke had taken the tone Charles detested most; it was far too nice, far too suggestive that he was angling for something. But what?
“Sit out the meeting?”
“Yes. The physician said—”
The king shot the Grand Duke a deadly look. “I can handle a council meeting, thank you very much.”
“But sire—”
Charles frowned at both of them. “What did the physician say, Father?”
“Only that all this party-throwing business is too much for a young man like me.” King George leaned back in his chair, exhaling then letting out a chortle. “What does he know?”
The Grand Duke was watching them, a corner of his mouth lifted. Charles didn’t like the look.
“Shouldn’t you be resuming your search in Valors?” he asked Ferdinand.
“If Your Highness insists, I will certainly continue my search. But onlyafterthe council meeting. There are important laws being discussed this morning, and His Majesty greatly values my opinion.”
Charles frowned. “Important laws? Father, I could help you—”
“No, no, you must not be late for your luncheon with the duchess,” interrupted Ferdinand smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare my statement for today’s council.” He rolled up his scroll, tucking it under his arm, saluted the king, and bowed.
Then the door closed, leaving the prince alone with his father.
