Charles balled his fists at his sides. He hated the possibility that Ferdinand might be right about the search being pointless.
A quiet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Your Highness?” spoke his attendant, Pierre.
“What is it?”
“Your aunt, the duchess, sir. She awaits your company in the South Courtyard.”
Charles hadn’t forgotten, but hehadlost track of the time. He had been doing that often lately.
“Please fetch my hat and my university jacket,” he told Pierre. After a pause, he added, “On second thought, I’ll bring them myself.”
His university jacket, as he called it, was an ill-fitting double-breasted coat he’d worn every day when away from the palace—and he loved it. It was the only garment he owned that did not have gold buttons or epaulets, or fabric so white it looked like it’d taken an army of laundresses to press clean. It lay neatly folded on a wooden bench beside his writing desk, surrounded by two stacks of books precisely piled to obscure its location.
He threaded his arm through each of the lightly frayed sleeves. To his amusement, the holes in its lining had been patched with scraps of silk, and its worn wool had been pressed and cleaned. At least he had managed to stop the seamstresses from replacing all the buttons or trying to hide the old tea and coffee stains!
He’d won it from a classmate on a bet that he couldn’t go one hour in town without being recognized as the crown prince of Aurelais. He’d made it sixty-five minutes before someone finally bowed.
Now it was one of his most prized possessions, and he wore it whenever he wished to not be recognized. Which, to be fair, was essentially all the time.
Charles ignored Pierre’s raised eyebrow and headed for the South Courtyard. He had promised to take Aunt Genevieve for a ride through Valors that morning, but he hadn’t promised to give the tour as the crown prince. No, today he’d simply be Charles, her nephew.
He had a feeling Aunt Genevieve would understand the way his father did not.Couldnot. That was why when she had asked him to take her into the city, he couldn’t refuse.
Of all the royal coach house’s carriages, Charles commissioned the most ordinary one for the day’s tour, the one he and his father took when they didn’t want to draw attention on the road. It was plain as any merchant’s coach, bearing no flag with his family’s royal crest, and no coat of arms painted on the doors.
Sure enough, Aunt Genevieve was already seated inside, her tiara sparkling in the wan morning light. She waved her fan when she saw him.
“You seem to have inherited your father’s punctuality,” she said dryly. She looked him up and down. “And the stable hand’s sense of fashion.”
“Good morning, Aunt Genevieve,” the prince said in greeting. He darted a glance at the empty seat beside her; part of him had almost hoped she’d brought her attendant so that he might have a second chance at meeting her. But his aunt was alone. Of course she was alone!
So why had his heart skipped a beat in anticipation of possibly seeing that girl with the blue eyes again?
Quickly, he recovered himself and bowed. “My apologies, Aunt Genevieve. It seems I’ve kept you waiting again.”
The duchess clicked her tongue. “It’s becoming quite the habit with you, Charles. First my welcome lunch, now this. I have half a mind to go back inside and catch up on my sleep.” She waited for her threat to sink in. Before Charles could respond, she continued, “Luckily, it’s a beautiful morning for a ride out into Valors, and I’ve already dismissed my girl until lunch.”
Charles cocked his head slightly, tempted to ask where her attendant had gone.
“Come on, get inside. The sun isn’t getting any younger, and neither am I.”
With a smile, the prince obediently entered the carriage and signaled for the driver to take off.
As the coach lurched to a start, his aunt grabbed the side of her seat and snapped her fan closed. “Tell me, was it your idea to fetch me in this gourd of a coach, or your father’s?”
“Mine, Aunt Genevieve. I thought we might see more of the city if we weren’t recognized. If you are uncomfortable, we can change to a different coach.”
“No.” To Charles’s surprise, his aunt doffed her tiara, tossing it aside. “Always scratches my head, anyway. Besides, if you’re going to be dressed like a commoner, I am certainly not going around looking like a duchess.”
Charles leaned back, hiding a smile. No wonder he’d always liked his aunt.
“Look at you, my boy.” Genevieve patted his shoulders. “Such a strapping young man. You must have gotten your good looks from your mother. Heavens knows they weren’t from George.”
The prince laughed in spite of himself. “I’ve missed you, Aunt Genevieve.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” The angles of her face softened as she considered her nephew. She inhaled. “Funny, I left the palace because I didn’t want to live life strung up like a puppet, and now that I’m back I lament not visiting more. I’ve missed too many years with my favorite nephew—”
