While the seamstresses changed topics back to what Duchess Genevieve should wear to her welcoming banquet, Cinderella listened only half-heartedly.
She had a hunch the so-called “spies” were the Grand Duke’s. Now that she’d begun to piece together the past: his role in banning magic in Aurelais and his fraught relationship with the Duke and Duchess of Orlanne, she would have to be especially careful about what she said the next time he called for her.
And ensure he never found out about her fairy godmother.
Ferdinand did not appreciate Genevieve’s unexpected appearance in the Center Court Stateroom. At least she had had the decency to wait until the council had dissolved, but the precious time after the meeting was when he best had the king’s undivided attention and could swat away any untoward ideas his rivals in court might have tried to put in the king’s head.
They exchanged glares as she stepped inside, her eyes glittering like the sharp emeralds studded on her tiara. A smug simper rested on her face.
Good heavens, how he despised that woman.
However, Ferdinand knew better than to show it. He stretched his lips wide, smiling until his cheeks ached. “Why, Your Highness. We were not expecting you.”
The king’s head bobbed up, his bewildered expression echoing Ferdinand’s sentiments.
“Five minutes is all the time I require,” Genevieve said, waving her fan at the duke with unconcealed distaste.
A thick wave of perfume assaulted his senses, and he coughed. “I beg your pardon. His Majesty and I have business to discuss. We have much to review about the council meeting, and—”
“And your sovereign could use a break after hours of listening to the ministers row and bicker with you,” Genevieve finished for him. She turned to King George, who was struggling to stifle a yawn, his eyes hooded with fatigue. He did indeed look like he could use a rest.
But Ferdinand would rather die before he ever yielded to the Duchess of Orlanne. “I am afraid that is not how it is done. As the Grand Duke, I—”
“As the king’ssister, I must insist. I have urgent affairs to discuss with my brother.Familybusiness.”
At that, George raised a thick eyebrow in curiosity. “Out, out,” he said, tilting his head at Ferdinand to leave the siblings alone.
“But, sire, there is the matter of our treaty with—”
“That can wait. Later, Ferdinand.”
Hiding a grimace, Ferdinand bowed and turned on his heel, walking slowly and defiantly for the door. Once it closed on him with a resounding thud, he pulled on his mustache angrily.
That woman!
What right did she have to claim the king’s attention? She’d been away for years; now she expected to waltz back into court and usurp his hard-earned position? That was not how it worked.
He gave the guards by the door his most authoritative glare, and they immediately looked to the other direction as he crouched by the keyhole, hoping to catch what Genevieve was telling the king.
Alas. The harridan had the cunning to keep her voice low. He couldn’t make out a word.
Waiting was agony. He watched the seconds tick by on his pocket watch, then gave up and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.
“Drat, where is that blasted thing?” he mumbled, checking pocket after pocket. While he searched, his fingers looped through a hole in one of his pockets, and he cursed. He’d have to send it to the seamstresses for mending.
The door behind him opened, and Genevieve sailed out. She looked insufferably pleased with herself.
“My brother will see you now.”
Ferdinand rose, straightening the tassels on his epaulets with a quiet grunt as he strode back into the stateroom.
Inside, he found the king still in his chair, toying with two porcelain figurines of a boy and a girl. Perfect. Ferdinand wanted to pick up where they’d left off: the topic of Prince Charles’s marriage.
At last finding a handkerchief, Ferdinand began polishing his monocle. “As I was saying, sire, before we were interrupted, I am simply trying to do what is best for the kingdom.”
“My son getting married is what’s best for the kingdom.”
“I agree. But he needs to marry the right girl.”
