Charles opened his mouth to express his doubts about the Grand Duke, but his father spoke first: “Why the frown, my boy? Don’t be so hard on Ferdinand. He’s doing the best job he can.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Why not? He’s doing you a great favor, searching the kingdom for the girl with the glass slipper.”
Charles tried not to cringe. The last person he wanted to be indebted to was the duke.
“Curious maiden, this young lady of yours.” The king laughed heartily. “I’ve heard of many things in my time, but not glass slippers. Cheer up, my boy. We’ll find her. How far could she have gotten on glass? And only one shoe!”
Slowly, Charles relaxed, and he couldn’t help smiling. Hearing his father laugh reminded him of the man he’d missed while he was away at the Royal University: the vibrant and energetic father who’d bounced him on his knee when he was a boy and spent every precious free moment he had with his son. Then the king’s shoulders sagged, and his laugh became a dry, hacking cough.
Panic seized Charles. “Father!”
King George clutched at his chest, pounding on it with his fists. His cough spluttered into a coarse wheeze. Then he forced a laugh.
“It’s nothing, my boy.” He waved a croissant at Charles, then picked up his teacup again. “Just choked on my good humor.”
“That didn’t sound like you were choking—”
“Lord knows I won’t have anything to laugh about when Genevieve’s around,” interjected the king dryly. “The last time your aunt smiled, I still had all my hair!” He patted his bald scalp. “Why else do you think I sent her away? She’s no good for my blood pressure. No good for my sleep, either!”
But his father hadn’t sent her away. From what Charles remembered, Aunt Genevieve had chosen to leave. He didn’t know much more than that; it was always a sore subject with his father, one he had never dared to broach himself.
“Now, are you going to keep standing there or are you going to join me for breakfast?”
“Some other time,” said Charles. He had a feeling his father was simply trying to change the subject.
The king harrumphed. “Very well, then. Be sure you arrive on time for lunch. The last thing I need is Genevieve haranguing me for not teaching you proper manners.”
“I’ll be there.” Charles started to leave, then paused in his step, tensing.
“What is it, my boy?”
“It’s a matter of the council,” said Charles. “I’d like to join. Your daily meetings with Ferdinand, too.”
“Ah...” The king’s voice drifted. He coughed into his sleeve. “Naturally, you will, Charles. In due time. Let us focus on getting you settled back in the palace—”
“Iamsettled.”
“Then let’s wait until Ferdinand finds your girl, and then we’ll talk. All right? Best for you to have a proper introduction to the council once that is sorted.” The king leaned back against his chair’s cushioned headboard. “You’ll be happier, too.”
“Very well, Father.” The prince bowed. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
On his way out, Charles noticed his father’s chamberlain lingering outside the door.
Keeping his voice low, the prince said, “Sir Chamberlain, would you have the royal physician visit my father again today?”
The older man blinked, as if surprised by the question. But, befitting the truly trained and skilled servant he was, he quickly hid his confusion and bent his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Sir Chamberlain.” Feeling slightly better about his father’s health, Charles strode on, but he didn’t know where he was going.
The gardens, perhaps. He had spent almost all of the day before there, trying to retrace the steps he’d taken withher, to see if he could remember anything that might help him find her. He hadn’t, but maybe today would be different.
It was better than waiting for Ferdinand to come back with news.
Three corridors down, Charles passed the physician hurrying to the king’s chamber.
“That was quick,” he murmured. “Dr. Coste! Are you on your way to see my father?”
