There was that whole bizarre business with King Enver lying to get out of dinner last night. (Deduction: one point.)
Even though it’s summer, Eugene isconstantlycold in here, and he can’t shake the feeling that he’s being just as constantly watched. There was even a seagull planted outside his window this morning, and all it did was stare at him through the glass and scream. (Deduction: a full point for the seagull, half a point for the resultant shivers. He’s not sure if all Asteran seagulls burn with that sort of malice or if, somehow, Gothelhasreturned.)
And most aggravating of all, his record search in the palace library is proving to be a wild goose chase. (Deduction: one point.)
(Coincidentally, math has never been Eugene’s strongest suit.)
“I’m sorry, sir,” the head librarian tells him, poring over the massive catalog on his desk with a perplexed frown. If Eugene were to guess, he’s around forty, and unaccustomed to coming up empty. “You’re sure the author’s name is Rothar?”
“A. Drew Rothar,” Eugene says, keeping a tight hold onThe Tales of Flynnigan Rider. It’s not as if the librarian’s about to snatch it out of his hands, but the man’s had a rather manic gleam in his eyes since they landed on the royal seal inside the cover. Eugene makes a note to hide it extremely well in his guest room. Or maybe Pascal can camouflage himself asthe book, since he’s currently napping under Eugene’s coverlet. (“How chameleons work, broadly” may be another gap in Eugene’s general expertise.)
“I’m afraid we have no record of this book in our archives, or of anything by that author,” the librarian says with a sigh. “Frankly, I’ve never even heard of either.”
“Is it possible for a book to have this seal andnotbe from this library?” Eugene asks, tucking the book into his satchel.
The librarian thinks a moment. “Possible, yes, but…only just this side ofimpossible. It would have to come from a, er, personal collection. A royal one.”
So, the royal family’s private shelves. That does sound impossible. “There’s some kind of a garden party meet and greet this afternoon. Maybe I can ask around.” Then Eugene snaps his fingers. “Hold on, I know exactly who to ask. I just need to track her down here. Do you have access to the municipal records too?”
Five minutes later, the librarian has escorted him to a very dusty corner of a very dusty basement stuffed with a concerningly flammable amount of paper. Eugene is trying not to focus on that as he repeats, for the fifth time, “Vald, V-A-L-D. First name Solena. Vald is her maiden name, though.”
The librarian, hunched over a veritable accordion of files in a drawer, grunts, “These are the citizenship enrollment records for when you say she arrived. She would have enrolled under her own name…but I’m not finding anything under Vald.”
“She left town around April of that year,” Eugene insists. “She said she was marrying an alchemist. Do you see anyone with the first name Solena?” The librarian rolls his eyes, and Eugene scowls. “Come on. There can’t bethatmany people who want to give up everything and move here forever. At least over the course of one April.”
To his credit, the librarian at least does a cursory sweep through the registry before shaking his head. “I apologize, sir. There’s no Solena, no Vald, and definitely no Solena Vald in our records for that entire year.”
“Not to be rude, but on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate your confidence in your records system?” Eugene asks skeptically. “Because now we’re zero for two.”
Before the now deeply affronted librarian can respond, there’s a shuffle near the entryway. “Excuse me?” a messenger pipes up, poking their head in. “Is the, er, Princess Rapunzel’s? Companion? In here?”
“I’m afraid to say yes,” Eugene answers.
“Could you come to the stables?” The messenger looks frazzled. “The princess’s steed seems to be? A bit unsettled?”
Even if that weren’t already four question marks past Eugene’s comfort level, the fact that Maximus is causing trouble is a blazing red flag. It was the queen’s idea to send him along, as what she politely framed as an “undercover extraction specialist,” in case things go very, very awry. At the least, Maximus can get Rapunzel down to their ship in a pinch, and frankly, Eugene wouldn’t be shocked if he could also swim herstraight back home. After all, eleven hundred pounds of angry horse will extract whatever he bloody wants.
He follows the messenger down to the stables, where he hears the thuds well before they reach the row of stalls. As they approach Maximus’s box stall, Eugene spots an older man standing at the half door, an apple in one hand. From his simple uniform, Eugene guesses he’s a groom, perhaps the stable master. “Whoa, boy.Whoa.”
There’s an irate whicker. The door shudders on its hinges from another kick.
Max doesn’t get antsy for no reason. The hair on the back of Eugene’s neck prickles.
He does his best to cover anyway, calling, “Come on, Max, if you wanted a visit you could have just sent an invitation.” The only response is a snort.
“I brought the princess’s companion,” the messenger adds. The older stableman looks their way.
And then—his face drops.
He ducks his head and swiftly mops his tanned brow with a hanky embroidered in blue flowers. “Good—good,” he stumbles. “Maybe you can calm him down.”
Eugene draws up beside him in front of Maximus’s stall, face perfectly neutral as he tries to sneak a look out of the corner of his eye. The stableman is on the shorter side, maybe in his early fifties, his dove-gray hair pulled into a short tidy braid and a neat beard. It could be Eugene’s imagination, but he’d swear…yep, the man’s definitely avoiding eye contact.
It’s like yesterday, the uncanny feeling of being almost—recognized.
Recognized in a land he’s never set foot in before.
Recognized by a king, his chamberlain, and now a palace stableman.
