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She’s right.“You’re going to get much harder puzzles during the contest than the ones in your book.”
Camille’s dreamy expression vanishes. “I’ll take my chances.”
“Logic and Reasoning it is,” I say.
Three minutes later, we enter the vast hall where the annual contest is held as part of the Christmas celebrations. I’m not sure what the exact capacity is, but it’s packed with thousands and thousands of spectators. I have no idea why people care so much about this event, but they do.
The usher reminds us that the phones must be on silent, and it’s forbidden to take pictures or videos. Camille is taken backstage, while Angie and I are led to our seats on the balcony.
Ten minutes later, the royal ladies come out to bow to the public. The term “royal” was stretched for this occasion to include not only the duchesses but also marchionesses, countesses, and noblemen’s fiancées. In total, there are forty or so women on the stage. Most of them wear beautiful gowns, with the exception of the ones who will be competing in gymnastics or some other event requiring a uniform. Camille is the only one dressed in pants and an oversize sweater, layered over a shirt.
I take comfort in the fact that they’re cut in fine wool and silk, and they don’t look worn.
The master of ceremonies announces each royal lady and the category she’ll be competing in. The curtain falls, the orchestra plays an upbeat march, and the contest begins.
One after another, the ladies step out and demonstrate their art or skill. I know all the born aristocrats and some of the brides. Mount Evor is small, and its high nobility is thin on the ground.
“Princess Lucie Valois-Montevor, Lady of the Order of the Brassiere, wife to Prince Maximilian de Valois-Montevor,” the emcee announces Max’s wife. “Princess Lucie will juggle.”
Lucie picks up her colorful beanbag balls and starts her highly entertaining number.
Before she married Max, Lucie was a French commoner who helped him foil our archenemy Kurt Ozzi and his nefarious scheme against Mount Evor. The powerful SOB will try again and again, until we shut his window of opportunity forever. Or until he wins.
And to think that Prince Richard considered him a friend!
A descendent of old nobility,Kurt may have been a friend of the principality once. But that was before his immense wealth and greed led him to think he could claim dominion over Europe. A short time later, he realized that Mount Evor stood in his way.
The good news is that Crown Prince Theodor succeeded in getting the world leaders to agree to push back our “doomsday” by a year. Still, every Evorian who knows about the threat is very nervous. If Kurt succeeds, Mount Evor will be split between Italy and France. My prosperous homeland, hidden from a mad world ruled by despots and corporations, will lose its sovereignty. Our royals will be deposed.
Will my family lose the dukedom?Probably.
The ambassadorial commission? Certainly.
Our land, castle, and assets? Possibly.
When I awake from my sad reverie, Lucie has left the stage. In her place is Elise, Theodor’s betrothed. She’s a professional glassblower, so I expected her to show us some cool glassblowing techniques. But that’s not what she’s doing. She’s painting a portrait. Without a model, from memory.
When I realize whose portrait it is, I give Angie a baffled glance.
She looks just as flummoxed. “Is she…? Can it be…?”
“Yep, it’s Theo,” I confirm her suspicion. “She’s painting Prince Theodor’s portrait.”
“Of all the bad ideas…” Angie’s voice trails off.
“It’s likely the worst,” I finish the sentence for her.
If Camille’s decision to solve logic puzzles may lead to some embarrassment, then Elise’s painting her disfigured fiancé’s portrait could turn into a full-blown catastrophe. People call him “the Beast” behind his back, for Chrissakes! The fire that Jeannette Mussey set to Theo’s wing of the palace burned him cruelly. No amount of reconstructive surgery and treatments can make his one-eyed face more pleasant to look at.
The audience holds its breath, watching Elise work. How will she pull this off? So far, her strokes are honest. If she maintains this level of sincerity, the result is a portrait of an ugly monster. If she embellishes him, then the result will be a lie.
I seek out Theo in the orchestra seats. He’s in the first row. It’s never easy to decipher his facial expressions, but I bet he’s seething.
My phone buzzes in the inside pocket of my jacket. I check the screen. Unknown number. It could be a mistake. Or it could be one of the people on Camille’s list who hadn’t confirmed yet. Given that we’re leaving for Paris in less than a week, I’d better answer this call.
“Hello,” I whisper into the phone. “Please hold on. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I head out the nearest door.
