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Prince Torsten threw up his hands. “Three years older than me. And yet nobody is forcingyouto choose a bride.”
Rothbart’s head reared back in surprise. This was about marriage?
The prince must have caught the shock on Rothbart’s face because his blue eyes narrowed as he added, “My mother acts like I’m going to be an eternal bachelor if I don’t wed within the next year. She is throwing a royal ball and inviting the surrounding kingdoms to bring their daughters. She’s telling them that at this ball, I shall announce who I will marry. The invitations have already been sent out.”
Rothbart felt for the prince. One nice thing about working so close to the royal family, but not being a member, was that he got all the perks without the expectations. Of course he had his duty to the queen, but nobody was forcing him to marry a duke’s or duchess’s daughter to maintain his position or to form so-called alliances. “Have you told your mother how you feel?”
He snorted. “In the most animated of protests. And yet she is unmoved.” He leaned toward Rothbart, his expression lightening. “Say, Mother mentioned she was to meet with you today. You are her advisor, are you not? Perhaps you could, you know,adviseher against it?”
Rothbart shifted with unease. This was not his area of expertise. He never wanted to become Prince Torsten’s confidant. He’d much rather preserve the master/pupil relationship, but the prince didn’t seem to see things that way, considering their obvious closeness in age. But one thing was clear to Rothbart. He needed to stay on the queen’s good side if he were to receive the permission he was seeking.
“You are aware, your highness, that when the queen sets her mind to something there is no changing it,” he said.
Prince Torsten’s face fell, and he slumped into his chair. “You’re right, as always.” His fists balled, and he slammed one down on the table. He rose, determination coating his movements. He turned toward the door but then seemed to remember Rothbart and spun back. “Forgive me. Do you mind if we postpone our session for today and for the next little bit until this is all settled?”
“Of course, my prince, but if I might ask. What do you plan to do?”
“I’ll be damned if I am going to stick around here and watch while my life is planned away in one frivolous evening.” He strode toward the door. Then paused, noticing the bag of beans on Rothbart’s desk. “Mind if I take a couple of these?”
Rothbart ground his teeth. He’d just paid for those beans. But he was the prince. What could Rothbart do? “As many as you like, my prince.”
Prince Torsten reached into the bag, took a few beans, stuffed them in his pocket and continued toward the door. “I’m going hunting.”
Rothbart paced outside the royal throne room. The long gold plated doors displayed an elegant rendition of the royal symbol, the cornflower. Granite stone floors clicked under his heel. The closer it came time to meet with the queen, the more convinced he became she would refuse his request. Let him interrogate the members of her court? Why would she allow him to do such a thing?
It didn’t matter. He had to at least try.
The large, ornate doors suddenly pulled open and a burst of air blasted Rothbart in the face. The guard motioned for him to enter. “You may see the queen now.”
Rothbart straightened, tugging on his robes. It was now or never.
He walked into the great hall, his shoes echoing on the stone. The queen sat on a golden throne, staring down at him with an expression designed to even make the head sorcerer remember his place.
Her ladies-in-waiting flanked her. Lady Gertrude, the most distinguished, preened from her foremost seat, glaring at Rothbart. She was rich, powerful, and for some reason hated Rothbart. Which was fine. He didn’t care much for her either.
Queen Emiranda wore one of those long regal dresses where the fabric flowed over her hands and came to her chin before blooming out in a circlet of lace to frame her face. Large feathers plumed out of her blond hair, making the crown that sat on her head the least ostentatious thing about her ensemble. It was the new fashion of the court. Rothbart wasn’t very fond of the style. It made them all appear like great big peacocks. But he knew his place and bit his tongue, dropping to one knee.
At the rustle of skirts, he knew she had moved from her throne, but didn’t dare look until her fabric covered hand touched his cheek. “Rise, my dear Rothbart.”
“Your Majesty.” He stood and met her uncompromising gaze.
Queen Emiranda knew how to crush someone with her eyes, but her voice always came out gentle. As if she understood that too much regal sternness would break her delicate subjects’ fragile egos. “Tell me. How fares my son in your lessons?”
“He does well, your majesty. Very attentive. Although today he was… less so.”
“Hmm, yes, upset over my grand plans to see him wed. And now he runs off into the woods like a frightened little rabbit.” She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Torsten always loved to shirk his responsibilities when he could. And I have been far too indulgent. If he is to one day be king, he must learn how to be a man and face his duties.”
She sighed in that way that every mother did when dealing with children whom they loved and yet exasperated them to no end. Rothbart missed hearing that from his own mother.
Queen Emiranda laid a hand on his shoulder. “And how are you?” Concern laced her voice.
Rothbart’s eyes stung as he met her gaze, which had gone unexpectedly soft, reminding him how badly his wounds hurt. Despite her sternness, Queen Emiranda had been all worry and attention since losing his parents. “I am getting by, your majesty.”
“What can I do to assist you in this trying time?”
He glanced at the ladies-in-waiting. “What I have to say is sensitive in nature. I would request a private audience with your majesty.”
The queen’s head tilted with curiosity. “I will partially grant your request.” She turned to her ladies. “Everyone except Lady Gertrude, leave us. Lady Gertrude, you shall not utter a word of what happens here.”
