Part 13 (1/2)
The letter in her bag was like a brick weighing her down. She didn't feel right showing it to Leslin after Aralyn had just laughed at her. ”No, thank you. I'll keep looking.”
”Let me know if you change your mind. I'm going to be on holiday for a short time to visit my daughter in the countryside, so I won't be in the castle for a bit.”
Leslin's eyes narrowed considerably, and her otherwise pleasant faced turned sour. ”I'm in desperate need of a holiday, what with a murderer walking in our midst.”
Cyrene turned to see what she was talking about and saw Ahlvie striding into the library. She pursed her lips at Leslin's reaction. Ahlvie hadn't been convicted of anything. King Edric had let him go, but Leslin was judging Ahlvie based on an accusation.
He nodded his head at Cyrene when he noticed her and then looked at Leslin. His smile turned mischievous, and his youth showed through. He might have even been handsome, if he didn't look like he was going to cause trouble.
”Hi ya, Leslie!”
”It's Affiliate Leslin, High Order Ahlvie. There is an n attached, as I have told you the last hundred times you set foot in my library. What do you want?”
”Oh, Leslin. Right,” he said as if he hadn't already known. ”Just swinging by to get some more books.”
”What did you do with the other ones you borrowed?” she demanded.
”I read them,” he said, giving her a blank look.
Cyrene stifled a laugh behind her hand. Ahlvie flashed Leslin another grin, but Leslin just scowled at him. Cyrene saw this going poorly.
”Are you ever going to bring them back?” Leslin asked.
”I suppose-at least the ones that I didn't lose.” He shrugged nonchalantly.
”Lose?” she cried. ”Those books are invaluable. You...you...you man! It's not enough to act like a drunken fool in my library and then murder a High Order. Now, you lose books?”
Ahlvie scrunched his eyebrows together. He looked bemused, but there was also a touch of anger at the accusation that he had been cleared of. ”I never murdered anyone. It was only an investigation,” he reminded her. ”And, hey, I'm not drunk now!”
Leslin pointed her finger to the door. ”Get out of my library.”
”What? It doesn't belong to you. I'm here on High Order business.”
”Get out!” She stood and hit her hand on the desk. ”And don't come back until you bring back the books you lost, or else do not return at all.”
Cyrene's eyes widened at Leslin's outburst.
Ahlvie ran his hand back through his hair. ”Is this all because I called you Leslie?” His eyes twinkled.
”Out!”
Ahlvie shrugged and started walking backward. ”Fine. I'm out of here. Crazy old loon.”
Leslin sank into her chair once more and covered her head with her hands.
”Are you all right?” Cyrene asked.
She thought that Leslin had been harsh with Ahlvie, but perhaps she was just on edge from the murder. Ahlvie hadn't helped anything by needling her.
”Yes. I simply need that holiday,” she said.
Cyrene nodded at Leslin as if she understood, but her eyes were fixed on Ahlvie's retreating form. For once, she felt a twinge of pity for the man everyone dismissed as a drunk.
”Feast days are so much less overwhelming than a Presenting ball,” Cyrene said.
A few hours after her encounter with Ahlvie and Leslin in the library, Cyrene's hand was wrapped around a goblet full of wine. The black marble ballroom was lit with a thousand candles floating in chandeliers above the room. Affiliates and High Order were dancing to the sounds of the string quartet while Cyrene and Maelia stood apart from the group near the enormous fireplace.
”I danced with no one my entire Presenting ball,” Maelia told her with a bitter laugh.
”You still dance with no one,” Cyrene reminded her.
”You're not much better. The last three b.a.l.l.s, you've danced with no one but a few suitors and the King himself. How terrible to be in your position.” Maelia pressed her hand to her forehead as if she were going to faint.
Cyrene wanted to tell her that was only because she had been avoiding Prince Kael at every turn, but she had yet to tell Maelia of the events that had occurred. Cyrene wasn't sure how much longer she could evade him.
The King was another matter though. He rarely danced more than once or twice with anyone, save his Queen and Consort, of whom he divided his time equally. Maelia seemed to think he always chose Cyrene for the longest dances because he favored her, but she wasn't sure she believed that. She wasn't sure she wanted to believe that.
”I've no idea what you're talking about. I have no suitors, and I have received no extra attention from the King.”
Maelia giggled and then pointed across the dance floor. ”As if plucked from the heavens at your request. Who knew you were lucky enough to receive a third dance tonight?”
Cyrene followed Maelia's gaze to the King striding dutifully in their direction. His figure was draped in the finest black velvet s.h.i.+rt with bridged sleeves. His riding boots covered his snug-fitting black pants up to his knees. A forest-green cloak tumbled off one shoulder and reached nearly to the floor. It was held in place around the neck by a heavy chain of gold square links with the royal seal artfully designed into each piece.
He was handsome, frustrating, desirous, stubborn, and most of all, dangerous. His presence put her on edge. One moment, she would feel an electric pull toward him, completely forgetting his rank, and treat the King just like anyone else. The next, she would realize her mistakes, remember that he was the King, and have to quell her biting tongue. It was a never-ending battle to please.
”Affiliate Cyrene,” King Edric said with a charming smile, ”I hope the feast day is to your liking.”
”My King,” she murmured, bobbing a curtsy. ”It is most enjoyable as always. You do remember my good friend Affiliate Maelia, yes?”
”Yes, of course,” Edric said, making a poor show of acting like he remembered Maelia.
He had been introduced to her more than a handful of times, and still, he couldn't seem to place her. Something about her made everyone pa.s.s over her, even in plain sight.
To her credit, Maelia dipped a curtsy, honoring the King's station, as she pretended that she did not care that the King never noticed her. ”Your Highness.”
Cyrene prepared herself for the oncoming invitation to dance. She had already danced with the King twice tonight, and she was sure this would draw more notice from Queen Kaliana.
”Would you do me the honor of taking a walk with me?” King Edric asked.
Cyrene's mouth opened ever so slightly. A walk? That was so much more intimate than a dance as they would be away from the rest of court. She felt the King's gaze on her as he waited for her response-as if she could reasonably turn him down, as if she would want to.
”I'd be delighted, Your Majesty.”
He extended his arm, and she touched her hand to the inside of his sleeve. Cyrene's heart fluttered, and she was having difficulty keeping her breathing even. A request to walk and have a private audience with the King-unenc.u.mbered by the dance, the music, and other prying eyes and ears-made her giddy. Maybe Maelia was right. Maybe the King did favor Cyrene after all.
The King slowly maneuvered them off the marble floor and out onto the gray-and-black stone balcony overlooking the inner courtyard. Byern climbing vines corkscrewed around the stone columns and up the handrail of the spiral staircase. Rows of fully grown apple trees lined the exterior of the castle. Bushes bursting with roses-white, yellow, orange, red, purple, blue, and even a minty green that nearly blended into the leaves-threaded along the pebbled pathway. In the large circular courtyard, a giant sculptured fountain stood as the centerpiece, its water flowing freely from the mouth of some stunning sea nymph.
”Do you enjoy the view?” King Edric asked.
”The rains have made the gardens bloom, and it warms my heart to see it so.”