“You want to know something fishy about this lover of yours?”
“No,” she said. “He’s not my lover.”
“You’re not curious?”
“Not in the least.”
But she was, of course, so Felix went on. “People are saying he’s magical and has cast a spell on us all.” He looked smug even as he pulled at his collar. “What do you think of that?”
Una frowned, her thoughts darting back to the man who had stood so quietly before her father. Of all the remarkable sights she had seen that day, Prince Aethelbald had surpassed them all simply by virtue of being so remarkably unremarkable. The notion of that soft-spoken gentleman casting spells on anybody was a stretch even Una’s limber imagination could not make.
“Don’t be daft, Felix,” she said, turning up her nose. “I think if there’d been any spell casting done, I would have noticed.”
Felix smirked and wiggled his eyebrows. “And that’s not all.”
Una maintained a cold silence for nearly three seconds before giving in. “All right, what else do you hear?”
The prince leaned closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Just look at the way he steps out of nowhere, declares himself a prince, and everyone believes it. He says, ‘I’m the Prince of Farthestshore,’ and we respond, ‘Oh, splendid, come to dinner!’ How can we know for sure that he is who he says he is? When have we ever heard from Farthestshore before, beyond nursery stories?”
Una blinked. Felix had a point. Yet not once that afternoon when she had listed to herself all her reasons for disliking Prince Aethelbald – beginning with that name – had she considered the notion he might be untrustworthy. His face, plain as it was, just wasn’t a face one could mistrust. But she couldn’t explain this to Felix.
“Well,” she said, “he did come out of the Wood. And we all of us saw those strange people down on the lawn, and we’ve never heard of them but from stories either.”
“Did we actually see them?”
“Of course we did! What nonsense are you talking?”
“That’s just it, Una. Mightn’t it all have been an illusion? Something this so-called prince magicked to make us believe his story?” Felix nodded sagely. “I’m telling you, Una, your wooer is an enchanter, and much more dangerous than he looks.”
Una rolled her eyes. “Since when were you gifted with all this insight?”
“I’ve always been the bright one.”
“Oh, is that – ”
Her retort was cut off by the booming of the east doors opening. At the sound, all the assembly save for the king and his children rose, and a herald’s voice intoned: “Aethelbald, son of the High King of Farthestshore, Prince of the Haven Peoples.”
Una, despite herself, craned her neck to see the Prince again. Felix’s talk, though she insisted to herself that it was all nonsense, excited her. After all, this man had come from the Wood, which was known to be enchanted – or at least mysterious, which is almost the same thing – and maybe there was some truth to this notion of his magical quality. If so, he could not help but be suddenly rendered in Una’s mind a far more romantic figure, and she wondered if perhaps her first impressions of him had been too hasty.
Three men passed through the doors ahead of the Prince. First was Sir Oeric, resplendent in green and white, but terrible in his bulk and ugliness. Following him was another clad in similar garments, but this man was much smaller, with red-gold hair. Behind him came one whose black skin gleamed almost blue under the chandelier’s candles, and his eyes were like the sky on a summer day.
After them came Prince Aethelbald.
“Well,” Felix whispered, “maybe not so enchanting.”
Una sighed and leaned back in her chair. Perhaps it wasn’t the Prince’s fault. Following three such splendid men as his knights, he could not help but seem narrow and pale and unprepossessing, despite his elegant clothes. Perhaps in a different context he would appear dashing and exciting and full of inner fire. To Una’s eye, however, he was stodginess personified.
But what could one expect of a man named Aethelbald?
The courtiers of Parumvir bounced their gazes back and forth between the Prince and Una. She wished they’d all go cross-eyed and stared down at her plate. From the corner of her eye, she saw Aethelbald approach and bow before the king.
“Greetings, Prince of Farthestshore,” Fidel said, extending a gracious hand across the table. “You are welcome in my house. Do, please, bid your knights sit where there are places readied for them. And you yourself must sit at my table. There, beside my daughter.”
Una closed her eyes. Yet another faint hope dashed.