Nurse was no help.
“Spoiled, money-grubbing wastrel,” she muttered as she tidied the princess’s room. “Thank heaven Prince Aethelbald called him out, the scalawag scamp.”
Una, who sat at her window looking out at the rising moon and writing out the final touches on an exceptionally fine verbal dart, turned on Nurse with a frown. “That’s not what you said about him yesterday. Yesterday you thought him fine and clever.”
“Well, perhaps he is fine and clever,” Nurse said, “but that doesn’t change the rest of him. And the rest of him is a scalawag scamp with no thought for anything but his own pleasure!”
“He did speak to Father himself, though,” Una insisted. “That took courage, don’t you think? Only a fine man would be willing to admit his own shortcomings so humbly.”
“I’m not saying he’s devoid of virtue, but that doesn’t make him less of a shyster, a two-faced . . .”
The flame of love was well and truly smothered in Nurse’s breast.
Una turned back to her window with a heavy sigh and gazed out to the darkening horizon. “Did he really love me, Nurse?” she asked.
“Gambler, debtor, or otherwise, do you think he really loved me?”
“Phfff, what does it matter? Whether he did or not, he loved himself more. Hoping to marry you for money, the scoundrel. . . .”
“Maybe he loved me, though, and didn’t care about the money? Maybe my fortune was only an extra blessing?” Una’s brow puckered. “Do you think that’s possible?”
Nurse shook her head. “Think what you like if it makes you feel better, but I say good riddance to him even so.”
Una slumped, her chin in her hand, and absently stroked Monster, who was curled in her lap and purring, unconcerned whether or not the world crumbled to little pieces.
Maybe I wasn’t worth loving more than himself?
The moon seemed a little less romantic than before.
9
The following morning, Una’s head ached like nobody’s business, and she tried to feign illness as an excuse to stay in bed. Nurse would have none of that.
“But my head is splitting in two!”
“It’s doing a remarkably neat job since I can’t see so much as a seam.”
“A history lecture would kill me today, Nurse. Truly it would!”
“I don’t doubt it. Now, up!”
Was there a time, Una wondered as she plodded to her tutorial, when she had actually wished for more excitement? Not even a week had passed since the Twelve-Year Market had seeped out of the Wood like so much mist before retreating again, leaving in its wake rather a lot of hassle and confusion. If only that wretched Prince of Farthestshore hadn’t come, she might even now be celebrating her engagement to Gervais!
And well along the road to marrying a gambler and debtor.
“Preeeowl?” said Monster, tagging her footsteps.
Una sighed down at him. “I won’t be grateful, cat,” she said. “That Aethelbald had better just take himself and his suit and hightail it back to wherever he came from, because I will not be grateful, heaven help me!”
But she thought it best to discard all thoughts of giving the Prince a tongue-lashing. No, a frosty reserve should achieve the same result and perhaps prevent her from sounding like a fishmonger’s wife. She took her seat in the classroom, vowing a vengeance of absolute silence with all the solemnest oaths she could invent and refusing to look at her brother as he tried to pass her notes.
Monster sat at her feet, sniffing and twitching his whiskers. As the tutor shuffled through his notes, gave that first introductory “Ahem,” and began his lecture on the Imposter’s War and the building of Oriana Palace, the cat made a slinky exit.
–––––––
Monster passed through the halls of Oriana, his tail high as a banner, and the servants made certain not to get in his way, being under strict orders from their princess to “treat him nice.” Thus in that small way, Monster received the respect due a lord, and he accepted this as his right, scarcely deigning to acknowledge those he passed.
He made his way to the barracks and the out-of-the-way quarters where the Knights of Farthestshore had taken up residence. Though as knights they should have been housed in finer chambers within Oriana itself, they knew how uncomfortable their otherworldly presence made the palace folk and chose instead to keep quietly to themselves, avoiding even Fidel’s guards.
Massive Oeric and the smaller knight, Sir Rogan of the grass-green eyes, sparred together in the yard. They parted as Monster passed right between them, rolling their eyes but bowing as he went, though he could see neither gesture. The dark-skinned knight, Sir Imoo, sat on a bench nearby polishing a long dagger, and he rose at Monster’s approach and bowed as well. Only the Prince of Farthestshore, also seated and watching Oeric and Rogan fight, did not rise. To him alone did the cat make reverence.