His love notes, as his mother insisted on calling them, had not improved in quality. If anything, they had grown snider, but I found myself treasuring each one more than the last. With the notes had come fur-lined cloaks and heavy blankets to ward off the endless chill. The high-heeled shoes I detested all but disappeared from my wardrobe, replaced by practical flats that did not pinch my feet or cause me to “limp about like an old lady”. Sheets of music and collections of famous operas appeared on tables, chairs, and the pillows of the bed. A lute was the first instrument to arrive, and was followed in short order by a harp with a note stating his hope that I would “show more talent if given more strings to pluck”. Everything he sent seemed for the express purpose of making me happy. But all the gifts in the world meant nothing, because all my heart wanted was the one person it shouldn’t.
“I don’t think my absence has changed much,” I said, not liking the direction of my thoughts. “Life goes on, with or without me.”
“How do you know?”
“He keeps me appraised,” I said under my breath. Within the pages of my books, I’d often discover programs from my mother’s performances in Trianon, news clippings from the papers, and, once, a lengthy report written by one of Tristan’s agents describing how my family fared. I cried when I read those pages, and cried harder when they disappeared from my possession a day later.
The sound of rushing water dropped away, and Marc’s light drifted behind us so that our faces were cloaked in shadows. The twins reacted to some discreet signal and increased their antics, drawing attention away from us. “He isn’t supposed to be telling you anything about the outside,” Marc said. “None of us are. The King gave very specific orders that you were to be kept isolated from the human world as much as possible – that’s why we keep you away from the market.”
I kept still, my face smooth, so no one watching would suspect we were talking about anything out of the ordinary. “Why? Is it some sort of cruel punishment?”
“I do not know,” Marc replied. “He did not explain why.”
“His Majesty does nothing without purpose,” I mused. But what did he hope to prevent by keeping me isolated? Or was it something he intended to accomplish?
“Agreed,” Marc replied. “Which is all the more reason not to let Tristan get caught.”
“I won’t.” I chewed my lower lip, my mind grappling with why Tristan took the risks at all. It would be easier, and certainly wiser, to be constant in his cruelty, but he seemed intent on countering every argument we had with some act of kindness. Which should have made my life easier, but which managed to do the exact opposite. To receive thoughtful bits of kindness and then face the cold cruel persona he wore in public was more than just confusing, it was painful. It made every word he said against me hurt all the more.
“Even if I went back to the Hollow,” I said softly, “nothing would ever be the same.”
It was no answer, but Marc did not press me further and the sounds of the city returned to my ears. “You’re meant to be having tea with Duchesse Sylvie this afternoon, are you not?”
I nodded. “She is teaching me to play Guerre.”
“She will teach you well,” he said. Rising to his feet, he reached down a hand to help me up. “Get out of the water, you oafs,” he shouted at the twins. They waded out, heedless of their dripping clothes.
“Who won?” I asked, taking Marc’s arm.
The twins exchanged frowns. “You mean you weren’t counting the fish?”
I winced. “Sorry.”
They both heaved deafening sighs. “Poor form, Your Highness, poor form,” Victoria said, giving my shoulder a gentle shove. “I think we can attribute your failure to a distinct lack of focus.”
“I second that,” her brother announced, the two coming around to walk on either side of Marc and me. “Too many hours spent in too many lessons on too many subjects.”
I grinned, because it was true. The trolls knew so much about so many things, both past and present. Every day I spent with someone new, trying my hand at their trades, learning new languages, or listening to them lecture about some historical event. All my instructors were kind and eager to exchange their knowledge for what I could tell them of the outside world.
“We may have to crown you champion of knowing the least about the greatest number of topics,” Victoria said. “Well done.”
I dropped into a deep curtsey. “It is an honor and a privilege.”
The four of us meandered up the stairs, my guards keeping their distance for fear of becoming victim of one of the twins’ pranks. In truth, I hardly noticed them anymore. They never spoke to me, only followed me everywhere I went. But I did not like how they listened to all my conversations, and so I encouraged any sort of behavior that caused them to keep their distance. Marc and the twins were far more powerful and capable anyway, and I didn’t worry about them blabbing my words to the King.
“Lady Victoria! Lord Vincent!” We all looked over our shoulders to see a young troll woman wearing a bright red dress running up the stairs after us.
“Drat,” Victoria muttered, exchanging a worried look with her brother. “It’s her again.”
“Who is she?” I asked.
“A sculptor we commissioned a while back.”
The woman slid to a stop in front of us, bobbed a quick curtsey at Marc and me, then turned a chastising finger on the twins. “When are you going to arrange to pick up your sculptures? And more importantly, when do you intend to pay for them?”
“Done so soon?” Vincent asked, stepping between the sculptor and his sister. “Are you certain they are properly finished?”
The woman glared at them. “You question me?”