The boy pulled a face. “That’s to prove you hardly wash.”
“It was a hard ride to get here. My message is urgent.” Ambrose gave the boy a kroner. “There’s another for you after you bring the maid here.”
The boy sighed theatrically. “You Brigantines are so lacking in style.” Then he produced a beautifully embroidered handkerchief from his pocket, laid the lock of hair in it, and wrapped it up.
“Just get it to them urgently.”
“You can rely on me. What was your name again?”
And the boy grinned and disappeared through the gates without waiting for a reply, leaving Ambrose only four-fifths sure he was joking.
CATHERINE
TORNIA, PITORIA
A gentleman and lady must never be alone together. When talking or walking they should remain at a distance so that if they were each to stretch out their arms their fingertips would not quite touch.
Modern Manners and Behavior, Percy Bex-Down
IT WAS Catherine’s first morning in Tornia and another fine day, the sun bright in the clear blue sky. Catherine had risen early to prepare for her meeting with Prince Tzsayn, changed her hair twice and her dress three times, and now she was almost late. As she hurriedly pulled on a fourth option, pushing down a rising sense of panic, she asked Tanya, “What do you think?”
“I think he’ll be just as nervous as you are. And as for the dress, Your Highness, the first is the most flattering to your figure.”
Catherine put the first dress back on. It was a new one, a very pale silver, simpler than the others, with the slashes in the fabric revealing not skin beneath but pure white silk.
Exactly as the bell struck nine, Catherine stepped onto the terrace with Tanya.
The prince wasn’t there.
Catherine’s face tightened. This was ungallant. The man should be waiting well in advance to avoid this sort of embarrassment, even if the man was a prince and the meeting was . . . of questionable propriety. Especially then!
Catherine smoothed her dress and waited.
The gardens were neat and well tended, though she could see no gardeners anywhere, no sign of anyone.
“Are you sure this is the right place?”
“I believe so, Your Highness. Shall I check?”
Catherine sighed. “Yes.”
Prince Tzsayn certainly didn’t seem keen to meet her. He’d left her waiting on the dock in Charron and now couldn’t even be bothered to come to a meeting he’d arranged himself.
As Tanya went back inside, Catherine strolled over to look at the roses. Only a few weeks ago she had been walking in her mother’s rose garden, discussing Queen Valeria and her imminent departure. So much had happened since then, and yet the situation was the same: tomorrow she was to marry a man she cared nothing for and still hadn’t even spoken to.
Damn him, where was he?
Then she heard footsteps and turned to see the prince walking slowly toward her along the path between the roses.
He bowed. She curtsied. They stood awkwardly, neither willing to break the silence.
Catherine looked at his face, half-scarred and half-handsome, and wondered how that changed a person.
“So, we meet again,” said Tzsayn, his voice low and level.
“Isn’t that what rival warriors say to each other?” Why did I say that?
Tzsayn raised his eyebrows, or at least the one on his unscarred side. “I can see already where your Brigantine expertise lies.”
“And what is your expertise, Your Highness? Is it dancing? Or fashion perhaps?”
The words were out before Catherine could check them, and she saw Tzsayn’s face twitch.
What are you doing, Catherine?
She’d waited to talk to him for so long, played out this conversation in her head a thousand times, and now she was insulting him.
“Oh, I have no expertise. I’m quite useless.” The prince wandered a few steps away, saying, “Shall we look at some flowers?”
Catherine knew she should wait for Tanya, but Tzsayn had already set off. Catherine caught him up and he walked along, pointing out plants, saying, “Rose . . . bush . . . another rose . . . You see, Your Highness, though not quite an expert, I know my plants.”
“Yes,” Catherine said. “Though I think I recognize those myself.”
Was he joking? Was this the Pitorian sense of humor? Catherine glanced over her shoulder, desperate for Tanya to come to her aid, but there was no sign of her. Catherine took a breath and told herself to relax and be herself.
He’ll be just as nervous as you are. Of course he will . . .
“Did you enjoy the reception yesterday evening, Your Highness?”
“Oh, it was delightful.” Tzsayn’s voice was flat. “And how did you find it, Your Highness?”
“Everyone was quite charming.”
“Indeed, “delightful’ and “charming’ sum up the evening perfectly.”
Catherine took the plunge. “I do detect that you’re not being totally sincere.”
Tzsayn stopped. “Is that what you detect?”
“It is,” replied Catherine. “Are you still unwell?”
“I am perfectly well, thank you.”
“Then might I ask what is the matter?”
“Call me a spoiled prince—and I warn you that my father has many times used just those words—but I’m not used to having things forced on me. Particularly princesses. I realize it’s not your fault. You are in the same situation as me, after all, but still . . . it grates.” He resumed his stroll.
Catherine was almost too stunned by the prince’s openness to feel the sting of the implied insult. It grates, indeed!
“We must all do as our fathers bid,” she said politely. “And I am delighted to be joining our two countries—”
Tzsayn laughed. “I’m sure you’re always delighted. Delighted and charmed.”
Catherine felt her blood burn. Was this all a joke to him?
“Well,” she snapped, “I will always be delighted and charmed to do as you bid me. As I must when we’re married.”
Tzsayn glanced at her and, to his credit, his laughter died as he saw her expression of barely suppressed fury. “You do have the Brigantine fighting spirit, I think. But I assure you, Catherine, that while I’m very keen on people doing as I bid them, when we have children”—her step faltered and he stopped—“the idea of which seems to be a shock to you but is, I think, rather the whole point of this marriage. That’s what my father wants . . . and yours presumably wants it too. The family line must continue.”
“I’m seldom sure of my father’s objectives concerning anything, least of all myself,” Catherine replied coolly.
Tzsayn studied her for a moment before he continued. “Anyway, if we do have children, I won’t force them to go through this absurd arranged marriage nonsense.”
Catherine was silent. Was he serious?
“Am I too blunt for you, Your Highness?” he asked.
“I appreciate your candor, Prince Tzsayn, but I wonder what other option you would propose.”
“I think I’d stay out of it.”
Catherine gave a bark of astonished laughter. “Even if your daughter wanted to marry the son of your worst enemy?”
Tzsayn smiled, and this time there was just a flicker of warmth in the expression. “We’re in Pitoria, Your Highness. We have no enemies here.”
Cautiously Catherine returned the smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Do you wish to see the water garden? It’s just beyond that hedge.”
“That would be delightful.”
* * *