“Did I step on you?” she asked. Her pale face went bright red with embarrassment.
“No,” Lionheart said. Then, remembering himself and his lowly position, he scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off and bowing deeply. “You kicked me. Hard. Like unto broke the bone!” The princess looked so distressed at this, however, that he had to take pity on her. “No, m’lady, you scarcely touched me.” It was a bold-faced lie, but she looked relieved. “You appeared so set on your path, I feared if I didn’t speak up, you might walk right on into the stream and drown without noticing.”
“Without noticing you or without noticing drowning?”
“Both, probably.” He grinned. “Do you come here often?”
The princess nodded but did not return his smile. Instead she folded her arms. “What are you doing here?”
Her words were sharp. Like a princess would speak to her lowest servant, should she deign to speak to him at all. Of course, that’s what he was. Her lowliest floor-scrubber, of no consequence, who should not even look at, much less speak to, the Princess of Parumvir.
Lionheart replied with some bitterness. “You mean, of course, ‘Don’t you have a certain amount of mopping or sweeping, or some such menial task you could be attending to as we speak?’ ”
The princess’s face crumpled a little. She looked truly hurt, and Lionheart winced at his own insensitivity. “I didn’t—” she began, but he hastened on.
“But in fact, m’lady, this humble riffraff has already completed his quotient of demeaning labor for the morning and was given the afternoon off to practice his foolishness. And he needs the practice badly enough, for he is beginning to fear that he shall have to give up this brilliant career.”
“What? Why?”
“Why? She asks me why?” Lionheart reached down, scooped up a handful of acorns, and started juggling. He disliked seeing that sad expression on her face. He would make her laugh again if it killed him. “Three times,” he said, “three times I witnessed the princess yawn last night as I sang. Not once, not twice, but thrice! And yet m’lady asks me why.”
“Don’t be silly,” Una said.
“Can’t be helped. It’s my job.”
“But I didn’t yawn when you sang, Leonard!”
“Then why did you cover your mouth with your handkerchief? I saw it with my own eyes!”
“I was trying to keep from laughing too hard!” Princess Una said. “I was. So you see, you must continue your brilliant career, jester. Where would my amusement come from if you abandoned it?”
Lionheart smiled at the way her eyes were circling, trying to follow the flying acorns. “Do I indeed amuse you, m’lady?”
“You amuse me vastly,” she said. “Silly, how could I not be amused? Why, you’ve gone and tied bells to your elbows and knees. Just when I thought you couldn’t look more ridiculous!”
“I am droll, though, am I not?” With that he tossed the acorns up in the air. They seemed to fly wildly, but with a few quick steps, Lionheart made certain that each one hit him smartly on the head, making a different pained face every time one struck.
Princess Una burst into that delightful laugh of hers. How bright and sweet she was, so free of all the heavy cares under which Lionheart labored. He loved her for her innocence and loved her for her laughter. Part of him wanted to throw off all pretense and tell her everything then and there . . . to reveal himself, his name, his quest.
Instead, he shook a fist at her. “You snicker at me, but I know that you are secretly jealous. ‘Ah!’ the lady sighs, ‘if only I could wear bells upon my elbows, then my life should be complete!’ ”
“Heaven forbid,” said the princess. “Oriana has room for only one Fool, I believe.”
Lionheart’s smile faded. “Especially so great a fool as I.” He shook his head, as though he could somehow shake the gloom that held him. “And what brings you down here, Princess Una?” he asked.
She sighed. “Suitors.”
He laughed. “You make it sound like the descending hordes. How many this time?”
“The Duke of Shippening.”
A cold weight sank in his gut.
“Ah,” he managed, his voice still light. But all the brightness of the world fled in that one instant. The duke? That cruel slave master dared haul his offensive carcass all the way up from Shippening to pay court to Una? True, he was rich. True, he was powerful. But . . .
Lionheart thought he would be sick. He remembered too vividly the last time he had seen the duke, more than four years ago. That old barbarian stuffing his face in front of his guests without a thought for common courtesy. And calling on his guards to beat the poor, enslaved Faerie. Lionheart’s fists clenched. He would see himself hanged before he saw Princess Una in that dragon-kissed creature’s hands.