“Yes, you. Begone. Hence to the place from whence you came!”
The attendant blinked a long, meaningful blink. Then he bowed and scuttled off, and in his scuttling managed to convey a world of disapproval.
Lionheart snorted as the door shut behind him. “The man thinks less of me because I want to put on my own boots.”
Rose Red smiled behind her veil. She was uncertain whether or not to continue her work in the presence of the prince, and since he did not bid her one way or the other, she chose to stand quietly, saying nothing.
Lionheart began the process of shoving his feet into the fitted riding boots, a more arduous task than one might have expected. Rose Red began to suspect that perhaps he couldn’t do it without aid, when at last something popped, and the first boot slid up over his calf. He buckled it across the top, then paused, as though tired from a great labor. Rose Red noticed, with some surprise, that his breathing was quick, and she wondered just how much exertion outfitting oneself in boots required.
Then Lionheart, taking the second boot in his hands to repeat the process, said, “You know what, Rose Red? I think I’m going to ask her today.”
The shovel in her hand became unbearably heavy. She grabbed it with her other hand and just managed to keep from dropping it.
“It’s as good an opportunity as any,” the prince continued, grimacing in his struggle against all the laws of physics and tight leather. “Foxbrush cannot ride with us due to some meeting with Hill House’s steward. It’ll just be the two of us, and we’re riding all the way out to Swan Bridge today, perhaps even across if the weather holds. It seems best to ask something like this in private, don’t you think?”
She couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t even nod.
“Gah!” he gasped, and his foot at last wiggled its way into place, and he fastened the buckle. Then Lionheart stood up and stamped a few times. Wiping perspiration from his forehead, he shook out his arms and took a deep breath. “Everyone expects me to be betrothed by the time I’m eighteen. My father was. And my grandfather. And probably his grandfather before him as far back as history goes. Seems to be a tradition of some kind. Granted, I’m not one to kowtow to tradition for tradition’s sake . . . but then again, a girl like Daylily isn’t exactly kowtowing. She’s nice enough, pretty enough, and she’s a good rider. Fact is,” he crossed his arms and studied the half-cleaned fireplace, “fact is, I think it’s time I did something right. Something expected of me. Just to take them unawares, know what I mean?”
Rose Red hoped to goodness he didn’t expect her to answer. This was how he usually talked to her these days, the way he would talk to a mirror. As though he simply needed to hear his own thoughts out loud to make certain of their clarity, and she was as good an ear as any to hear them.
Lionheart lifted his gaze from the fireplace and smiled at her, an uneasy sort of smile. “I’m scared to death. But don’t let on that I told you. Who’d have thought a girl could be so frightening? I mean, what if after all this she says no? It’s not impossible . . . I mean, not everyone wants to be queen.”
Rose Red tried to give an encouraging smile but suspected it came out ghastly, and was thankful yet again that he could not see it.
Lionheart reached out suddenly and, to her great surprise, patted her shoulder. “Wish me luck, Rosie. There’s nothing for it now.”
He turned and strode from the room, leaving her alone with her shovel and her bucket.
She dropped the shovel with a clatter and let it lie where it fell at her feet. Her hands limp at her sides, she stood there in the silence of the room until she heard outside his window the clop of hooves on the cobbles. Then, as though shot with life once more, she rushed to the window and looked out. The wind caught her veil and pulled it across her eyes, and she yanked it viciously back into place to watch the scene below.
Master Whipwind, the stable master, held the heads of the prince’s red mare and Daylily’s charcoal gelding, a handsome pair when next to each other. Lionheart and Daylily appeared a moment later, and Lionheart assisted the lady into her saddle. Then he swung up onto the back of his mare, let out a merry whoop, and led the way at a brisk trot from the courtyard.
Rose Red’s quick eyes saw it all. She saw the significant looks the stable hands gave the guardsmen. She saw movement from a window in a wing across from her, and knew that Queen Starflower watched the goings-on with satisfaction. She even saw a forlorn figure with oiled hair standing in a darkened doorway, and though she had little use for him, her heart went out momentarily to Foxbrush.