Madame Voss gave Evangeline a parting curtsy before quietly making her exit.
As soon as the tutor left, Evangeline started reading the book again, wondering if it might elicit any more feelings or memories. But the story inside—her and Apollo’s love story—was more of a picture book that read like a toothless fairytale, one without a villain.
Evangeline had always loved tales with love at first sight, but love at first sight was mentioned so many times that she half expected the story to end with an advertisement for bottles of Love at First Sight Perfume: Tired of Looking for Your Happy Ending? Stop Searching and Start Spritzing!
The book, of course, did not end that way. It also did not provoke any memories. Not even an itch of one.
Evangeline finally put the book down and paced in front of the fire. She racked her brain for any story her mother might have once told her about memory loss, hoping it might help her find a cure. While she couldn’t remember any, she did remember the stranger from the other day who had given her a little red calling card and said, If you’d ever like to talk, and perhaps answer some questions, I might be able to fill in a few blanks for you.
Evangeline searched for the little red card. It didn’t seem to be anywhere in her rooms. Fortunately, the man had a memorable name.
Just then Martine, the young maid who, like Evangeline, was from the Meridian Empire, entered the room with a tray of piping tea and fresh raspberry cookies.
“Martine,” Evangeline said, “have you ever heard of Mr. Kristof Knightlinger?”
“Of course!” Martine’s heart-shaped face lit up. “I read him faithfully every day.”
“Read him?”
“He writes for The Daily Rumor.”
“The scandal sheet?” Evangeline had read the paper just that morning. She could still recall some of the dramatic headlines. Where Is Lord Jacks and What Terrible Deed Will He Commit Next? Impostor Heir to the Throne Still at Large! Just How Heroic Is the Guild of Heroes?
From what she’d gathered, Mr. Knightlinger peppered his scandal sheet with personal opinions. His article about Lord Jacks had been quite similar to what he’d written the day before, but she’d been entertained by his other stories. Mr. Knightlinger’s comments, particularly about the impostor heir to the throne, had been highly amusing. He’d painted a picture that made Evangeline think of an excitable puppy that had stolen a crown simply because it was shiny and pretty and fun to play with. Then Mr. Knightlinger had gone on to speculate that the impostor might be a vampire!
All of this made Evangeline suspect that Mr. Kristof Knightlinger might not be the most reliable source of information. But she did imagine that whatever he said would be a little more varied than the “love at first sight” book from Madame Voss, and perhaps Mr. Knightlinger might finally prompt a memory.
Chapter 7
Evangeline
Evangeline liked having a plan. Her current plan was thin—in fact, it was more of a day trip than a plan. Evangeline wasn’t even sure it would take an entire day to visit Mr. Knightlinger. Still, she wanted to set out as early as possible.
It had been late in the afternoon when the tutor had left the day before. After an initial burst of excitement, Evangeline had lain down for quick nap, only to find herself waking up the following morning.
Although Evangeline still couldn’t find Mr. Knightlinger’s little red card, Martine had told her that the Daily Rumor offices were located in the Spires, a place the palace guards should easily be able to take Evangeline.
“You’ll just love the Spires! They have all kinds of adorable shops and dragon-roasted apples! And you’ll love the little dragons,” Martine exclaimed as she looked for a pair of gloves to match Evangeline’s dress.
Evangeline had chosen an off-the-shoulder violet day gown with a fitted bodice covered in iridescent pearls and gold-embroidered flowers that also dotted the hips of her flowing skirt.
“Here you go, Your Highness.” Martine handed Evangeline a pink cloak and a long pair of sheer violet gloves. The gloves wouldn’t do much against the chill, but they were very pretty. And Evangeline always felt a little happier wearing pretty things.
Four guards with neat mustaches, all dressed in polished bronze armor topped off with burgundy capes that flowed from their shoulders, waited on the other side of her door.
“Hello, I’m Evangeline,” she said cheerfully before asking for their names.
“I’m Yeats.”
“Brixley.”
“Quillborne.”
“Rookwood.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all. I am hoping to visit the Spires today. Do you think one of you could arrange transportation?”
A beat of silence passed as three of the guards turned to the one who’d said his name was Yeats. He appeared to be the oldest, with a smooth-shaven head and a very impressive black mustache.
“I don’t think going to the Spires is a good idea, Your Highness. What if we gave you a tour of Wolf Hall instead?”
“Why don’t you think it’s a good idea? My maid told me they are mostly shops.”
“They are, but Prince Apollo asked us to make sure you stay on the castle grounds. It’s for your safety.”
“So are you saying that the four of you fine gentlemen aren’t strong enough to keep me safe if I leave the castle?” Evangeline needled shamelessly.
The younger guards responded exactly as she’d hoped.
They puffed out their chests and looked ready to prove her wrong.
But Yeats spoke up before they could say anything. “We are loyal to Prince Apollo’s wishes. Right now, his wish is that you remain here on castle grounds, where he knows you are at no risk of anything or anyone coming after you.”
Evangeline might have laughed if the guard hadn’t looked so serious. The way he spoke made it sound as if everything in the North might try to kill her. “Where exactly in Wolf Hall am I allowed to go?”
“Anywhere. As long as you don’t leave the premises.”
“Is Prince Apollo currently in Wolf Hall?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Excellent. Please take me to see him,” Evangeline said calmly, hopeful that this was simply a misunderstanding. Two nights ago, Apollo had said she wasn’t a prisoner and he’d never lock her up. In fact, he’d looked deeply hurt when she’d mentioned it. Clearly, these guards were mistaken.
“I’m sorry,” said Yeats evenly, “but the prince is currently occupied.”
“Doing what?” Evangeline asked.
Yeats’s mustache twitched in annoyance. “It isn’t our place to say,” he grunted. “What if we took you to one of the gardens instead?”