King Aryn sat in a comfortable chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, while his queen gracefully reclined on a sofa beneath a huge picture window overlooking the lake. Rafiq watched over all from a doorway.
Omar looked at the drawing and felt his stomach turn over. It was a brightly colored and highly detailed drawing of a smiling, yellow-haired Ellie holding a glass cage containing a smiling cinder sprite in one hand . . . and Omar’s hand in the other. He was colored brown, with black hair and a huge white smile. Pink and red hearts floated above their heads. Additional furry cinder sprites cavorted around their feet; two were tiny balls of fire with red eyes. Squiggles of smoke rose from a black blot on the ground. “My baby sprite,” Rita said, pointing at the blot.
“That’s really great, Yasmine,” Omar said, trying to sound appreciative.
He folded it, but too late. Their mother reached out both hands. “Come and tell me about your picture, Yasmine.”
The little girl eagerly reclaimed her artwork. Nestled against her mother’s side, she explained each detail. “This is Miss Ellie after she saved us from the cinder sprites. These are the sprites, see? One is in the cage, and these two went ember, and Ellie already sprayed this one. And . . . and we all wish she would marry Omar, because she is so kind and pretty.”
“And she herds cinder sprites!” Karim added from his current position, head-down on the rug with his feet on the sofa.
Rafiq, better attuned to the current parental wavelength, groaned softly.
Queen Sofia looked from the drawing to Omar to her husband in visible dismay.
King Aryn cleared his throat. “Children, please return to your nanny. Mama and I wish to speak with Omar alone now.”
“Awww, we always have to go to Nanny at the interesting time,” Karim whined, but scrammed at a glance from his father.
Omar lowered Rita to the floor, and she caught his shirt, stood on tiptoe, and planted a wet kiss on his cheek. With another beaming smile, she trotted away.
All too soon, Omar stood alone before the King and Queen. All three looked intensely uncomfortable until his father spoke quietly. “Tell us the truth about this young woman, Omar. I hope you did not lie to us.”
Omar drew a deep breath. “Everything I have told you is the truth, but not the whole story. Ellie Calmer has never stalked or annoyed me in any way. I am the one who has, for the past few days, tried to be wherever she was working.”
“But why, Omar?” His mother was near tears. “You, of all people, a womanizer! I would never have thought it.”
“Mama, I am no womanizer,” he protested, stung. “What have I ever done that you would think the worst of me? I would never insult an honorable young woman like Ellie. Neither would I disgrace my family.”
“Then why seek her out, son?” his father asked.
Omar stood as if frozen. He knew the answer but wasn’t yet ready to share it with his parents. Ellie should be the first to know. Or the second, since Rita already knew . . .
The king and queen exchanged a glance, and she nodded. King Aryn sat upright, straightened his broad shoulders and spoke in his usual rather formal manner. “You are now twenty-one, the age at which a Zeidan man traditionally chooses a wife. Your mother and I had thought you would wish to marry the earl’s daughter, who is both beautiful and eager, but last night we detected a lack of enthusiasm in your manner toward her. After this morning’s altercation, I believe we both better understand your opinion of the young lady.”
The Queen caught Omar’s eye and nodded with apparent sympathy.
“We bring our children to this resort each year largely for socialization—for where but at Faraway Castle can be found a finer selection of noble and royal young people gathered in one place? You have had many years to observe the eligible young women of your age. It is time to make your choice. The annual Summer Ball will take place at the end of this week. If you will choose your wife by that evening and her parents are amenable, we will announce your betrothal that very night. Your mother and I do not intend to be dictatorial—you may choose your own wife. But she must be of noble or royal birth.”
Omar could think of no response. He had never felt more miserably unhappy.
“Omar dear,” his mother said, rising from her seat to place one slender hand on his arm, “although Gillian’s deportment leaves much to be desired, her friend Lady Raquel might suit you, and she is also quite stunning. Her father is a mere viscount, but her blood is very good on both sides. My grandmother came from Auvers, you know. And these are only two of the lovely young noblewomen you have associated with these past ten years and more. Can you not think of even one among them you would be happy to wed?”
Omar swallowed hard. “I will choose my own wife, and I will not disgrace the family,” he said at last. He could not consider marriage with Ellie to be a disgrace. She was the best woman he had ever known. He had observed her from afar for several years, even before the incident with the lemonade, and had seen nothing that did not impress and attract him. Her reputation was flawless, her intelligence high, her dignity and manners equal to those of any duchess or queen. And she was ambitious, honest, hardworking, funny, virtuous, kind—in short, she was the only woman he intended to marry.
But how could he arrange for Ellie to attend the ball?
A short time later he found his younger siblings congregated in his bedchamber. They all turned to stare at him when he entered. Rafiq, who had been moodily staring out the window, blurted, “You aren’t going to marry that Gillian, are you?”
“I am not. I am going to take a shower, and you are all going to vacate my room. But thank you for the moral support,” he added sincerely. “It means a lot.”
Yasmine stopped paging through one of his math books to ask, “How can you get Mama and Baba to let you marry Ellie? She isn’t a princess. I heard them say you have to marry someone with a title. Or at least with lots and lots of money, and Ellie isn’t rich.”
Omar sat on the edge of his bed, pulled off his shoes, and dropped them on the floor. “I don’t know. I must think of a way to convince them, and quickly.” He rubbed his temples and eyes with both hands. Behind him, Rita hopped on the bed and flopped down on his pillows while Karim swung on a bedpost.
“Go on now,” he said. “Everybody, out. I’ll take you star-gazing tonight if you’re good all day. There should be a meteor shower.”
But by nightfall he had still not thought of a way to make his parents accept Ellie. More to the point, he had not thought of a way to convince Ellie to accept him, the more pressing task at hand.
In the staff cafeteria that evening, Ellie sat at a table with Jeralee, Kerry Jo, and Rosa. Partway through the meal, she blurted, “Kerry Jo, I’ve been dying to know what happened today on the island. Where is Tor now?”
“I don’t know.” Kerry Jo answered between bites. “Madame hasn’t yet come back.”
Ellie stared, blinking. “She is still there? On the island?”
Kerry Jo shrugged and kept eating.
“All we know is, she isn’t here,” Jeralee answered for her. “This afternoon, the fog around the island vanished all at once, and there was black smoke rising from the volcano. Ben keeps saying it can’t be a volcano, but what else do you call a hill that smokes?”
“It’s a volcano,” Rosa said quietly. She had pushed her tray away and now played with the little vase on their table. The carnation and fern spray in it were sadly wilted.
Ellie pressed her knuckles into her cheeks, trying to think. “The sirens didn’t do anything to Prince Omar. He was right there next to the island, but according to Dr. Smith, he wasn’t siren-enthralled. He had a headache when I picked him out of the water, but otherwise he seemed perfectly normal.”
“He didn’t look perfectly normal when you brought him to the dock, girl,” Kerry Jo observed with a smirk. “He looked lovesick.”