Prince Severin waited until everyone was seated before he continued. “Thank you, everyone, for traveling to Chanceux Chateau to take part in this Summit. It is my hope that by working together we can solve whatever blight threatens our countries. Thank you, and enjoy the evening.” He sat down quickly.
“Not enjoying the role of organizer?” Lucien asked his brother.
Severin flattened his lips. “I’m a general, not a noble.”
“You’re a prince,” Lucien reminded him.
“I suppose,” he said reluctantly.
“Suppose? There is nothing to suppose,” Prince Lucien scoffed. “You are my brother—a royal. But I can understand that this particular group would be…daunting. Chin up—you did well.”
Prince Severin grunted.
Ariane thoughtfully studied Lucien’s back. At least his affection for his brother seems genuine. This was a great surprise, considering Severin was actually the illegitimate son of King Rèmy. Usually dislike would have been fostered between the half-brothers instead of the close camaraderie they shared.
Unfortunately, Lucien opened his giant mouth and undid all the good his interaction with Severin had made in Ariane’s mind. “Servant girl, stop sitting there like a lump and serve me my soup.”
Ariane, having new proof that Prince Lucien was utterly dislikeable, let a small smile quirk her lips. “Yes, Your Highness.”
The meal was trying for Ariane, despite her usual ability to find humor in most every situation. Lucien demanded her attention and at the same time her silence. Furthermore, it was more than a little irritating to serve the demanding frog numerous delicacies while everyone else nibbled at the scrumptious food and Ariane could not.
By the time the dessert—a giant cake shaped to be a perfect model of Chanceux Chateau—was served, Ariane knew she was mad to agree to escorting the frog prince about. His arrogance is insufferable—especially considering how little he does. For a moment, Ariane recalled the way he knew every representative who had arrived, then brushed it off. Socializing—with those he deems proper—is his passion.
“Stop swooping the fork about like a bat,” Lucien said as he tried to eat a bit of cake off the fork Ariane held for him. “It’s making me sick.”
“Perhaps Your Highness feels ill because frogs are not meant to eat cake. Mayhap a bug would be more to your liking,” Ariane suggested.
Lucien—who had frosting on the top of his head from the time Ariane purposely dumped a forkful of cake on him—puffed up. “You overstep your boundaries, maid.”
“I beg your pardon, Your Highness,’ Ariane murmured without an ounce of geniality.
The prince croaked. “Your impudence has spoiled my appetite. I am finished for the night. You may take me back to my room.”
Oh, I may, may I? Ariane waited until Lucien hauled his bulk onto the cushion, then picked it up and whisked out of the banquet hall as fast as she could, making the prince tumble a bit on his cushion.
“Slow down,” he gurgled.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Ariane slowed to a walk and glanced down at him.
He had rolled onto his back and one of his front froggy legs was propped up over the giant bulge of his belly. His back legs were outstretched, and they flopped with Ariane’s steps.
They soon reached the family wing of the chateau, and Ariane was smiling again by the time she knocked on the door of Lucien’s chambers.
There was no response.
“Open the door and go inside,” Lucien ordered.
“I am to pass you off to Henry.”
“Bother Henry—I wish for comfort. And more wine.”
Ariane opened the door and peered inside.
Henry was crouched in front of the fire, feeding it logs. “Welcome home, Your Highness,” he said in his stony voice. “I trust you enjoyed yourself?”
“Yes, though I learned Father must begin educating his servants on the difference between soup and dessert spoons,” Lucien said. “Place me upon my bed,” he ordered Ariane.
Recalling Princess Elle’s promise—and her order to ignore Lucien’s bullying—Ariane instead raised the pillow and tossed it on a chair, taking great satisfaction when Lucien was smashed between his wretched velvet cushion and the cushion of the chair.
“Good evening, Your Highness, Henry,” Ariane said cheerfully before she ducked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
She could hear Lucien’s muffled complaints even with the door closed and smiled to herself as she marched down the hallway. Serving here at the Summit might not be as fun as I had estimated, but there’s no need to let a spoiled prince ruin all of it. No, this won’t be quite so bad after all.
Chapter 4
The Summit
Ariane meticulously straightened Lucien’s pillow and glanced around the ballroom Prince Severin had transformed for the sake of the Summit. Though the room was still lit by beautiful chandeliers and the marble walls sparkled in the morning light let in by floor-to-ceiling windows, the ballroom was filled with tables and chairs that were meticulously arranged in a ring. The odd shape meant every representative had an equal view, which was quite forward-thinking. Though Ariane wished she didn’t have to sit directly with Lucien.
Ordinarily I would say my presence is entirely unnecessary—a rogue magic user isn’t going to bust into this highly guarded ballroom, after all. However, I can see Prince Lucien does legitimately need help given that he is a frog. No small wonder Henry opted to avoid this task.
Ariane glanced discreetly at either side. Once again Prince Lucien had been placed next to Prince Severin, though this time a Craftmage named Stil sat on Lucien’s other side.
“Ask me if it’s alive,” Craftmage Stil said to the young woman sitting next to him.
His companion, a rather serious young lady who was at work sewing a cloak, shook her head. “We’re not going to play the question game. We’re on the cusp of a monumental meeting—hush.”
“Gemma!” Queen Linnea beamed as Ariane had never seen and hurried up to the serious lady, throwing her arms around her shoulders. “We get to sit together! Isn’t that fantastic?”
“Just fabulous,” Graftmage Stil muttered.
Ariane glanced down at Prince Lucien—who was fussing with his cushion—and wished he would talk to the mage to break the awkward silence.
As if he could feel her eyes, Lucien stopped burrowing into his pillow and glared up at her. “What?”