The maid turned around then dipped a curtsey when she realized who addressed her, though her determined chin still jutted out. Severin would approve of her, though, for her uniform was pristine and not a hair fell out of her tight braid; the white ribbons of her apron didn’t even droop. He recognized her—Lucien took pains to recognize all servants by face after a witch had somehow snuck into the palace and cursed Severin years before—but in his mind he always referred to this one as Perfect Uniform.
“Yes, Your Highness?” Perfect Uniform asked.
“Go call my valet Henry and tell him I’m waiting for him…here.” Lucien looked around the small garden—which was really more of an inlet than an actual garden.
“Yes, Your Highness.” The maid bobbed another curtsey, stowed the broom she had been using to terrorize the spiders, then slipped into the castle.
“Tell him to bring my riding boots and coat. And my hat!” Lucien called out after her. When she was gone, he looked around the pleasant-ish inlet. “Yes, infinitely better than lessons.”
Ariane was concentrating so fully on carrying Prince Lucien's spotless riding boots—which she handled only because her hands were wrapped in her apron, lest she dare smudge them—that she almost rammed into Henry when he paused to adjust his grip on the prince's coat and ridiculous riding hat. Henry had to carry the hat far in front of him, or the colorful feathers that were secured to the brim would poke the valet in the eye.
Though the female dress had become perhaps a little simpler since Elle had entered the royal family, male fashion among nobles suffered no such introduction to tact as the nobles took their cues from Prince Lucien. Prince Lucien delighted in finery and frippery, a love that was apparently not shared by his valet based on the wrinkle of Henry's normally stone-faced brow.
I wonder how on earth he became a valet. Prince Severin's valet dresses far more similarly to Prince Lucien, whereas Henry seems to be more in Prince Severin's camp of dark, formal, and repetitious. She eyed the sword that tapped his left side with every step he took. Not to mention his propensity for being constantly armed.
Ariane realized her pinky had slipped out from behind her apron and carefully held the offending appendage away from the boots. If Lucien saw even one finger smudge on his boots, he would demand a servant clean every inch of them.
Never mind that he's going to walk out among the muck and get them filthy...
As if he could sense her disgust, Henry peered over his shoulder and glanced back at her.
Ariane kept her hazel green-brown eyes downcast and a slight smile on her lips, attempting to look as innocent as possible.
She must have passed muster, for Henry started walking again, though Ariane noted with a twitching eyebrow that he held Lucien's trim-embellished coat in such a way that it would crease oddly.
“Thank you for your assistance,” the valet murmured when they reached the tiny garden in which Ariane had left Prince Lucien.
“Of course.” Ariane bobbed a curtsy. (Her calf muscles had become infinitely stronger since becoming a maid at the palace, which required legs of steel between all the bobbing and curtsying.) She held out the boots, intending to pass them off, but Henry turned away from her and strolled up to Prince Lucien, who was sprawled across a stone bench, his long, lean body spilling over the end of it.
“Where are you injured, Your Highness?” Henry asked. He set the hat down on the bench when Prince Lucien popped upright.
“What are you talking about? I'm not injured.” The prince smoothed his glowing blonde hair. (Ariane would have approved of its neatness, if the hair didn’t grow from the head of the piggiest member of the Loire Royal family.)
Henry bowed his head. “Forgive me. I assumed it must have been an injury that kept you from returning to your quarters so you could properly change there, rather than requesting that your wardrobe be walked across the palace.”
Ariane eyed Henry with awe, impressed at his daring. The prince didn't seem to mind the slight chide, for all he did was roll his eyes and groan. “I'd get rid of you in a second if I could, Henry.”
“I am sure of it, Your Highness,” Henry said as he held out the coat.
Lucien took the offered clothing item and slid the eye-catching red coat on over his white shirt, grumbling as he tugged the lapels straight. For all his personality failings, he was the very image of a handsome prince: tall and lean with a nose so straight it practically begged to be punched and expressive blue eyes he used to his advantage as much as possible.
The prince was, in Ariane’s eyes, an irritant as he slobbed up his rooms frequently and was known to be something of an idiot. She didn’t relish the idea of holding Prince Lucien as her future king, but she knew it could be much worse—Lucien was merely an idiot, not a tyrant, after all.
Ariane almost sighed in relief when Henry took the boots from her and nodded in dismissal. She was used to being around royalty, for the royal family had a pack of servants hired to keep the palace spotless and held no hesitation in taking up residence in the room while a servant cleaned. She was, however, not use to being so close to royalty.
Unsurprisingly, I don’t really care for it—though that might be because it's Prince Lucien. Ariane made a beeline for her broom and reclaimed it as swiftly as possible. She opened the door, intending to work safely inside until the prince and his valet moved on. She slipped through and had almost swung the door shut when she heard a strange noise behind her, followed by the sound of two swords sliding out of their scabbards.
Ariane peeked through the small gap between the door and door frame, gasping when two figures dropped into the garden. The first was a female who wore a black cloak that swallowed her form and a black bandage that covered her eyes. Her companion was a tall, broad-shouldered male clothed in silk robes with a white mask that encased his face.
Henry and Lucien stood back to back, each facing an intruder.
The masked man stood relaxed, his arms hanging at his side, but the woman tilted her head. “Prince Lucien?”
The golden-haired prince eyed her over the edge of his sword. “What do you want?”
The woman opened her mouth, releasing an angry buzzing noise. Giant wasps the size of Ariane’s thumb descended on the garden.
Prince Lucien and Henry twisted together, their swords slicing through the insects, but the wasps kept coming, replacing every fallen bug with ten more.
This is magic—it must be! Ariane hadn’t seen many magic users—and she had met even fewer—but the size of the wasps and the way they flew around Prince Lucien and Henry, flying at them from their blind spots and aiming for their throats and eyes, made it obvious.
Ariane almost dropped her broom—intending to run and scream for help—but a sinking feeling curdled her stomach. They’ll be killed before I’ll find anyone!
The masked man stood with his back to her, and she noticed for the first time that his fingers were twitching.