“Briar would,” Mage Donaigh said.
“Who?” Prince Severin asked.
“Briar Rose—Princess Rosalinda,” Mage Firra said. “She is far more…open to such discussions, but she holds very little power at the moment.”
“It would be best, then, if we write off Sole entirely,” Colonel Friedrich said. “If they send us anything, we may view it as a boon.”
Rider Nareena tapped her table with long fingers. “It’s a shame. What I wouldn’t give for a squadron of the Magic Knights of Sole to take on these rogue mages—or the likes of Rothbart.”
Emperor Yevgeniy straightened. “Perhaps we could barter?”
Mage Donaigh shook his head. “As long as Princess Rosalinda is in danger, King Giuseppe won’t be willing to send out any Magic Knights.”
“Which is beside the point, as he’s not even awake to do so now,” Mage Firra pointed out.
“Once the Summit is over, I will travel to Kozlovka with Emperor Yevgeniy to scout Rothbart,” Lady Enchantress Angelique said. “When I have an understanding of the threat he poses, perhaps other magic users will join me in facing him?” She looked around, and for a moment Ariane thought she read a bit of fear in her eyes.
“Of course,” Craftmage Stil said. “I’ll get to work on some goods while you scout it out. By the time you’re back, I’ll have something to help you.”
Mage Donaigh brightened. “I could—”
“No, you can’t,” Mage Firra interrupted. “We have to get back to Sole for Briar.”
Mage Donaigh nodded and adjusted the straw hat he hadn’t removed—even for such a formal occasion as the Summit.
Lady Enchantress Angelique smiled and glanced around the room again. No one else said anything.
An older woman who was quick to smile and plump like a grandmother patted the enchantress’s hand. “You’ll be fine, dearie.”
“Sybilla is correct,” another mage rumbled. “You, out of all of us who are gifted with magic, shouldn’t have a problem offing a sorcerer.”
“I thank you for your help, Lady Enchantress,” Emperor Yevgeniy said. “We will provide you with whatever resources you need to face Rothbart.”
The Lady Enchantress smiled slightly and graciously tilted her head.
She really is beautiful, Ariane thought. Though there’s something sad about her. Perhaps she is merely worn out—it seems she knows most everyone here and has been running from country to country.
“I can’t decide if other magic users scorn Angelique because she is an enchantress and they feel threatened, or if there is something about her magic that makes them fear her,” Lucien remarked almost absentmindedly.
Ariane shook herself from her thoughts and guiltily glanced down at the prince—she had half-forgotten him in the intensity of the meeting. She could probably be forgiven for her inattention, however, for the prince had spent the majority of the meeting organizing the bowl of candied figs he had insisted they bring into the meeting, and now had his treats arranged in neat stacks.
He is capable of some semblance of organization. The lout. His observations finally pierced Ariane’s thoughts. “What do you mean?” she asked in a whisper.
“There’re only a few magic users who speak freely with her—Craftmage Stil and the Fairy Godmother Sybilla among them.” He spoke quietly, though he sounded distracted as he looked out at the representatives. “The rest treat her with cold respect and are prone to frowning at her.”
“They would disapprove of an enchantress? With all the good she has done?” Ariane wondered.
“Oh, it’s been going on for quite some time. Given that she has been racing across the continent for several years, finishing off magical incidences, I would have thought by now the Veneno Conclave would have assigned her traveling companions or attendants to aid her. At the very least, I thought someone would volunteer to travel with her. But she has always been alone and is generally very timid when it comes to speaking to other magic users when, as an enchantress, she out-ranks just about every magic user on the continent. That is why I suspect it has something to do with her magic. She is used to this sub-par treatment.”
Ariane blinked. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him string together so many intelligent sentences before.
The prince blinked several times, and the slope of his frog body tensed for the briefest moment before he arrogantly stretched out on his cushion. “She should turn the lot of them into frogs,” he complained. “It’s a horrible experience that would surely teach them.”
Ariane noted the change, but allowed the tone of the conversation to change. “Forgive my observations, Your Highness, but I don’t believe your life has changed that much since you became a frog.”
“My skin is drying out, and I want wine. When will this bore of a meeting end?” The prince hid his head in the cushion and presented his large backside to Ariane.
Previously, she would have thought it was because he was incredibly rude, but after his little observation about the lady enchantress, she wondered if he did that so he could still hear whilst appearing to pout.
At least some of his actions must be part of a fa?ade—there’ve been too many moments since this started for it to be sheer coincidence. It’s shocking, really. His Highness, the fool for fashion, just might be clever. But why the act?
Lucien sighed dramatically into the cushion.
Ariane, knowing better than to ask him out in the open, returned her attention to the Summit discussion once more. I will ask him, though. I want to know why he does this.
Two days later, Ariane and Lucien were again passing the time as they waited for the rest of the royal representatives to freshen up before dinner. This time, under Severin’s suggestion/order, they had taken up residence in the chateau’s rather impressive library.
Lucien spent the time crawling around on the shelves—complaining, mostly. But Ariane, surrounded by a great library filled with gleaming bookshelves and more wooden surfaces than she had seen in a week, gave into her base nature and was using a cleaning cloth she had swiped from a maid to attack the room.
The servants must place fresh flowers throughout the chateau nearly every day. Though the library smelled mostly of books and old paper, Ariane could detect a sweet whiff of lilac sprigs through the gloom of the room.
“I should have weighed in on this ruddy Summit after all rather than tell Severin to do whatever he wanted,” Lucien complained. “This week has been a dead bore. We should lighten it up with a ball or something.”