She was a little disappointed with the thought—both because it had been amazing to attend the Summit and also for reasons pertaining to Lucien that weren’t particularly productive. Ugh. If they are assigning him guards, they likely would save me from embarrassing myself.
Ariane knocked on the door to Prince Severin’s study. The door immediately swung open, and Elle smiled at her.
“Good morning, Ariane. Come in!”
Ariane dipped a curtsey. “Good morning, Your Highness.” She slipped inside the study, then curtsied again when she saw the room’s occupants.
Severin’s study was stuffed even fuller than usual as—in addition to himself and Princess Elle—Lady Enchantress Angelique was present, as was Craftmage Stil and his wife, Gemma.
Gemma sat in an armchair, her eyes—a strong mixture of gray and blue that resembled the snows of her Verglas homeland—narrowed in concentration as she added a few more stitches to the elaborately embroidered handkerchief she was working on. She looked up from her work long enough to smile at Ariane and push the ringlets of her dark brown hair out of her face before she returned to sewing.
Craftmage Stil stood behind his wife, drumming his fingers on the edge of her armchair. He gazed down at her with obvious adoration that glowed in his rather glorious blue eyes.
Ariane blinked as she studied him. Did his hair change? She could have sworn it was in a short military cut as late as last night’s dinner, yet this morning, his black hair was long enough and thick enough to pull back in a silky ponytail at the nape of his neck.
“Have you had a chance to look at that copy of King Steinar’s diary that King Toril lent us?” Stil asked Prince Severin.
Severin—seated at his desk—glanced at the mage. “Beyond the cursory glance I gave it when you first brought it, no. I have been tied up with preparations for the Summit.”
Craftmage Stil nodded. “I thought as much. I had just hoped it might help us. The Veneno Conclave has no documents or works that go back that far. I thought maybe it would contain something useful seeing as we’re facing a revival of dark magic.”
“I am only a seamstress,” Gemma said without looking up from the green handkerchief, “but having read it, I can say the diary is mostly a historical record. It focuses on conflicts between the mages. While we do have rogue mages running around today, it seems the greatest threats come from creatures—like goblins or wraiths.”
Princess Elle placed her hand on Ariane’s elbow and gently drew her into the room. “You have read the diary, Gemma?” She added as an aside to Ariane, “King Steinar was Princess Rakel’s—the Snow Queen of Verglas’s—little brother.”
“It is required reading for the basic schooling classes I received as a child,” Gemma said.
Stil flipped his ponytail over his shoulder. “I still cannot believe your government did not notify any universities—or the Conclave—that you had such detailed historical recordings.”
Gemma raised an eyebrow as she tied off her thread. “It is not our fault the Conclave let them all burn.”
“That was centuries ago—and it was not by choice,” Craftmage Stil protested.
“What do you mean?” Princess Elle asked.
“Before the Conclave was formed, the official base for mages—and the Academy—was in Verglas. It was started by Princess Rakel herself.” Lady Enchantress Angelique said. She smiled serenely and mindlessly brushed the iridescent fabric of her gown. “A few centuries ago, it was decided to move the base and the school to Mulberg—it was then that the Veneno Conclave was formed. Shortly after the move, there was a fire in the Academy’s library, and we lost many historical documents as a result.”
Ariane cocked her head as she listened to the discussion. She had heard the bedtime stories about the Snow Queen of course, but it was surprising to hear there was documented proof of her existence.
There was a knock on the study door, and Elle opened it so Henry—carrying Lucien on a pillow—could enter as well.
“Good morning, Brother-in-law,” Elle said.
“No, it is not,” Lucien grumbled from his splayed out position on his cushion. “How could you get me up at this ungodly hour?”
Prince Severin set aside the book he had been perusing. “We have gathered to discuss your safety.”
Lucien groaned. “Please tell me you’ve at least called for wine?”
Ariane impatiently pushed her hair out of her face as she studied Lucien’s dramatic display. I know everyone treats him like a drunkard, but I have yet to see him drink enough wine for it to negatively affect him. It seems like he drinks copious amounts because bottles randomly go missing…but could it be a ploy? Another part of his disguise?
“We’re on a bit of a tight schedule, so we need to finish this before the rest of the representatives rise to break their fast.” Princess Elle motioned for Ariane to take a seat in the remaining armchair before she slipped around her husband’s desk and leaned against his chair, almost sitting on the arm rest.
“That’s a no to the wine.” Lucien sighed like a martyr. “You may put me down, Henry.”
Henry bowed to the group, then lowered Lucien’s cushion. When it was approximately a hand off the ground, he tilted it so Lucien—protesting—skid off the side, then Henry passed the cushion to Ariane with another bow.
“We have assembled today to discuss the additional security measures we will take to assure Lucien’s safety and the safety of those who are near him,” Prince Severin rumbled.
“Wait a moment, just wait.” Lucien waddled across the floor. “I thought we already discussed this, with Colonel Friedrich of Erlauf no less.”
“Those were chateau precautionary measures,” Prince Severin said. “Increasing guards and patrols and the like. What we are here for today is to add more magical security to you, and Henry, and Ariane.”
Ariane perked at the sound of her name. What?
Lucien paused. “You’re going to enchant them as well?”
“No enchantments—or the three of you would be running around as small animals—but a few basic protection spells.” Lady Enchantress Angelique smiled like sunshine.
Lucien grumbled. “I notice you said animals—not frogs.”
“Naturally,” the lady enchantress said. “Mademoiselle Ariane strikes me as more of a flying squirrel, and Monsieur Henry is most certainly a cat.”
Elle patted her husband’s shoulders. “See, you’re not the only feline-esque male.”
Severin eyed his wife, but before he could say more, something scratched at the study door.
“Oh, Esses!” Elle glided back to the door and opened it to reveal a rather large black cat that had a great amount of fluffy black fur. The princess caressed his face—making the creature purr deeply—then rejoined her husband.
Ariane cleared her throat. “What sort of spells?” she asked. She was not by nature a shy girl, but as a maid, she was very much aware she wouldn’t normally be conversing with so many people who belonged to the upper echelons of society.