“Rejected! You cold-hearted-maid!”
Ariane smiled as she carried the protesting prince to the first meal of the day, her new handkerchief still secured in her pocket for the moment.
Regardless of the danger, I am proud to be included in this.
Chapter 8
Romantic Realizations
Tea time was held in the gardens that afternoon. Ariane was surprised Lucien was allowed outdoors, but a quick squint around the area revealed archers on the chateau roof, and guards lining the gardens with giant vases blocking off the paths that would lead into different gardens.
Additionally, Severin was now flanked by “representatives” from the Loire army—though the officers were clearly armed to the teeth and ready for a fight.
Prince Severin is quite thorough.
“Ariane—are you listening? I don’t want that tea cake; I want the pink one,” Lucien said.
Ariane watched one of the new Loire representatives march past as she mindlessly picked up a pink tea cake and gave it to Lucien.
The frog prince was seated on his cushion and eagerly reached out for the treat. He shoved most of the miniature cake in his mouth and swallowed. He tried to lick his mouth, but was either still unused to dealing with his frog body or he severely overestimated the shot, as his tongue darted from his mouth, and he whacked himself in the right eye with it.
“Ow!” Lucien fell backwards as if he had been punched. “That was…”
“Bizarre?” Ariane suggested. She smiled and curtseyed a little as Princess Astra of Baris grabbed a cup of tea and winked at her.
Lucien nodded—making his body jiggle. “I never imagined what it would be like to see my own tongue coming at me.”
Ariane smiled and edged to the side so an Erlauf representative could reach the teatime treats. “Do you want anything else?”
Lucien mournfully held the uneaten half of his pink tea cake. “No. That rather spoiled my appetite.”
Ariane stepped away from the tables, retreating to the shade the chateau cast on a less populated section of the garden. “You didn’t enjoy licking your own eyeball?”
“No.” Lucien played with his teacake for a moment, then glanced up at Ariane.
“Yes?” she asked when it became apparent Lucien wanted to say something.
He opened his mouth to speak, but they were interrupted by the boisterous selkie princess.
“Prince Lucien, Mademoiselle Ariane!” Princess Dylan swept up to them, carrying a plate piled high with tea cakes and cookies. Her fiancé, Prince Callan, trailed in her wake. He wore an easy smile and carried two cups of tea. One of the other Ringsted representatives—the intelligent woman who was a particular friend of both the prince and princess—carried a similarly heaped plate of food. “Since the start of the Summit, the food has been nothing short of perfection. I must give my compliments to the cook. Could you tell me how to find the kitchens?” Dylan’s unusual eyes were bright with cheer as she nibbled on an almond cookie.
“Umm…” Would Prince Severin mind if the representatives went traipsing about the private sections of his home? Ariane glanced down at Lucien, who gave her his frog version of a shoulder shrug. “What a fine help you are,” she muttered to him.
“Do I look like I wander around, searching for kitchens?” Lucien asked.
“Considering your passion for wine, yes.”
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Dylan asked as she took one of the tea cups from Prince Callan.
Before Ariane could reply, someone strummed on a lyre, and the murmur of conversations grew louder as a flute joined in the song.
“Oh!” Prince Callan said brightly. “That will be Dooley.”
A giant man swung around a shrubbery, a rose clenched between his teeth. He was dressed in a dark green robe that had garish orange flowers embroidered into the fabric. A wreath of flowers was nestled into the unruly mop of his brown hair, and he winked at the representatives as he removed the rose from his mouth.
“Ladies of astonishing beauty and elegance, gentlemen whose noble hearts pulse in their chests: spring has come to the continent, gifting us with the sweet kisses of flowers and songs of the birds. I am Dooley of the Wild Flower, and I have come to deliver the caress of spring.”
The man threw a fistful of flower petals in the air, then extended his hand. “Come, let us frolic in the arms of spring!”
Queen Linnea of Verglas studied the man with an expression that warred between interest and concern. “Should we call for the barber-surgeon? He seems sick in the head.”
“Yes,” Prince Callan said, reclaiming Ariane’s attention. “Definitely Dooley.”
“Excuse me, Your Highnesses. I have a murder to see to.” Cagney hissed. She shoved her plate into Prince Callan’s free hand and darted in the direction of the commotion. “Dooley!”
“I think he’s leveled up his entrances.” Princess Dylan trailed after her murderous friend. “Has he had live music accompany him before?”
Prince Callan turned to Ariane and Lucien, his smile still in place. “If you’ll excuse our abrupt exit, Your Highness, Mademoiselle.”
Ariane watched Cagney storm up to Lord Dooley and shoo the musicians away. “The world is a big and…interesting place,” she said.
Prince Lucien snorted.
She shook her head and returned her attention to Lucien. “I apologize—you were about to say something?”
Lucien rolled his half-eaten tea cake around his cushion, getting crumbs everywhere. “I wanted to speak to you.”
Ariane nodded, but the prince was still silent. “Yes?” she prodded.
“Due to the new safety measures…and with the second attack from the assassins…”
Ariane plucked the remaining bit of tea cake from him lest he squash it and mash it into the fabric of his cushion. “Yes?” she repeated. She set his cushion on a bench, then gently nudged him off it before she shook it out, making crumbs scatter.
“Bother,” he said. “I’m making a mess of this. What I mean to say is you don’t have to act as my keeper.”
Ariane blinked and set his cushion back down.
“I’m aware Severin and Elle explained the situation to you when you first agreed to this arrangement, but at that time we thought we would be able to stop the rogue mages, should they appear again. Unfortunately, we overestimated our strength, and the situation has become much more dangerous.” Lucien waddled across the bench. “I understand if you wish to return to your previous role. We can disguise a guard to be my cushion-carrier instead.”
Surprised by the sudden rush of words, Ariane took a few moments to pick through his speech. “You don’t want me to leave, but you would understand if I chose to?”
“Yes,” Lucien said. “This is dangerous, Ariane. And you don’t have the protection that I have as a spelled frog. Honestly, if I was half as selfish as I am or you half as interesting as you are, I would order you to resign.”
Ariane’s surprise left, and she frowned. “Why?” she demanded.