Read Online The Princess of Cortova by Diane Stanley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane Stanley
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attention to their host; she was still staring at Reynard—and so she saw the look of horror cross his face. That’s when the pieces finally fell into place, and everything made sense: Reynard wasn’t in collusion with King Gonzalo; he hadn’t even known Alaric was coming! The king of Cortova had brought them both there to compete for the prize—sort of an auction, with the princess and the alliance going to the highest bidder.
Gonzalo was making introductions now, as smoothly and graciously as if he actually liked them and really expected them to like each other.
“Son,” he said to the handsome boy who sat on the end of the couch, furiously kicking his legs back and forth. “Stand up. That’s it. I want you to meet King Alaric of Westria. This is my son, Prince Castor.”
The boy nodded in an offhand way; it was hardly a bow at all—certainly not what was appropriate when greeting a king. At the same time he did something disdainful with his nose: flaring the nostrils as if he detected a stink. Watching this, Molly felt herself drawn back to her childhood on the streets, and her hackles went up as they always had when she was challenged by a bully. In those days she’d have used her fists. Now she just squinted her eyes at the child, slightly baring her upper teeth. He saw it and blinked with surprise.
“And this lovely creature—I’m sure you’ve already guessed—is my daughter, Princess Elizabetta. Of course you know King Reynard and Prince Rupert, though perhaps not Lord Wroxton, the king’s friend.” (He was actually the king’s bodyguard, but it would have been rude to state the obvious.) “And I believe this is Lady Marguerite and her husband, Lord Worthington?”
“Not husband,” Alaric corrected. “They are only betrothed.”
“Ah. My mistake. Not yet married. Well, who knows? Perhaps a double wedding is in the stars!”
It hadn’t been “his mistake,” of course. It had been quite intentional. And Molly had the feeling it was meant to wound—though what Gonzalo hoped to accomplish by it was impossible to guess. Maybe it had just been a lead-in for the remark about the “double wedding,” in which the identity of the other couple was yet to be determined. A bit subtler and more elegant than “Let the games begin!”
Gonzalo now returned to his couch and proceeded to make himself comfortable: reclining at an angle, turned halfway on his side, one arm draped over a large silk bolster. The others waited till the king was settled, then followed suit.
Alaric had been placed at the end of the middle couch, directly beside the princess. This seemed such a blatant mark of favor that Molly shot a glance at Reynard to see how he was taking it. But she learned nothing. His face was a blank. So she turned her attention back to Alaric.
He and the princess were deep in conversation. She was leaning in toward him, her face transformed by a radiant smile, her eyes bright with interest. Then, in a flash, her expression altered, as though the clouds had moved in and obscured the sun. She reached over and took Alaric’s hand in a consoling sort of way.
“I know,” Molly heard her say in a voice that was soft and deep. “I know.”
The princess gave Alaric’s hand a squeeze, then released it. Molly watched, fascinated, as the sun slowly began to emerge from the clouds once again.
“I was glad when Father told me that you had . . . enquired about me. I . . .” She blushed and glanced down, then looked shyly up again.
“I was afraid that the very idea of a connection with me might be painful for you.”
“It was. It . . . it still is, a little.” She smiled sheepishly. “But at the same time, I know you understand my feelings in a way that others could not. We shared the same tragedy—though of course it was worse for you, as he was your brother.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Edmund was terribly fond of you, you know, so eager for us to meet and like each other.
Gonzalo was making introductions now, as smoothly and graciously as if he actually liked them and really expected them to like each other.
“Son,” he said to the handsome boy who sat on the end of the couch, furiously kicking his legs back and forth. “Stand up. That’s it. I want you to meet King Alaric of Westria. This is my son, Prince Castor.”
The boy nodded in an offhand way; it was hardly a bow at all—certainly not what was appropriate when greeting a king. At the same time he did something disdainful with his nose: flaring the nostrils as if he detected a stink. Watching this, Molly felt herself drawn back to her childhood on the streets, and her hackles went up as they always had when she was challenged by a bully. In those days she’d have used her fists. Now she just squinted her eyes at the child, slightly baring her upper teeth. He saw it and blinked with surprise.
“And this lovely creature—I’m sure you’ve already guessed—is my daughter, Princess Elizabetta. Of course you know King Reynard and Prince Rupert, though perhaps not Lord Wroxton, the king’s friend.” (He was actually the king’s bodyguard, but it would have been rude to state the obvious.) “And I believe this is Lady Marguerite and her husband, Lord Worthington?”
“Not husband,” Alaric corrected. “They are only betrothed.”
“Ah. My mistake. Not yet married. Well, who knows? Perhaps a double wedding is in the stars!”
It hadn’t been “his mistake,” of course. It had been quite intentional. And Molly had the feeling it was meant to wound—though what Gonzalo hoped to accomplish by it was impossible to guess. Maybe it had just been a lead-in for the remark about the “double wedding,” in which the identity of the other couple was yet to be determined. A bit subtler and more elegant than “Let the games begin!”
Gonzalo now returned to his couch and proceeded to make himself comfortable: reclining at an angle, turned halfway on his side, one arm draped over a large silk bolster. The others waited till the king was settled, then followed suit.
Alaric had been placed at the end of the middle couch, directly beside the princess. This seemed such a blatant mark of favor that Molly shot a glance at Reynard to see how he was taking it. But she learned nothing. His face was a blank. So she turned her attention back to Alaric.
He and the princess were deep in conversation. She was leaning in toward him, her face transformed by a radiant smile, her eyes bright with interest. Then, in a flash, her expression altered, as though the clouds had moved in and obscured the sun. She reached over and took Alaric’s hand in a consoling sort of way.
“I know,” Molly heard her say in a voice that was soft and deep. “I know.”
The princess gave Alaric’s hand a squeeze, then released it. Molly watched, fascinated, as the sun slowly began to emerge from the clouds once again.
“I was glad when Father told me that you had . . . enquired about me. I . . .” She blushed and glanced down, then looked shyly up again.
“I was afraid that the very idea of a connection with me might be painful for you.”
“It was. It . . . it still is, a little.” She smiled sheepishly. “But at the same time, I know you understand my feelings in a way that others could not. We shared the same tragedy—though of course it was worse for you, as he was your brother.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Edmund was terribly fond of you, you know, so eager for us to meet and like each other.
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