Bounty (32 page)

The manner of the event I am offering as your cover would delight in serving a dual purpose as what should be hosted in your honor, but since you insist on all the secrecy, I will see to converting the theme to that of a masquerade to further your ease.

I can only assume you will be watching for my reply, so I’m sending a resident page to stand outside the wall with this and await your approach. I hope it finds its way to you through said method. I bid you a safe and discreet arrival upon the eve of the party.

With insistence,

Cat

Lifting the front page out of the way, Godren took a look at the invitation. It was fancy and official-looking, covered in looping scrawl and flowery signatures. He was careful not to smudge anything with his less-than-pristine fingers. If the invitation was his ticket in, he couldn’t compromise his image by leaving his real signature on it: the telltale trademark that was blood and dirt, and all the grime that named him a treacherous imposter in the precarious circle of the nobles.

*

Lady Damilia Foxfawn was every bit the flirt the princess claimed, and his association with her worked like a charm. It was easy to design his own insurance with her, as well, rather than relying only on an assumption of personality and the potential it presented. He began his pursuit of her by lifting her handkerchief off of her person, and then offering it back with the hint that she’d dropped it.

“Oh, how clumsy of me,” she remarked, a flattering amount of color rising to her cheeks. She fiddled with her unemployed mask as if wanting to put it on to hide her embarrassment. Godren hoped it wasn’t unusual to already have his in place. “But then, I always did become clumsy around…eligible entities such as yourself. Sometimes, it’s almost as if I can sense them, radiating their disarming masculinity around me. Still, how embarrassing to have it brought out.” And she smiled a tentative, but altogether too precise, curve of her manipulative lips.

Not likely,
Godren thought, but smiled, humoring her. “Perhaps you would care to keep me from parting from your company so quickly, in order to reinforce an image more agreeable to your standards?” he suggested, dosing his gaze with wicked charm.

She toyed coyly with her handkerchief, considering him. “I would be a fool of court not to appreciate such a gracious opportunity. It is not every day that one finds herself in possession of the perfect opportunity to smooth over a blunder. Especially…so pleasurably.”

With an appeased, admiring enhancement to his smile, Godren offered his arm in what he hoped was a ‘disarmingly masculine’ way, and assumed the role of perfect escort as she accepted.

“Do you always walk to these occasions?” he inquired.

She emitted a quaint, musical laugh. “It’s only across the way.”

“Still, no compelling desire to arrive in particular style, decked out in some glittering carriage with angelic steeds to announce you?”

“The one being announced must keep her figure worthy of such attention, mustn’t she?”

“If she fears such a figure could ever go wrong,” Godren allowed skeptically.

Lady Damilia flashed a sidelong smile of appreciation at him, looking vain and pleased – and, incidentally, every ounce the worthy hostess of any vanity she contrived to feel. She was a striking creature – perfect, in fact. It was just a pity that perfection bored Godren out of his mind.

From there, Lady Damilia introduced herself and sought his identity, to which he fed her his cover, and then she accelerated their familiarity as quickly as she could contrive and took to gushing her way into his interests by the time they crossed the avenue and arrived at the palace gates.

“Lady Foxfawn,” the guard in charge greeted the woman with a courteous bow, accepting her invitation without question.

“And my escort,” she insisted on directing his attention, already acting as if she and Godren were an item. “Lord Rendev Lamont.”

Godren felt a swell of affection for the girl as she helped to sell his cover. Keeping a neutral, pleasant expression, though, he handed over his own invitation. The guard gave him a quizzical once-over as he accepted it, noting his unfamiliar appearance but evidently not overly suspicious. He read the card unlike he had Lady Damilia’s, but he still only skimmed it.

“Of Cultris Province?” he asked, finding something familiar. “Normally we smell you coming.”

At first Godren didn’t know what to make of such a comment, but then the guard tucked away the card and clapped him on the shoulder with a grin and gleam in his eye, and it was obvious he was jesting.

“Is business biting this time of year?” the guard asked further in a cordial manner.

Only then did Godren recall some snippet of knowledge about Cultris Province being a seaside town of abundant fisherman. “Oh quite,” he replied, not knowing the answer. He hoped that would fly.

“Odd,” the guard remarked. “How come we aren’t experiencing indulgence down here? We don’t seem to be importing the stuff.”

Godren didn’t allow himself to blanch. “Well,” he said without missing a beat. “Cultris Province seems to have a growing appetite that’s biting as well,” he quipped. And he clapped the guard on his own shoulder and admitted himself onto the palace grounds.

The problem with his plan to gain entrance onto the grounds became evident once he was on them. Lady Damilia had been a satisfactory accomplice, but now…how to get rid of her? There was no way to easily just withdraw after leading her on and encouraging her infatuation.

He struggled with designing a good method of detachment while the noblewoman threw distracting flirtations at him one after another. He kept his eye open for Catris just to take stock of the situation, but as it turned out he couldn’t recognize her in the sea of kin masked faces, and only identified her at last when she came to save him.

“Lady Damilia,” she greeted, sounding somehow pleasant and acid at once. “It’s so good to see you, radiantly beautiful as always.”

“And you, your Highness,” Lady Foxfawn returned. “So…alive. I see you like to defy the odds as well. But in your own way, of course.”

Godren blinked behind his mask, surprised that one supposedly celebrating the princess’s safe return would express such open dislike for her when welcomed into her joyous home. Had she just insulted the princess’s beauty and exalted her own in one sentence of greeting? Godren was impressed, and completely disillusioned with any possibility of redeeming qualities that Lady Damilia might have possessed beneath her beautifully boring face.

Catris emitted a sickeningly-sweet humoring sound and spared Lady Damilia an acidly-endearing look to acknowledge the jab.

It was apparent that the circles of these two noblewomen clashed.

But the princess wasted no more time on her grasping rival and turned to her escort.

“Lord Rendev!” she said in delight. “We dearly hoped you would make an appearance. And I must tell you, my father struggles with an unsatisfied desire for fish at these events, and I daresay he’s becoming quite anxious about it. We manage, of course, but especially with the increase of occasions, the fall of one of our chief dishes is taking its toll on our adopted habits of cultural pleasure. I simply must speak with you about the demand for seaside delicacies.”

Godren bowed to her while she spoke, but was quickly snatched and forced upright and spirited away, and the next thing he knew he was blinking in disorientation somewhere across the ballroom with the princess in Lady Damilia’s place on his arm.

“Hello, Ren,” she said more seriously.

“My name does not wear a mask, my lady. Please use it delicately,” Godren requested, unable to quench the nerves that filled him in this circle of authority.

“As you wish.”

It sounded backward coming out of her mouth. Wasn’t that the kind of thing he should be saying to her? Who was he to be requesting conditions in royal company?

“Would you like to go somewhere more private?” Catris asked accommodatingly. Only then did he look down at her. That, and her question, sent a foolish desire through him.

“If you know somewhere safe,” he agreed, glancing away.

“If you’re a friend to the crown, we like to think the entire premises is safe,” Catris said, voice completely neutral.

“Lady Foxfawn sounded hostile enough, if you ask me.”

Catris laughed. “Damilia is a spoiled court brat. She grew up following in jealousy’s footsteps, and no less can be expected of her. No noble is harmless, I suppose, but she’s fairly insignificant in the field of rivalry. If being queenly depended on a face as beautiful as hers, she could have the throne, as far as I’m concerned. But Lady Damilia Foxfawn has feathers where it really counts, so here we are.”

As she spoke, she led him out through the main ballroom doors, beyond the pillar-lined vestibule to the beginning of a lane that stretched out through a grove of cherry trees. Oddly, the grove was in full bloom, with overwhelmingly fragrant blossoms cascading through the branches that should have been dormant with gray.

“Your trees are out of season,” Godren commented.

Catris breathed in their surroundings in acknowledgment. What was visible of her cheeks looked extra rosy with the surrounding blossoms to enhance her color. “They are,” she agreed, an enrapturing dreaminess in her framed eyes. It was an intriguing reply, and not the one Godren expected. He’d thought maybe she would give some explanation, or agree with more bemusement. Instead, she just seemed enchanted by the oddity.

But then she did delve into a correlating story, her face distant. “The original tree of the pack was a gift to my mother. She transferred shoots to be independently tended, spent hours encouraging new growth, and spawned this grove. The winters were harsh then, and spreading the essence of the trees so thin in the hopes of duplicating them took its toll; they refused to bloom for a long time.

“Still, she refused to abandon them and worked ever harder tending them – even heavily with child, expecting me any day.” She smiled fondly then. “My father nearly worked himself sick trying to persuade her to relent and come out of the weather, but she was utterly devoted. Not surprisingly, she was caught out in her grove when I decided to come into the world. Her equally devoted lady in waiting, fortunately, hadn’t left her side all those months, so she had assistance – but there was no bringing her all the way in once I started coming.

“She labored heart and soul, in more than one way, out in this grove. And then, upon my arrival…it all bloomed.” Awe and memory deepened the princess’s eyes, making them ever more beautiful. But then she bowed her head. “Since she died, they resonate with stronger elements of immortality. They bloom seemingly at will, as well as…for me.”

Godren found himself utterly absorbed in her as she spoke – the intriguing story, her lips as they formed perfect words, the picturesque distance in her eyes. For a few moments, he forgot why he had come. It seemed only natural – strangely, strangely natural – that he was here, walking with the princess in her own grove. Why
wouldn’t
he have arranged this meeting? And when he did remember his greater purpose…he discovered he didn’t want to bring it up. His emotions made a rebel out of him, telling him to keep his mouth shut, to not spoil the moment. A devious part of him fed him deceptive fantasies to justify neglecting the dire circumstances of reality that were so inconvenient.

He must have looked troubled, though, for he found himself being brought out of his distractions by the princess voicing an inquisitive probe, and only then did he realize they had stopped walking and she was touching his face. There was a quizzical look in her eyes, and her touch was gentle enough that he could only experience sensing it past the layer of numbness that encompassed him. That only dampened his mood as he discovered how sorry he was that he couldn’t feel it. Where was the delightful sensation that was supposed to dance across his skin at the contact? He didn’t feel it inside, either, overridden by the initial despair that reigned on the outside. Suddenly he felt both hollow and numb.

“Ren?” the princess tried again as he just stared regretfully at her. Her eyes were creased with concern.

He wanted to answer her, but suddenly he truly didn’t have the heart to speak.

Catris shook her head ever so slightly with insightful pity. “The nature of this thriving place fails to touch you at all, though, doesn’t it? For you look as if a part of you has gone dormant. Tragically dormant.” She searched for some deeper answer in his face, but he doubted she would find anything in the ever-growing emptiness that was feeding off of him. If only she knew how close to the mark she already was. She really needn’t look any deeper.

When she didn’t find anything, Catris smiled a doleful, encouraging smile. “This place is supposed to enchant you. Is there nothing I can do to cheer those eyes for this occasion? It is secretly in your honor, after all,” she reminded him, smile widening.

He tried to respond, but if anything, his face cracked more.

“Aw, Ren…” the princess soothed. She rose onto her slippered toes and planted a soft kiss on his unsuspecting lips.

At first he was delighted that she would do such a thing of her own accord, but it was only the initial surprise that registered, and then his deadened lips and upset emotions spoiled any further sensations, and he broke contact and turned away.