Princess of Glass (6 page)

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since her language would have scorched the ears of any maid who came to help. She got herself into it and pulled on her boots in record time. Checking in the mirror she saw that her hair looked tidy enough. She didn't have a lady's maid, and so when she needed help dressing she would have to ring the bell and take the assistance of whichever upstairs maid answered the call. It was just as likely to be the hapless Ellen as Gabrielle, Lady Seadown's formidable Analousian lady's maid, and so Poppy had been dressing herself a lot lately.

As she walked down the stairs to meet Marianne and Prince Christian, Poppy searched her feelings to decide why it was that Ellen so fascinated her. She thought it was perhaps because she wanted to pity Ellen--it would be horrible to go from a life of privilege to being a servant--but the girl's attitude made it impossible. And there was guilt, too. Guilt that she had wealth (though not as much as most princesses), guilt that her father and her sisters were still living. Yet she still could not feel completely charitable toward Ellen.

"You look a bit... what's the word? Oh, 'pensive,' Princess Poppy," said Prince Christian when she joined him. Marianne was still changing. "I hope that I did not offend you when I burst into the ballroom. The butler seemed to think that it would be all right."

He spoke Bretoner with a light accent not unlike Poppy's own, and had bright blue eyes and an engaging smile. Poppy found herself smiling back, her mood lifting.

"Oh no," she said, waving a hand airily. "I was thinking of something else entirely."

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She studied him frankly, having no doubt that he was used to it. After all, she was. He really was handsome, she decided. Perhaps two years older than she, and his family had neither lost a son to her family's curse nor threatened violence against them during that bad time. A knot of tension in her stomach that she hadn't even known was there loosened.

"We are equals," she said, "though I am not my father's heir. Why don't you just call me Poppy." She had always thought that "Princess Poppy" sounded too much like a name for a small dog.

"And you must call me Christian," he said, giving her an even warmer smile. Yes, he was terribly handsome.

"Oh, pooh!" Marianne said as she came down the stairs. "I've taken too long and now you're dear friends and I shall be left out."

"That will teach you to spend all day primping," Poppy said, winking at Christian and taking his arm. "Five more minutes, and we would have eloped."

"I wouldn't put it past you," Marianne said, with a pretend pout. "Shall we?" And she led the way out to the drive, where Christian took in Poppy's mare with great amusement.

"Yes?" Poppy raised one eyebrow. She was not a good rider, but the Bretoners seemed to live on horseback when they were not dancing, so she was trying her best to keep up.

"Is that a horse or a large ottoman?"

"Oh hush, we can't all ride creatures like that," she retorted. He had just mounted a bay stallion with wild eyes and flared nostrils. "He looks like he might eat me."

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"Best not get too close then," Christian said. Poppy made a face at him.

The three of them rode down the street to Rother-Hythe Park, where all the fashionable folk rode. Poppy was pleased to see that she wasn't the only young lady riding a horse suitable for children and old people. Although she did notice that most of the young ladies riding such horses looked singularly brainless, and made a resolution to become a better rider.

Sensing her distraction, Christian gave her a quizzical look. "Is something wrong with your fat, elderly steed?"

"Oh," Poppy laughed. "I was thinking that it really is a shame I'm only riding this poor thing. If my brothers-in-law had been cavalry men, I'm sure I'd be jumping hedges by now."

"Your brothers-in-law?"

"I'm dying to meet them myself," Marianne said. "Galen and Heinrich sound like fun. Poppy can spit and swear and gamble like a soldier." Then a blush stained her cheeks. "And you know that I mean that in a good way, Poppy," she hastened to add.

"I know," Poppy said, blushing herself.

"Really?" A grin tugged at Christian's mouth. "So it's true that you really do play cards during balls?"

"It can get very boring, watching other people dancing," Poppy told him. She wished her fair skin didn't show her blushes so easily.

"You're a very fine dancer," Christian said in puzzlement. "I don't see why you have to watch."

Poppy winced. She knew she shouldn't have brought up

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dancing again. "I don't see dancing as entertainment," she said in a low voice. "I see it as something I used to
have
to do, whether I liked it or not." She stared past Christian to the trees, briefly imagining a forest of silver, stirred by a wind that no other creature felt. At least her blush had been chased away.

"Oh," Christian said, still puzzled. "I see."

Marianne defused the tension by chiming in with the story of Poppy's first ball in Breton. "She walked right into the card room on the arm of Dickon Thwaite! Have you met Dickon, Your Highness? I mean, Christian? He's very amusing, you are sure to like him," she burbled.

"He's also very handsome, and sweet on Marianne," Poppy said out of the corner of her mouth.

"Everyone was staring," Marianne went on, ignoring Poppy. "So Papa came to her rescue and actually played some hands with them. And he hasn't touched a card in years!"

Poppy still found that puzzling. "But he's very good, and he was sitting in the card room when we went in. Are you sure he doesn't play anymore?"

"Oh, he used to play all the time," Marianne said. "And he never lost. But it bothered Mama a great deal, so he stopped." She shrugged. "Most of Papa's friends play, so he sits in the card rooms at balls to speak with them."

Christian appeared to accept this explanation readily, but Poppy still wondered about it. Lord Richard had been expert in his handling of the cards on the few occasions she had played with him. She had beaten him every time, but narrowly, and at least once she suspected that he had let her win.

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This had infuriated her at the time, but now it made her curious. What had happened to Lord Richard to cause him to give up something he loved? Lady Margaret was wonderful, but her disapproval must have been harsh indeed to have had this effect. For now Poppy saw that Lord Richard didn't lose to be polite: he had lost because he truly did not want to win.

Or perhaps he was afraid to win.

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***

Gleaming

Come in, Prince Christian, come in." King Rupert of Breton beckoned his young guest into his study.

Christian entered, bowed, and waited for the king to give him permission to sit. King Rupert was fond of ceremony and refused to drop Christians tide. In fact, his own children called him "Sire" and once Christian had heard Hermione greet her father as "Your Eminence." It made meals very stilted.

"You wished to see me, Your Majesty?" Waved to a chair, Christian sat up straight and laid his hands on the arms of the chair. His fingers wanted to trace the intricate scrollwork, but he knew that the king also hated fidgeting.

"Indeed I did, Prince Christian. Indeed I did."

The king sat behind a large desk, both hands flat on the blotter, and studied Christian. Christian smiled politely, and did not twitch or look away. He hadn't committed any crimes that he was aware of, yet a feeling of guilt took root in him all the same.

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"I'm sure your royal father, King Karl, told you of the ulterior motive behind these little state visits," King Rupert said.

"Er, yes?" Christian wasn't sure what he was asking. King Rupert couldn't possibly be crass enough to talk about marriage in this way.

"So, what is your intention toward my daughters?"

Christian choked. Apparently King Rupert really
could
be that crass.

"Are you planning on marrying Hermione or Emmeline?"

"Um, I'm afraid that I haven't really ... The girls are very young..." Christian felt hot and cold at the same time. If Breton was looking for an alliance through marriage, he didn't want to cause a war by refusing them outright. Why didn't Rupert take this up with Christian's father instead of ambushing him this way?

"After the New Year I believe you're to go to Analousia?"

"I think so." Christian fought to regain his composure.

"I don't want to lose you to Analousia, or Spania," Rupert said bluntly. "If they turn against us, the way Analousia went after Westfalin a few years back, you'd be forced to side with them. Hmmm." He stroked his impressive mustache. "Perhaps someone else might do." He stared into space, apparently forgetting that Christian was still in the room.

Looking at the clock, Christian realized that it was almost time to meet Marianne and Poppy at the Royal Gallery. He took a deep breath and stood, bowing. "If Your Majesty will excuse me? A certain royal duty calls."

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"Yes, yes, go on, Prince Christian." King Rupert was busily jotting down notes on a piece of paper.

At the gallery, Poppy and Marianne both laughed at his panicked recital of this interview.

"Someone else?" Marianne shook her head. "I am a cousin of the royal family, but I have my cap set for my own someone else, you know." She blushed, and Christian knew she was thinking of Dickon Thwaite.

"And I'm out of the question," Poppy joked, taking his arm so that she and Marianne flanked him. "Mother was Rupert's cousin, but imagine if Father were to turn on Breton! Oh, the scandal!"

"Would your father turn on them?" Christian was only idly curious. With a girl on each arm he was getting a number of envious looks and rather enjoying them.

"Oh, heavens no!" Poppy lowered her voice. "Let's face it, King Rupert can be horrible, but Father still likes to keep on good terms with him." She sighed. "Which is why I'm here."

"Your father sent you, especially?" Christian couldn't help but think that bold Poppy was an odd choice for ambassador.

"Oh no. I drew Breton out of a hat. Hyacinth, who's very religious, is the only one who didn't draw: Father sent her to Analousia to impress them with our piety."

Christian was fascinated. "You drew lots to see who would go where?"

"No one cared which one they got," she said with a shrug. "And Lilac and Orchid both wanted to go to Spania. Some

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famous actor is doing a play there this season. So Father used the hat to make things equal." "So the twelve of you--"

"Nine," she corrected him. "Hyacinth was sent to Analousia, and Lily and Rose are married. Nobody wants a married princess," she laughed wryly.

"True." He paused. "Doesn't it bother you?"

Poppy shook her head.

"It shouldn't," Marianne put in. "Any girl with a dowry is told from the day she's born that she has to marry just the right person for just the right reasons at just the right time." She grimaced. "All you can hope for is that he's got teeth. And hair."

"Oh, don't be so put upon," Poppy said. "Your parents would never force you to marry anyone you didn't like."

They left the gallery and went out onto the grounds. The Royal Gallery was housed in a grand mansion with extensive gardens behind, which were a work of art in and of themselves. The trees had been sculpted into perfectly smooth cones, and the hedges were shaped like sea serpents and other fantastical creatures.

"Not bad," Poppy said with a critical eye. "But that yew is on its last legs."

"A gardening expert, are we?" Christian liked Poppy, but he thought she was a rather strange girl. She hated dancing but was very good at it, and meekly went riding every day despite being a terrible rider. She gambled, and could swear

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quite colorfully (as he had discovered one day when the more spirited horse she was trying threw her in the park). And while she claimed to be fond of the ladylike art of knitting, the "socks" he had seen her working on were bizarrely large.

And now it seemed that she was a trained gardener.

"I don't actually care about growing anything myself," she explained. "But Father's gardens are considered the finest in Ionia. He had them created for my mother, who was terribly homesick, and at first it was only to remind her of this." She made a wide gesture with one hand to indicate the sweeping green lawns before them. "But in the end he became so involved that he's even developed a number of new roses."

"How do you develop a new rose?" Christian could barely tell the difference between a rose and a daisy.

"I really don't know." She shrugged. "But they're all named after my mother: Queen Maude, Maude's Beauty, Beloved Maude. One of my sisters asked once why Father didn't name a rose after any of us, and he pointed out what the rest of us were thinking: who names a flower 'Poppy's Rose'?"

"Daisy's Rose," Marianne put in.

Christian started to laugh, but a strange feeling came over him. It was happening with greater frequency now: the glimpses of green in the corners of his eyes, the faint sparkle in the air. It mostly happened when he was near large windows, but walking through the Mirror Gallery at the palace also made him uneasy.

He looked around and saw a small greenhouse half-hidden