Lucien wondered if it was possible to die of boredom. If it was, surely he had to be at least halfway there. He propped his feet up on a footstool and stared at the ceiling as his teacher droned on and on like a worried sheep.

“—after countering their forces in the magnificent battle for Glowma, Princess Rakel marched her troops north and re-captured Ostfold, the capital of Verglas,” Scholar Pierre spoke in a voice that sounded as dusty as one of the scrolls he was constantly pushing into Lucien’s face.

Lucien tapped his fingers on the armrests of his chair, then loudly yawned.

Scholar Pierre did not take the hint but droned on. “Though Princess Rakel proved to be the linchpin for Verglas’s war against the Chosen, it was well known that several military figures supported her. Verglas lore claims the existence of a General Halvor, but Loire has no such records. This might be in part because our country as we know it had not yet been formed.”

Irritation made a muscle in Lucien’s cheek twitch. Why doesn’t he stop? Haven’t I been obvious enough in my disinterest?

When Scholar Pierre paused for a moment to take a breath, Lucien was quick to interject. “Yes, that’s all very well, but you’ve been rambling on about history for the entire morning. Isn’t it time to stop?”

Scholar Pierre adjusted his spectacles with a thoughtful expression. He was younger than most of the teachers Lucien had been foisted upon during his endless years of lessons. Scholar Pierre's bland blonde hair was always uncombed, and his shirts were wrinkled, but the lines of his face were still soft.

He can't be older than Father—a rarity in a community that seems to most value whoever has the longest, whitest beard.

“We have closely studied history today, Your Highness, because it is a vital and important subject. It is one in which you must be well versed as a member of the royal family.”

Lucien smirked. “Then make Severin learn it. He's going to be my advisor on everything. As long as he knows it, we’ll be fine.” His brother—half-brother if one wanted to split hairs over it—would frown sharply at him for skipping his duties, but the truth was Lucien wouldn't ever do anything without Severin anyway, even when he was crowned king in the far-off years to come.

“Your brother already learned these lessons at age thirteen,” Scholar Pierre said.

Lucien dropped his smile and scowled. He didn't appreciate the reminder that his father forced him to keep up lessons and classes as an adult, while Severin had finished his classroom studies when he was barely more than a child. “But if one of us knows this information, that should be enough.”

“I'm afraid not, Your Highness. You are the future king. Even with Prince Severin at your side, you must still rule on your own knowledge.”

Lucien settled back into his plush chair, wriggling when a button dug into his back. “Then enlighten me. How does the mystical royalty of foreign countries affect my rule and reign?”

Scholar Pierre rubbed his chin and squinted at Lucien. “History repeats itself, endlessly,” he said. “The people and cultures change, but we are forever making the same mistakes. Countries overspend their budgets; wars come and go, and the people fear the future and incorrectly recall the past with more fondness than it deserves.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. Such a jolly fellow he is. “If history always repeats itself, why bother learning it? By the time you can tell it is repeating, it's already too late, and you are in the middle of it.”

“You must know history so you may change it,” Scholar Pierre said. His eyes were lit with an intense light as he held Lucien's gaze. “If you are in the middle of a massive repeat of historic events, knowledge of the past will provide clarity in a time when very little makes sense.”

Lucien stared at his shoes—irked to see that some of the decorative bows adorning them had become untied. “That sounds like something a historian would say in order to secure employment,” he muttered.

Scholar Pierre peered at his pocket watch. “If you are so opposed to history, we could switch to mathematics or economics.”

Lucien wanted to sneer, but he forced himself to keep his bored look in place.

While Severin had finished his formal schooling at such a young age, Lucien assumed he would need lessons for longer—he was a lazy heir apparent after all and had always been several months behind Severin, even though he was older. But Lucien had passed his twentieth birthday years ago, and he was still learning the same lessons he had been taught as a child—and all of this was under his father's orders.

If Father had his way, I would be taking lessons until the day I die—such moving confidence he has in me.

“If you look to the chalkboard, I believe today we should discuss balanced budgets,” Scholar Pierre said.

Lucien made a show of yawning again and fanning his face. “Sorry, old boy. I don't have it in me today. I think we’re done.”

Scholar Pierre glanced at his pocket watch again. “Your lessons aren't scheduled to end for half an hour.”

Yes, I am so inept I cannot be trusted to manage my own schedule. Lucien's smirk stayed indolent. “I say they're over now.”

Scholar Pierre bowed. “Very well, Your Highness. I will look forward to tomorrow's session.”

Lucien airily waved as he hopped out of his chair. He strode to the door and slipped out of the study and into the hallway as smoothly as he could. I need to get out of here. Too bad Severin and Elle are in Noyers, or I could beg off on a trip to Chanceux. His mind dwelled on his brother's pleasant chateau before his thoughts shifted to his brother and sister-in-law as he strode down the hall. I need to avoid Severin like the plague—he’s here to prepare for that wretched multi-country summit he’s holding at Chanceux. Seeing him will mean more responsibilities. But Father might leave me be if I were with Elle. I’ll have to barter with her to get her to agree to it, though, unless we go riding.

The little bit of tension that Lucien held in his shoulders eased. That’s it. I’ll call for Henry to bring me my riding boots and coat, then I’ll go for a ride.

He whistled happily as he popped out of one wing of the palace and into a small garden that was enfolded within the palace walls. At the opposite end of the cottage-sized garden was a maid sweeping cobwebs off a doorframe. “You there, maid,” Lucien called.

The maid turned around then dipped a curtsey when she realized who addressed her, though her determined chin still jutted out. Severin would approve of her, though, for her uniform was pristine and not a hair fell out of her tight braid; the white ribbons of her apron didn’t even droop. He recognized her—Lucien took pains to recognize all servants by face after a witch had somehow snuck into the palace and cursed Severin years before—but in his mind he always referred to this one as Perfect Uniform.

“Yes, Your Highness?” Perfect Uniform asked.

“Go call my valet Henry and tell him I’m waiting for him…here.” Lucien looked around the small garden—which was really more of an inlet than an actual garden.

“Yes, Your Highness.” The maid bobbed another curtsey, stowed the broom she had been using to terrorize the spiders, then slipped into the castle.

“Tell him to bring my riding boots and coat. And my hat!” Lucien called out after her. When she was gone, he looked around the pleasant-ish inlet. “Yes, infinitely better than lessons.”

* * *

Ariane was concentrating so fully on carrying Prince Lucien's spotless riding boots—which she handled only because her hands were wrapped in her apron, lest she dare smudge them—that she almost rammed into Henry when he paused to adjust his grip on the prince's coat and ridiculous riding hat. Henry had to carry the hat far in front of him, or the colorful feathers that were secured to the brim would poke the valet in the eye.

Though the female dress had become perhaps a little simpler since Elle had entered the royal family, male fashion among nobles suffered no such introduction to tact as the nobles took their cues from Prince Lucien. Prince Lucien delighted in finery and frippery, a love that was apparently not shared by his valet based on the wrinkle of Henry's normally stone-faced brow.

I wonder how on earth he became a valet. Prince Severin's valet dresses far more similarly to Prince Lucien, whereas Henry seems to be more in Prince Severin's camp of dark, formal, and repetitious. She eyed the sword that tapped his left side with every step he took. Not to mention his propensity for being constantly armed.

Ariane realized her pinky had slipped out from behind her apron and carefully held the offending appendage away from the boots. If Lucien saw even one finger smudge on his boots, he would demand a servant clean every inch of them.

Never mind that he's going to walk out among the muck and get them filthy...

As if he could sense her disgust, Henry peered over his shoulder and glanced back at her.

Ariane kept her hazel green-brown eyes downcast and a slight smile on her lips, attempting to look as innocent as possible.

She must have passed muster, for Henry started walking again, though Ariane noted with a twitching eyebrow that he held Lucien's trim-embellished coat in such a way that it would crease oddly.

“Thank you for your assistance,” the valet murmured when they reached the tiny garden in which Ariane had left Prince Lucien.

“Of course.” Ariane bobbed a curtsy. (Her calf muscles had become infinitely stronger since becoming a maid at the palace, which required legs of steel between all the bobbing and curtsying.) She held out the boots, intending to pass them off, but Henry turned away from her and strolled up to Prince Lucien, who was sprawled across a stone bench, his long, lean body spilling over the end of it.

“Where are you injured, Your Highness?” Henry asked. He set the hat down on the bench when Prince Lucien popped upright.

“What are you talking about? I'm not injured.” The prince smoothed his glowing blonde hair. (Ariane would have approved of its neatness, if the hair didn’t grow from the head of the piggiest member of the Loire Royal family.)

Henry bowed his head. “Forgive me. I assumed it must have been an injury that kept you from returning to your quarters so you could properly change there, rather than requesting that your wardrobe be walked across the palace.”

Ariane eyed Henry with awe, impressed at his daring. The prince didn't seem to mind the slight chide, for all he did was roll his eyes and groan. “I'd get rid of you in a second if I could, Henry.”

“I am sure of it, Your Highness,” Henry said as he held out the coat.

Lucien took the offered clothing item and slid the eye-catching red coat on over his white shirt, grumbling as he tugged the lapels straight. For all his personality failings, he was the very image of a handsome prince: tall and lean with a nose so straight it practically begged to be punched and expressive blue eyes he used to his advantage as much as possible.

The prince was, in Ariane’s eyes, an irritant as he slobbed up his rooms frequently and was known to be something of an idiot. She didn’t relish the idea of holding Prince Lucien as her future king, but she knew it could be much worse—Lucien was merely an idiot, not a tyrant, after all.

Ariane almost sighed in relief when Henry took the boots from her and nodded in dismissal. She was used to being around royalty, for the royal family had a pack of servants hired to keep the palace spotless and held no hesitation in taking up residence in the room while a servant cleaned. She was, however, not use to being so close to royalty.

Unsurprisingly, I don’t really care for it—though that might be because it's Prince Lucien. Ariane made a beeline for her broom and reclaimed it as swiftly as possible. She opened the door, intending to work safely inside until the prince and his valet moved on. She slipped through and had almost swung the door shut when she heard a strange noise behind her, followed by the sound of two swords sliding out of their scabbards.

Ariane peeked through the small gap between the door and door frame, gasping when two figures dropped into the garden. The first was a female who wore a black cloak that swallowed her form and a black bandage that covered her eyes. Her companion was a tall, broad-shouldered male clothed in silk robes with a white mask that encased his face.

Henry and Lucien stood back to back, each facing an intruder.

The masked man stood relaxed, his arms hanging at his side, but the woman tilted her head. “Prince Lucien?”

The golden-haired prince eyed her over the edge of his sword. “What do you want?”

The woman opened her mouth, releasing an angry buzzing noise. Giant wasps the size of Ariane’s thumb descended on the garden.

Prince Lucien and Henry twisted together, their swords slicing through the insects, but the wasps kept coming, replacing every fallen bug with ten more.

This is magic—it must be! Ariane hadn’t seen many magic users—and she had met even fewer—but the size of the wasps and the way they flew around Prince Lucien and Henry, flying at them from their blind spots and aiming for their throats and eyes, made it obvious.

Ariane almost dropped her broom—intending to run and scream for help—but a sinking feeling curdled her stomach. They’ll be killed before I’ll find anyone!

The masked man stood with his back to her, and she noticed for the first time that his fingers were twitching.

Still torn between running for help and throwing open the door, Ariane looked for any sign of what his magic might be. Her worries were answered when Prince Lucien’s and Henry’s shadows peeled off the ground and stood. The shadows were more rounded and slower to move than their real-life counterparts, but Ariane was willing to bet their swords pierced flesh just as easily.

She opened her mouth to shout, when Henry swung around, sliding between Prince Lucien and the shadows in the nick of time. Hornets crawled across his back—stinging him through the cloth of his shirt and vest. Lucien bared his teeth and sprinted for the female mage, but every time he lunged towards her, the wasps created a solid wall in front of him as their brethren stabbed every uncovered bit of flesh on his person.

I have to help! Ariane glanced at the male mage—who still stood directly in front of her door, his back to her. Her palms were sweaty with fear as she picked up her broom and slowly swung the door open. When she realized the buzz of the wasps covered all other noise—except for Prince Lucien’s and Henry’s growls—she took a few steps forward and adjusted her grip on her broom. I better make this count—or we’ll all die.

She licked her lips as she narrowed her gaze to the back of the mage’s neck, homing in on the small—very vulnerable—spot where his skull melded with his neck. As she pulled the broom back, she could hear her papa’s endlessly repeated advice.

“Hit ‘im fast, in a spot that will stop him long enough for you to get the upper hand. Go for maximum damage. Making a fair fight when you battle out of your league is a dead man’s sentiments.”

Henry growled when one of the shadows stabbed his left calf, and Prince Lucien’s throat was puffy from the venom of the wasps.

Ariane swallowed, then struck like a snake, hitting the male mage at the top of his spine and the base of his skull with the tip of her sturdy broom handle.

The mage toppled like an oak tree.

Ruthlessly, Ariane shifted her grip on the broom, then stood over the mage and slammed the end of it into the mage’s throat. He gurgled and didn’t breathe. The tarry shadows fell to the ground with a splat.

His fall caught the female mage’s attention, who looked away from Lucien and Henry and made a questioning garbled sound.

Lucien took the moment to duck around the wall of wasps, his expression lethal as he lunged forward and stabbed his sword at the bug mage. He landed a deep blow to her side, making her shriek.

The male mage was twitching as Ariane panicked. Where am I supposed to hit him next? Papa always said to run as soon as the opponent was down, but I can’t do that! She considered popping him in the face with her trusty broom handle, but the bug mage made a keening noise, and a cloud of wasps forced Ariane back into the hallway.

When the insects finally left, both of the mages were gone.

Ariane poked her head into the garden to affirm His Highness and Henry were breathing before she turned on her heels and, still clutching her broom, sprinted down the hallway. “Guards!” She shouted. “There’s been an attack on Prince Lucien! Guards!”

* * *

Lucien wrinkled his nose and glared at his hands, slick with the paste that was supposed to take the puff out of his skin from all the wasps’ stings. “I smell like I've bathed in a bower,” he said.

Elle, his sister-in-law and the smart-mouthed beloved of Severin, grinned mischievously. “But Lucien, haven't you heard? Floral scents are all the rage with royal women.”

“With women, yes,” Lucien said. “But I am a man. I should smell of leather and gold, not...” Lucien paused to take a whiff of his hands. “Daisies.”

Severin, his arms folded across his broad chest—a feature Lucien had always envied—frowned at him. “The paste does not smell like daisies.”

“And you don't want to smell like gold,” Elle assured Lucien as she plopped down on an armchair with no care for the skirts of her gown. “When it gets old, it starts to smell overly metallic and almost blood-like.”

Lucien heaved his eyes to look up at the ceiling. “Let me guess. One of your blasted assignments back when you were Ranger Seventy-Eight took you to the vaults of Arcainia?”

“Close—the gold hordes of Baris.”

“Baris, I should have known,” Lucien grumbled.

“Though Elle may be in a mood to entertain your false bravado, I do not intend to let this incident pass by, Lucien,” Severin rumbled. (Seven rumbled a great deal more now than he had when they were boys, probably due to his stint as a catlike beast.)

“What is there to discuss?” Lucien asked. “Two rogue mages tried to kill me. I'm hardly the first royal to have faced danger over the past five years. You know as much, Severin. You were among the first to be attacked by that witch who turned you into a beast.”

“Obviously I am aware of the disturbing number of renegade magic users who have attacked royalty across the continent. It is why I have called the upcoming Summit,” Severin said. “What I will not abide is that they attacked you in Noyers—in the palace. We have the most powerful army in the continent, and we couldn't keep you safe in our strongest city.”

Lucien studied his brother for a moment, taking in the dark circles that ringed his eyes and the ever-constant wrinkle of worry on his brow. He made himself smirk. “Perhaps we should consider recruiting from the palace staff. That maid was quite vicious in her defensive maneuverings.”

Severin slammed a fist on an end table. “That maid may be the only reason you are alive.”

Elle roused herself from her seat to stand at her husband’s side. She touched his shoulder and murmured words to him that Lucien could not hear, though he could see the effect of them as they made Severin stand taller and ease the clenching of his jaw.

She is as polite and noble as a mountain hag, but there are some benefits in having her hanging about.... Despite his less than charitable thoughts about her, Lucien had come to like Elle. While Severin was honorable and meticulous about everything from his military plans to staffing his chateau, Elle was far craftier and not nearly as mule-ish. She was a fine foil for his brother, though Lucien wished she showed more passion for the Loire nobility as Severin, and now Elle, both skipped out on as many court functions as possible. This was more than a small worry for Lucien because, as Severin was going to be his top advisor in everything, it did not bode well if he was absent whenever possible.

Perhaps I should begin attempting to make the courts more enjoyable for Elle; she would drag Severin in her wake. He studied the pair thoughtfully. Though I should wait at least until the Summit is over—they both look burdened. And this rotten assassination attempt will not ease their worries. It occurred to Lucien for a moment that he could likely use the day’s events as a reason to lure them into polite society more often, but another glance at them showed that Elle shifted like a nervous filly, and Severin rested his hand on the hilt of his sword. No—I will not be that selfish. So how to lighten the mood? Lucien rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I need wine.”

The complaint had the desired effect, for Severin narrowed his eyes and glared at Lucien like a grudging grandfather.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Severin growled.

A butler opened the door and bowed. “Lady Enchantress Angelique,” he announced.

The lady enchantress glided into the room. “I believe I have introduced myself to every servant in this palace—at least twice each—as an enchantress-in-training.” She smiled at them, making Lucien's heart ache with her beauty.

“My Lady,” Severin murmured as he bowed.

“Angelique, you've arrived early for the Summit!” Elle smiled and boldly embraced the enchantress.

“I have,” the enchantress acknowledged as her dress—a beautiful, opalescent creation that she never changed out of—darkened from a shade of petal pink to rose red. “Though it seems you have already started the events without me.”

“Lady Enchantress Angelique.” Lucien gave her his most charming smile as he joined Elle. He took the enchantress's hands and kissed them. “You are as stunning and beautiful as ever. Your mere presence brightens this room. For the sake of my heart I must ask, when shall you respond to my sonnets of love for you?”

The lady enchantress' smile took on a mask-like quality. “Prince Lucien, I'm glad to see you are in high spirits despite your dangerous experience this morning.”

“Oh, it was nothing.” Lucien took another step towards the enchantress, ignoring Elle when she elbowed him sharply in the side. “But I am ever so pleased you have come to Noyers and the palace. As long as you are a guest here, I shall see that you are treated with every respect and courtesy.”

The lady enchantress tugged her hands from Lucien's grasp when he tried to kiss them again. “Yes, thank you. However, I will not remain here long. I intend to impose on Prince Severin and Princess Elle's hospitality and stay at their chateau this evening.”

Despite her obvious discomfort, Lucien did not give up. She's beautiful, and powerful to boot. Although it is unlikely she would ever accept my suit, it doesn't hurt to try. Besides, it's not like anyone expects any sort of higher conduct out of me. He beamed. “How delightful! I, also, intend to stay with dear Severin and dear Elle.”

Elle raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“Since right this moment,” Lucien said.

“I was unaware my wife had become dear to you,” Severin said wryly.

Lucien laughed. “Of course she has! After all, she's so...” He trailed off as he stared at his sister-in-law. “Well, at least her bangs are finally cut evenly.”

“Based on your entrance, Lady Enchantress, I assume you heard of Lucien's encounter with the rogue mages this morning?” Elle asked. Though she ignored his insults for now, Lucien was fairly certain she'd get him back later.

“Please, just Angelique. And I have.” The lady enchantress slipped around Lucien and retreated to a window.

“Is there any sort of spell you could cast on him? Perhaps any protection charms?” Severin asked.

Lucien rolled his eyes. “Come now, you two sound like a pair of worried mothers! One assassination attempt is hardly frightening enough to begin requiring spells and charms.”

“Second,” Severin said.

Lucien frowned. “What?”

“This is the second attempt,” Severin said.

Lucien felt the blood freeze in his veins. “What are you talking about?”

“Do you recall last week when we spent the morning in your study, discussing the most recent Ranger reports?” Severin asked.

Lucien nodded.

“Shortly after you left to have tea with Madame Belladonna, refreshments, which I found to be poisoned, were brought to the study.”

Lucien scowled. “And you didn't think to tell me?”

Elle and Severin exchanged glances. “We assumed Severin was the intended target and didn’t want to worry you,” Elle said as she rejoined her husband.

Lucien clenched his teeth and glared at the pair. Of course, they'd never tell me if Severin was in trouble again. I'm unreliable.

Everyone was silent for a few moments, until Angelique folded her hands in front of herself and cleared her throat. “To answer your question, Severin, I'm afraid there aren't many defensive spells available to use on humans.”

“Would Craftmage Stil and his wife Gemma be able to provide a better alternative?” Elle asked.

Angelique thoughtfully tilted her head. “Perhaps, if you meant for Lucien to walk around in a suit of armor at all times of the day, but even that has its limitations.”

“Yes, now I absolutely need wine.” Lucien opened the door and poked his head out into the hallway. “Wine!” He announced before shutting the door, not bothering to see if any servants were about and had heard his orders.

“You said there weren't many spells available to use on humans,” Severin said. “Does that mean they can be used on animals?”

Lucien snorted. “Worried about your horse, are you? Though now that you mention it, it wouldn't be a bad idea to have a spelled cavalry.”

“There are a number of very powerful strains of defensive spells that can be placed on small animals,” the enchantress Angelique said. “They've existed for well over a century, but thus far no one has been able to adapt them for human use.”

Severin folded his arms across his chest. “What kind of spells?”

“There's a certain charm that makes it impossible to shoot the creature—mostly because every time you set your eyes upon it, the spell will make your eyes water. There is another spell that will allow land animals to swim like fish, a charm that will let them survive small exposures to fires, and a particularly powerful spell that can make a creature, for all practical purposes, indestructible.”

“Indestructible?” Elle asked, intrigued.

“They can be dropped from a third-story window and incur no harm,” Angelique said. “Though that particular spell only works on creatures that are smaller than a tea tray.”

“If the spells have no use for humans, who bothered to design them?” Elle asked.

“A very powerful enchantress who owned a dozen cats and small animals,” Angelique said.

“I see.” Severin rubbed his chin in a manner Lucien found very alarming.

“What are you thinking?” he suspiciously asked his brother.

Severin shook his head—still lost in thought.

There was a knock at the door, and a butler entered the room, bearing a wine bottle and several glass chalices.

Lucien had the cork out of the bottle and a glass poured before the butler quitted the room. He had just taken a swig of the wine—a Sole import—when Severin finally uttered his thoughts.

“Is it possible to temporarily turn a human into a small animal?”

Lucien spat out his wine, getting flecks of it all over his favorite gold waistcoat. “No!” Though he was almost paralyzed with horror, he managed to shout. “Absolutely not!”

The set of Severin’s mouth was grim. “The situation is dire, Lucien. We should investigate all possible methods of protection.”

“I am not spending my days as a housecat,” Lucien said.

“But dear Lucien, it would be for your safety,” Elle said with a practiced wide-eyed gaze of innocence.

Lucien thrust a finger in her direction. “Not a word from you,” he declared. “Severin is at least genuinely motivated by fear and affection. You just want to laugh at me!”

Elle nodded sincerely. “I do.”

“A transformation spell would take some preparation, but it could be done,” Lady Enchantress Angelique said.

Lucien swung to face her. “Even you have abandoned me, my Lady?”

“Would you research it, Angelique?” Severin asked.

Angelique’s smile was overly bright. “It would be my pleasure!”

It would seem Elle isn’t the only one eager to make a fool of me. Lucien folded his arms across his chest. “You three cannot be serious.”

“I hope it won’t come to such drastic measures, but I will do whatever is necessary to protect you, brother,” Severin said.

Lucien sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Bother the lot of you.”

Elle laughed.

“If you pardon the change of conversation, when do you expect other Summit attendees to arrive?” Angelique asked.

“Most are scheduled to arrive over the next few days.” Severin began to sift through a package of papers he had brought with him.

“Gemma and Craftmage Stil are greeting the Ringsted representatives. I estimate they will arrive in two days or so,” Elle said.

Lucien moodily scowled as he refilled his chalice and plopped down in a chair. Assassins, Summits, and transformation spells. Pah! I cannot wait for all of this to blow over.

* * *

Ariane pinned the tail of her hair braid into the bun at the base of her neck as she peered up at the chandelier that hung from the ceiling and wondered what poor footman she could corner into helping her lower it.

Chandeliers get incredibly dusty. Since this music parlor hasn't been used since last fall, I bet this one is filthy! She grinned as she tugged a soft cloth between her hands.

Ariane loved her job. She found supreme satisfaction in cleaning the filthy nooks and crannies of the royal palace, and she adored the organized, predictable patterns the maids lived in.

“We can lower that crystal monstrosity by this rope over here, if my memory serves me correctly.”

Ariane, not having heard anyone enter the salon, jumped and whirled around. When she saw it was Princess Elle who lounged against the doorframe, she dropped her cloth in surprise, then threw herself into a hurried curtsy. “Your Highness.”

Princess Elle raised an eyebrow. “You are Ariane, the palace maid who has loyally served the royal family for two years now.” She strolled into the room with her hands clasped behind her back. “And just this morning you rescued Prince Lucien himself from two rogue magic users.”

Ariane was not surprised the princess had already uncovered her background—she had once been a Ranger, after all. “I thank you for your kind words, Your Highness, but it was the prince who rescued himself.”

Elle snorted. “You brought a mage to his knees. That is not an easy feat.” The princess briefly rubbed the ridge of her long nose and studied Ariane.

Ariane kept a pleasant smile in place even though she wanted to fidget. What I did was unusual, yes, but is it really worthy of this scrutiny?

“Where did you learn how to debilitate him? The report said you nailed him at the back of the skull and then in the throat.”

“My father was a soldier in his younger days, and then an honor guard for Duke Villette.”

“Your father was not at the scene of the attempted assassination,” Elle wryly pointed out.

“No, but ever since I was young, he's given me some advice that I was to put into practice if my life should ever be in danger.”

“And the advice was…?”

“To fight dirty, break all rules of conduct, and attack my opponent when they were the least prepared. I was to inflict the most amount of damage I could manage before fleeing.” Ariane paused. That sounds rather ominous now that I say it out loud.

Surprisingly, the princess grinned. “I believe I would like your father. He sounds like a logical man. At the very least, his training effectively saved Lucien's life. On behalf of the royal family, please allow me to thank you for your act of bravery today,” Elle said, bowing her head a little.

Ariane’s cheeks started to ache from holding her smile. “I am glad I could be of service.”

Princess Elle flicked her black bangs out of her eyes. “The King wishes to reward you when he makes an official declaration. But in the meantime, I want to request your temporary services. As you have probably heard, Severin and I are holding a Summit at our home, Chanceux Chateau. With so many members of royalty and country representatives flooding the chateau, our staff will be unable to keep up. My father-in-law has graciously given me permission to temporarily recruit servants from the palace to ease the burden. I've already spoken to your superiors, but I would like for you to be one of the maids sent to Chanceux. Are you opposed to this?”

I wonder if their staff remember to clean under headboards… Ariane shook her head. “Not at all, Your Highness. It is an honor.”

Princess Elle snorted. “It's all a royal pain, that's what it is. But I appreciate your enthusiasm.” She smiled, her expression was far bigger and fun-loving than most nobles would approve of. “You'll receive official papers tonight, but tomorrow morning, you'll be escorted with the rest of the temporary staff to Chanceux. Both Severin and I thank you in advance for your help.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Sensing the conversation was coming to an end, Ariane curtsied again.

Princess Elle nodded, then glided from the room as soundlessly as she had entered it. “Take care, Ariane. And thank you, once again, for your bravery.” When the princess closed the door behind her, Ariane waited two seconds before she released the breath she had been holding and shook her head in surprise.

“Well, I never thought I'd have a royal thanking me.” Ariane checked to make sure her hair was still pulled back into its smoothed bun, and that no tendrils had escaped. “And I certainly never thought I would ever serve during an important governmental gathering.”

Ariane had only vague ideas of what the Summit was for.

She knew over the last few years things had become progressively more dangerous—her grandfather and grandmother were forever telling her so whenever she stopped to visit them—and the Summit was supposed to address that.

But, having worked in the palace for two years, Ariane hadn’t ever witnessed any of the common rumors—increased goblin attacks, rogue mages running amok, and more.

Ariane reached for the cleaning cloth she had dropped and clenched it in her hands when she recalled the attack on Prince Lucien. I guess I can’t say that anymore. Perhaps the rumors are right, and darkness is stirring.