“—And later this morning, you have a meeting scheduled with the weavers’ guild,” Henry intoned as he helped Lucien slip on his dark blue waistcoat.

“The weavers’ guild?” Lucien tugged his cuffs straight.

“Indeed. I believe you wished to speak to someone about textile imports and exports. Your secretary made the arrangements,” Henry said.

“What does Ariane have planned for the morning?”

“She has several classes with various scholars, dance instruction, and her harpsichord lessons.”

Lucien whistled. “She’s a better student than I ever was.”

“Agreed,” Henry pronounced.

Lucien snorted. “Thank you, Henry. That will be all. Though if you would have my dove-gray coat fixed, I would much appreciate it. Ariane spent all of last night staring at a hole in the seam. I would much prefer to have her looking at my face.”

Henry raised his eyebrows judgmentally. “I do not doubt it, Your Highness,” he said as he retreated from the room.

“You’re a rogue, Henry!” Lucien called after his servant.

“I disagree, Your Highness. I am a valet!”

Lucien chuckled as he fussed over the frilled throat of his undershirt, then nodded in satisfaction at his reflection. “I have a bit of time before breakfast; shall I go rouse Ariane?”

It likely wasn’t the most brilliant idea. Ariane had gotten herself a lady’s maid who had once been a fishwife. As such, she had arm muscles that would make her the envy of most men, and she was not opposed to using them to throw Lucien out of the room.

Feeling reflective, Lucien left his quarters and instead strolled towards the study in which he had his lessons back before he made his educated guess about the Chosen.

Months had passed since the Summit. It was now late summer, and so much had changed. Ariane had already made her debut into society; Lucien had been forever freed from his lessons, and their wedding was scheduled to take place that winter.

Ariane had done quite well, even in the snake pit of the courts. Severin and Elle had thrown all their popularity behind her, and given that Elle had become the darling of the courts (mostly because she hated them), many nobles had leashed their tongues and refrained from being particularly pig-headed to Ariane.

Lucien was proud of her—and he was proud to call her his intended. He rather wished his mother had agreed to an earlier wedding, but Ariane seemed relieved to have the time to prepare. Given what Ariane was doing to become his wife, he wanted to do everything in his power to make her happy. Thankfully, he was not alone in that crusade.

Lucien’s father—King Rèmy—and the scholars that were responsible for Ariane’s continuing education adored her. Lucien suspected her popularity with the scholars was because she was an interested and engaged student. His father, on the other hand, adored her for the sway she held over Lucien and the fact that she had dragged him out of his sullen, arrogant act.

However, things were still difficult for Ariane—and Lucien.

Lucien was still reaping the seeds of insolence he had previously sewn. Often, his judgement was questioned and his insights scoffed at. But Ariane believed in him, as did his family. It was their opinions that truly mattered to him—not the empty prattling of the fashionable and politically petty.

Lucien paused outside the study. I wonder if it still holds the same soul-crushing sway over me, or if it was all in my mind… Lucien cautiously opened the door and was surprised to find Scholar Pierre rearranging books on a large desk.

The scholar looked up from his work and blinked blandly. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

“Good morning, Scholar Pierre.” Lucien entered the room, glancing around it. Everywhere he looked, the furniture gleamed; the books were lined up perfectly in the shelves with carefully cleaned bindings, and the fireplace didn’t have so much as a speck of ash in it. Perhaps the biggest change, however, was that Scholar Pierre no longer looked so rumpled. His shirt was wrinkle free and his hair combed. Ariane’s influence, surely. “I recall being told you were teaching Ariane. I can see she must spend a lot of time in this room.”

Scholar Pierre smiled. “Sometimes she thinks best when her hands are busy,” he said mildly. “Though some of my colleagues wish she would leave the desks alone.”

Lucien laughed at the thought of Ariane—his future wife—mulishly terrorizing the scholars as she insisted on sorting their papers and cleaning their desks while learning about Loire’s open market system. “She has been a good student?”

“Very willing and very bright,” Scholar Pierre attested.

“I would expect nothing less from her. She’s quite clever.” Lucien paused and studied his old teacher. “I’m afraid I must apologize for all the miserable mornings I put you through when I was your student. I cannot imagine you were pleased when Father put me in your charge—and for good reason.”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” Scholar Pierre said. “I requested the position.”

Slightly taken aback, Lucien lowered his brows. “What? Why would you ever do that?”

Scholar Pierre smiled. “Because I saw your potential.”

Lucien stared at the man. “How?”

Scholar Pierre shrugged. “You showed your hand in the way you handled your brother’s curse. You held the courts in check so they could not turn on him, worked tirelessly in Noyers to keep him safe, and handled every aspect of his curse yourself.”

Lucien shook his head. “Father assumed Severin was coaching me along, and no one else seemed to suspect. How did you know?”

“Because the pains you went through to keep his good name intact were not something Prince Severin would have cared about,” Scholar Pierre said dryly.

Lucien could only stare dumbly at the man. I was so proud because I thought no one had seen through my charade, when years ago I had already given myself away. “But you didn’t call me out on it?”

“It is best if one lures a frightened beast into the open with kind words and a gentle hand,” Scholar Pierre said. “Dragging it out would only reaffirm its fear and terror.”

“You are comparing me to a dog?”

Scholar Pierre laughed. “I am glad you found Mademoiselle Ariane, Your Highness. And I am very glad you now act as the person you were meant to be.”

Lucien hesitated. “As am I. Thank you for your patience and guidance, Pierre.”

The scholar smiled kindly. “It will always be my pleasure. If you will excuse me, it is nearly time to break our fast. I believe we both have people to see.”

Yes—Ariane! Breakfast was the one meal at which he had her undivided attention, for his parents and little sister were forever inserting themselves into their luncheon, and almost every dinner these days was a social occasion.

“Indeed. Good day, Pierre.”

“Good day, Your Highness.”

Lucien grinned and slipped from the room, almost running into Ariane as she whisked past him in a beautiful blue dress that set off the hazel in her eyes.

Her lady’s maid might be a fishwife, but she has an admirable eye for fashion.

Lucien snagged Ariane by the wrist. “And where are you running off to so early in the morning?”

“Oh, Lucien! Good morning. I was, um.” She grimaced. “Yesterday I noticed a tear in the curtains of the room where I take my dancing lessons. I rose early to mend them.”

Lucien curled an arm around her waist and chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her temple. “I do believe we will raise the most fastidious and well-fashioned royal family this country has ever seen.”

“When we are married,” Ariane stated emphatically.

He started to lead her back to the dining room. “Indeed. What do you think of everything, my love?”

“You will have to be more specific than that.”

“The palace, the courts, the riches that come with marrying into royalty.”

Ariane’s expression turned doubtful. “It’s all very grand?”

Lucien snorted. “I will never have to fear you married me for materialistic reasons. Though I might flatter myself and say my good looks had a role in it.”

“Lucien. You were a frog when I fell in love with you. You were as good-looking as a wart.”

“And you are still as blunt as ever.” He smiled at his future bride, loving the grin that played on her lips. For a moment, fear squeezed his heart.

The more Lucien and Severin dug into the Chosen’s history and their possible connection to current events, the more he was convinced they were responsible for it all.

It was terrifying when one considered that their history went further back than the Conclave’s, and they had planned and plotted for centuries. It made all the reports of goblin fights, wraith terrors, and rampant ogres even more grim.

Sometimes Lucien worried that by marrying Ariane, he was painting a target on her back.

“Is something wrong?” Ariane asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. “You have that wrinkle on your forehead you get only when you are considering the Chosen and their possible plans.”

“Just worrying,” Lucien admitted.

Ariane stopped in the middle of the hallway, halting their progress to the breakfast room. “Lucien.” She glanced discreetly around before she twined her arms around him. “We will get through this. Just as the Snow Queen defeated them, so will we.”

“They’ve had more time to build their power, and they’ve done darker things,” Lucien said.

“And yet nearly every country in the continent has come together to rally against them.” Ariane smiled. “We won’t let them win—not the war, not even a battle.”

Lucien kissed her on the lips. “As you say, my princess.”

“Of course, my frog prince.”

Down the hall, some of the palace maids twittered at the sight of Ariane—who had once been one of them—embracing the resplendent Prince Lucien. A stuffy butler muttered about all members of the royal family lacking the decency and pride of their forbearers, and Henry the valet finally let a smile crack his stony features.

It had taken years, but the curse of fear had been broken. Lucien was no longer the frog he had once been.