A muscle twitched in Charles’s jaw. Now he understood why his father looked so preoccupied. His aunt, the Duchess of Orlanne, hadn’t visited in nearly a decade; in fact, the last time she’d been there, she’d sworn never to return to the palace. She and his father famously did not get along—and Charles didn’t understand why, given he thought the world of her.
“Where is she now?” Charles asked.
“Still sleeping, I should hope.” King George shoveled the rest of his pastry into his mouth. He began to cough violently as he chewed, the color draining from his face.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed the Grand Duke, springing to action. He tapped the king’s back with his scroll, but it only made the coughing worse. By now, the king’s face had turned an alarming shade of purple.
Charles rounded on his father, hoisting him out of his chair and pumping his chest as the duke rang the nearest bell.
“Come help His Majesty! He’s choking!”
Just as the servants began clamoring inside, the pastry shot out of his mouth onto the table.
“Breathe, Father, breathe.”
The king tugged at his collar, recovering his breath.
“Sire,” said the duke, “that’s the third time this week. Are you—”
King George grunted, a signal for the duke to be quiet. “Nothing’s the matter with me. Drank my tea too fast, that’s all. Pass me the sugar, will you?”
“Father, are you sure that’s a good idea? You just choked.”
The duke complied before Charles could argue further, scooping a heaping spoonful for the king. George leaned back in his chair, a contented smile cheering his expression.
“Perhaps you ought to sit out on meeting with the council this morning, Your Majesty,” Ferdinand said, once Charles’s father took another long sip. The duke had taken the tone Charles detested most; it was far too nice, far too suggestive that he was angling for something. But what?
“Sit out the meeting?”
“Yes. The physician said—”
The king shot the Grand Duke a deadly look. “I can handle a council meeting, thank you very much.”
“But sire—”
Charles frowned at both of them. “What did the physician say, Father?”
“Only that all this party-throwing business is too much for a young man like me.” King George leaned back in his chair, exhaling then letting out a chortle. “What does he know?”
The Grand Duke was watching them, a corner of his mouth lifted. Charles didn’t like the look.
“Shouldn’t you be resuming your search in Valors?” he asked Ferdinand.
“If Your Highness insists, I will certainly continue my search. But only after the council meeting. There are important laws being discussed this morning, and His Majesty greatly values my opinion.”
Charles frowned. “Important laws? Father, I could help you—”
“No, no, you must not be late for your luncheon with the duchess,” interrupted Ferdinand smoothly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must prepare my statement for today’s council.” He rolled up his scroll, tucking it under his arm, saluted the king, and bowed.
Then the door closed, leaving the prince alone with his father.
Charles opened his mouth to express his doubts about the Grand Duke, but his father spoke first: “Why the frown, my boy? Don’t be so hard on Ferdinand. He’s doing the best job he can.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“Why not? He’s doing you a great favor, searching the kingdom for the girl with the glass slipper.”
Charles tried not to cringe. The last person he wanted to be indebted to was the duke.
“Curious maiden, this young lady of yours.” The king laughed heartily. “I’ve heard of many things in my time, but not glass slippers. Cheer up, my boy. We’ll find her. How far could she have gotten on glass? And only one shoe!”
Slowly, Charles relaxed, and he couldn’t help smiling. Hearing his father laugh reminded him of the man he’d missed while he was away at the Royal University: the vibrant and energetic father who’d bounced him on his knee when he was a boy and spent every precious free moment he had with his son. Then the king’s shoulders sagged, and his laugh became a dry, hacking cough.
Panic seized Charles. “Father!”
King George clutched at his chest, pounding on it with his fists. His cough spluttered into a coarse wheeze. Then he forced a laugh.
“It’s nothing, my boy.” He waved a croissant at Charles, then picked up his teacup again. “Just choked on my good humor.”
“That didn’t sound like you were choking—”
“Lord knows I won’t have anything to laugh about when Genevieve’s around,” interjected the king dryly. “The last time your aunt smiled, I still had all my hair!” He patted his bald scalp. “Why else do you think I sent her away? She’s no good for my blood pressure. No good for my sleep, either!”
But his father hadn’t sent her away. From what Charles remembered, Aunt Genevieve had chosen to leave. He didn’t know much more than that; it was always a sore subject with his father, one he had never dared to broach himself.
“Now, are you going to keep standing there or are you going to join me for breakfast?”
“Some other time,” said Charles. He had a feeling his father was simply trying to change the subject.
The king harrumphed. “Very well, then. Be sure you arrive on time for lunch. The last thing I need is Genevieve haranguing me for not teaching you proper manners.”
“I’ll be there.” Charles started to leave, then paused in his step, tensing.
“What is it, my boy?”
“It’s a matter of the council,” said Charles. “I’d like to join. Your daily meetings with Ferdinand, too.”
“Ah . . .” The king’s voice drifted. He coughed into his sleeve. “Naturally, you will, Charles. In due time. Let us focus on getting you settled back in the palace—”
“I am settled.”
“Then let’s wait until Ferdinand finds your girl, and then we’ll talk. All right? Best for you to have a proper introduction to the council once that is sorted.” The king leaned back against his chair’s cushioned headboard. “You’ll be happier, too.”
“Very well, Father.” The prince bowed. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
On his way out, Charles noticed his father’s chamberlain lingering outside the door.
Keeping his voice low, the prince said, “Sir Chamberlain, would you have the royal physician visit my father again today?”
The older man blinked, as if surprised by the question. But, befitting the truly trained and skilled servant he was, he quickly hid his confusion and bent his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”
“Thank you, Sir Chamberlain.” Feeling slightly better about his father’s health, Charles strode on, but he didn’t know where he was going.
The gardens, perhaps. He had spent almost all of the day before there, trying to retrace the steps he’d taken with her, to see if he could remember anything that might help him find her. He hadn’t, but maybe today would be different.
It was better than waiting for Ferdinand to come back with news.