He broadened his smile. “Can we not let bygones be bygones?”
His plea did little to soften the prince, but Charles at least put down his book. “What is it you want?”
Ferdinand drew a breath, the deep sort he always took before saying something important, something that needed to be said without pause. “Your father and I wanted to impress upon you a reminder that you are the crown prince, Your Highness, the only heir to our luminous kingdom. As such, it is your duty to consider marrying for the good of your country and your people—”
The prince pounded his fist on the table. “I don’t want to hear any more of this.”
“But, Your Highness,” Ferdinand persisted, “it would please your father. He has been rather distraught lately, in private—so as to not worry you.”
Charles hesitated. “Distraught over what?”
Aha, now he had him!
“The Princess of Lourdes is quite a beauty,” said Ferdinand instead, unrolling one of several portraits he had brought. “And I hear the princess of—”
“Distraught over what?” interrupted Charles. “Ferdinand, if you are using my father as a ploy for me to marry a girl of your choice . . .”
“Sir, I would never!”
“Then I’ll hear it from my father himself. I do not need advice from you.”
“This is an opportunity for you to serve your country, Your Highness,” Ferdinand said soothingly. “Aurelais is not as strong as it once was. You must consider the future.”
“I’ll consider it when I hear it from my father’s lips, not yours.”
Ferdinand’s mouth clamped shut. When he spoke again, his voice was thin and tight. “As you wish, Your Highness. Now if you’ll excuse me, I understand when I’ve been dismissed.”
The duke made a stiff bow, then stormed out of the room.
“These young people,” he muttered when the prince could not hear. “They will be this country’s ruin.”
His teeth gritted, Ferdinand continued down the palace halls, growing more agitated by the minute until he reached his offices.
The first thing he did was pull up Dr. Coste’s report on the king’s health.
There has been little change in His Majesty’s well-being. He has made a full recovery from the rheumatism he suffered this past winter, and any variation in his health—such as his recent poor sleep—may be attributed to stress. I have taken into account your concern and suggestion that His Majesty reduce his activity, but Your Grace may be pleased to know that at this time it is not necessary for him to relinquish his appearances with the Royal Council. Rather, such stimulation may improve his condi—
Ferdinand crumpled the note in his fist. Stress! What did these bumpkin physicians know? It was time for His Majesty to cease attending the council; King George had long since stopped adding any value to the meetings, anyway.
And now His Majesty refused to take tea with him after dinner. “Who knew I’d sleep better without listening to you prattle on and on about policy? Go speak with Charles instead. He’s been eager to become more involved with the council.”
Charles, indeed!
The prince’s return from university had thrown a wrench into Ferdinand’s plan, painstakingly constructed over months and months. Now, if the king were to suddenly retire, Charles would be poised to take over. And given the prince’s evident dislike for him, there was a good chance he would have Ferdinand stripped of his power as the king’s most trusted adviser and confidant.
That absolutely could not happen. And he would see that it didn’t. If nothing else, the Grand Duke was a man of carefully laid plans. His rise in court had been in part by the grace of his family name, but it had also taken years of meticulous engineering and carefully made alliances for him to gain the respect of the Royal Council.
He would have to accelerate his plan. But how would he go about it without drawing suspicion? His evening teas with the king had been perfect, allowing him to slowly erect the foundation for his scheme, but that was no longer an option. Besides, the time for action was upon him. Ferdinand drummed his fingers on the table.
Recent poor sleep, the physician’s note had said. Was it true that the king was taking a draught to aid his slumber? That could provide just the opportunity he needed.
Genevieve’s new girl had all but inadvertently revealed critical information. She takes a sleeping draught, the maiden had said. The same one as the king.
A sleeping draught was an unimportant revelation, one somebody else probably wouldn’t have accepted from the girl as reasonable payment for installing her in the palace.
But after years of careful observation within its confines, Ferdinand had learned that, more often than not, what seemed the most insignificant pieces of information could turn the tides in his favor.
And he had a feeling that this one would play into his hands favorably, indeed.
Charles sighed, relieved when Ferdinand finally left. He had never liked the man, and since returning home from his studies, his dislike had only intensified.
For the life of him, he could not understand why his father placed so much trust in the Grand Duke.
Perhaps some things are meant to be mysteries, he thought wistfully, like the identity of the girl with the glass slipper.
Charles balled his fists at his sides. He hated the possibility that Ferdinand might be right about the search being pointless.
A quiet knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
“Your Highness?” spoke his attendant, Pierre.
“What is it?”
“Your aunt, the duchess, sir. She awaits your company in the South Courtyard.”
Charles hadn’t forgotten, but he had lost track of the time. He had been doing that often lately.
“Please fetch my hat and my university jacket,” he told Pierre. After a pause, he added, “On second thought, I’ll bring them myself.”
His university jacket, as he called it, was an ill-fitting double-breasted coat he’d worn every day when away from the palace—and he loved it. It was the only garment he owned that did not have gold buttons or epaulets, or fabric so white it looked like it’d taken an army of laundresses to press clean. It lay neatly folded on a wooden bench beside his writing desk, surrounded by two stacks of books precisely piled to obscure its location.
He threaded his arm through each of the lightly frayed sleeves. To his amusement, the holes in its lining had been patched with scraps of silk, and its worn wool had been pressed and cleaned. At least he had managed to stop the seamstresses from replacing all the buttons or trying to hide the old tea and coffee stains!
He’d won it from a classmate on a bet that he couldn’t go one hour in town without being recognized as the crown prince of Aurelais. He’d made it sixty-five minutes before someone finally bowed.
Now it was one of his most prized possessions, and he wore it whenever he wished to not be recognized. Which, to be fair, was essentially all the time.
Charles ignored Pierre’s raised eyebrow and headed for the South Courtyard. He had promised to take Aunt Genevieve for a ride through Valors that morning, but he hadn’t promised to give the tour as the crown prince. No, today he’d simply be Charles, her nephew.