The king’s head bobbed up, his bewildered expression echoing Ferdinand’s sentiments.
“Five minutes is all the time I require,” Genevieve said, waving her fan at the duke with unconcealed distaste.
A thick wave of perfume assaulted his senses, and he coughed. “I beg your pardon. His Majesty and I have business to discuss. We have much to review about the council meeting, and—”
“And your sovereign could use a break after hours of listening to the ministers row and bicker with you,” Genevieve finished for him. She turned to King George, who was struggling to stifle a yawn, his eyes hooded with fatigue. He did indeed look like he could use a rest.
But Ferdinand would rather die before he ever yielded to the Duchess of Orlanne. “I am afraid that is not how it is done. As the Grand Duke, I—”
“As the king’s sister, I must insist. I have urgent affairs to discuss with my brother. Family business.”
At that, George raised a thick eyebrow in curiosity. “Out, out,” he said, tilting his head at Ferdinand to leave the siblings alone.
“But, sire, there is the matter of our treaty with—”
“That can wait. Later, Ferdinand.”
Hiding a grimace, Ferdinand bowed and turned on his heel, walking slowly and defiantly for the door. Once it closed on him with a resounding thud, he pulled on his mustache angrily.
That woman!
What right did she have to claim the king’s attention? She’d been away for years; now she expected to waltz back into court and usurp his hard-earned position? That was not how it worked.
He gave the guards by the door his most authoritative glare, and they immediately looked to the other direction as he crouched by the keyhole, hoping to catch what Genevieve was telling the king.
Alas. The harridan had the cunning to keep her voice low. He couldn’t make out a word.
Waiting was agony. He watched the seconds tick by on his pocket watch, then gave up and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief.
“Drat, where is that blasted thing?” he mumbled, checking pocket after pocket. While he searched, his fingers looped through a hole in one of his pockets, and he cursed. He’d have to send it to the seamstresses for mending.
The door behind him opened, and Genevieve sailed out. She looked insufferably pleased with herself.
“My brother will see you now.”
Ferdinand rose, straightening the tassels on his epaulets with a quiet grunt as he strode back into the stateroom.
Inside, he found the king still in his chair, toying with two porcelain figurines of a boy and a girl. Perfect. Ferdinand wanted to pick up where they’d left off: the topic of Prince Charles’s marriage.
At last finding a handkerchief, Ferdinand began polishing his monocle. “As I was saying, sire, before we were interrupted, I am simply trying to do what is best for the kingdom.”
“My son getting married is what’s best for the kingdom.”
“I agree. But he needs to marry the right girl.”
“Bah, the right girl. All this talk of bloodlines! What does it matter who he marries, so long as they make each other happy?”
The Grand Duke frowned. “Surely you don’t mean that.”
“It’s time to throw another ball,” declared the king. “A masquerade ball, so that way Charles will forget this mystery girl.”
“Sire, you just threw a ball!” Ferdinand said, his frown deepening. Already his mind was reeling over what costs another ball would entail, and all his careful work balancing the budget. He would have to change the king’s mind, and quickly—once George was set on something, the stubborn old man wouldn’t let it go. “If it’s the prince’s future you’re concerned about, why not consider my list of eligible princesses—”
“No more princesses. I don’t have time for fiddling over peace treaties and allocating dowries and such. If it’s money you’re worried about, think of how much we’ll save on the wedding if we just have it right here.”
“That’s not what I meant, sire.”
“Then what better time to throw another one? The wine’s been opened, the floors already polished.”
“But what . . . what will we say?”
“Say?” King George coughed, his thick white eyebrows knitting together. “I’m the king, aren’t I? We don’t have to say anything.”
Ferdinand grimaced and crossed his arms. The king was being far too insistent about this idea. Usually he at least considered Ferdinand’s suggestions. But ever since Charles had returned—and now Genevieve—everything was spiraling out of control.
“This is her idea, isn’t it?” Ferdinand said in realization, unable to mitigate the irritation in his voice.
The king ignored him. “Indeed! What better way to welcome my sister to the palace than with a ball? And Charles gets another chance to meet his true love.”
Ferdinand detected an elusive strain in George’s voice, but he looked better than he had the past month. When his son had returned, so had the bloom in his cheeks and some of the vigor in his personality. Certainly, his stubbornness.
Ferdinand would bide his time. Carefully.
In the meantime, he had more important issues to press. “Perhaps, sire, we’d be better off trying to arrange a marriage for the prince with the Princess of Lourdes.”
“An arranged marriage? You remember how that turned out for Genevieve. Also, the Lourdes royal family is unbearable.”
“Yes, but I’m sure the prince will see reason once we explain.”
“Bah, reason. Does a young man pining for a girl with a glass slipper sound like someone who is prone to reason?”
“No, sire, but—”
“And didn’t you doubt that my plan would work? If it worked once, it can work again.” King George clasped his hands together and rubbed them. “All we have to do is create the right mood, invite the right girls.”
Ferdinand’s brow furrowed. “But why a masquerade?”
“Genevieve has this idea that the boy will find true love better if he’s not blinded by the girl’s beauty.” King George coughed. “Always practical, my sister.”
“Sire, are you all right?”
“I’m fine!” barked the king. “Stop questioning me, and do what I ask.”
Calm, Ferdinand. If the king is going to be dead set on Charles marrying, you must see to it that he selects your bride. A bride the council will thank you for choosing.
“I don’t think that another ball is the answer. Give Charles some time, and he’ll forget the girl. Then we can arrange a marriage for him with a proper princess from one of the neighboring—”
“The ball’s been decided,” interrupted the king. “This is your last chance, Ferdinand. Don’t disappoint me again.”
“Certainly, Your Majesty.” The Grand Duke swept a bow, but as soon as he turned away from the king, he scowled. Things were not going as he had planned. Not at all.
When he returned to his chambers, Ferdinand sank into his chair and drummed his fingers on his desk. If the king wanted to be foolish and take Genevieve’s advice over his, then more drastic measures needed to be taken. The duke needed to prepare for the worst: it stood to reason that when Charles ascended the throne, he would kick Ferdinand out of the council and replace him with some radical fool he’d met at university.