“Oh, my love, but I will die
If you come not with me,
For to my heart, you surely know,
You have the only key.”
Alain fell silent.
Her face flush, blood pounding in her ears, Camille knew not what to say. Neither, it seemed, did Alain, and once again he took her arm and they went onward toward her chambers. As they reached her door, she softly said, “My lord, the ode was lovely.”
Alain turned her toward him and said, “My lady, it pales to mere doggerel when compared to the truth of you, and I-”
Camille’s gaze dropped from him, for she was unable to peer into such intensity.
He backed away a step. “My lady, I did not intend to alarm.”
“I am not alarmed, my lord,” she quietly replied. “I am instead nonplused, at a loss to know what to say, think, or do, for you are a noble prince, whereas I am but a mere farm girl, and-”
“Oh, Lady, it is not our station that makes who we are, but rather what we hold in our hearts.”
“My lord, thou art truly a noble prince.”
Alain quietly said, “This moment it is I nonplused, and knowing nought else to do…” He opened the door. As candlelight spilled outward, he bowed. “My lady. Your quarters. Sleep well.”
Camille curtseyed. “My lord.” She stepped into the chamber and closed the door after, and sighed and leaned back against the panel.
“There you are,” said Blanche, rising up from one of the silken couches.
“Oh, Blanche,” said Camille, pushing away from the door and twirling ’round and ’round the room, stopping occasionally to curtsey to the chairs and the love seat and couches, “I am quite giddy, for I had the most marvelous time.” Then she rushed to the handmaid and embraced her.
Blanche grinned and returned the embrace, but then said matter-of-factly, “Come, come. We must get you ready for bed.”
Camille frowned, for shouldn’t everyone be swept away by her giddiness? “Bed? But, oh, I will never sleep.”
Yet in spite of these words, a short while later Blanche tucked her in, and ere the handmaid could reach the door and ease out, Camille was fast asleep.
Midmorn was on the Summerwood when Camille at last awakened. And she sang as she bathed, then dressed for the day-a pale blue gown with pale blue organdy trim.
The sun was nigh the zenith when she took her breakfast of blackberry crepes in her now-favorite gazebo, the Bear snuffling through a somewhat heavier fare of syrup-doused pancakes and biscuits with butter. All through the meal, she told the Bear of the wondrous time she had had last eve, telling of the menu, of the splendid converse, and going so far as to recite as much of the paean as she could remember, inserting tum-d’lums where she knew not the words.
She spoke little of the mask, saying only that she wondered why the prince wore such, briefly speculating that mayhap he was disfigured in some manner, or perhaps he had a birthmark he did not wish for anyone to see. “Ah, but Bear, mask or no, birthmark or no, disfigurement or no, he was wonderful, and it was a marvelous eve.”
All through her commentary, the Bear made no ursine remarks, but he did pause now and again over his breakfast to listen to her words. Finally, the meal was done, and as the Bear padded to a nearby stream to wash it all down with water, Camille sipped her tea and gazed about the estate and wondered where Prince Alain was.
Perhaps conducting the affairs of the demesne in that great room where sits nought but a wooden desk and chairs. Mayhap I should-Ah, fie, I would not intrude.
As the Bear came back from the rill, water adrip from his muzzle, so too did Blanche come across the sward. The handmaid waited for the Bear to arrive, then curtseyed and said, “My lady, Andre says that he is planting along the sun-ward wall, and though I think it is somehow not seemly for a lady of your standing to grub in the soil, he says if you would care to join him…”
“Oh, Blanche, much as I would like to, I would rather wait for Prince Alain.”
“My lady, I think you’ll not see the prince until late in the day
… this eve, mayhap.”
“Oh.” Camille’s face fell. But then-“Very well. Please inform Andre I shall join him as soon as I change.”
Blanche sighed. “If you must.”
“Bear, will you like to grub in the soil with me?” asked Camille.
“Rrrumm,” rumbled the Bear.
“Ah, feh. I take that as a no. Oh, well.”
It was again in the twilight that Camille took herself once more to the lanternlit bridge, and there it was that Prince Alain found her. This eve he wore satins of pale jade green, his silk mask green as well, all in subtle complement to Camille’s cerulean gown.
“My lady, would you care to sing for your supper? I will play for you.”
A panic struck Camille, and she flushed. Sing for the prince when he no doubt has heard bards and minstrels? How can I contend with such?
“My lord, in a chamber, the one with the portraits of your pere and mere, I saw sets for playing echecs. It is a pastime of mine. Is it one of yours?”
Pleasure sprang into Alain’s eyes, and he grinned. “Indeed, ma’mselle, yet I must warn you, I am no rank beginner.”
“Well, then, sieur, I must warn you also: neither am I.”
Arm in arm they entered the mansion, where Alain called on a servant to run ahead and prepare the game room. And soon they came to the chamber wherein sat the echecs sets, the lanterns now lit.
“Choose a table,” said Alain.
“This one?” said Camille, pointing to the board midway between the portraits, the board with the carven jade sets, one side translucent green, the other pale yellow.
Sadness filled Alain’s grey eyes. “Oh, Camille, I did not think…”
Camille flushed. He called me by my name!
“… That table is reserved for my sire and dam. Here it was they oft vied with one another, using echecs to settle disputes between, or to contest for a prize of some sort.”
Gaining control of her breathing, Camille glanced at the portraits and said, “Who had the upper hand?”
Alain laughed. “Neither, I think.”
“Then, my lord, what say ye to this table here?”
“Ah, a splendid choice, my lady: onyx and marble.” Alain took up a white and a black spearman, and held them behind his back, then thrust his clenched hands forward. “Choose.”
Camille grinned. “I choose sinister,” she said, tapping his left fist.
“Then I move first,” said Alain, returning her smile and opening his hands: white in the right, black in the left.
As they sat down, Alain said, “And what shall we play for? What prize?”
“Name the stakes, my lord,” said Camille.
“Ah, a dangerous request, that.”
Camille blushed, though she knew not why. But Alain said, “Should I win, you will sing for me.”
Oh, no! “And should I win?”
“Well, my lady, since you have asked me to name the terms, I could say, that should you win, again you will sing for me, yet I won’t. Instead, I shall play the harpsichord and sing for you. In either case, the prize is a song.”
“Then I shall just have to win,” said Camille, “for I would have that song.”
“As would I, my lady. As would I.” Alain reached out and pushed a piece forward two squares. “White king’s spearman advances,” he said, and so the game began.
The prince seemed to play quite recklessly, his moves coming swift upon hers; Camille’s play was more
