her… or underestimate her. Besides, she’s not going to Splotze as a janitor.”
“She’s going as a lady’s maid, I know,” Ralph said gruffly. “But she’s still going, isn’t she? And so’s Dunwoody. Dunwoody? Alec, how can you ask me to trust my only niece to his care? Dammit, man, he’s tainted with grimoire magic. What if he runs amok?”
“If I thought that were a possibility then he’d be under lock and key,” Sir Alec retorted. “Ralph, because I asked for his assistance, the King of New Ottosland is sending his sister to the damned wedding. Would I ask such a thing, would I risk a diplomatic disaster, if I thought Princess Melissande’s life would be at risk?”
Ralph glowered. “Of course you bloody would. New Ottosland could drown in quicksand tomorrow and it’d be a year before anyone noticed it was gone.”
“Ralph…” He shook his head. “Not a week passes when you and I don’t ask someone’s son or nephew to put country before self. How can we do that, how can we ask them to ask their families to bear that burden, if you and I are unwilling to bear it ourselves?”
“The devil with that, Alec!” said Ralph, his voice catching. “I’m the one with the burden, not you. You’re an only child with no family. Emmerabiblia’s my flesh and blood!”
“I know,” he said. “And I’m sorry. But I can’t let that count.”
A long silence. Then Ralph tucked his handkerchief back into his vest, and stood. “No. You can’t. And though it pains me to say it, neither can I. But if anything happens to her, Alec… if anything happens…”
Leaving the threat unfinished, he walked out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
To avoid even the remotest possibility of a raised suspicion, Sir Alec decreed that his agent and his agent’s camouflage should enter Splotze by way of New Ottosland. That entailed a midnight portal trip from the bowels of Nettleworth to King Rupert’s palace, where they would wait until it was a polite time to turn up on Crown Prince Hartwig’s doorstep.
“There you are!” Rupert greeted them, grinning with unroyal enthusiasm as, leaving their luggage behind, they stepped out of the portal and into the opulent reception chamber that Lional had built. “All in one piece, I take it?”
Clutching her expensive beaded reticule, feeling smothered in her suitably royal pale pink silk ensemble, complete with whalebone corset and far too much of her late mother’s jewellery, and with residual etheretic spots dancing before her eyes, Melissande shuffled to make room for Gerald and Bibbie.
“More like three pieces,” she said. “Rupert, what are you doing here?”
“What does it look like, Melly? I’m your Official Portal Conductor for the evening. Sir Alec wants this kept hush hush, remember?”
She looked her brother up and down, noting the patched hole in the elbow of his cream shirt sleeve and the distressing bagginess about the knees of his faded moss-green velvet trousers. “So you thought you’d turn up in disguise? Honestly, Rupert, if Lord Billingsley could see you now, he’d faint. You look like a-a gardener!”
“Like Father, you mean?” Rupert said lightly. “If that’s the case, Lord Billingsley should feel right at home. Except, you know, I’m very careful not to dress like a gardener when that old fogey’s about. I suppose I could’ve greeted you in my dressing gown, but I thought that might not be quite the thing.”
“Yes, well, you playing Portal Conductor isn’t quite the thing, either,” she said. “I mean, honestly, Rupes. Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Actually, you dreadful scold, I do. And as far as tonight’s little jaunt is concerned, Sir Alec assures me his boffins say we’ll have a clear window. But I double-checked their long-range etheretic readings, just to be sure.” He chuckled. “Turns out I’m rather a dab hand at portal conducting. So if this whole being king business ends up not working out, at least I can be sure of some gainful employment! Hello, Gerald. Good to see you again.”
Sighing, because clearly Rupes was in one of his butterfly moods, Melissande stepped aside so her brother and Gerald could clasp cordial hands. Feeling Bibbie staring at New Ottosland’s casual king, all a-bubble with repressed excitement, she was very careful not to look at the wretched girl.
“Your Majesty,” said Gerald, offering a slight bow. Wizard to king. Equal to equal. “It’s been too long.”
“Hasn’t it, though?” Rupert agreed warmly. “But no doubt that Sir Alec of yours is keeping you on the hop. Doesn’t strike me as a lazy layabout kind of chap.”
Gerald almost smiled. “Ah… no. When it comes to Sir Alec, those aren’t the first words that spring to mind.”
“And how have you been? Mel doesn’t tell me much. Well. Really, she doesn’t tell me anything. Very good at keeping secrets, my sister. Though I do understand you’ve joined her at the agency?”
“That’s right, sir,” said Gerald. “When I’m not acting under orders from Sir Alec, I’m giving the girls a hand with their clients.”
“Excellent,” said Rupert, approving. “It’s good to know they’ve a sound chap like you to lean on.” With a pat on Gerald’s shoulder, he turned. “And speaking of the girls… Melissande, I don’t believe your charming friend and I have been introduced.”
Oh, lord. That wasn’t a roguish twinkle in Rupert’s washy blue eyes, was it? She could feel Gerald, beside her, retracting like a snail.
“Sorry,” she said. “I forgot you two haven’t actually met. Your Majesty, this is Emmerabiblia Markham. Bibbie, my brother, His Majesty King Rupert the First.”
“But please, you must call me Rupert,” said Rupert, taking Bibbie’s outstretched hand in his. Smiling, he touched his lips to her knuckles. “Melly’s told me so much about you, I do feel as though I know you quite well already.”
Bibbie was dimpling. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you at last, Rupert. Melly adores you so completely, and I’m sure that now I know why.”
Melissande felt her stomach turn over. Oh, lord. Monk’s incorrigible sister was flirting with him. So much for her protestations of disinterest in tiaras.
Bibbie, how could you?
And then, belatedly noticing the laden gold-and-silver tea trolley pushed against the wall, and the small table and chairs placed strategically nearby, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Rupes, you thought of refreshments? How hospitable of you. I’m impressed. So now you can toddle back to bed and we can amuse ourselves quite happily until it’s time to go. No need to worry about the portal, Gerald can operate that for us, can’t you, Gerald?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Gerald. “I’m-”
But Rupert was wagging a finger at her. “No, no, no, Melissande. I won’t hear of it. We hardly had a chance to speak the other day, Sir Alec hustled me out of your office so fast. You can’t deprive me of this chance to enjoy your company. The busy life you lead these days, Saint Snodgrass alone knows when we’ll catch up again.”
Bibbie batted her eyelashes. “Quite right, Rupert. Make hay while the moon shines, that’s my motto.”
“And a charming motto it is, too,” said Rupert, terrifyingly gallant. “Shall we, Miss Markham? Or might I be so bold, given these extraordinary circumstances, as to call you Bibbie?”
Another devastatingly dimpled smile. “Rupert, I’ll be cross beyond measure if you don’t.”
Breathless with horror, Melissande watched her brother escort Monk’s appalling sister across the opulent portal chamber to the table, seat her, then trundle over the gold-and-silver tea tray.
She glanced sideways. “Gerald…”
“What?” he said, his voice tight with self-control.
They’d never properly discussed his feelings for Bibbie. What she knew of them, she knew mostly from watching him watch the girl he’d convinced himself he could never have. But while there might well be some solace in the notion that the sacrifice was noble, it could only be shattering to see the object of that sacrifice batting her eyelashes at another man. Worse, a king. Not that Rupert was looking particularly kingly, in his patched shirt and baggy trousers. And even when he was done up in his royal best, not even the kindest sister would mistake him for shockingly handsome Lional. But the absence of dashing good looks aside, Rupert was a king and Gerald… wasn’t.
