She sounded so sure of Hartwig’s younger brother, Melissande didn’t have the heart to question her resolve. If the girl was love-blind, marriage would restore her sight soon enough.
And in the meantime, I’ll find out what I can about Prince Ludwig and his resolve.
If it turned out her suspicions were right, and Ludwig proved himself a villain, she’d have Gerald take steps. Which yes, would break Ratafia’s heart.
But better a broken heart than a funeral — or a lifetime of being hexed. Just ask Reg.
She and Ratafia started strolling again, companionably silent, the climbing sun warm on their cheeks. They passed one barge-hand polishing the promenade deck’s railing, and another oiling some rope. Drifting up from the saloon on the middle deck beneath them, gentlemen’s laughter and the teasing tang of cigar smoke. Hearing her Luddie’s raucous mirth, Ratafia smiled. The look on her face caught Melissande sharply unprepared. Stirred up thoughts of Monk, who loved thaumaturgics so much it sometimes seemed there wasn’t room in his life for anything… anyone… else.
She winced. Stop being a gel, woman. You’ve a job to do, so do it. Let her be sidetracked into mooning over Bibbie’s infuriating, bewildering brother and she’d likely miss an important clue.
“Ratafia, can I ask you something?”
Borovnik’s princess trailed her fingertips along a stretch of freshly polished timber hand rail. “Yes, of course.”
“You might think me impertinent.”
An amused smile. “Friends can’t be impertinent.”
Friends. It was a nice thought. A pity she was here under false pretences.
Come on, you ditherer. Ask. It’s not like you’re betraying her. You’ve only just met, and when this business is over likely you’ll never see her again. So what does it matter?
But it did matter. Her scruples, it seemed, weren’t so easily abandoned. Going out of her way to befriend Ratafia simply to lull her into sharing confidences? That was cold. Fancy being Gerald, doing this sort of thing for the rest of his life. Hardly surprising he often looked sad.
“Well, I was wondering how it came about, you know, that you and Prince Ludwig-” Annoyed, Melissande felt herself turning pink. “How you-I mean-”
“Fell in love?” said Ratafia, with a swift, mischievous grin, as they swung about the barge’s gently rounded stern and started back towards the bow. Their fashionable silk day dresses made little swishing sounds with each measured step. “Actually, it’s all Uncle Norbert’s fault. He encouraged our acquaintance last year, at Harenstein’s First Snow Fair.”
And that was unexpected. “Uncle Norbert? I didn’t realize you’re related to the Marquis of Harenstein.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Ratafia said, pausing to admire the barge’s ceremonial brass bell. “It’s a courtesy title. To be honest-” Her voice lowered confidingly. “It feels a little odd, acquiring an uncle at my age. But when he asked for the honour I didn’t like to say no. He’s done so much for me and Luddie, you see.”
“So, you and Prince Ludwig hadn’t met before the fair?”
Ratafia wrinkled her perfect nose. “Well, yes, we’d met. A few times. But I’d hardly said more than hello to him, on account of we’re never sure from one hour to the next whether Borovnik and Splotze are at daggers drawn or not. And what with Mama so difficult about Crown Princess Brunelda, and Luddie being a man and me needing to be careful, you know what that’s like, there seemed little point in pursuing further conversation. Not until Uncle Norbert stuck his oar in, so to speak.”
And thus was the world rearranged. Neatly. On a whim.
“And how will your alliance work, in the long run?” said Melissande. “I mean, Prince Ludwig is Hartwig’s heir. The sad truth is that at some point, let’s hope it’s years from now, he’s going to succeed his brother as the Crown Prince of Splotze, which will make you Crown Princess. And one day your mother-” Oh dear. Best not. “Well, she might decide she’s tired of being the Dowager Queen. What will happen to Borovnik then?”
“I’ll be Queen of Borovnik in my own right,” said Ratafia, and flicked her fingernail against the barge’s brass bell. It chimed the air, sweetly. “That’s one of the marriage conditions. Uncle Norbert was very firm about it.”
A skein of grey geese flew low overhead, pinions creaking. Melissande watched them, thoughts awhirl. A moment later an angry shout, as goose-shit splattered a stretch of newly-polished hand rail. She rolled her eyes.
Oh, look. My life in a nutshell.
Glancing at Ratafia, she moved on from the bell. “I hadn’t realised the marquis was involved in the legalities of your union with Ludwig.”
“No?” Ratafia smiled, and fell into step beside her. “Well, he was, and he’s been tremendous. He’s helped Mama negotiate the marriage treaty every step of the way. Such a blessing, since more often than not we were dealing with Secretary of State Gertz and Mother can’t abide him. She says he’s so damp that after an hour in his company, she’s caught a cold. But thankfully Uncle Norbert knows just how to handle him.”
Melissande felt her stirred instincts stir even harder. Really? Well, well, well. Uncle Norbert had been busy, hadn’t he?
The question is, what is he expecting to get in return for all his hard work? And who on this barge would rather he were disappointed?
Another line of investigation that should be pursued. At this rate they’d have to ask Sir Alec for reinforcements. If ever there was a time to be missing Reg…
“It sounds rather complicated,” she said, cautiously. “How do your people feel about the arrangement? Won’t they mind having their queen living in another country?”
Ratafia sighed. “I did rather wonder about that myself. Only Uncle Norbert says that whatever pleases me will please the people of Borovnik. He says a ruler’s subjects are like children, they must be kindly guided and firmly led and that under no circumstances can their crotchets be allowed to sway matters of state.”
So, Norbert of Harenstein was a glutton and a pompous prat. Good to know.
“And Queen Erminium agrees with him?”
“Mama says Uncle Norbert is the answer to her prayers.”
Heart sinking, Melissande looked at Ratafia’s serenely beautiful face. “And what do you think?”
A pause, then Ratafia’s lips firmed. “I think Uncle Norbert is Marquis of Harenstein, and one day I’ll be Queen of Borovnik and Crown Princess of Splotze.”
In other words, look out, Uncle Norbert. There’s a new tiara in town. “Good for you, Ratafia.”
“Ludwig and I care a great deal for our peoples.”
Yes, but did their peoples care for Ratafia and Ludwig, as a matched set? Pompous prattery aside, the stark truth was that royalty nearly always married without first consulting Mistress Needle the seamstress and the butcher, Master Ham. So what if the plain folk of Splotze weren’t all that thrilled with the notion of inheriting the princess next door? What if Borovnik’s commonplace sons and daughters didn’t care to see Ludwig’s face smirking up at them from every coin? What if they resented the Splotzeish imposition of a mostly absent, part-time queen?
“Melissande?” said Ratafia. “You’re looking peculiar again.”
They’d reached the barge’s bow with its cushioned chairs and a scattering of wooden planters riotous with colourful blossoms. The Canal stretched out before them in a long, straight line, the celebrations at Little Grande Splotze coming closer with every copse and cow and cottage they majestically glided by.
Overwhelmed, Melissande stared at Ratafia. The weight of her terrible secret felt suddenly unbearable. This was the poor girl’s wedding tour. Soon it would be her wedding. And if she wasn’t the one plotting to see it brought crashing to ruin, then didn’t she have the right to know that her future was in peril? That Ludwig, or his people, or her people, or the Lanruvians, someone, was scheming to make ashes of her dreams?
Of course she does. But I can’t tell her. Lord, I hate this. I want to go home.
She smiled. “No, no, I’m fine, Ratafia. I’m just happy for you, that’s all.”
“Thank you, Melissande,” said Ratafia, and impulsively embraced her. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
With an effort, Melissande managed to keep smiling. See if you still think that when your wedding goes up in smoke. But no, she couldn’t afford to be pessimistic. Things would work out. Gerald was going to save the day… with a little help from his friends.
Provided his friends don’t lose their marbles in the meantime.
With a sigh, Ratafia gazed at the pretty countryside surrounding them. “I have a confession, Melissande. I
