Chapter 6

The days fell into a comfortable rhythm as the months went by. I continued to tutor younger students when not traveling as a member of the foreign delegations. With my earnings, I purchased a horse—a beautiful black mare that I named Storm. Even with all my duties, I still managed to find time each day to ride and groom her.

Curtis and I, when not in lessons together, would ride horses, practice archery, or simply go on long walks around the grounds, discussing everything from childhood memories to pressing matters of state. We frequently played practical jokes on castle staff, though Hubert was also a common target as well. His stuffy, pompous ways were tolerated by all—being the heir to the throne came with certain privileges—but everyone liked to see him riled up when Curtis poked fun at him.

At night before bed, my father would tell our family animated stories. Most children stop getting bedtime stories around ten years old, but it was different with my father. Everyone loved listening to him. He was the best storyteller I knew and could make each tale come alive so that I felt as if I was living the story as it unfolded. He would impersonate voices with impressive accuracy, create a whole world with his words, and would hold us all spellbound as he spoke, often for more than an hour at a time. If he hadn’t become the Chancellor of the Exchequer, he would have made a wonderful bard.

As an official court linguist, I was often sent to Avivia, always accompanied by Father. Hubert would occasionally come with us. Any voyage that involved Hubert was tedious and dull at best, as he sat formally and straight-backed in his seat, speaking only when necessary and after a great deal of thought. Hubert would only stay at the finest of inns and would remain aloof from the innkeepers and servants scurrying around to serve him. He deemed it prudent to have a certain amount of distance between himself and the common class of people. I kept a close watch anytime Hubert and Aria were near each other, but far from the flirty teasing I would expect to see from a betrothed couple, they seemed to tolerate each other at best.

Formal negotiations involving Hubert were rarely productive. Hubert was always convinced that his way was the only right way and would never bargain or deviate in the slightest from his proposal. It was frustrating for both the foreign delegates and embarrassing for our own.

Eventually, I suggested to Father that Curtis come in Hubert’s stead. Father brought the proposal to the Council, who agreed. The following journey to Avivia was resoundingly successful. Negotiations went forward quickly and fairly and with a great deal of jokes. Curtis and I would listen to the bard for as long as he was performing in the evenings, no matter how tired we were.

Everyone in our company preferred having Curtis along. Instead of staying at remote and upscale inns, Curtis would stop at small villages and mingle with the commoners, insisting on purchasing meals from the humblest of homes and trinkets from every tiny shop. By the end of our stay, most village members had at least one silver coin, and would bow us out of town, waving scarves and calling out “Long live Prince Curtis!”

After each return from Avivia, I found myself looking forward more and more to the balls. Comfort was always the girl who turned the most heads and had the most invitations to dance. Mother and Father would waltz together in such perfect unity they were often called upon to lead the dances. My dancing skills were not nearly up to the standard of Comfort or Mother, but Curtis was getting better all the time, and we would whirl across the floor with dizzying speed, or else sneak out of the ballroom to slide down the long banisters in the entrance hall.

One afternoon found Curtis and I racing our horses across the fields, trying to leap them over hedges and narrow streams. As we reached the outer stone wall, the furthest point from the castle while still remaining on the grounds, we reined in our steeds. Curtis’ stallion had beaten my mare. Again. I wasn’t surprised—his horse had a pedigree just as long as Curtis did.

We dismounted, and I fed Storm a few sugar cubes from my skirt pocket. “Good job, girl! We will get them next time.” I rubbed her nose and patted her neck. She and Pooter began grazing while Curtis and I plopped down on the grass. Pooter’s real name was actually Xanatas the Twelfth, named after a famed ancestor’s horse, and the name had been passed down through the generations.

Curtis had declared to me that Xanatas the Twelfth was a dreadful name for any horse, let alone his horse, and had rechristened him Pooter because of his frequent flatulence. You would think that hundreds of years of trying to achieve the ideal horse would have resulted in one with fewer episodes of passing gas, but it was not to be. In public however, Curtis would revert to the pedigreed name. Queen Evelyn had nearly fainted when Curtis once let slip what he had dubbed his horse.

“Your birthday is next week,” I told Curtis, making sure to sit far away from Pooter and his dangerous hindquarters. “What do you want?”

Curtis shrugged. “I don’t need anything. Mother and Pops always give me some boring, ceremonial gift with some history attached. You know, the sword of my great-great-great-great grandfather who fought during the Second Avivian Rebellion, or a ring that my great-great-great-great-great uncle during his coronation.”

“Oh come one,” I wheedled. “With all those boring presents, you must have something that you want.”

Curtis shook his head. “What would I ask for?” he asked. “I have everything I need and many more things I don’t need or really even want.”

It was true. As prince, he lacked nothing. But I wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Sixteen is a big birthday. I want to get you something. Or I could make you something!”

Curtis raised his eyebrows at me. “You aren’t thinking of cooking again, are you?” he asked. “That wouldn’t be much of a gift.”

“Hey, you be nice!” I teased, pushing him over into the grass. The previous year, I had managed to convince the pastry chef to allow me into the kitchen to make Curtis a birthday cake. The result had been disastrous—a soupy concoction that refused to bake correctly and tasted terrible.

“I will only be nice if you promise to never cook for me again,” Curtis snickered mischievously. “I would have to get a new taste tester after every meal if you were the chef.”

“I don’t remember your culinary skills being anything to brag about,” I shot back. “It seems like you burned, what was it again? Water?” Father had told a story recently about one of the hunting trips that the men in the castle had gone on, during which time Curtis had been in charge of boiling water, but forgotten about it and boiled away all the water and burned the pot.

Curtis put his hands up, admitting defeat. “I guess it is a good thing I am a prince and have people to cook for me, or I would shrivel up and die of starvation.”

Undeterred, I went back to our original topic. “You still haven’t said what you want for your birthday. A fine outlook it would be for your best friend to not give you anything for the big sixteen!”

“Why is sixteen such a big number to celebrate?” he asked curiously.

I shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems like it.” That wasn’t entirely true. I had been looking forward to my sixteenth birthday because Father said his daughters couldn’t be courted until age sixteen, but I didn’t want to tell Curtis that part. People already mistook us for a couple often enough.

“Okay then,” he said casually, and flipped the bill of my riding cap down. I righted it and pushed him again, but before he fell, he grabbed my wrist and I was half pulled over him as he rolled onto the grass. I snatched my wrist back, suddenly shy about being too close to Curtis.

“If you are going to fight me, m’lady, I would suggest you improve your wrestling skills!” Curtis laughed at me.

“Well as a gentleman, perhaps you should seek to protect a lady instead of wrestle her,” I teased back, laying on my side in the grass and propping up my head. I knew I had no wrestling abilities; it was a skill never taught to women. But there were always wrestling matches between the men at tournaments.

Curtis, still laying down, placed his hands under his head and turned his face towards me. “You started it. I just finished it.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but couldn’t think of a single come-back, so closed my mouth. Normally there were no awkward silences between myself and Curtis. We could remain in thought, side by side, for hours without feeling the need to say anything. Though admittedly, Curtis was rarely quiet. But this silence felt different. My heart began to beat faster and butterflied fluttered in my stomach.

Curtis propped himself up on his elbow, still turned toward me. He reached over and fiddled with a few strands on my hair that had come loose from under my riding cap. “I like your hair,” Curtis said, somewhat clumsily. “It’s…really, uh, nice.”

“Um, thanks. I…I like your hair too,” I replied timidly, feeling foolish at such childish language and wondering what else to say. I looked down at the grass and pulled up a few blades, letting them loose into the breeze. Curtis let my hair drop and pulled up some grass blades as well. His hands looked so much larger than mine. I reached over and traced the veins on the back of his hand.

In a normal circumstance, Curtis would have made a joke at this point. But he didn’t. He let me touch his hand then turned his hand and entwined our fingers. It felt like such an intimate gesture. I glanced up at his face. He was looking at me, but not in the eyes. His gaze had drifted down to fix on my mouth.

If my heart was racing before, it was nothing compared to what it was doing now. I felt like it was about to beat out of my chest as I felt each heartbeat pound in my ears, drowning out the sound of the rustling trees and chirping meadow larks. Curtis scooted over in the grass, closer to me. He leaned in, still looking at my lips. The rush of emotions that flooded me bordered on frightening.

I hadn’t prepared for this. Hadn’t anticipated this. I didn’t feel ready. I sat up sharply, letting our hands come apart. “It is getting late!” I said, much too loudly. “We better get back.” I stood and began walking toward Storm. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Curtis’s disappointed face.

We mounted our horses and rode back to the castle in silence. I felt like I should say something but had no idea what. Should I explain that I just didn’t think about Curtis as anything more than a friend? That wasn’t entirely true. There had certainly been wandering daydreams during dull history lessons when my imagination ran loose, picturing him rescuing me from some calamity and me showering him with affection afterward. Silly girlish fantasies, I had always scolded myself afterward.

Should I say that it wasn’t a lack of interest, but just that I personally wasn’t ready? Perhaps I should blame my parents and say they didn’t want me being courted until I was sixteen, though that was only a few months away for me. Perhaps I was ready, but just nervous. What would a relationship with Curtis look like? After all, he was a prince. There had to be extra obligations tied into being with him that there wouldn’t be with another nobleman or commoner.

I stole a glance at Curtis. He looked uncharacteristically serious, staring straight ahead and determinedly not looking at me. The sight was disconcerting. Curtis was always so bubbly and full of life, and now he was sulky and moody.

Our horses’ hooves clattered onto the cobblestone courtyard. Still, we rode on without saying anything. At the stables, Curtis dismounted quickly and tossed the reins at a stable boy. He strode out quickly without a single word to anyone.

The stable boy looked surprised by this sullen departure. “What is wrong with him?” he asked me, looking after Curtis, who was now storming up to the castle.

“I don’t know,” I lied, and began to curry Storm.