In Which Introductions Are Made

(continued from here)

He was a fairly good-looking young man, with curly bronze hair and big blue eyes set wide apart. He didn’t look at all intelligent, but he seemed stupid in a bumbling way rather than in an angry way, which didn’t match at all with the circumstances. His face was very red from the fighting and the hood, but you could see that he would normally have a fresh color and an out-of-door kind of look.

I had never seen him before, but slipping into my room when I had other things to think about was so much the way one of the suitors would have acted that I treated him like a suitor without even thinking about it.

“I am flattered at your attention, and I commend your ingenuity in breaking into my room during the distraction of a battle,” I said, “but I must admit that I fail to see why you thought such an effort would advance your cause.”

“Oh,” he said, as though he didn’t understand what I said – which I’m sure he didn’t, since I’d used the longest words I could think of on the spot and I was pretty sure he wasn’t much for long words.

“Especially since I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh,” he said again. “I’m – well, I’m Prince Hugo of Marshweather, at your…well, at your service.”

I’m afraid I rather went mad when I heard that, since I’ve been hating Marshweather hard for everything that has been happening to us: the surprise attack, the siege of Dumcruckle, and especially Rafe being tortured. That they sent one of their ruling family into my room in the middle of an attack on our castle was the last straw. He was right there on the floor with Lynde holding him down, very handy for being kicked, and I was wearing riding boots. I suppose I lost my head. I called him all sorts of things that I should be ashamed to remember but that I’m really rather proud of: “disgusting growth on a plague-infested boil,” and “squirming diseased grub from a filth-sodden mire” and “illegitimate son of a syphilitic whore,” which was unfair actually since of course his mother was a queen. And I kicked him so furiously that Lynde eventually had her hands full with the two of us.

Finally she said “Really, your majesty, do you think you could refrain from making this more difficult?” So I saw what she meant and went to get a curtain-tie for Prince Hugo’s wrists, and I will say for him that he gave us no trouble once he was well and truly captured and let me tie him up like a gentleman.

We put him in a chair and introduced ourselves, and then stood there over him a little uncertainly. The noise from the battle outside was much abated and sounded more like marching and barked orders, but we didn’t want to look out or leave the room since there was no way to tell who won.

“We will wait here,” Lynde said. “If the battle went our way, the king will be along, and if it didn’t, perhaps we can use our prisoner as a bargaining point.”

“I can’t imagine that it didn’t,” Prince Hugo said gallantly. “If your soldiers fight half as well as Mistress Falconer they will have overwhelmed our fellows.”

“It doesn’t seem to bother you very much,” I noticed, being in somewhat of a huff still.

“Well, I can’t pretend this whole thing isn’t a bit of a relief to me,” he answered as though that made any sense.

“What could you possibly be talking about?” I demanded, but Lynde hushed me.

“There is a kind of etiquette about this, actually,” she said. “It’s best to wait until the king is here, and hear it all then with someone taking notes; that way, nobody can call it a forced confession.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Prince Hugo said. “I was supposed to ravish you, but I wasn’t really keen, so I’m glad enough that it didn’t work out. I don’t think Bleake really expected to win the battle and he wanted an ace in the hole, that’s all.”

“Delicately put,” I said. I should have been revolted, but in the circumstances it was difficult not to laugh. Lynde gave a small snort, but I couldn’t tell whether she was laughing at my joke or disapproving of the entire thing.

Just then there was a clatter on the stairs outside and a furious pounding on the door. “Dulcie!” Father shouted. “Damn it, Dulcie, are you all right?”

Lynde unlatched the door and Father came bounding in and snatched me up with a pounce like a wild animal’s, which was checked ludicrously when he caught sight of our prisoner.

“Good heavens,” he said, shoving me behind him as though I hadn’t tied the man up in the first place. “What goes on here?”

Prince Hugo had been regaining his normal color, but in the face of Father he flushed back up again. “Good morning, sir,” he said sturdily. “Princess Dulcie and Mistress Falconer have captured me honorably in battle, and I will make my formal surrender anytime you like.”

“Don’t tell me you’re young Marshweather,” Father said as though they were meeting over drinks. “No,” he went on as Prince Hugo started to speak, “I said don’t tell me. I would recognize the Marshweather jaw anywhere.”

He turned to Lynde who was standing off to one side. “He is the image of his father, you wouldn’t believe.” He sounded almost fond.

I sighed. “So we won then?” I said, which seemed to bring Father back to the point.

“Oh. Yes. Right.” He turned back to Prince Hugo. “Sorry, old chap, but it wasn’t so bad for your fellows outside of losing. Your mercenaries turned tail as soon as the arrows fell – you know you really shouldn’t use mercenaries, you can’t actually rely on them when it comes down to it – but your father got away without a scratch, and the rest of your men came with us quite cheerfully. I don’t suppose there are more than a handful of casualties.”

He sounded almost apologetic and who knows what concessions he would have started giving away if Mother hadn’t arrived. “Oh, good morning,” she said to Prince Hugo quite in her social manner. “Don’t tell me you’re young Marshweather.” He kept obediently silent this time, which seemed to puzzle her, and it was Father who nodded.

“Picture of Lucan thirty years back, isn’t he?” He couldn’t quite seem to get off the subject.

“Oh, yes.” Mother sounded distracted. “Your captain will be giving the formal surrender in the hall in about fifteen minutes,” she said to Prince Hugo. “Unless you would rather do it?”

Prince Hugo considered this. “Well, I think it would be better to let Smoot do it since he’s more accustomed to it,” he said finally. I smothered a grin, but Mother continued unmoved.

“Very well then, let’s get this over with and you can have a wash.” She shot a glance at Father, who looked puzzled and then enlightened.

“Oh,” he said and stood up straight. “Prince Hugo of Marshweather, do you swear on your honor to lay down your sword, preserve the peace of this house and hold its people from harm?”

“I swear,” said Prince Hugo.

“Then we’ll find you a room, can’t we, Tina?” Mother gave him a look. “We’ll find you a room sometime after the formal surrender,” Father amended. “You can wash in the barracks; breakfast isn’t going to be very fussy today.”

(continued here)