“Prince? You don’t mean…Leo? That’s Leopold?” she said. Her mind had turned to pudding. He was a prince! And he had asked her—oh dear God—someone should ship her back to New York. She wasn’t worthy of the season.
“No, of course that’s not Leo. Don’t you Americans pay any attention at all? That’s his younger brother, Wolf.” Archie rolled his shoulders as if she were the silliest person he had ever met.
Ronan had to support herself on the wall. He wasn’t Leo, but he was a prince all the same! A real prince! She’d had a chance with him…he had asked her to marry him, and she had turned him down. Perry handed her another glass of champagne. “Be careful with that one,” he said. “He’s a hard one to pin down. Don’t let him break your heart.”
“Yes, he’s got quite the reputation with the ladies,” added Archie.
“Mmm-hmm,” Perry said.
“Does he, now.” She pressed her lips together, thinking of those endless hours playing strip billiards. Of course he did. What handsome prince did not, except for Leopold? They were all rakes and playboys. Was he just playing with her, then, proposing to her like that? Or did he do that to all the girls? Suddenly, Ronan wanted nothing more than to slap him for taking advantage of her.
Wolf walked away quickly before he could change his mind. It was her, of course. He had seen her the moment Archie and Perry walked in with her. He had been struck by how beautiful she was, how she’d approached the queen with chin held high, even as her shoulders were trembling. It had made him feel protective and gentle toward her all over again, just when he had written her off.
His feelings were in turmoil. He hadn’t counted on seeing her so soon after they’d parted—it had only been a week or two. But, of course she was here. What had she said to him? I am selling myself to the highest bidder. The Bal du Drap d’Or was the largest and most expensive auction block in town. He was disgusted by the whole enterprise, and disappointed with himself for being attracted to her anyway. He felt angry, but didn’t know why; he felt like throwing a punch, and once again wished he were back in the ring, where things were simple. A fight—he needed a fight, needed to feel the rush of adrenaline as his fist made contact with flesh. Maybe he would look for a fight later, even if he had promised Oswald he wouldn’t. He had to—there were so many places to have it—all those secret dungeons in the basement. No one would have to know, and he was sure he could scare up a good betting crowd.
“You look like you want to kill somebody,” Oswald said, appearing beside him. “Go on and find a girl to chase, would you?”
There’s always another girl. Wasn’t that what Marie had said? And Marie was smart, the smartest girl he knew, so he would take her advice.
He would dance with all of them, and avoid the girl in the silver dress who looked like a ray of moonlight.
As he walked toward the ballroom, he spotted Leo’s familiar golden head bowed low, kissing a girl in the shadows. Isabelle, of course. The two of them were pawing at each other. A last hurrah before the engagement was announced and the dancing began.
Wolf shook his head. His brother was truly brazen and unapologetic. He should know better—what if someone from court saw him? War could be declared again if he embarrassed the queen in this way. On the other hand, he had to hand it to Leo. He didn’t let duty get in the way of his fun.
Maybe it was time Wolf did the same.
Sure enough, just as she had expected, the minute Isabelle stepped foot inside the Crystal Palace, Leopold pounced. Here he was, all over her at the royal ball, on the night his engagement would be announced. Isabelle pushed him off, balling her hands into fists, and pushed against his chest with all of her might so that Leo finally had to let go of her. She had been struggling against his hold, closing her mouth against his kisses, fighting the urge to scream while he pawed at her chest. “I told you, I don’t want this, I never want to see you again,” she said, spitting out her words. “Please, leave me alone.”
Leo only smirked. “You’ll change your mind, chérie, you always do. You will be begging for my attention before the night is over. You will be so jealous of Marie-Victoria you won’t be able to stand it.”
She slapped him as hard as she could, and gasped. She hadn’t meant to hit him that hard, but his cheek was red. Her ring had opened his old wound, and the cut on his face was bleeding. “Leave me alone—I am not your toy!” She smoothed her hair and gathered her skirts, but Leo’s arm shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.
“I will scream!” she said. “And everyone will know!”
“Everyone will know what?” he asked, his voice soft and amused, even as his hold on her was growing more painful by the moment. She felt as if he could break her bones in half, one by one. She felt like a caged bird, struggling and flapping her wings as the cat pounced. A bird, a mouse; always she felt like an animal around him, and now she wondered, was it her or him who made her feel this way?
“Everyone will know the truth about you—that you take advantage of women! That you are not the hero everyone claims you are!”
“Go ahead,” he whispered in her ear, his voice smooth and silky and dangerous. “Tell them. See who they believe—their beloved future king, or you, a descendant of a failed house.”
“I hate you,” she said. “I hate you so much. I curse you with any power left in our bloodline. I curse the rest of your days. May your light turn to ashes, and everything you hold dear disappear from this earth.” She had no idea where the words came from, but it was something her mother used to say when she spoke of the British royal family.
“Hard words, my lady,” he said. “But your threats are emptier than a beggar’s cup. I will see you on my wedding night.”
“I will see you in Hell,” she vowed as she twisted away from him. She pushed the curtains aside and stepped back into the party. She hadn’t taken one step when someone accosted her.
“Isabelle, what is the matter? I have been looking for you—are you all right?”
For a moment she was scared that Leo had returned to rough her up again, and she cringed away, but it was only her cousin Louis. He was wearing the Valois medals on his gold-trimmed jacket, and he looked so handsome and French that even though they had arrived at the ball together, she fell upon him as if she had not seen him in days. “Louis!” she said, falling into his arms and hugging him tightly. “Thank God! Do I look okay? I tripped, my heel caught on something,” she said to explain her disordered appearance. She held on to his arm and leaned on him heavily. She hadn’t realized how off-balance she was until now.
“How are you? Are you sure you can go through with this? We can go home, you know—just say the word.” Louis had been offering his sympathy since she had signed the papers. He thought she was still in love with Leo.
She smiled thinly. A lock of hair fell onto her cheek, and she tucked it back behind her ear. “No, actually I pity the princess.” Now that she knew exactly what kind of a man Leopold was, she was sorry for Marie-Victoria. Isabelle herself still felt confused about the love she had felt for him—was any of it real? Just a few months ago she would have done anything for him, and she had let him do anything he wanted to her…how had everything changed so quickly?
Her cousin stared at her. “You are different today.”
“It is like I was sleepwalking, and finally I am awake,” she said slowly. It was as if a veil had been lifted, and she could see Leo for what he was. He was not even as handsome as she had first thought. Upon closer inspection, his hair was dishwater yellow, his eyes set too close together in his face. It was his younger brother Wolf who was the looker in that family. It was odd how no one ever noticed or commented on it. Everyone was always talking about how wonderful Leopold was; no one ever mentioned Wolf, except to chastise or criticize him.
“You look very beautiful today, Izzy,” Louis-Philippe said as they approached the dessert sideboard, which was groaning from the weight of many fantastic desserts. “Here.” He handed her a cherry ice
and a slice of lemon cake. “Eat, you look hungry.”
“Thank you,” she said. “So do you. I mean, you look very handsome.”
He smiled, and she felt better for the first time that day. Her maid had talked her into wearing the daring new style of dress, and while she was worried about going without a corset, she was relieved to be comfortable for the first time at a party. Why did women wear them, anyway? They were awful. In the meantime, the orchestra was playing a Prussian melody in honor of the Crown Prince’s home kingdom, and in preparation for the entrance of the prince and princess. They melted into the crowd and scanned it for familiar faces. Isabelle nodded to a few girls she knew, taking note of dresses, gloves, and fans to see if there was anything she wanted her seamstresses at home to replicate. So this was the mythical Bal du Drap d’Or. So far she was not impressed, although she had been a little nervous when she had been presented to the queen earlier. She had been so frightened that the Merlin would cast a spell on her, but he did not. He let her live, let her dance. He had merely nodded, dismissing her like all the rest. She wondered if they even knew who she was, or if they even cared at this point. It had been almost five hundred years ago now, and House Orleans posed no threat to the Crown. As Hugh said, they were merely grateful for scraps. She hoped that at least Louis was having a nice time.
“Have your eye on anyone?” Isabelle asked. “Spill it—who’s caught your fancy?”
“Nobody. I don’t have ‘an eye’ on anyone,” he said as he finished his ice and set it down on a passing tray.
“Oh. But surely you like somebody?”
Louis-Philippe bowed his head, and when he looked up at her, he was blushing. “I do. I do. I do ‘like’ someone.”
“Who? Tell me!” Isabelle asked, fanning herself with vigor. “Tell me!”
“I can’t…she doesn’t know…and I think she might get angry.”
“Angry? Why would she be angry? At you?”
“Well, she is a little…opinionated,” he said.
“Opinionated? You mean she’s a bit dramatic? A loudmouth?” Isabelle laughed. “Sounds like someone I know.”
Louis-Philippe looked at her with such a hopeful expression that she felt a flutter in her heart. He couldn’t possibly? Louis-Philippe? In love with her? Jug Ears, as Hugh always called him? Although his ears were the right size now, and he was not so little anymore—he had grown up so tall—but he was just a boy, really. Even if he believed he was in love with her, it was nothing but boyish infatuation, surely. She shook it from her mind. It was too much, too soon, after Leopold. She could still feel his cold hands groping her. The last thing she wanted to think about right now was anything to do with boys. She wanted to be as far away from them as possible—even from Louis, who really didn’t count as a boy at all.
“Oh, well, forget about her then. Did you see the American girl? The one who is shining like a diamond? They say she is very, very rich. Find her dance card. See if you can win her heart and her money—we need it!” She pushed him away, almost the same way she had pushed Leo earlier.
Isabelle just wanted to sit down. She had had quite enough of boys for the day.
It was time. The princess’s grand entrance. The guests had been presented at court; the party was in full swing. Dinner had been served long ago, and it was time for the ball to officially begin. People needed to dance; they were itching to dance. Gentlemen milled by the sidelines, waiting. Girls new to society couldn’t wait to show off the steps they had practiced. The queen on the podium looked like she wanted to go to bed already, she was yawning so much. But still the ball had not yet opened, as the princess had not yet appeared. A few, however, had caught glimpses of the prince—clasping hands here and bowing to guests there, his fine blond head shining like a beacon in the middle of the dark room.
It happened slowly and all at once. First the lights dimmed, then the orchestra stopped playing. In the middle of the Crystal Palace, a small blue fire began to grow. It started as a tiny spark and grew into a ball of flame, as tall as a hedge, now tall as a tree, beautiful and sharp as a phoenix. It grew until it filled the entire room, this strange and beautiful blue light—grew so large, it dispersed among the crowd, covering each and every guest, from royal to aristocrat to servant alike in its strange blue light. Until all at once, it snapped back to the center, intense and blinding, and burst with a huge thunderclap—the sound of the sky breaking open, of the world splitting apart—and then just as suddenly disappeared, sending the room into total darkness, having swallowed every light in the Crystal Palace. When the lights flickered back on, in the middle of the room stood a girl.…
Her Royal Highness, Princess Marie-Victoria Grace Eleanor Aquitaine, Dauphine of Viennois, Princess of Wales.
Her dress was the same color as the blue fire. It was made of a thousand tiny blue feathers, a wave that moved with a graceful ripple across her bodice and skirt. And then the dress exploded, and a hundred blue birds flapped away from her dress up toward the ceiling, through the hole in the roof to the sky. There she stood, their princess, her bare shoulders creamy against a blue dress made of midnight satin. Her only jewelry was a small circlet of diamonds on the coronet, entwined with stones representing England and France in her hair.
She was absolutely breathtaking. No one had ever seen her look so beautiful; she was so much taller, her hair darker, her eyes brighter—she was made of light and magic. She was the most dazzling creature in the history of the monarchy. Her entrance would be recounted in history books for years to come, marveled over, picked apart, every detail of her dress obsessed over by millions of young girls all over the empire.
The silence was broken by a hoarse cheer from the back of the room, soon taken up by every guest, hooting and hollering and yelling their lungs out: a jaded court brought back to life by the sight of their beautiful, healthy princess. She was no longer an invalid, no longer ailing; she was an evening star sent down from the heavens. Her beauty and magnetic presence eclipsed every girl in the room. No one remembered Isabelle of Burgundy, or remarked upon Ronan Astor of New York; all eyes in the room were on Marie-Victoria of England and France.
The crowd continued to roar—for a moment it appeared they might mob the princess, so great was their intense passion and patriotism—but when the Merlin held his hand up for silence, the crowd instantly quieted. The show was not yet over. It was time for the prince to make his appearance.
Leopold walked out of the shadows. No fancy magic for him: no blue light, no soaring birds. He did not need any. He simply walked in, tall and handsome as ever; he was dressed in his Prussian gray and reds, his smile as bright as his hair. The crowd stirred in breathless anticipation as he bowed to Marie-Victoria. She curtsied to him. He took her hand, and the orchestra played the first strains of the Lovers’ Waltz. There was no announcement from the herald. None was needed to present the future King and Queen of the Holy Franco-British-Prussian Empire.
The Merlin smiled. With that came clapping, cheering, and whistling as the room exploded in joy. They had never seen a couple so enchanting, or so enchanted; their love was pure magic.
Only if one looked very, very closely would one notice the prince had a red mark on his cheek. As if someone had kissed or slapped him just a few moments before, the real Marie-Victoria thought as she watched the performance intently through Aelwyn’s crystal glass.
“Are you sure you don’t wish you were out there with him?” Gill asked, his voice in her ear, his strong arms around her waist.
She shook her head and leaned back, so that her head rested underneath his chin. “No. I’m exactly where I want to be.”
They continued to watch the ball unfold through the magic glass. Viviane’s crystal allowed them to hear and see everything. One by one—courtiers, lords and ladies, the great and the good, the beautiful and the damned—all joined the royal couple on the dance floor. The princess down below was perfectly executing the steps to the Lovers’ Waltz. She was as graceful as a prima b
allerina; she was beauty incarnate. Her prince looked absolutely besotted with her.
“See, she has fooled everyone. We will be safe,” Marie said. “Aelwyn’s magic is formidable. No one will see through the illusion.”
“She wouldn’t have fooled me,” Gill said. “That girl is nothing compared to you.”
She smiled and nuzzled his chin in reply.
“I wish we could go now,” he said. “Tonight. I wish I could take you away from all of this forever.”
“I do too,” she sighed. “If only we could go now.” They had agreed they needed to escape as soon as possible. Gill wanted them to go abroad, to the American provinces. There they could blend in as new immigrants, and make a new life for themselves away from the empire. But passage would be expensive, and Gill’s salary from the Queen’s Guard was but a pittance. He was going to try to borrow money from a friend or two. Marie could not help with this. She might be the princess of the realm, but she had no access to any of their wealth. She never carried coin or gold—never needed it—and she was loath to take the jewels and heirlooms of the house to sell or barter. She was adamant that they remain with House Aquitaine; they were not hers to take. When it came down to it, she owned very little.
Marie tried not to worry about taking such a long journey, with the state of her health being what it was. Besides, she had been feeling better since deciding to leave with Gill. She was worried about Aelwyn, however, who would bear the burden of their deception by remaining.
There was also the problem of getting past the wards on the back gates, which were heavily fortified and spell-cast to keep the royal family safe. They would need a spell-key to unlock it, and the spell-keys were kept by the Merlin’s order.
Tonight was the first test—to see if Aelwyn’s magic could fool a crowd, fool a prince. If she was successful, Aelwyn would tell the sisterhood that she had chosen to return to Avalon. In truth, she would take on Marie-Victoria’s visage for good. Slowly, the spell would merge her own features with Marie’s until, little by little, it would reveal her own. The people would not remember that their princess had once been pale and plain; they would have always known her to be beautiful and vibrant. Aelwyn would marry Leo, taking ring and crown in one fell swoop, and leaving Marie-Victoria with her wished-for cottage by the sea.