The Prince in Exile

Chapter 2

The other woman led her out from the warm musky hall, through passages Erzsebet had never before seen. Soon the bright vigor and clamor faded at their backs; though lanterns yet lit their way, though the walls were crowded with tapestry, it felt as if they trudged through a ruin.

The Old Town Fort of Varasd may have had its fresh paint and ornaments, but in its bones the name held true. This was a rugged place, ancient, designed as much to keep the wolves at bay as to repel an army, and every stride across carpet or well-varnished wood echoed with the years. Why the prince had chosen it as his residence Erzsebet had yet to puzzle out, but she was not troubled. The fortress was true, honest; the roots had been dressed up, not torn out; the foundation stones were still of the earth.

"I hope these past few days have not been too terrible for you," Gertrude was saying. "If I had known you were in the keep, I would have met with you sooner, gotten you set up with a proper room and ladies from the start." She sighed, sounding all the troubled hostess. "Alas, there is much happening of late, and my input is not often sought. A lady's comfort is rarely given its due concern."

She aimed a knowing look as she said the last, which Erzsebet parried with a faint smile. "I am grateful for the welcome," she answered carefully. "The prince owes me nothing, and yet has been gracious enough to promise his protection. If these past days were awful, it was due only to my troubled nerves. For what came before..."

Gertrude let the silence stretch, giving even her words their room to breathe. "Poor girl," she eventually said. "I know not what you have suffered, nor would I push you to tell the tale–but if ever you wish to unburden yourself, I will listen."

Erzsebet scoffed inwardly: as if speaking to her would ease any burden, knowing full well that every word would be reported to the prince within a watch. And who was she calling a girl? Gertrude was clearly the younger of them. "You are too kind," was all Erzsebet said.

"Not at all," Gertrude replied pleasantly. "I'm as selfish as they come."

A test? Erzsebet stole a glance at the woman's innocent face. "Oh, surely not. How could you say so?"

She grinned with a hint of mischief. "It is quite lonely here, among all these serious men. I've no one to talk to save old Auntie Margit, and she's no fun at all. Of course I can't blame her–widowed twice and twice my age, we were never meant to be confidants." She smoothed her gown as she walked, looking bashfully away for a moment. "But I hope we can become close, my lady Erzsebet. And how selfish is that? You, on the run, suffering God knows what, and here I am hoping for a bosom pal for my parlor gossip. Oh, I am terrible!"

All the while they had been navigating a maze of passages, and thankfully came to a stop before a shut door, cutting off the need for Erzsebet to give an answer to the girl's self-indulgent nattering. "Anyway," she said, "here is the parlor in question. Food should be along shortly. Please, take your ease!"

She pulled the door open to reveal a meticulously decorated room. Aglow with dozens of candles in wrought candelabra, warm with a crackling hearth, near every surface gave or reflected the gleam of fire, for wherever candles were not set, gold or bronze stood proud. Furniture, decoration, everything was in its place; even the lace of the tablecloths all hung to precisely the same length.

Not even Erzsebet's mother had been so occupied with appearances–it felt like walking bodily into an obsession, the realm and prison of a restless, unbalanced mind. "Oh how lovely!" Erzsebet effused, burying deep her disquiet. "Have you seen to the decorations yourself?"

"I have!" Gertrude beamed back at her. "This is my refuge," she explained. They crossed the room towards a pair of finely carved chairs, a small round table between them, all painted in the same dark cherry red. "The prince has given me full reign here, and so I've arranged it to my liking."