The Prince in Exile

Chapter 9

Erzsebet came to call upon the princess at supper time, escorted by one of Margit's servants. Iljko, a clean-shaven young Croatian man–hardly more than a boy, really–walked with a fey wispy grace, as if he hardly existed at all. He spoke softly, announcing Erzsebet's arrival from beyond the door with little more than a whisper, yet Margit beckoned her entry in quick reply.

In the refined dining room, the princess sat at a table of bounty, a bowl of stew before her. Across the table sat a man Erzsebet did not recognize, who looked with a grimace upon her intrusion. "Lady Erzsebet, this is Lord Merkur of Moravia," Margit offered as introduction. "Merkur, the lady Erzsebet."

Erzsebet curtseyed to the man, ignoring his persistent frown, and he inclined his head in answer. "Andras thinks we should be wed," Margit explained glibly, waving a hand at the food between them. "I've been sharing meals with him to see if any pleasure might be wrung from such a match."

"Oh," Erzsebet replied, searching for anything else to say. "That's... prudent."

The princess smiled wryly. "Indeed–though given my last two husbands, perhaps a waste of time. If the pattern holds, Merkur, we'll have only a few short years together before you'll be put in the ground. Perhaps you'll be able to give me a son before then, hmm?"

The man turned his dour look back across the table. "I would endeavor to see the Gyanur kinship continued, Your Highness."

"How noble," Margit replied, then turned back to Erzsebet. "Anyway. How can I help you, my dear?"

"Ah, apologies," Erzsebet answered, "I had hoped to speak privately with you–I didn't realize you had company, else I–"

"Oh, it's no trouble," Margit cut in. "Leave us, Merkur, would you? Take a plate with you if you wish, or a bowl–I seem to recall you were partial to lentils. Go on now, withdraw, decamp, retire–that's a good man."

Erzsebet had to work double to keep from gaping or giggling as the grim lord stood, his jaw clenched. He stared thoughtfully for a breath at the half-empty bowl of stew before him, then turned and marched out. Margit watched him go, and only as the door slammed shut did she allow herself a cackle, which Erzsebet could not help but join.

"A moment, dear," she said, then clapped her hands, and her servant reappeared. "Iljko, darling, clear the lord's bowl and set a new one for Erzsebet, would you?" The princess watched with a greedy smile as the youth snapped to action, and in a blink the seating was newly set, the boy bowed and was gone. Margit gestured, and Erzsebet took the seat.

"Thank you, Your Highness–Auntie. I'm sorry to interrupt your meal."

"Save your apologies," the princess replied. "Even tormenting old goats like him grows tiresome. He was raised to grasp, trained to take affront on the chin for the sake of social climbing." She winked. "I'll not let him simply caper his way into the royal family–he'll have to work for it."

"As he should," Erzsebet answered, wondering just how much meaning she should read into that wink–indeed, she would have to work as well, to find a place in the same family.

"Please, drink, eat!" Margit lifted her glass. "Or would you prefer white?"

"Red will do," Erzsebet answered, taking up her own, and the pair drank. "Though I must say, I haven't much appetite."

"I thought not," said Margit, giving her a curious look. "Shall we get to it, then? What private matter brings you here this evening?"

For much of the afternoon Erzsebet had considered how she might approach the conversation, queer as the situation had become, but something in the princess' frankness made her set aside her twisted subtleties for the sake of a more direct tack. "I came to ask about Gertrude," she said. "I want to know what kind of person she is, beyond the face she shows in court."