The Prince in Exile

Chapter 19

The castle was quiet upon their return, well after midnight by Andras' reckoning. If any of the ball's guests still reveled, it was behind closed doors. Only guardsmen crossed their paths, who saluted the prince without a word, though Erzsebet could well guess what tales they would tell of their sighting.

The prince was closed to her; he had made no answer to her stipulation, given no sign of the lay of his thoughts, save that he had not deigned to take her hand or offer his arm after they had risen from the fields. They spoke little as they went, on subjects paltry and simple, until at last they came to the door of her parlor.

Erzsebet faced him, impatience at last surmounting the awkwardness. "Well? What is your answer?"

For a long while he simply looked at her, ballooning her impatience yet further. Finally he sighed, smiling with resignation. "Will you invite her, or shall I?" he asked. "Or perhaps together?"

It took a moment to find her tongue, for she'd already made peace with his refusal. "You will–hmm..." So long had the night been, so sluggish her mind. "I shall speak to her first," she eventually decreed, "and you second. We each have apologies to make; they would ring false, I should think, if we came to her together."

His smile had held all through her deliberation, and gave no sign of faltering now. "I have nothing to apologize for," he said, "and I think you shall find the same when you speak to her–but so be it. Will you see her in the morning?"

She sneered at his shamelessness, then frowned at the prospect of an early morning. "I suppose I ought to."

Nodding, he seemed almost sagely. "We depart in three days, and preparations must be made if both of you are to come along. The morning is yours, the afternoon mine."

"Fine," she said curtly, too tired for the barest niceties. "Goodnight, Andras."

He stared at her for a moment longer, then bowed his head. "Goodnight, my lady Erzsebet. Sweet dreams."

She stifled her scoff, knowing well she'd have hardly any time for dreaming. She turned from him then, not trusting the heady buzzing languor within her, and pulled the door shut before he might say any more. Her hearth was burning low, but the room was more than warm enough, after the chill air on the fields. A bath and another set of hands would make the night's closing far less daunting, but were any of her servants even still awake?

"Herlinde?" she called hesitantly, with a half-hearted clap of her hands. "Hello? Anyone?" Silent stillness was her answer.

With a sigh Erzsebet set to readying herself for bed, her mind racing all the while, from sparkling fancy to recrimination to terror and back again. No hope was without its taint of guilt, no fear without its silver hem of promise. The battle raged on within her, the field torn and muddied, the air choked with dust, until there could be no sides discerned, just aimless chaos. With such a maelstrom at her core, Erzsebet settled into bed and laid restless, staring into the gloom, tossing and rolling.

Perhaps sleep came upon her in the wee hours of the morning, or perhaps that too was only a fancy of her mind. When it came time to rise, she could say nothing with certainty, save that she felt wretched. At least now when she called, Herlinde appeared.

"Good morning, my lady," said the servant, bleary-eyed but courteous. "I had not thought you would call this early."

"Why is that?" Erzsebet asked. "And more pressing, where were you last night?"

Catching her mistress' tone, Herlinde quickly straightened her back and lowered her eyes. "Apologies, my lady. I had heard you went with the prince, and had assumed–"