Ariane judged she could not, as a proper palace servant, remain much longer. (Both because it would be obvious she was listening in on them and because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold in her cackles.) She shifted her hold on her things, then hurried down the hallway, pausing to curtsey to both the enchantress and the frog prince.
Neither of them seemed to give her any notice, and Ariane happily scurried down the hallway.
No matter how dirty Prince Lucien gets his room during this Summit, it will all be worth it! Prince Lucien—a frog! This is too splendid!
Ariane chortled to herself as she hurried down a staircase, carefully retracing the path Marcelle had led her down.
She made it all the way to the grand entrance hall before she forced herself to temper her snorts of glee. The room swirled black and white as a flock of Chanceux maids scrubbed fiercely at any metal work, straightened paintings and portraits, and fussed over the plush carpets.
Ariane paused a moment to orient herself and turn in the direction of the dining hall. Before she could take a step towards it, a footman opened the front door and slipped inside.
He leaned back against the door with wide eyes. “The first set of guests have arrived!”
“What?” A maid shrieked. “No one is scheduled to arrive today!”
“I know, but they’ve come,” the footman said.
Another maid pushed her way through the throng of her coworkers. “Who is it?”
The footman pushed his hair out of his face. “Arcainia.”
A maid near Ariane grunted. “It would be Arcainia—those bluestockings.”
Arcainia was Loire’s eastern neighbor. It was a small but powerful country due to its booming economy and extremely well-organized government. The royal family could boast responsibility for both of those feats, given that every single one of King Henrik’s royal children played a role in the government. Why, King Henrik’s foster daughter was said to run the treasury, and one of the princes was the head of the agricultural department.
Personally, I think it’s admirable, Ariane mused as she adjusted her grip on her block of beeswax—the heat from her hands was starting to make the stuff malleable. But I’m just a maid. (Most of Loire thought Arcainian royalty had to be half mad to be willing to work.)
Ariane started towards the dining hall, when a fellow maid grabbed ahold of her arm. “Quick! We must be presentable.”
“I was just going to the dining hall,” Ariane said.
The maid paid her objection no mind and instead dragged Ariane to a wall. The rest of the flock hurried to do the same—hiding cleaning rags and swiftly replacing the few items that had been moved to make cleaning easier.
By the time a set of footmen swung the massive double doors open, every staff member had his or her back pressed against a wall and hands serenely folded in front of them with downcast eyes.
Ariane—standing at the back of the room—rebelled against her training as a maid and peeked up, catching sight of the first royal to swirl into the room.
A gorgeous woman with hair of honey-crème and eyes an unusual shade of amber stepped into the hall. Her dress was a beautiful sky blue with gold embroidery that set off her gorgeous smile, and she carried a large black and white cat that sported bronze eyes and a half mustache.
Whoever the woman was, she was probably one of the most beautiful in the world. The Lady Enchantress who had spelled Prince Lucien was even more stunning, yes, but her beauty was other-worldly, like the stars or magic itself. This Arcainian noble, however, felt closer, and her beauty was more similar to a flower.
A footman cleared his throat. “Her Majesty Princess Gabrielle—Crown Princess of Arcainia and Marquise of Carabas—and her royal feline, Master…Puss.”
“It’s Roland,” the cat yowled.
Ariane blinked. …The cat talks?
Crown Princess Gabrielle laughed. “Give it a rest, Puss. Our official invitation named you Puss.”
“Yes, that’s because you wrote to the organizers and called me Puss in your letter. You impudent harpy!” the cat complained.
Ariane exchanged glances with the maids on either side of her to assure herself she wasn’t hearing things. Judging by their eyes, which were so widened they were almost popping out of their skulls, she wasn’t.
Crown Princess Gabrielle patted the head of her cat—or quite possibly her captured pet wizard, because animals did not talk—and ventured deeper into the hall, then unexpectedly approached one of the maids positioned at the wall. “I beg your pardon, but are we supposed to go somewhere?”
Ariane was shocked on behalf of the maid—with the exception of Princess Elle, Loire nobility didn’t just speak to servants—but the maid fared better and executed a pretty curtsey, and replied in a lowered voice that Princess Elle was on her way.
“I am famished,” a young male declared as he swaggered into the entrance hall, another woman at his side.
“Prince Gerhart and Fürstin Elise of Arcainia,” the footman shouted.
“I offered you candied nuts at the last rest stop,” Fürstin Elise said gently. She was the opposite of Crown Princess Gabrielle with dark eyes and long curly brown hair that was pulled back with a red ribbon. Her dress was simpler—almost uniform-like—as the gown was black with white sleeves, gold trim, and a red sash.
Prince Gerhart wore more fashionable clothes—though his were elegantly understated—and while Crown Princess Gabrielle’s gaze was friendly and Fürstin Elise’s focused, Prince Gerhart’s seemed more…observational.
“Don’t spare him any sorry feelings, Sister. He’s old enough to see to himself,” a handsome man called as he glided into the room with two giants at his back.
“His Majesty Crown Prince Steffen, Prince Mikkael, and Prince Nickolas,” the footman said.
Ariane stared at the small crowd of Arcainian royalty. How many representatives did they send?
The man who spoke last had to be Crown Prince Steffen, for he approached Crown Princess Gabrielle and kissed her square on the lips—squashing the black cat between them who yowled in objection. “Where do their highnesses want us?” he asked.
“This lovely young lady said Princess Elle will arrive shortly and tell us herself.” Crown Princess Gabrielle cast another beautiful smile at the maid.
“That is very good of the princess,” Prince Gerhart said as he inspected the room with an evil eye.
The cat snorted. “This Summit is nothing more than an attempt at sweet-talking the continent into playing nice. You can rest assured that Loire will be on their best behavior.”
Crown Princess Gabrielle jostled her arms. “Just as we will be, Puss. So sheathe those claws of yours.”
“You dare to tell me to play nice? I taught you everything you know!” the cat objected.
Crown Prince Steffen slipped an arm around his wife’s waist and frowned down at the cat. “I miss the days you had to pretend to be mute.”
‘Puss’ sniffed. “And I long for the day you have something of intelligence to say, bumpkin-head.”