Consorting with the King

Chapter 1

Francis was enjoying an afternoon all to himself, reading in the gardens.

It was a crisp spring day, which meant the gardens were blissfully quiet. He’d wrapped up warm in his outdoor coat, a shawl, and had brought snacks. He was halfway through a really good book, and he hoped to finish it before teatime.

Alas, his peace was disturbed when he heard the faint calling of his name.

“Prince Francis!”

“Damn,” Francis murmured, snapping his book shut.

He had no intention of heeding the call, which sounded like one of the household secretaries.

Francis had arranged today off and left explicit instructions not to be disturbed.

He tossed his half-eaten apple into a bush. The birds would enjoy it. Then he tucked his book under one arm, clasped his shawl around his shoulders, and hurried to the hedge maze.

His boots made barely a sound on the paving stones. Francis was light on his feet, and good at hiding. He’d had many years of practice.

He ducked inside the maze entrance, where he would be hidden from view, and paused to listen.

Hopefully whoever it was would go away.

“Prince Francis!”

The call was louder, closer. Sounded like Hans, one of the palace’s junior secretaries.

Surely it couldn’t be very important business then. Probably something trivial that could wait a few hours.

Francis dared to peep out from around the hedge.

He spotted Hans standing on the lawn, with two household guards. He appeared to be directing them to areas to search.

Well, this was annoying.

Francis ducked back inside the hedge. He decided to retreat to the centre of the maze. He knew it well; he’d played in it many times as a child.

“Prince Francis!”

As Hans’s voice grew closer, Francis got his shawl in a tangle on a hedge branch and almost dropped his book.

He elected to save the book from landing on the ground, grabbing it just in time.

Unfortunately, his movement only served to further snag the shawl on the hedge, and despite his careful attempts to retrieve it, the poor shawl got a nasty tear.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Francis said, forgetting to lower his voice.

“Prince Francis? Is that you?” Hans called.

Francis abandoned the shawl and walked briskly into the maze.

“Your royal highness, wait!” Hans called from behind a hedge. “I have a letter for you!”

“No, Hans!” Francis called back. He turned corners swiftly, taking the route he knew best. Tall hedgerow towered over him on all sides. “I expressly said I wanted the day to myself!”

“But your highness, you have a letter from the queen!” Hans called, his heavy footsteps running in the other direction.

They must have passed each other with only one hedgerow in between them.

“Well, my sister-in-law shall just have to wait!” Francis called back.

“No, sir, not Queen Celine! The letter is from Queen Maria, sir!”

Francis stopped.

“Granny?” he said, just as Hans ran past the opening up ahead.

The junior secretary skidded to halt and doubled back, panting slightly as he offered out the sealed envelope.

“From Queen Maria, sir.”

Francis took the letter. “Next time, Hans, lead with that.”

“Yes, sir. Very sorry, sir,” Hans said, still panting.

Francis opened the letter and read his grandmother’s flowing script.

“She wants to see me,” he informed Hans. “Today.”

“Shall I arrange the carriage, your highness?” Hans asked.

“No, I’ll take my horse,” Francis said firmly. “The ride will do me good. Go find Archie and tell him, would you?”

“Yes, sir. Right away,” Hans said. He made to walk away, then looked around him at the hedgerows. “Sorry, sir,” he added. “Do you know the way out?”

Francis smiled. “Follow me.”

* * * *

The ride to Granny’s estate was a few miles cross country, and Francis knew the way.

He enjoyed a brisk ride across the acres of open fields and scattered woodland that made up the adjoining royal estates of Stormburg. Riding with him was Lieutenant Archibald ‘Archie’ von Dassel, Francis’s equerry and good friend, plus two of the household guards.

They hadn’t dressed in finery, opting for practical yet elegant riding clothes instead. Granny would never tolerate less than elegant.

They arrived at her ancient and sprawling estate in time for tea.

Francis dismounted, leaving the horses with the groomsmen.

The butler showed them indoors, straight to a side table and two household staff pouring out cups of mulled wine from a warm pot, and brandishing plates of tiny buttermilk biscuits.

They drank the wine to warm up, then Francis bid Archie and the guards wait for him.

“I’ll take it from here, Archie,” he said. “You enjoy the refreshments.”

“Yes, sir,” Archie replied. “Do you expect to ride back before it’s dark?”

Francis considered, but it all rather depended on what Granny wanted him for.

“No, if she wants me to stay for supper, we can stay in the guest rooms and ride out in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Archie replied, then added quietly, “Are you in any bother?”

Archie wore an eye patch over his right eye, from a wound received in battle many years ago. His left eye was deep blue and showed genuine concern.

Francis smiled at his friend.

“No idea, but I shall soon find out,” he said, and slapped Archie on the arm as he walked away.

It was unlikely he was in any great trouble. He was Granny’s favourite, and she’d never been cross with him in his whole life.

But also because there wasn’t a lot of trouble for him to get into. He’d never been next in line for the throne, that duty had fallen to his elder brother, Joseph, and now Joseph’s young sons were next in line.

Francis didn’t even have great responsibilities, as most of those had been swallowed up by his elder siblings.

Frederick, his second elder brother, assisted Joseph in matters of state.

Not to mention Joseph had two queens assisting him: his wife, the current reigning queen, and Granny, former queen.

So, being the third son and unmarried meant there really wasn’t much for Francis to do. He performed his fair share of dull stately tasks, as dictated by his brother the king, and also his uncle, another king. There were plenty of kings and queens in the close family.

But Francis did his duties, and he didn’t complain. He never stepped out of line.

Well. Not by much.

He tucked his hat under his arm as he strode through the gallery with Granny’s secretary, Aleks, insisting on escorting him even though Francis had grown up here as well.

He’d been a child in these grand rooms, playing hide and seek with his brothers, little sisters, and many cousins among the suits of armour, taxidermy, and stately furniture.

The long gallery boasted huge oil paintings of Francis’s older cousins and other close relatives, most of them rulers.

Francis’s portrait wasn’t up there, because he wasn’t a ruler. He only appeared in family portraits, and those were displayed in less important rooms.

He was, indeed, a royal nobody.

They reached the end of the gallery and approached the double doors with two armed guards posted.

Aleks knocked, and on Granny’s reply to enter, the guards opened both doors wide.

Francis allowed the butler to walk in first and announce him.

Protocol.

Aleks strode into Granny’s study and bowed his head.

“Prince Francis, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Aleks,” she replied, her tone its usual cool and aloof.

Francis walked in, a smile already on his face.

He waited until Aleks left and shut the doors before approaching her desk.

“Your majesty,” he greeted, standing still and bowing his head in respect.

“Dear Francis,” Granny said, glancing up with a smile. “Do sit down.” She indicated the empty chair opposite.

On other occasions, Granny would ask him to sit with her on the chaise, or in the parlour so they could have a natter.

Now Francis worried he was in trouble.

“Come, now!” Granny scolded. “I won’t bite.”

Francis smiled, set at ease. He pulled out the old mahogany chair and sat down in it.

Granny had a cushioned armchair on her side of the desk. She was a big lady and needed a wide chair. She wore her usual style of silk dress in mourning black, though she had taken to accessorising more with white lace trim and jewellery in recent years.

Her grey hair was pinned up neatly underneath a white lace cap studded with pearls.

“Let me just finish this,” Granny said, writing her signature neatly onto a letter. “Dreary old business,” she muttered as she replaced her ink pen made of silver and reached for the powder shaker.

“There’s more letters to sign in peace time than there is during a war,” she said, shaking powder onto her letter to dry the ink. “Still, whatever helps the economy.”

“Yes, Granny,” Francis agreed.

He never handled negotiations or anything this high up. He only got the frivolous jobs that nobody else wanted.

Again, because he was a nobody.

“Now, then,” she said, dropping the letter into her out tray. “Thank you for coming. You know I don’t normally demand you drop everything to see me, but I do have some rather good news that can’t wait.”

Francis was intrigued.

“I’m always happy to see you, Granny,” he told her. “What good news?”

She smirked, dimples appearing in her plump cheeks.

“As you know, dear Francis,” Granny said, “I’ve had extra time on my hands, thanks to your brother and his wife taking the reins more. It’s nice to have time on one’s hands.”

“Yes, Granny,” Francis said, wishing he had her level of freedom.

“Yet,” she continued, “with this extra time, I found myself paying attention to people. Noticing things.” She leaned in for emphasis. “Noticing you.”

“Me?” Francis said.

Goodness. He really was in trouble.

“Yes, you, dear boy.” Granny leaned back again. “You are languishing,” she said, a note of accusation in her voice.

Francis didn’t know what to say.

“I…I do all my duties,” he managed to answer.