Chapter 9
IX.
“I like the tunic.” Drook rubbed a stretch of gold braid between his fingers. “Good quality.”
“It hides the stains,” I admitted, not as appreciative as he was.
When the tsarina suggested doing something about my costume, I had hoped it would be to replace it with something different.
Or, if not that, that I might be refitted with a new and therefore clean version of my current costume.
Instead, the tsarina had a servant futilely attempt to clean it and the seamstress restuff it.
Ultimately, the seamstress provided a tunic to go over the costume, making it bulkier, heavier, and tighter than before.
“You look splendid,” Klessa said, smoothing down several of the collar feathers and straightening the belled ribbons. She inspected my healing wounds too. “Ready for tonight?”
“It will be the same as any other.” I glanced around the ballroom at those who merited an invitation to the reception but not the dinner.
They drank wine and examined their fingernails while they barely held conversations, all of them awaiting the arrival of the rest of the party.
“I will be shown off, told to perform some humiliating tasks — only this time for the Talvian ambassador — and then expected to sit in my basket unless the tsarina desires some kvass.”
“Has she told you to sit in the basket?”
“It’s usual.”
“Unless she has given you specific instructions, you can do what you like,” Drook said. “It’s a party and you’re a jester. Mingle. Tell a dirty joke. Start an absurd rumor or two.”
“Or just be your charming self and do whatever you would have without a costume,” Klessa said pointedly, frowning at Drook’s suggestions.
“Even if you’re no longer a prince in title, you are still you.
You could even ask a lady sitting on the side to dance.
She might say no, but....” Klessa shrugged.
“Would anyone have turned you down before?”
Klessa’s optimism, though appreciated, did not take into account how fragile reputation could be.
I could not foresee anyone wanting to be within a few feet of me, let alone agreeing to anything more.
And my dancing, even if someone should agree, would be beyond awkward in a costume not meant to offer much movement.
I glanced across the room, and Agara waved at me from her cluster of friends as we all waited for the rest of the nobles to filter in.
As if on cue, the doors above the ballroom opened and the tsarina led the throng with the ambassador at her side, his red satin sash brilliant in the reflected light.
The room exploded into chatter and echoes of chatter as other brightly colored outfits piled up in the doorway and spread to the stairs, announcements made from the balcony as couples descended.
My group all bowed as the tsarina passed, and I breathed slightly more easily when she failed to notice me. Her attentions focused upon someone else tonight.
Nobles who trailed behind her did not overlook us, many of them not residents of the palace and therefore unfamiliar with our appearances.
They gaped and made comments to each other, and Drook warmed to it, bowing deeply with his red tricorn hat, diverting most of the attention with the beginning of a convoluted story that would doubtless end in some filthy absurdity.
“And what are you supposed to be?” a woman wearing a badly applied wig asked of Klessa. “Some kind of lady?”
“She’s more of a lady than you are.” I stepped between them. “At least she knows how to wear her hair.”
The woman took several steps back. “And what, you’re her personal chicken guard?”
“Clearly, you’ve never seen how nasty a rooster can be when defending the ladies.”
The woman huffed and left us.
“You don’t have to defend me.” Klessa patted my shoulder. “I’ve been dealing with this my whole life.”
“You told me to do whatever I would should I not be wearing a costume. I would never have tolerated such incivility to a lady in my presence, and I will not begin now.”
“Go practice your charms on someone else, Kvasnik. I already know what a gem you are. Show others. Shine.” Klessa lowered her voice. “It will drive the tsarina mad.”
When she shooed me off, I wandered through the hall, identifying people who hadn’t been witness to my humiliation. Most of them I knew, and I did not wish to call further attention to my new status.
“It’s Mikhail,” someone said loudly to my side.
I debated whether I should acknowledge it or pretend that I hadn’t heard it.
I chose to ignore it. Moments later, ladies surrounded me, most of them from court, but they had brought other friends over, friends who did not live at the palace and therefore had not seen my disgrace.
I straightened my back and waited.
“We heard you insulted Lady Pochenka,” Countess Ekaterina said.
“She was uncivil to another undeservedly,” I said, “and regardless of how you see me, I still will come to a lady’s defense. I would have done the same for any of you.”
“Oh, we are not upset,” said another.
“We thought it was marvelous. Lady Pochenka is uncivil to everyone!”
“Would you join us?” The countess gestured towards a little circle she had formed, Princess Alaina at the center of it, her face as dour as the tsarina’s.
I did not trust them, but I had no better occupation. And for a rare moment, they weren’t finding novel ways to torment me.
“Lead the way and I shall follow.”
Ekaterina smiled and led. The other four ladies escorted me.
The countess turned to look at me over her shoulder as she introduced me into her gathering.
The princess looked up and then pointedly away, fanning herself with such vigor that I thought she intended to send half the party away in a gust of wind.
They offered me a seat on a bench, and I took it, but only after I saw all of them seated first.
“What’s it like being a chicken?” one of the newest ladies asked.
“Spend more time at court with all the henpecking biddies,” I told her, “and you will have opportunity to witness others with far more experience than I.”
Most of the group laughed.
“Is it true you were a prince?” another lady asked when no one else followed up on the initial question.
The question, although not malicious, invariably led toward a humiliating conversation at my expense.
How funny, a fallen prince. Ha ha. But I wasn’t just a fallen prince.
I was a jester now too. I possessed a certain degree of freedom in my storytelling, as Drook had always been quick to point out.
I could guide the discussion as I wished by how I framed my answers.
“Once,” I told her, deliberate in my tone of confidence and sorrow. “Then an evil witch cast a spell on me and left me as you see.”
Ekaterina blushed. “That’s a rather romantic way to put it.”
“Is it not true?” I found her eyes and gazed into them, intentional and manipulative in my connection.
She had once wanted me despite whatever she had done since my return.
And if Klessa was right, I could still sway her, even if not in the same capacity.
“Still me, in body, mind, and spirit, in all ways of substance — and yet....”
“Is there a way to break such a spell?” A young woman gazed at me in a way I recognized and had not seen in a long time.
“Typically, it is the love of a woman true and fair which frees a prince from such a curse, but by design, no one will ever look upon me again and see someone worthwhile.”
“That’s not so,” said one of the women. “You have such beautiful eyes.”
“And a gentle way of speaking,” added another.
“And I would guess that you’re beautiful beneath your mask.”
“Would you take the beak off and show us?”
“Please!” a chorus of ladies pleaded.
“Alas,” I told them, “I cannot, as part of my curse. Should anyone see the prince I was before, I might never be free.”
Their disappointment sounded in chorus too.
“I fear,” I said, sounding as woeful as I could, “if no one can look beyond my trappings or the station to which they consign me, I shall never find someone to rescue me from my cruel fate.”
“A cruel fate indeed!” A lady moved closer to me on the bench and reached out to pat my hand.
“However might we assist?” asked another.
I had them now wrapped up in a fairy tale of my unfair disgrace, and I bent it to serve me.
“Perhaps petitions to release me from my enchantment might remind my sorceress that she is a good and kind ruler and that I have only ever wished to serve her.” I sighed with great pathos, a tragic noble figure now in the eyes of these ladies.
“And perhaps, if it is not so much trouble — though I know how I must appear to you — some civility as I attempt to endure this sad state of mine with grace?”
The lady beside me took my arm. “Has anyone been so heartless as to treat you poorly?”
“I cannot blame them,” I told her, refusing to look at any of the ladies who had devoted time and attention to making me feel my status with painful acuity. “My curse has been designed to encourage it.”
She still clung to my arm but looked at the ladies in the group. “We must do something.”
Ladies nodded their heads in agreement.
“Petition we shall,” one of them assured me.
The music started, and all attention tore away from me. Conversation ceased entirely as ladies were called away by eager partners or as they went to find partners when no one asked them immediately.
“Save a dance for me,” whispered the young girl who released my arm and patted my hand before she went off with what looked a steady beau.
Soon, all the ladies had been claimed except for Princess Alaina. No taller than the diminutive jesters herself and browner than any makeup would cover, no one seemed to want to claim her for a dance either.
I didn’t say anything about it. Not the first dance. Or the second. Or the third.
On the fourth, when she was pointedly overlooked by men who stood to the side, I rose from the bench and approached her.