Chapter Sixteen Eugene #3
“Don’t have time for sentiment,” Leona says gruffly, but doesn’t pull away for a long moment and swipes obstinately at her eyes after she does. “The barge should be rounding the west cliffs right about now. Verette, help me with the boat.”
They pile into the skiff, Cressien looking none too pleased and more than a little seasick as they push off. Leona makes Eugene help her row and puts Rapunzel in charge of keeping the boat’s lantern dry as they drift out of the cove.
The pleasure barge drifts around the mouth of the cove a few minutes later, its lanterns glowing like clusters of stars. Eugene and Leona row the skiff right up beside it, and crew members quickly help them all climb aboard—all save Leona.
“We’ll talk soon, Eugene,” Leona promises. Then she hooks the lantern on her walking stick, balances it on the skiff’s sides, and pushes off, back toward the cove.
“Rapunzel, let’s go get your double so you can change back.” Verette hurries off, Rapunzel trotting after her, slightly bemused.
“Is it me,” Eugene says to the air, “or does she not seem all that eager to depose her father?”
Cressien is already heading for the side of the barge; Eugene thinks it’s the nausea, not disdain, making him terse. “She may not have much of a choice. But speaking of choices…you put yourself at enormous risk today.”
“That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” Eugene can hear the bitter note in his voice.
Now it is disdain making Cressien terse. “Explain yourself.”
“I mean, you’re a minister, and Rapunzel is the princess—”
“That’s very interesting,” Cressien seethes unconvincingly as he anchors himself by the railing, “but I want to know why you, as a member of our delegation, believe your purpose here is to be expendable.”
Eugene’s breath gutters. It’s one thing to brood on the admission, another to say it out loud.
“I—I’m just being realistic,” he manages.
“You said it yourself: The ink’s still wet on my pardon.
I nearly hanged in the palace courtyard.
The nobility are never going to like me, even if I try.
” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m a commoner and a thief, and apparently my parents tried to overthrow a monarchy.
That’s not exactly husband material for a princess.
I just figured it was only a matter of time before I was asked to… move along.”
Cressien pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did the king or queen ever say as much?” There’s an awkward pause. “I didn’t think so. And you know why I didn’t think so, you absolute buffoon?”
“Hurtful and unnecessary,” grumbles Eugene.
“Because I am a commoner,” Cressien erupts.
“I was born to small-town cobblers. I attended state-run schools and went to an advanced academy on state-provided grants, and I know dozens of commoners just like me who serve in the kingdom’s highest offices at the pleasure of a king and queen who saw their potential, not their rank. ”
“And how many of you have a criminal record?” Eugene can’t help firing back.
Cressien shakes his head. “You need to understand that Their Majesties see that as their own failure of policy, not your failure of character. They have no intention of getting rid of you, and trust that I asked. They simply don’t know what to do with you.”
Eugene is struggling to process. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Do you have any idea what diplomatic concessions we could extract from other countries if a marriage treaty were on the table—”
“The other part,” Eugene cuts in. “About what to do with me.”
Cressien makes a vague gesture at Eugene’s entire, well, self. “You and Princess Rapunzel are clearly devoted to each other. Their Majesties will always welcome you in the palace, but they aren’t sure what office to give to you as a member of the household.”
“To make me respectable.” Eugene scowls.
Cressien looks more annoyed than ever. “To give you independence. They don’t want you feeling as if your livelihood depends on their good graces. And, loath as I am to say it, I do see areas where a man of your talents might thrive.”
That knocks the wind out of Eugene’s sails. “You do?”
It’s Cressien’s turn to scowl, like he’s eating a vegetable he particularly abhors. “Our spymaster is seeking an apprentice. She reports to me, and regrettably, I would be willing to recommend you for the position if you wish it. But only if you cease acting so recklessly.”
Apprentice…spymaster?
Eugene has to admit it has a nice ring to it. But it’s not just a title; it’s a future. A way to stay in Rapunzel’s life, yes—and a way to make his own.
“I…think I’d really like that,” he says slowly.
Cressien nods, impassive as ever, but he’s running a thumb over his bare ring finger again. “This is not a professional recommendation, but…a personal one. Tell Princess Rapunzel about how you felt. Difficult conversations only get more difficult the longer you wait to have them.”
Eugene swallows.
Before he can muster an answer, Verette’s voice sails across the deck: “Fitzherbert. Your turn to change.”