Chapter 39
The steward enters first, gives me an approving nod, and then stands aside to permit the king and queen of Astebal to enter.
Astebaen XXIV enters first, followed by Aestaeben VII, her skirts so wide and so stiff it takes her a little effort to make it through my doorway.
They both glare down their noses at me, and then stand aside so that Astebaen XXV, prince of the realm, may enter.
And he does, all four foot eight of him.
I am relieved to note that his pimples have subsided somewhat since I last saw him, a year and some months ago. On his twelfth birthday.
The steward closes the door behind them, and then the three royals move to stand before me. As one, they bow. After they’ve risen, I drop my deep curtsy, grateful that my gown is less stiff than their courtly raiment.
“Rise, Princess of the Widdenmar,” Astebaen XXV says, his voice cracking only on the final word. I rise.
“It is good to see you again,” he continues.
“It is good to see you again,” I say.
“And how are your mother and father?”
“They are well, Your Highness,” I say.
“As are mine, as you see,” he says.
I incline my head.
“I hear your sister is gravid,” he says.
“Yes, we anticipate a safe and peaceful delivery by the middle of next year.”
“I congratulate you,” he says.
I incline my head.
Beside him, his mother clears her throat.
I turn to her and bow.
“If we may,” she says, her voice clear and strong.
“Of course,” I say. I take a fortifying breath and turn to Astebaen, and hold out my hand. He takes it, and together we kneel.
Astebani pride themselves on their careful control of their feelings and emotions, but Astebaen is young, and color flares in his cheeks.
“Where?” I murmur to him. It’s entirely possible he’s never kissed anyone before. I certainly hadn’t at his age. Or nearly ten years later. “Tell me where you’d like to kiss me?”
“Cheek,” he whispers. “Please.”
I give him the barest nod, and turn my head. He takes a deep, shaky breath and leans in, and presses his lips against my cheek for the briefest moment. His hand in mine is cold and shaking. I give him a quick squeeze. “Astebaen,” I murmur, leaning forward. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Of course,” he says, just as softly. “Anything I can do to help.”
He’s always been such a nice kid. I lean forward and murmur something in his ear. He smiles and squeezes my hand.
“I’ll have it here tomorrow,” he whispers.
“Will you tell the others, too? Tomorrow?” I ask.
He nods.
“Thank you, Astebaen,” I say. “It’s not for me. It’s for my friend. I couldn’t have done all this without her.”
“Of course. But, Tandy, I can’t believe you got cursed,” he whispers, smiling. “My parents would kill me.”
“Yes, definitely avoid it if you can.”
“For the record,” he whispers, before he pulls away. “This whole situation is so weird.”
“Duly noted,” I murmur.
He holds out his second hand and I take it, and we rise.
“Are we to assume the curse has not been broken?” his mother says, her tone loud and echoing in the empty room.
I give a shallow bow. “I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” I say.
She sighs. “We will inform your parents.” She gives me a long, chilly stare. “I do not believe they’ll find it welcome news.”
“I imagine not,” I say.
“If I may,” she continues, “from what our steward has told us about the state of the…premises before our arrival, I would strongly suggest that you…” She looks around significantly.
It would be polite in her culture—and mine—to merely incline my head to indicate my understanding. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I want to make her say it. I wait.
“You might consider a cleaning service,” she concludes. She bows, and I curtsy in return.
“You may keep the rugs,” she says.
And then, without a word, the three file out, followed by their steward.
“Oh my goddess!” Amaritha shrieks, once the sounds of their footsteps have faded completely away.
“That was so worth getting grounded for,” Sasha chortles. At my glare, she tries to compose herself. “If I’d gotten grounded, which I didn’t, because I have permission to be here.” And then she tumbles into Amaritha’s lap, crying with laughter.
“He was like seven years old!” one of them shouts.
“Six!”
“Five, maybe!”
“Thirteen,” I demur. “You can’t become a prince of the realm until you reach your majority at thirteen.”
“Thirteen!” They giggle. I do not point out that they, at fifteen, are only two years away from Astebaen XXV in age. At fifteen, two years is a lifetime. I suddenly feel very old.
I dare a glance at Bash, who’s clearly trying to keep hold of himself.
“I don’t know why my mother didn’t want to be here for that,” Sasha is saying. “I can’t imagine why the whole town wasn’t here for that. All the bowing!”
“That does explain why they cleared everyone out of the inn last night,” Amaritha gasps. “They had to do a full clean of the entire place. And get rid of all the furniture.”
“Do they travel with, like, infinite rugs?”
“What do they sleep on?”
“Ladies,” I say, a little sternly. “Their customs are not our own, but they deserve our respect.”
Someone coughs, and the two sober up a little.
“You have to admit it was a lot of work, just to have a thirteen-year-old boy kiss your cheek for like a fraction of a heartbeat,” Sasha says.
“Honestly,” I say, “I’m more worried about what his mother is going to tell my mother.” I can trust Honey to give the rosiest picture of the bookshop and my situation to my family, but not…not an Astebani. Certainly not the queen of Astebal, not in a letter to the queen of the Widdenmar. I sigh.
“Are they all called…‘Asteban’?” Amaritha asks.
“The royal family all share honorary names that sound very similar to our ears,” I say. “There are diphthongs in their language that we have trouble pronouncing, but which they differentiate easily.”
“So that one isn’t actually called Asteban? Your prince, I mean?”
“Astebaen,” I correct. I can only barely do his diphthong justice. “And he is. He had a different name before he reached his majority, and then he renounced it for the royal name, by which he will always now be known.”
“That’s actually really interesting,” Amaritha says. “Like, culturally.”
“So,” Bash says, clearing his throat. “You’ve had your seven kisses. What happens next?”
“Now we wait for Honey to find a sorcerer,” I say, and pause. It’s a race against time now. “Or for my parents to arrive.”
“With the frogs,” Bash adds.
“What frogs?” Sasha says, brows knitting in confusion.
“The wagonful of enchanted frogs for kissing, naturally,” Bash says. “Since the princes didn’t work out. I’ve got my heart set on a whole menagerie of enchanted animals making their way up here.”
“Ew,” Amaritha says.
Uninspired by their reactions, and more worried about the future than I perhaps ought to be—or maybe less than I should—I send everyone away and go to bed.