Chapter One RÉPONDEZ S’IL VOUS PLAÎT Alison
Chapter One
RéPONDEZ S'IL VOUS PLA?T
Alison
The stack of envelopes on the desk loomed before Alison.
Better get the letter-opener, she thought. That was a papercut waiting to happen if she’d ever seen one.
As she fumbled in the drawer, Willow hopped onto the desk, sending a pair of envelopes to the floor in her wake.
“You’re meant to be helping,” grumbled Alison.
“I’m organizing,” said Willow, unperturbed. “Helping you prioritize.”
The tabby cat purred slyly, her tail curling at the end. The very picture of innocence.
Alison sighed as her fingers found (gratefully, the handled end of) the letter-opener. Then she retrieved the fallen envelopes from the floor with a flick of her wrist and a thought:
Two in the hand,
Wouldn’t that be grand?
“Poetry” was sort of a loose term for what Alison had come to realize was the key to controlling her magic on her own. But “silly rhyming magic” sounded much less clever and impressive than “poetry magic.” No one needed to know the quality of the “poems.”
Alison knew what lay in the stack of envelopes from their identical shapes: RSVPs.
(A Gallic phrase, Keir had told her when they dropped the wedding invitations off at the post office two weeks earlier.
Alison had never studied Gallic. “A pity, ma chère,” Keir had replied.
“It is the language de l’amour.” His accent had been so horrendous, Alison had burst into laughter, much to his chagrin.)
“I still don’t know why you bothered sending invitations to everyone in town,” said Willow, pawing at the envelopes. “You see most of them every day.”
“It’s tradition,” said Alison, someone who had little use for traditions at all.
Willow stared at her blankly, unbelieving.
“They’re just so pretty,” Alison admitted. “When Weyland drew such a pretty little cottage, I wanted everyone to have one.”
In fact, she’d gone to a great deal of trouble to see that they had.
She had taken Weyland’s drawing—her little white cottage with the thatched roof, covered in winter snow—all the way to the printer in Sudport, the nearest one that could print in color.
It was the very same printer that had expressed interest in printing a book of her poetry after seeing the pamphlet they had made at the summer.
But Alison hadn’t brought it along. She was too busy with the wedding planning, she told herself. She could worry about the book later.
(In truth, there was a part of Alison that was frightened to see the book in print, as much as she had longed for it. It would be putting a part of herself out there for all to see, and the wedding itself was more than enough of that for now.)
“Alright,” said Alison, starting in on the stack. “Let’s see what we’ve got. Yes from Mother, oh, and she’s bringing along Aunt Rose and cousin Eloise even though her invitation was only for her plus one…”
“At least she isn’t bringing some man,” said Willow.
Alison hadn’t even considered it as a possibility; the plus one had simply been customary.
“I can’t even imagine,” said Alison. She didn’t want to, truth be told.
If Alison’s mother had met anyone since her father’s death, she’d never mentioned them.
Alison knew that it wasn’t fair to her mother to wish for her to be alone for the rest of her life, but she couldn’t bear to think of someone else in her father’s place. At least not at her wedding.
She sighed. A wedding was supposed to be a happy occasion, but she’d found it difficult so far not to think of who would be missing.
“Come on,” said Willow. “That’s three people. Surely more of them said ‘yes’ than that.”
“Right you are,” said Alison, grateful to the cat for the reminder to focus. “Ah, Ceri and Leo returned their invitations together. Both said yes.”
“That answers that,” said Willow. There had been a bit of a wager going on how long the princess and her Gallic l’amour would last, now that he was back in the same…
realm? World? It was hard to say where Leo had gone exactly during their time at Winwold College, but they were grateful to have him back.
And none more so than Ceri, although according to Idris, she was liable to toss him off as soon as she found some shiny new toy to play with.
Alison wasn’t so sure. She didn’t believe that her own experience in a strange magical world with Keir had been the only thing that pulled them together, but going through something beyond explanation certainly seemed to strengthen their bond.
Perhaps Ceri’s writings to Leo during his journey had done the same.
“Yes from Lady Sibba and Weyland—”
“Obviously,” said Willow.
“Yes from Nigel Smalls and from Duncan Corbett, but both of them indicate they’re bringing a plus one. Do they mean each other?”
“I suppose you’ll have to go and ask them,” said Willow. “Which is what you could have done in the first place—”
“Yes, alright, alright. But have you seen them together at the inn lately?”
“Not since you sent the invitation, although I hate going down there when it’s snowing. It’s so cold on my paws going over the bridge.”
“I wonder…”
“Wonder later,” said Willow.
Alison rolled her eyes at her relentless little taskmaster of a feline. “Oh, this one is unexpected.” She paused for a bit of suspense—Willow was going to like this news in particular. “Groundskeeper Tomasar said yes.”
Willow’s pupils widened, her tail twitching in anticipation. “And Barney too?”
Alison smiled. “And Barney too.”
Willow purred and rubbed her head against Alison’s wrist. “Thank you for asking,” she said.
Alison was happy to facilitate the reunion of Willow with Tomasar’s sweet dog Barney, the first dog friend Willow had ever made.
“This one must be from Nolwynn,” said Alison, picking up an envelope that was still a little damp, the ink of the address streaked and splotched in the corners.
“The korrigans are coming. Nolwynn and another woman. It doesn’t say if she’s a Quarterling as well.
Yes from Yordin and Marna as well, and they’re bringing their three youngest.”
“Seat me as far from them as possible.” The cat shuddered, undoubtedly remembering the pink bow the dwarven industrialist’s children had wrapped around her neck.
“Yes from Aras, Mezec, and Lydiach. Mezec has a plus one—very interesting. Yes from Brytak and Strelka, yes from Mrs. Knox, yes from Mr. Rainey. Ah, our first regrets: Dean Whittaker.”
“He’d probably marry you himself if it meant never seeing the rest of us again,” said Willow. “Imagine what Idris and Ceri must have done to him since we left the College.”
Alison shook her head. They had made the poor man suffer enough during their time there in the autumn.
“Regrets from the office as well, but Ms. Varma enclosed a ten-gold bank note. A collection from well-wishers, she says.”
That was kind, but Alison knew there weren’t many in the office where she’d worked in Arcas Dyrne who would have even noticed her absence. She suspected the gift was from Ms. Varma herself.
“That’s all of them,” said Willow. “Nothing from Rinka and Idris?”
That was odd. Alison wasn’t certain Idris would be able to take time off around Lupercalia—it was a few weeks into the spring term, after all. But surely Rinka wouldn’t miss Alison’s wedding.
“What’s in this one?” asked Willow. She pawed at a large brown envelope that had been at the bottom of the pile.
Alison opened it. Inside was a copy of The Loegrian Woman, a glossy women’s lifestyle magazine Alison had never once read, let alone subscribed to.
“Do you think this could be for Charlotte—” she began, then stopped once she saw the cover.
The Royal Coup—How Prince Idris Finally Fell in Love (and with a Commoner!)
And there, sitting in a grand chair with Prince Idris standing beside her, was Rinka in full color illustration.
“Is that—” started Willow.
Alison nodded wordlessly and flipped through the pages, searching for the article.
The Royal Coup
by Lady Emily Marlowe
She’s elegant. She’s poised. She’s the envy of every girl in Loegria, Wilderise, and beyond.
You might have met her over the summer at the court events in Fossholm, a charming little hamlet in the Hill Country of Wilderise, the site of King Derkomai’s latest endeavor to bring modern comforts to all of his people.
You may have seen her dancing with courtiers or having tea with fine ladies.
You might have even seen her steal a kiss from Prince Idris himself.
But she is not the Lady Rinka of Paistos as she once claimed.
She is simply Rinka.
On the opposite page was a picture of Rinka in Idris, this one in black and white, taken by a real picture-taker.
“I bet she loved having these portraits done if nothing else,” said Alison.
“Read it to me,” said Willow.
She sits across from me in Her Highness Princess Chloe’s parlor sipping a cup of tea delicately, her pinkie finger neatly extended. It isn’t difficult to see how people could be fooled.
“We weren’t trying to fool anyone,” she says, glancing back at his Royal Highness, Prince Idris of Loegria and Wilderise, for reassurance.
His Royal Highness looks dapper in the regalia of Winwold College, where he is serving as a guest lecturer for the year. He gives Rinka a nod and a tense smile. “Well, that wasn’t the primary goal, anyway.”
The primary goal of their charade—a charade that had everyone “quite convinced,” according to Princess Chloe, was simply to see more of each other, Prince Idris explains.
Prince Idris goes on to tell a story of falling in love at first sight that, as outlandish as it sounds, I believe immediately. His affections are so plainly written on his face, I scarcely need him to speak to understand the details.
But as they are rather extraordinary, I’ll include them here for your benefit, dear reader.
“This should be interesting,” said Willow. “I wonder how much of the truth he told.”
Alison wondered the same. There were parts of their story that made little sense without magic.