The castle was a black stone monstrosity—quite frankly I'd seen prison towers that were more inviting. As if this ominous sight wasn't unnerving enough, I had just learned that my friend, Ambassador Molsky, was on a diplomatic mission in another country.
Wonderful! I sighed. Not only did I expect to see him, I thought I would be under his guidance once I arrived. Besides the language, I knew very little about the Sorvinkians' ways. Maybe I should have spent less time refining my accent and more time studying their customs. Well, it was too late now.
With Milo glued to my side like a thistle, I crossed the castle's courtyard. I was shocked by the quantity of soldiers posted there. They all looked alert and on edge, as if fearing a sudden attack. I discovered the same nervous atmosphere inside the castle. Here too, there were guards posted everywhere. These men, however, looked exhausted; the redness of their eyes and constant yawning clearly indicated that they had not slept in a while.
"My lord," Milo whispered in my ear, "something is amiss here. Perhaps entering this castle was a mistake. The reception they gave us was certainly most unpleasant and—"
"Hush," I said, and turned my attention to the guard guiding us, a tall, pock-faced youth with sleepy eyes. "The king mentioned a conflict between Sorvinka and the land of Farrell."
"For sure, we're at war with those dogs."
"I noticed that the garrison in the courtyard seemed ready for action. Is the Farrellian army marching on this castle?"
The guard spat on the ground. "Those cowards! They don't have the guts to fight men. Those lowly bastards can only kidnap little girls."
"I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean by that."
"You don't know! The king's youngest daughter, Princess Aurora. The sweetest little thing. She was kidnapped three nights ago. Our poor king is beside himself." Lowering his voice, the guard added, "Word is, Farrellians did it."
"Really? There are no other suspects besides the Farrellians?" Blaming the enemy of the kingdom seemed a tad too convenient to me.
"Well . . . " said the guard as he readjusted the helm on his head—dented on the right side it kept slipping to the left—"a lot of stories are going around. Some say it's the old gods' wrath, their revenge against our king for banning their worship and destroying their temples. Others think that brigands did it. No good scum—the lot of them."
I couldn't agree more, with that part anyway, and nodded vehemently. Sorvinka was certainly not short of brigands, I could attest to that. However, kidnapping a princess, that was too bold a move, even for the worst of them. "What is your opinion on the matter? Who do you think is guilty of this crime?"
The young guard's eyes widened. He was stunned that a prince would ask him his opinion, and just as I had expected he quickly expressed it. "Well, no ransom has been asked yet. Brigands love gold; they would've demanded a ransom. As for the gods, old or new, they're usually content to ignore us. So, I say it's these dogs of Farrellians. Oh, yes! It's them, I'm sure." The guard spat on the ground again. "They're a vile bunch. Can't trust Farrellians, they're all cowards without honor." On this the guard turned left and entered a long, dark corridor.
Curious to see how Milo was taking all those insults, I glanced at him. Besides the paleness of his face, he appeared in perfect control of himself. Good boy, I thought, and followed behind the guard.
I was a bit concerned when the guard stopped in front of a black oak door with its big wrought-iron hinges.
"And this?"
"Your rooms, Your Highness," the guard replied, opening the door.
"Ah," I said. I had secretly hoped that this long corridor, with its barren stone walls and smoky torches, was just some alley leading to the castle, not a part of the castle itself. Apparently, this castle was as ugly and as austere inside as it was outside. Surely my rooms would be better, I thought, stepping in. Of course, I was wrong again. A cave with furniture was my first impression of my receiving room, gray stone and cobwebs everywhere, wall to wall, and floor to ceiling. Only the stained-glass window added some well-needed color to this depressing grayness. The room was dreadful, yet I was careful not to show my disappointment in front of the guard—one had to be courteous when abroad.
While Milo and our guide brought my trunks inside my rooms, I approached the window to admire its craftsmanship. Without a doubt, this was the work of a master; the rose design circling its frame like a vine was flawless. I touched the frosted glass at the center of the window and sighed. It wasn't frosted glass; it was just . . . well, frost.
"Lovely," I whispered sarcastically. "It's almost as cold inside this room as it is outside." I shook my head. I wasn't really surprised by this, though. I had begun shivering moments ago. Hugging myself for warmth, I stared at the sparkling white snow outside. I felt confused and lost. This castle was nothing like the magnificent palace Eva had described to me, nor was Sorvinka the genteel fairytale kingdom of her accounts. To me, this land was hard and cruel, and this castle was even worse: it was dingy, cold, and oh so ugly. Had Eva misled me on purpose?
Troubled by these thoughts, I traced the rose design of the window with a finger while attempting to reassure myself. Not everything here was bad or ugly. Maybe it was just me, seeing only the dark side of things; it certainly wouldn't be the first time. I gazed at the frozen landscape outside the window. Could I learn to love this land and its people, I wondered, and would these people ever love me in return? The king's severe face formed in my mind—it seemed doubtful. Unable to find any satisfying answers to these questions, I rested my forehead on the icy glass, feeling depressed.
"My lord."
"Yes, Milo."
"The guard has departed and all your things are here. If my lord wishes, after I've made fires in the fireplaces, I could begin unpacking."
I shrugged. "Sure."
"My lord, I . . . I . . . "
The strangled tone of Milo's voice made me turn.
Bearing a look of extreme gratitude and devotion, Milo kneeled in front of me and bowed to the ground. "Thank you, my lord, for saving my life. My lord took a great risk on my behalf. My lord will not regret it."
I didn't reply—truth was, I already regretted my action, and for several reasons. First, saving Milo had disgraced me in the eyes of the king. Second, I didn't know how I could redeem myself. I had no idea how to do that, none at all. Lastly, I didn't care for servants, personal or any other kind, and I didn't trust them either. So being stuck with one really displeased me. I threw a resentful glance at the still prostrated Milo. "Rise," I said.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord, before I begin unpacking?"
I scratched my head, then my beard. I felt dirty; actually, filthy was more accurate. "Yes. Can you find where the baths are located in this castle? I would like to wash all this dust and sweat off me."
Happy to be of service, Milo swiftly ran out of the room. Sometime later, he returned carrying two buckets of water. "My lord, I have unsettling news. This castle doesn't have baths."
I gaped in disbelief. "You're jesting!"
Milo shook his head. "There are no indoor fountains either." He raised the buckets. "These come from an outside well. It was frozen. I had to throw stones in it to break the ice and get to the water."
I stared at the blocks of ice floating atop the water and winced. "Barbaric. Simply barbaric," I said with a sneer. "I suppose we'll have to make due with these appalling conditions."
"I'm afraid so, my lord."
Raising my gaze to Milo, a dark spot on his face caught my attention. I frowned and pointed at the red welt above his left eye. "What's that on your face?"
Milo covered the welt with his hand in a hurry. "Oh this, nothing. I made a wrong turn that's all."
"Someone hit you?"
"No! I fell. My lord shouldn't worry himself with such minute things. I'm clumsy."
That was a lie. Milo wasn't clumsy. Like all well-trained swordsmen, he was agile and light on his feet.
"Fine!" I declared. "I won't question you further on the subject. But from now on, you will not wander in this castle alone. If you're to act as my valet, I will need you to tend to my affairs. So be careful. This place is dangerous. You're useless to me if you're wounded."
"Yes, my lord." Although Milo had kept his voice as neutral as possible, I couldn't help noticing the slight smile curling the corners of his lips. "I will heat some water so my lord can wash."
* * *
Once I had washed and changed into clean clothes, I inspected myself in the long mirror Milo had set up for me. Although I wasn't fond of the soft gold tunic and pantaloon I wore, I judged that with my emerald kaftan and its matching turban it was suitable for this afternoon. The ensemble's overall look was rich yet not ostentatiously so, in my opinion.
Satisfied by my choice of garment, I affixed my rapier—the narrow-bladed dueling sword I favored—to my belt. Now that I was dressed, I decided to check on the many gifts I had brought for the royal family, as they were to be presented to them this evening. Needless to say, I wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible. Most of all, I desperately wanted to see Eva before the evening.
"Maybe my lord should wait for a guard to lead us there . . . later tonight, perhaps?" Milo suggested.
"No, Eva needs my support now."
A worried expression formed on Milo's face. "Poor Princess Eva. She must be devastated by her sister's kidnapping."
"Come, Milo. Let's go find her. She can use our comfort."
We left my rooms and walked in the direction of the big entrance we had passed earlier today. Once there, I saw that it was a crossroad that went in four different directions. I looked at each of the corridors and chose the broadest. After two bends, we found ourselves outside in the courtyard and had to turn around and return to the entrance. This time I chose the narrowest corridor.
Wrong road again, I thought upon exiting the corridor. I examined the empty square space we were in. Actually, it wasn't totally empty, a circular stone construction stood in its center.
Milo rushed to its edge. "It's an indoor well, my lord." He ran a hand over the well's stone rim and added, "There's a faint carving of a sea monster on it."
I shrugged. "Is there water in it?"
Milo bent over the well. "It's dry, my lord. There's hardly a puddle at the bottom."
Of course, the opposite would have been far too practical. Nothing in this castle seemed to be working properly, if it even existed at all. Everything looked old and rundown to me. My room was a particularly good example of this.
While inspecting the rest of the area, I noted an upward staircase on my left. I doubted this was the way to the throne room; it looked more like the base of one of the castle's towers to me. I approached the steps to take a peek up the stairs.
Upon setting foot on the first step, I froze in place as a wave of tingling coursed through my entire body. I shuddered and backed away. This was a too familiar sensation, one that conjured bad memories. I had felt a similar tingling before . . . back in Telfar . . . when my brothers were still alive. It was remnants of a spell. It was sorcery. It was magic.
I approached the steps again and reached out to touch the invisible veil of energy lingering in the air. My fingertips made contact with it and began tingling. Then all of a sudden the tingling ceased and the veil vanished. I found the sudden disappearance of the veil just as alarming as its presence had been. Now I had the feeling that something dreadful had happened here . . . something foul, something evil. I could swear to it.
"What is it, my lord?" Milo asked.
I let my hand fall to my side. "Nothing," I lied. "Come, let's leave this place." I turned around and froze in surprise.
A group of young noblemen stood a short distance from us with Lars at their head. I immediately knew we were in trouble. No need to be a seer to figure out they were up to no good. The vicious smirks on their faces were a clear indication of their intent.
Once the group got closer, one young nobleman turned to his friend and said, "Will you look at his fancy clothes. He's a dandy just like the other."
"Yes. He's definitively a dandy," agreed the other young man.
Milo and I exchanged puzzled looks.
"What's a dandy?" Milo mouthed silently.
"Pay no mind to it," I said under my breath as I surveyed the group.
"Is he going to marry your cousin?" one of the youngsters asked Lars.
"Hmmm," said a falsely pensive Lars, while giving me a thorough evaluation. "I don't know. I fear he doesn't really measure up to what is expected as a suitor for my cousin's hand."
"Definitely! He's so small," added the young nobleman.
What! I'm not small. Why is he saying that? Insulted, I glared at Lars. My height is average for a Telfarian, you stupid ignorant boy, I wanted to shout in that tall calf's face. Calm down, Amir. Calm down. Swallowing my anger, I bowed to Lars. "Greetings, honored noblemen."
Lars stepped forward. "Prince Amir, have you decided to go looking for the baths yourself this time?"
I looked at Milo's bruised face. Now I knew whose handiwork it was.
"I'll save you some time. There are no baths. Here, men wash with cold water or snow."
Or not at all, I thought. So far, everyone I had met, the king included, smelled of sweat, smoke, and rancid oil. I stared at Lars; he was making that ugly twisted face again. I wondered if it was the smell of his own stench that caused his grimacing.
Forcing a smile on my face, I gave Lars a polite nod. "I'm afraid we are lost. Thank you for offering to show us the way to the throne room."
It took Lars a while to react to my demand; obviously he had not expected me to ask him for help and didn't know what to do. So during that time, all I could do was watch his mouth open and close like a fish out of water. "What!" he blurted out when he finally regained the power of speech. "I'm not your servant to do your bidding. That's the gelding's duty."
Milo recoiled as if he had been slapped across the face.
"Lars," I hissed, "my valet isn't an animal."
"Perhaps. But he's certainly not a man." His chest puffed up, Lars grinned proudly as his friends applauded the cleverness of his retort.
"That's your opinion. Mine differs," I said. I was not going to argue with him, but I wasn't going to agree with him either.
"You're wrong," Lars said. "That thing is a vile perversion, and you are—"
"I'm warning you, young duke. I do not take insults lightly. Be careful of what you're about to say."
It was no use. Lars's eyes narrowed and his grin widened. "Oh, I will say what I damn well please."
"Even if untrue," someone shouted from behind the group of noblemen.
"Who said that?" Lars snapped. "Who dares call me a liar?"
The group split apart revealing a tall, well-built young man with long, dark wavy hair and a dimpled chin. He was dressed in the most garish peach satin outfit I had ever seen. Moreover, lace was bursting out from every visible opening of this ensemble—collar, cuffs, pockets—and even from around the gathering of his knickers. But what struck me the most about this man was his attitude. There was such an air of nonchalance about him, he looked fearless—to wear such clothes one had to be fearless, if nothing else, I suppose. His crooked, sarcastic smile, the kind that made you think he was laughing at you, only intensified that impression. I thought that the two put together, the attitude and the smile, made for a dangerous combination.
Extending his right foot forward, which was encased in a white high-heeled shoe with a bow on top, the man executed an elaborate curtsey, while waving a lacy handkerchief in the air. The move brought a powerful burst of lavender scent to my face. Tears welled up in my eyes. Lord, this man wore more perfume than all the concubines of my father's harem put together.
Milo leaned to my ear and whispered, "My lord, I believe this man is what they meant by a dandy."
"Shhh," I blew.
Rising from his curtsey, the newcomer sashayed toward us.
"You!" Lars sneered. "I should've known."
"Delighted to see you too, Lars."
"How dare you use my name. I have not permitted you such familiarity."
"I am deeply hurt, Lars. And I who thought we were close friends."
Lars snorted. "We were never friends."
The dandy twirled a lock of his long wavy hair. "Now I'm confused. You certainly behaved in a friendly manner when you came to see me two nights ago."
Lars's friends gasped. As for Lars, he turned bright red. "I've never! You're a liar!"
"Are you denying having met with me? The night's guards can confirm your presence at my door. Oh, and so can Countess Ivana. She was in my adjacent boudoir at the time. Surely you will not call her a liar too?"
"I was there for a piece of garment—for the ball. The coming ball. For that purpose alone."
The dandy placed a finger on his dimpled chin. "Strange. Somehow I remember it differently."
"I spoke the truth, you know it!" Lars said defensively.
"You spoke, I'll agree to that. As for the truth . . . were you not caught in a lie moments ago?"
"Sir! You've insulted me. I demand reparation."
To my astonishment, the dandy uttered an excited shriek while jumping with joy. "Marvelous! I just love a good fight."
I turned my attention to Lars; he was just as dumbfounded by the dandy's reaction as I was. A peek at Lars's friends told me that they too shared our feelings.
"I will not spare you," Lars warned the dandy. "This is a true combat. Choose your weapon."
"I choose my handkerchief," the dandy said, twirling the lacy piece of fabric in the air.
His face as red as a brick, Lars stamped his foot down. "A handkerchief isn't a weapon. Choose an adequate one."
"I beg to differ. In this case, my handkerchief is the adequate weapon."
"The man is mad," whispered Milo.
I nodded in agreement.
"As you wish," said Lars. He pulled his long sword, and without further ceremony charged the dandy. This one stayed in place fanning himself with his handkerchief until Lars was upon him. Then he took a slight step to the left, escaping the sword, and tripping Lars with one of his dainty feet.
"Oops," he exclaimed, staring apologetically at the sprawled Lars. "You haven't hurt yourself, I hope."
I had to bite my tongue not to laugh.
Lars leapt to his feet and swung his sword toward his opponent. In a swift move, the dandy twisted his handkerchief around the blade and pulled, ripping the sword out of Lars's hands. Tucking the sword under his arm, the dandy waved his handkerchief at Lars. "I told you my handkerchief was more than adequate for this battle."
Heaving with rage, Lars darted a murderous glare at the dandy. "I won't forget this."
"Oh, neither will I, and nor will your friends assembled here." The dandy produced a brilliant smile. "They'll remember this encounter forever. Detailed accounts of it will be spread throughout the castle and the country for years and years to come . . . I'm quite certain of this."
Stunned by the devastating repercussions of his defeat, Lars became as still as stone. I watched the blood slowly drain from his face, leaving it a pasty white. Then Lars broke his stillness, and his gaze turned to his friends.
The young nobles were all fighting back laughter as best they could. Some had their hands clamped over their mouths, while others tried to look elsewhere in the hope it would suppress their mirth—to no avail. A loud chuckle escaped from one of them. A few more young men in the group followed his example, and soon they were all bent over laughing. And when Lars turned around and left, with his back as straight as the castle's tower and his butt as tight as a merchant's purse, the noblemen's laughter reached a deafening crescendo.
Once they had regained their composure, which was long after Lars had disappeared from sight, the young noblemen congratulated the dandy on his victory. Then following in Lars's steps, they departed, leaving Milo and me alone with the dandy.
Discarding Lars's sword to the side, as if it were nothing more than a cumbersome piece of metal, the dark-haired man approached us and curtsied.
I bowed.
He rose. "Please permit me to introduce myself; I am Diego Del Osiega, Prince of Pioval. And you must be Prince Amir of Telfar?"
"Indeed, I am."
The dandy prince gave me a thorough examination. "You are exactly as I've imagined you: dark, exotic, and handsome." His gaze moved to Milo standing at my shoulder. "You, however, look nothing as I thought. I always envisioned eunuchs as . . . fat, ambiguously feminine individuals. Never would I have fathomed such a strapping, masculine young man. You will be very popular here, mark my words, very popular."
Once more Milo and I exchanged puzzled looks.
"Aaah!" Prince Diego exclaimed as if suddenly overcome by emotion. "Prince Amir, I must warn you about this horrid castle. It suffers from a deplorable lack of refinement. And you are quite clearly a very refined man. Our kind is a rare breed in this savage kingdom. Therefore we are destined to become best of friends."
Best of friends—with him! I tried not to cringe too much at that thought.
He stepped closer to me. "Oh, and those clothes you're wearing, they are sublime!" Prince Diego ran a long-fingered hand along the fur trim of my kaftan. "You must show me your wardrobe."
I stepped back.
He stepped forth, his hand still caressing my garment. "I demand to see all your treasures."
"Another day, perhaps," I said, stepping back again. This time, however, I moved far enough to get out of his reach. I couldn't believe the effrontery of this dandy. Quite frankly, right now I didn't know who was worse, my attacker or my savior, Prince Diego. I didn't care for this type of attention. Still, the man had come to my defense, and for this reason I had to display some gratitude toward him.
"Prince Diego, I must thank you for intervening on my behalf. That was a rather perilous act you just performed."
"Oh please, call me Diego. As for that little tiff with Lars, let me assure you, I was in no danger. The young duke's swordsmanship is rather like his wit, slow, predictable, and, overall, deficient."
"Nonetheless, I thank you. As you know, we've just arrived and this castle is—"
"Gloomy, dark, cold, and, my favorite above all, it stinks as foully as a putrid corpse."
"Hmm," I gave. "I was about to say foreign and confusing." I paused. For the briefest moment I wanted desperately to agree with the dandy. This place was exactly as he had said, if not worse.
"Foreign and confusing! How diplomatic of you." Prince Diego smiled. I noted that his smile did not reach his dark brown eyes, which remained intensely serious. "I would gladly be your guide," he offered. "I know the castle well. Its politics and etiquette even better."
I feigned thinking about his offer. I didn't want to insult the prince by saying no too quickly. It wasn't as if I didn't need the help, it was just that I didn't want his. There was something wrong about his constant joyfulness, something unnatural and artificial. Also, I didn't trust a man who could win a combat with a handkerchief. Or maybe it was just his clothes that repulsed me so. Oh let's be honest, I just didn't want to be associated with him. "I am thankful for the offer. However, I will try to face this castle's perils by myself."
If Prince Diego was disappointed, he didn't show it. "As you wish," he said. "But if you change your mind, the offer still stands." He curtsied, began walking away, then turned back toward us. "Where are my manners? I'm assuming that you are lost. If you're looking for the ceremonial throne room, it's through the long, narrow hall. That way." After having pointed us in the right direction, Prince Diego turned and left.
As I watched him disappear down the corridor, I began thinking about my decision. Perhaps refusing his help had been a mistake. This country and its customs were foreign to me, which could lead to embarrassing misunderstandings. Then again, I had already antagonized the king by arriving with a Farrellian escort. I couldn't do any worse now, could I?