A Royal Birthday (2 page)

Kiernan bared his teeth in a half-grin, half-snarl. “No, my ever-wise and tolerant princess, I haven’t. And I don’t have the time at present, so when she comes around that shelf I need you to pretend that I’ve just said the most witty, clever thing you’ve ever heard.” Now he gave his most charming grin. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

At that, Nalia snorted. But as they heard the light approaching footsteps, she tilted her head up at him, rolled her eyes, and let out a small chuckle. It wasn’t quite the all-consuming laugh he had asked for, but then he hadn’t really expected that. Nalia rarely let herself laugh that way when anyone but he was around, and certainly not in the library.

Behind him, he heard the sounds of someone taking a step forward, and then a step back, and finally deciding not to come any closer. A moment later, he hazarded a glance behind him and saw that Celine had left the library.

With a sigh of relief, he hooked a chair with his ankle, pulled it close, then let himself flop into it. “You have my undying thanks,” he said.

Nalia treated him to a small scowl. “You really do need to tell her that you don’t intend to kiss her anymore,” she said. “It’s not fair to make her think otherwise.”

“I haven’t
been
making her think otherwise, except for the once,” he protested. When she narrowed her eyes even farther, though, he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. She was right, of course, as she usually was when it came to matters of honor. “I’ll do it, I’ll do it. As soon as your feast is over.”

At his words, though, Nalia bit her lip and let go of her strand of hair to rub her hands up and down her arms, her eyes flitting away from him. Court functions always made her nervous, convinced as she was that she didn’t look quite right or would trip getting up from her seat. And court functions of which she was the focal point could push her to do things like hide out in the library until her ladies found her.

He gazed at her, then put a hand across the table, palm up. “You’ll be fine,” he said encouragingly.

Her eyes stayed on the floor.

“Besides, everyone will be concentrating on the gifts. Wanting to see what so-and-so brought, and whether it’s nicer than what they brought. As long as you make appropriately awed noises over every ivory comb and pearled glove, they’ll hardly even notice that you’re there.”

One corner of her mouth turned up, but her body stayed still with nerves.

“Just be sure you don’t look at me if anyone gives you
anything truly awful, because I’ll probably be making a face that will make you giggle.” Never mind that he’d be delivering one of the truly awful presents himself.

Now a small giggle did erupt from her, and he felt his own body relax as she let out a sigh, then looked up at him. Seeing his hand stretched toward her, she put her own in it. He gave it a gentle squeeze, telling himself that he was ignoring the smoothness of her skin and the way her small hand fit so well in his.

“It’s just that I hate everyone watching me,” she said. “I always feel like I’m going to do something foolish.”

“I’m much more likely to do something foolish in court than you are,” he told her. “You’ll recall that recent incident with the fish. But you,
you
will be fine, and the evening will be so busy that it will be over before you know it.”

“I know, I know.” She exhaled, then straightened her back and settled into what he always thought of as her princess posture, all dutifulness and formality. “But still, I’d have a better time if it were just you and me. None of the fuss and folderol, just a nice, simple … Kiernan?”

Kiernan blinked, suddenly aware of how foolish he must look. Because at her words, his mind had gone elsewhere.

“You’re right,” he said quickly. “That would be nicer. But, unless you plan on becoming someone other than the princess, not very practical.” He stood, though not before giving her hand one last squeeze. “And, speaking of practicality, if I’m to look more roguishly handsome than any other young noble in attendance on Your Highness, I should probably begin my preparations.”

“It won’t take my ladies that long to get
me
ready,” Nalia protested. “Not even if they forget that my hair won’t curl—ever—and try to put it into ringlets.”

“Beauty can’t be rushed,” he said blithely. “I’ll see you soon. There’s a birthday feast tonight, you know.”

And, for the first time that day, he was looking forward to it.

Kiernan enjoyed court functions. He liked the dancing and the food and the anticipation of seeing what the other nobles had chosen to wear. He liked the inevitable scandals and gossip, whether or not he was in the thick of them. He especially liked the opportunities that balls and feasts presented for a good trick or two.

Tonight, however, he couldn’t wait for Nalia’s birthday feast to be over for two reasons, one of them good—he hoped—and one of them bad. And, unfortunately, as he stood in the Great Hall watching Nalia accept her gifts, the bad reason was nearly upon him.

His parents had strategized the presentation of his gift like generals on the morning of a crucial battle. They had positioned themselves midway through the line, so as to make it clear that the statue came from Kiernan himself, and Kiernan had been maneuvered to the very back of the line of gift givers, so that his present would stand out in the minds of Nalia and her parents. The statue itself had been wrapped in a swath of red silk, the royal family’s color. Though it had not felt heavy at first, after more than an hour of holding it, his arms ached, and his attempt to use the silk as a sling had only earned him a sharp look from his father.

The ridiculous politicking had given him a headache and a return of the nasty sourness in his stomach when he visualized sweeping off that piece of red silk and presenting the statue to
Nalia. Only focusing on his gift—his true gift—had kept him from “accidentally” letting the statue fall to see if he could break off its too-perfect nose. That and the fact that he stood on a long, royal red carpet, and the statue would probably bounce rather than break.

As a rule, Kiernan wasn’t used to worrying, and he found the entire experience unpleasant. Fortunately—or unfortunately—he was distracted from that worry when a tall, blonde form appeared at his side.

“I saw you earlier today,” Celine Andovia said, smiling so that her dimples showed. As usual, she sounded slightly out of breath, but more as if she had just gracefully fainted rather than as if she had run across the palace. “I called out to you, but the hall was so crowded I don’t think you heard me.”

Kiernan produced a smile that he hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt. They weren’t yet close enough to Nalia and the king and queen that it would be rude of him to talk to Celine while he waited. “I had no idea,” he lied. “But I have to admit that my head was taken up with the coming feast.” Celine could interpret that however she wanted.

“It is very wonderful, isn’t it?” she asked. “Her Highness liked our gift. Did you see it? The set of gold-and-ruby hair combs. My mother and I chose them.”

“How lovely.” Kiernan grimaced inside; Nalia was more likely to use them as bookmarks than hair combs, if they were thin enough.

“Of course, as much as I like the Great Hall during a feast, the gardens are so refreshing at night,” Celine went on, her blue eyes wide and her cheeks turning ever so slightly pink as she gazed at him.

Now Kiernan did grimace. He didn’t want to have this conversation now, but if she was going to bring up the gardens and blush at him … “Celine,” he said gently, speaking softly so that they wouldn’t be overheard and feeling like the worst sort of knave, “I think I may have given you the wrong impression. It’s entirely my fault,” he added quickly as she paled. “I can be … impetuous with my feelings. Sometimes they get away from me.” He ignored the exasperated sigh in his head that told him to stop dragging it out, a sigh that sounded suspiciously like Nalia. “I like you, Celine, but not … that way.”

She swallowed, one hand going to her throat, and he wondered if it would be physically possible to kick himself. “Of course,” she said softly. “I understand.”

Surely it wouldn’t pain her for too long, he thought guiltily. Celine was pretty and sweet if not altogether bright. There were plenty of other young men at the palace who would eagerly court her, but he still felt like a scoundrel. “I’m sorry, Celine,” he said. “Truly, I am.”

“No, no,” she said with a weak wave of her hand. Then she paused. “Only, is there someone else?”

Kiernan glanced down at his hands and the statue in them, and not toward the large chairs where the royal family sat. Oh, there was one someone, but he wasn’t about to confide in Celine.

He couldn’t remember the moment when he had realized that he was in love with his best friend. Perhaps it had been the time that he had persuaded Nalia to help him try to trap one of the ducks that lived in the palace gardens’ ponds; covered in pond scum, they’d barely managed to get back to their rooms without being spotted. Perhaps it had been the night of the last great
snowfall, when they had sneaked outside in the moonlight and thrown snowballs at each other until her hair sparkled with bits of freezing water. Perhaps it had simply been one of the innumerable times when she looked up at him from one of her books and smiled, a bit of ink on her cheek and her hair loose in her eyes.

The when didn’t really matter, though. All that mattered was that he loved Nalia, and that he never let her know it. No matter his parents’ delusions, she was destined for a king, or a second-born prince at the very least. And Kiernan had decided that he would rather remain her best friend than chance ruining their friendship by declaring his love openly, not knowing if she returned it and knowing that it wouldn’t matter even if she did.

“No,” he said to Celine. “There’s no one else.”

Celine nodded, looking up. The line had moved close enough that it would be rude for Kiernan to devote his attention to anything but the royal family, so she gave him one last glance, then moved away. Kiernan let out a small sigh once she had left. It had, he supposed, gone as well as it might. And now his other concerns pushed away his remaining guilt over Celine.

He never quite knew why Nalia was so convinced that she would bungle whatever princessy thing she had to do. Nalia sat between her parents, the queen on her right and the king on her left. They looked on with pride as each gift was presented to her and then borne away, though Kiernan thought the queen looked oddly tired, her smile a bit tight. Nalia smiled graciously at each gift, making a comment about the fine workmanship or complimenting the style. She looked properly royal, not basking in the attention paid to her but not uncomfortable in it, either.

In fact, he felt certain that he was one of the only people who would notice the strain the evening was causing her. It probably didn’t help that few of the presents had anything to do with her true interests—too many sapphires and not nearly enough books. He gripped the statue tighter, wishing for the thousandth time that he didn’t have to give it to her.

Only one person stood ahead of him now. Kiernan watched as Neomar Ostralus, the head of the wizards’ college, presented her with an empty silver vase. Holding it on one palm, he touched one of the designs etched into the silver, and suddenly a bouquet of perfect roses trembled in the vase. A touch on a different design brought forth a group of pure white lilies, and another, bright purple orchids. Seeing them, Nalia grinned a real grin—not because cut flowers thrilled her, Kiernan knew, but because magic in all its forms fascinated her. That the flowers were illusions and not real would only please her more.

And then it was his turn.

“Your Highness,” he said as he stepped forward. “May I present a small token of my esteem on this, your royal birthday?”

The little speech had been his parents’ doing, and he could tell from the way that the barest corners of her mouth twitched that she knew it. As he pulled the red silk away, he hoped she would realize the same about the present. The girl was as beautiful—and awful—as he recalled. And he felt his heart clench as Nalia did exactly what he had expected—pressed her lips together for the smallest moment as she compared the statue to herself. But then she was smiling, saying something about it having a place of honor in her rooms, the princess again.

Most of those who had approached her had contented
themselves with a curtsy or bow as they left, but none of them was her best friend. Kiernan stepped forward, took her hand, and bent over it.

He whispered so softly that only she would hear. “Meet me at the door to the north servants’ quarters after everything’s over for your real present.”

The feast went late into the night. It felt longer because of the looks that quite a few people, including Celine, kept giving him, looks that said they knew what he—or at least his family—was about. Luckily, those looks were somewhat mitigated by the anticipatory glances Nalia kept shooting him when no one else was watching.

Finally, sometime after midnight, the king and queen and their daughter retired, giving everyone else silent leave to do the same. Kiernan waited until the last of the nobles had drifted back to their rooms before going to retrieve the two brown, nondescript cloaks he had stashed in his own room. He crept through the now much quieter palace until he reached the doors to the north servants’ quarters. He waited there only a moment before a small figure came down the darkened corridor toward him.

“Put this on,” he whispered as she neared him.

Nalia shrugged the cloak over her shoulders. With a quick look around them, she whispered, “Where are we going?”

“Up,” Kiernan said with a grin. Then, laying a finger over his lips, he opened the door to the servants’ quarters and ushered her inside.

The halls here were narrower than in the public parts of the palace, but, luckily, they encountered no one. Most of the palace servants would be trying to catch a few hours’ sleep before the
nobles rose; only the kitchen workers would still be cleaning up from the feast. Up and up they went, until the last staircase they reached had enough dust on it that they left footprints. Nalia shot him a questioning look when they reached a place where the tiny, steep staircase stopped, a trapdoor set in the ceiling above it. He winked at her, placed his hands on the trapdoor, and pushed up with all his strength. Cool night air flooded over them as the trapdoor opened. Going up the stairs that now led through the trapdoor, he reached a hand back down for Nalia, then stepped back to let her see his present.