-Alfonse-
True to my word, I woke to leave the Flower Bed near six o’clock the following morning. And my vague threat proved to be effective, as Madam Elain met me at the rear door with a sheaf of paper containing several new notes. Interesting how much more efficient one could become with the proper motivation. But then, she had never failed to deliver in the past, so I knew it wouldn't be necessary to follow through with my threats.
I had come from Aurilême to Vallerie alone, a thought that would have sent my mother’s head reeling with unwarranted fear; despite knowing otherwise, she tended to assume that her children needed an escort any time they traveled. I wasn’t concerned with bandits on the road, nor did it especially bother me to be alone with my own thoughts. Besides, what my mother didn’t know couldn’t distress her.
On my arrival, I had left my horse, a strong-willed dark bay by the name of Abrielle, in the care of a local stable. The groom I spoke to seemed relieved that I had come to retrieve him. “Surely he couldn’t have caused you much trouble in only a few days,” I said as I followed him inside, though I wasn’t certain how true that was. Like myself, Abrielle was prone to restlessness, so being forced to stay still while I attended my business in the city had likely frustrated him.
“No, my lord, not trouble,” the groom answered quickly as if in fear he might offend me. He was young, I supposed, and I’d been told I had an intimidating air about me at times. Now that I was no longer playing the part of Oleander, I must have seemed less welcoming. “But I think he’ll be pleased to have more space to roam.” That much, we could agree on.
I gave the young man a tip for his patience, and within minutes, Abrielle and I were cantering down the main road that would lead us back to the capital. Assuming his usual speed and stamina remained, the journey would take us roughly two full days. Magdalene was sure to grouse at me for being away for so long, but she wasn’t the sort to hold grudges; she would forgive me soon enough.
Because our traveling left me largely idle, I found my mind wandering, not only to my duties at home, not only to the work I had been neglecting for the past week (which I much looked forward to addressing), but to something unexpected: my previous night in the Flower Bed, and the evening’s patron in particular.
As the Sun made its way higher overhead, I wondered whether Jaonah and his cousin the diplomat had begun their travels as well. Elves were quite fond of efficiency and practicality in all things—or so I had been told—but then, they were royalty. Perhaps they were the lazy sort to sleep in and only travel when it pleased them. Perhaps they would have found Vallerie’s temptations too powerful to leave behind and chosen to stay another night. Would Jaonah look for me, I wondered? Would he find Carelles an apt substitute? I somehow felt that Carelles might be a bit too soft for his liking—not that it was any concern of mine.
Contrary to my own will, I recalled the way he’d looked me while we were in bed, the soft tension in his touch, the kindness in his eyes that was all but alien to me. ‘Beauty,’ he’d called me. So bizarre to see such honesty in a kingdom that thrived on secrets. As the country thrives, so do her rulers.
Firmly pushing those images from my mind, I reminded myself that it was Oleander who had caught his eye, Oleander whose coy flirtation had won him over, Oleander who had shared that one night of pleasure with him. Jaonah’s infatuation was with a poisonous Flower, not a Gardener, and certainly not a prince.
Our trip wore on, and my mount’s energy astounded, as always. We stopped rarely and briefly for water and food, then again at nightfall for an hour or two of sleep. It was, as expected, dawn two days hence when finally we passed through the palace gates and I was able to lead Abrielle to the stables.
“And not a moment too soon,” I teased, patting his sweat-dampened neck. “I think you could use a bath, my friend.” Of course, the same could be said of me.
The stablehand who met us was clearly still half-asleep, and he nearly choked on a yawn when his eyes registered my face. “Prince Alfonse!” he stammered, trying to smooth his mussed hair and nervously avoiding my eyes. “Please forgive my untidiness, highness; I didn’t expect you. Was your trip pleasant?”
“Of course. I’m always grateful for the opportunity to see more of our fair country.” Handing off Abrielle’s reins, I asked, “You’ll see to him?”
“Yes, certainly. I’m sure you must be weary from traveling. Please, leave him to me.”
“Thank you.” Confident that he was in capable hands, I hurried inside the palace and moved as quietly through the halls as possible toward my own room. At this time, much of my family and many of our servants were still asleep; perhaps by that virtue, I managed to reach my own quarters without being (for lack of a better word) caught.
After a deliciously hot bath and, more importantly, a few hours of solitude, I emerged from my room dressed in proper royal fashion—which is to say, richly and formally—only to find Magdalene waiting just outside my door. The crimson mulberry silk of her gown stood out starkly against the pale palace walls, the warm brown of her skin contrasting the cold glint in her eye. To say I was surprised to see her would’ve been a lie.
“Pleasure to have you back, highness.” Her low voice, accented with a dialect of Rilleaudin not common in the capital, had a certain edge to it that betrayed her irritation.
“Pleasure to be back, spymaster.”
“Don’t think you can win my forgiveness by flattering me with bygone titles,” she answered, waving away my pleasant airs. “Could we speak in private?”
I could hardly refuse a request from her, knowing her frustration was fully justified. With a defeated sigh, I stepped back and gestured for her to join me in my room. She did, posture straight as ever, arms folded. Her body language gave away little, as one might expect of a woman who had spent her entire life capitalizing on deception. Her being twice my age simply meant she had twice—no, several times—my experience.
“Four days. That is what you told me,” she started, gazing idly out the window on the far wall. “A visit to collect what the Flowers had gathered. Any Raptor could have accomplished the same, yet you insisted it should be you. I realize now that the reports were never your priority. You simply wanted the opportunity to indulge Oleander. I should have expected as much.”
It wasn’t like me to spend much time dwelling on guilt. In my line of work, it just wasn’t practical. Yet of all the people I could have disappointed, of all the associates who could have berated me, Magdalene’s disapproval cut the deepest by far. “He does have admirers in Vallerie,” I pointed out, though I knew my argument was weak. “Admirers who are of use to us. And if Elain isn’t kept in line, she tends to forget what she’s there for.”
“Meaning you needed an additional three days to corral her?” my mentor hissed, rounding on me so her shining black finger coils flared out around her head. “Bear in mind who trained you to be the apt deceiver and manipulator that you are, Alfonse; of all targets you could choose to exercise those talents, I will not be one.”
Quickly losing the will to defend myself, I lowered my head in a deferential bow. “I had a lapse of discipline. It was irresponsible and I apologize.” Straightening up again to meet her eyes, I went on, “But the sooner you allow me to move forward from that mistake, the sooner I can attend to the duties I’ve been neglecting.”
She watched me sternly for only a moment longer before taking a deep breath and letting it out as a sigh. “My chastising you won’t change what’s done, it’s true. But the next time you leave for Vallerie, I will be accompanying you.” Nevertheless, she waved the issue aside. “Go and eat breakfast with your family, highness. Nicolette has missed you, and your mother—”
“Worries. I’m aware. I’ll go let her know that I arrived uninjured so she might stop fretting,” I said wearily, following Magdalene out of my room and locking the door behind me. As she turned to our left, rather than right toward the dining hall, I frowned. “Will you not be joining us?”
“Someone has to ready the Garden for its keeper’s return,” she pointed out quietly so the sound wouldn’t carry. The Garden was quite a controversial subject within the Rodin household. “Never fear, you and I will be spending much of our day together once you’ve seen to your family’s concerns.” She inclined her head, then turned on her heel to stride purposefully down the corridor, presumably toward our office. As I made my way toward the dining hall, fingertips absently tracing the patterns of polished gneiss laid into the travertine walls, I thought up the lie I would give my family to explain my absence.
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