Swordpoint Diplomacy chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

Slowly, she put down the vase. That would significantly decrease the temptation of hitting foreign royalty with low quality ceramics. She licked her lips. The man himself sauntered into the room, not letting up on his examination of her. 

An older man of perhaps sixty stayed in the entry. He had his hands behind his back and a blank expression. Rose dismissed him- he wasn’t part of the conversation. The important person here was Marcel.

‘He doesn’t seem openly hostile, and he definitely knows who I am. This doesn’t have to be an aggressive situation.’

Rose gave him her court smile, softening the corners of her eyes and letting her head tilt just that little bit to the side. She had nothing nice to say about the pottery, so- “Prince Marcel,” she greeted. Reflex had her shifting her weight to slide into a curtsy. It was a mistake. Her injured leg buckled. She jerked the other way to catch herself and hit her forearm on the shelf with an obnoxiously loud thump. She sucked in a long, controlled breath through her teeth. It was obvious, but it was more dignified than any kind of yelp.

Prince Marcel stopped mid lunge. Rose glanced at him in time to see the open concern in his wide eyes before he fixed his face again into polite distance. He had covered half the distance between them in the instant when she’d stumbled.

Well then. She quirked her eyebrow and held an arm up expectantly.

He looked at her.

Rose blinked at him, projecting the exact well-bred energy she would wield in court back home.

Marcel broke. He stepped up, murmured, “Princess,” and he took her arm. She held her head up high and leaned on him as much as she needed to. He escorted her to the desk, pulled out the chair for her, and bowed. She took her hand back and brushed out her skirts as she sat.

The old man who was still in the doorway gave her a distinctly unfriendly look. He was probably there to be their chaperone, after all.

It occurred to her for the first time that this was incredibly indecent. Everything was covered, yes. But she was in her underthings. No, worse. She was in someone’s borrowed underthings.

“Prince Marcel,” Rose said calmly. She forced eye contact. “Might I borrow a dress?”

It was almost funny how fast his face changed to abject horror. His face turned red. He took two steps backward and bowed in an obvious attempt to hide his face. “Of course.” He sounded strangled. “Please excuse me.”

Rose tilted her head to the side and watched him escape. There was no other word for how he rushed out of the room.

‘I think I won that interaction. He didn’t get to say whatever he came to say, and he didn’t get angry either.’

She probably wasn’t meant to overhear the conversation he had about a minute later. He must have been down the hallway. She had to be in the family quarters, above the main hall of the keep. Her room was probably at the end, so that if she escaped she would have to pass through the whole living quarters.

Marcel’s voice had an irritating rumbly quality to it. In the same room, his careful intonation had made him easy enough to understand. At a distance, it was low and incomprehensible. Rose scowled, leaning that much closer to try to understand what was going on.

‘Either my guard is posted rather far away, or that isn’t who he is talking to.’

The idea that they didn’t have someone posted at her door was too insulting to be true, so she discarded it immediately. Perhaps Marcel had a second of some sort, or there was someone in the keep’s hierarchy nearby. Castellan LaGown might be invested in a prisoner princess in her keep. On the other hand, she might be too busy with the army that was hopefully still attacking her front gate. Rose really hoped that the army was at the front gate.

The voice that answered him was female, moderate in pitch, and strident. She caught a few words- “absolutely,” “unimportant,” and “severance.” Rose frowned. She tried to put those into the framework of a larger conversation but it was hopeless. If there was an unheard “not” in front of “unimportant,” for example, it would reverse any kind of meaning she could guess at.

She huffed, blowing out the strands of hair that had fallen around her face. Whoever had searched her had ruined her hair.

Oh.

Disquieted, she put a hand through her hair and touched the curls speculatively. That realization felt worse, somehow, than the knowledge that someone had undressed her. Her hair was just so personal.

‘Why bother doing that? Did they think I was sneaking some kind of weapon in my hair? Was it to make me look less put-together and dignified?’

She shuddered.

For the first time, the room felt small. It felt as though the walls were a trap that would press in on her from all sides. Her heartbeat picked up again. Rose snarled, angry at her weakness. She thumped her fist against her breastbone twice, willing her disobedient heart to calm down. This was- it was bad. There was no denying that the situation was bad. She had been thoroughly outplayed using the principles of low war. She could hardly be haughty about that, given that her plan had been similarly underhanded.

But she wasn’t dead. They were not going to kill her, especially not after all the trouble of- of-

Rose stopped breathing for a moment. For the first time, she recognized the ugly fact that there was a traitor in her conference. Very few people had known where she would be. She stared that fact in the eye and she did not move until she heard the faint sounds of booted feet coming to her jail. She was ready for the door to swing open this time. Only one person came in, but she’d heard at least two walking. Prince Marcel, listening in?

“Princess Rosetta,” a hard-faced woman said. Her blue eyes were unforgiving and her mouth was tight. Her black-gloved hand was curled into a fist at her side, her other hand at the handle of a sword. “My apologies for your inconvenience. Regretfully, we did not have anything suitable for you in my wardrobe.”

Rose looked at the other woman and estimated her height to be about average.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said mildly. Even when she was seated, it was easy to see that she was taller than LaGown, with proportions to match. Rose was taller than most men. Not taller than most noblemen, of course- generations of good nutrition led to sturdier bodies than privation ever could. But Rose was a tall woman even in her proper social context. “I don’t mind if the skirts are a bit short.”

“Yes,” the woman said distastefully. She seemed to view the conversation as an unpleasant frivolity. The lines around her mouth deepened. “If it pleases her highness, I can send you fabric and thread so that you might have something befitting your status. You have the time, after all.”

Her mouth felt very sour indeed when Rose had to say, “Yes, I do. That would be lovely.” She bit down on her tongue. Helpless fury at the added humiliation of being too large to clothe threatened to undermine her dignity. She would not cry. She would not cry in front of this woman. “Do I have the pleasure of meeting Castellan Yvette LaGown, perchance?”

The woman was the right age, after all, about her forties and with the pale eyes of southern nobility. LaGown nodded. “I neglected to introduce myself. My apologies.” Her voice was as cold as her blue eyes.

‘I can’t believe people think my eyes are unnatural. Hers are scary. She has chips of ice.’

“Thank you for the explanation,” Rose said, choking out the polite words that she needed to say. “I don’t suppose that I could borrow men’s clothing for the time being?” They’d taken her out of the same clothes any other soldier would wear, after all. She wouldn’t be offended.

The Castellan seemed amused for the first time. “Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be possible.” Her smile was unpleasant. “I understand if this means that you don’t feel comfortable to have your conversation with the Prince. A pity, he has so been looking forward to making your acquaintance.”

‘She doesn’t want me to talk to him.’ Clarity came in a bolt. She didn’t know why, but she did know that the Castellan wanted to make it difficult for the prince to talk to her.

'She thinks he'll be too soft on me. He wants to talk to me- maybe he can be talked around to seek diplomatic solutions.'

“That won’t be necessary.” She raised her voice a little louder than she absolutely had to. “I’m sure that propriety will understand your limitations. I would be delighted to speak with the Prince further, now that I understand the situation.”

The Castellan’s nose flared at the dig. “How kind,” LaGown said tightly. She gave a bow, exactly proper in depth and time. Rose did not mistake the manners for respect. “If you will excuse me.”

“You may go,” Rose said kindly, because she could and because it was the only way that she could get back at this woman at all.

Castellan LaGown did not slam the door behind her. She might have wanted to, but she was terribly precise and controlled as she shut it. A moment later came the sound of a lock.

The walls loomed in again.