Soldiers of the guard slammed the doors of the Presence Chamber, their captain with drawn sword preventing any approach from outside. The West Gallery filled with alarmed courtiers and servants. Within, four men stood watching as Prince Henry coolly tested his blade.
‘Now, my lord Aloysius. Willi’s laid out three swords on the table from which you may select any you prefer. The seconds may take the two you leave. Personally I find the hand guard of the Hungarian sabre cumbersome, but as you prefer.’
Finally, Graf Aloysius found his voice. ‘Sire ... royal highness ... I ... really. I cannot ...’
‘Cannot what, sir? Act like a gentleman when a frank apology is offered you by another? Cannot stop yourself disgracing your family name with debt? Cannot stop yourself taking tainted foreign money? Sir, there are a lot of “cannots” associated with you.’
Willi von Strelsau’s voice drawled. ‘Really Henry, you should let me do this. It’s kind of you and all to want to skewer the man, but it is my affair.’
The prince glared at the count. ‘This man has gone too far, Willi, in so many ways. But now he attaints my honour, the honour of the House of Elphberg! Well sir, I might have had to look on while my kinsman was berated and insulted by you, but now the affair is mine, and I will not let it pass. No more words.’
Graf Aloysius fell to his knees. ‘Your mercy, sire! Mercy! I cannot draw a sword on you. Any insult I may have made in the heat of the moment, it was not directed at you.’
‘You ask my mercy, sir! Well damn it! Where’s the apology in that?’
‘Of course, sire. I was wrong, I most abjectly apologise.’
‘You do, eh? And what about Willi here. You wouldn’t accept his apology, and now you ask me to accept yours!’
‘What else can I do, sire?’
The prince dropped his blade. ‘What else? Well I suppose a little foreign tour might do you some damned good. Go to France. No doubt your good friend Monsieur de Meulan can find you a place. Sir, I dismiss you from my household. Leave my court. I do not see you. You men, take this fellow and remove him from the palace.’
Silence followed as the guardsmen, directed by Graf Almaric, seized Aloysius and marched him from the Presence Chamber, the doors closing behind them. ‘You got it wrong, Henry,’ Willi eventually observed. ‘It should have been “I might have had to look on while my beloved kinsman was berated and insulted by you ...”’
‘What?’ Serge was bewildered.
He became even more so when the prince shrugged, grinned apologetically and replied ‘It was extempore improvisation, Willi.’
Willi spread his hands. ‘Phoebus, in that scene we just witnessed, the dramatic impact of which I can do nothing other than admire, our dear prince was drawing on a passage from that brilliant court masque Ajax and Medon set at the court of Oileus, king of Locris, which I have to confess I myself scripted and which was performed to an audience of three bored princesses, the youngest of whom fell fast asleep during its single performance, in the year ’88 over in the East Wing there.’
Serge trawled his capacious memory for ancient literature. ‘Medon? He’s in the Fifteenth Book of the Iliad: “He from Oileus came; him Ajax honour’d with a brother’s name, though born of lawless love and from home expelled”.’
‘Impressive as ever, Phoebus. It was a scene modelled of course on my own tragic life. His Royal Highness made a vigorous Locrian Ajax and I a proper little bastard. My death by the dart of Aeneas in the arms of my loving lord and kinsman Ajax was really quite affecting.’
Prince Henry snorted. ‘You took some amusement in the fact that my character was the Lesser Ajax of the Iliad.’
‘Let me get this straight in my mind, sire. You two just despatched Graf Aloysius with the help of a scene from amateur dramatics you concocted together at the age of fourteen?’
Willi shook his head. ‘I told you long ago, Phoebus, that the court is all a performance. You’ve just seen a rather accomplished confirmation of it.’
The prince agreed. ‘Willi knows what he’s talking about, my lord. There’s no better training to be a prince than the stage, as we have more than once discovered. So now I have a vacancy for a First Groom, and that post, Phoebus, I offer to you.’
‘So, do I get promoted to Second Groom?’
‘No Willi, of course not. Your stupid prank last week proved you have yet to mature enough to be trusted. Just because its outcome served my purposes does not absolve you. I shall ask my lord Almaric for names. I must consider his opinion on the matter. He has a right to be consulted, after all. And now thank the Lord I can appoint a groom to suit me, rather than a drunken libertine who sneaks on me to my father and is in the pay of the French ambassador.’
***
The bells for the morning angelus from the cathedral of St Vitalis woke Karl Wollherz as usual. It took him a moment to remember why someone else’s belly was pressing against his back in his narrow bed. He turned and grinned. Andreas was still asleep. He jabbed him with his sharp elbow and sat up.
‘Get up, sleepy-eyes.’
Andreas woke, stretched and gave a surprised smile. ‘That was real sleep! All warm, clean and safe.’
‘Yeah, but not much room to move round in. I hope Master Jan takes the hint about a bigger bed. But otherwise we’re going to have to sleep jammed together. There’s no spare room for you in the house so the only chance of your own bed is if you sleep over in the barn loft.’
‘I don’t mind sharing with yer,’ Andreas shrugged. ‘We were in the same bed in that cellar at the friary.’
‘Yeah and not just us, but bedbugs and fleas too and they weren’t good neighbours. I hated that place so much. Time to get up and get dressed. I’ve got to show you the routine, and Mistress Margrit will be waiting for us.’
They quickly swarmed into their clothes, Andreas admiring Karl’s livery coat and waistcoat with their gold buttons. ‘That’s so smart,’ he pronounced. ‘Can’t wait for mine to arrive.’
Karl beamed. ‘And I’ve got a blue set in the chest there for when I ride with my lord in his army uniform, with proper riding breeches and knee boots, and that’s even smarter! Even my own sword, like a gentleman!’
They clattered down from the garret to the kitchen. The smell of fresh bread greeted them. ‘Wash hands and faces first!’ they were warned. ‘And use the soap. I’ll check behind your ears, mind.’
‘Now then,’ Margrit continued while they complied, ‘my lord Sergius slept at the palace, but lord Boromeo is upstairs. We don’t know the younger gentleman’s intentions as to rising, Andreas, but Master Jan requires you to wake him if he’s not up by eight, which means you knock first on his bedchamber door before you go in with warm towel and hot water. But no food in bedrooms. We serve breakfast in the parlour, and you stand by the wall while he eats. You don’t talk to him unless he addresses you first. Got that? He’s to try out his new uniform later this morning, to see if it must go back for alterations. You’ll find time this afternoon to polish up the metalwork, the cuirass and sword. And no fooling around.’
‘Yes mistress,’ Andreas piped up. ‘Am I to go and fetch my new red coat from Herr Meisel today?’
‘Later this afternoon. The good Master Meisel is always prompt. Now sit you both down. You’re lucky enough to have time for a proper breakfast this morning, which will not always be the case.’ Smiling to herself, she filled large plates for them with egg and sausage, with rounds of fragrant bread and golden pats of butter, and silence fell as the boys did full justice to her skills.
Once satisfied, calling out their thanks, they hurried out into the yard. The sun was rising in a clear sky and it was a chilly morning, their breath steaming. Karl handed Andreas a scarf as they went.
Gottlieb was on his way in to get his own breakfast. ‘You the new page?’ he asked. ‘Well, remember you don’t go into the stables till I’ve mucked the horses out, or you’ll trail shit into the house and Master Jan won’t like that. Hear me?’
‘Yeah,’ Andreas assented, but rolled his eyes. ‘Moody bugger,’ he remarked to Karl.
‘No friend to me, Ando, that’s for sure. I’ll tell you about the horses. We’ve got five now. There’re my lord’s two stallions, called Erebus and Acheron. Your lord’s stallion is number three: he’s called Onyx, and I’ll have to show you how to saddle and harness him some time. They’re in stalls in the stables. But the mares are in the new boxes in the barn. Gottlieb can’t stop me going in to them, ‘cos my lord gave me Brunhild. She’s my own horse, and she’s amazing. She’s met Jonas Niemand, and Jonas can actually talk to her.
‘Jennet is Master Jan’s mare usually, but maybe he’ll let you exercise her. I take out my Brunhild for a ride every day. We rent a close of pasture out in the Altstadt fields we can use to trot around, and Gottlieb and his brother are building a shed with boxes there for when the mares come into heat. He may be annoying, but I gotta admit he can do stuff like that well enough.
‘Gottlieb does the mucking out and grooming, even of the mares. We usually only have to do it when we’re on the road with the masters, but we still have to rub them down and brush them if we go out on them for a ride.’
Andreas grabbed and hugged his friend. ‘Listen, Karlo, after working the Shambles, I can put up with any barn, and horse shit smells as good as flowers to me.’
***
‘Good morning, Andreas.’
‘Hullo, Master Jan.’
Jan Lisku surveyed the new page, towel over his arm and a steaming basin of hot water held in his hands, trying to work out how to knock on Boromeo’s bedchamber door while thus burdened. ‘Let me do that for you. And don’t wait for an answer. If he’s like other thirteen-year-olds, it’ll take a while for things to register. In you go.’
Jan followed Andreas in. He was curious as to how the relationship between the two might work out. It was important that it should.
‘Good morning, my lord,’ Jan began agreeably. There was a silent shift in the mound under the blankets. ‘Time to rise I’m afraid.’
A head appeared, its blonde hair wildly disarranged. ‘Huh?’
‘My lord. Time to be up. It’s eight, and the kitchen has your breakfast ready. Your brother will be here in an hour or two, and I imagine he has plans. In the meantime, your page here is waiting.’
Boromeo slumped back and groaned, but he pushed himself up, yawning, and swung his thin legs over the edge of the bed, head hanging down. Andreas took the opportunity to place the basin under his face. Boromeo splashed it and groped for the towel.
Yawning, he stood up. ‘Very good, my lord,’ Jan encouraged. ‘Your page will now dress you, as you are old enough to receive that attention. I will see you very soon.’ Jan headed for the door, pointing out to Andreas as he went the day’s clothing already folded and ready on a chest nearby.
Andreas stared at Boromeo, who stared back at him. The other boy overtopped him but he was very skinny, while Andreas was designed by nature to be well-proportioned, sturdy and muscular. Boromeo’s feet under his nightshirt looked too big for the rest of him.
Andreas decided to take charge. ‘Shirt, my lord?’
Boro silently lifted his nightshirt over his head. His pale body was verging on the skeletal. He was however maturing fast in some directions, his member was reddish and long and hung down from a small brown bush. Andreas was still immature in that department, but he reflected that lords ate better so probably got a head start on him.
Andreas fitted a linen shirt over his master’s head and helped him with the arms, then he tied a neckcloth neatly under his chin, as Karl had shown him. He got the boy to stand in his drawers and pulled them up, tying them at the waist. Then he took a comb and neatly arranged his lord’s long hair. Stockings followed and then he repeated the exercise with the green breeches, buttoning them at the sides and at the knees. A dark green waistcoat and coat topped off the ensemble. Andreas inspected the result, remembering Karl’s injunction to brush the coat free of lint and dandruff.
‘Very good, my lord,’ Andreas said, consciously affecting Jan Lisku’s brisk tone. ‘Now please step into your shoes.’
‘Oh!’ said Boromeo. ‘I have red heels!’
‘Yes sir, Master Jan decided that as yer’s an army officer it’s time yer looked a proper nobleman. He expects yer will want to walk out with yer sword, which is kept in the porch. So these are yer brother’s shoes that should fit yer. Breakfast’s in the parlour, sir. I’ll be down as soon as I’ve tidied yer room.’
His master paused and studied him. ‘What do I call you?’ he asked.
‘Andreas, sir.’
‘And ... you’re a friend of Karl Wollherz?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And do you know about ...?’
‘Jonas Niemand? I met him yesterday, sir. Quite the surprise it were.’
‘I’ll bet.’ Boromeo pondered. ‘For a while I thought it was my mind playing tricks, but he really is ...’
‘Real, sir. Unbelievable, but he’s real enough. And he’s good, sir. He took away all my ills and vermin.’
Boromeo seemed relieved. ‘I’m glad you know ... Andreas. It makes things a lot easier for me.’
‘Yes sir, and what with the army and all, you’ll have enough else to worry yer. Yer uniform comes this morning, Mistress Margrit says.’
***
Colonel Dudley was on the verge of leaving Strelsau and so Prince Henry honoured him with an invitation to join him for breakfast, which was served in the Presence Chamber. Lady Ulrica and the two remaining grooms completed the table.
The prince was in a very cheerful mood after the previous evening’s crisis. ‘Dudley, damn me but we’ll miss you when you’re gone. You’ve put not just the Prinzengarde in the field, but my dragoons and foot regiment. They’re to exercise here in Strelsau in March, you know.’
‘Pray you’ll have a chance to do more than exercise them soon, sire,’ said the colonel. ‘For my part I have some serious work ahead of me when I return to Vienna. There are two foot and two horse regiments to get to Lombardy in time for the new campaign and in a state to make a difference. But I’m relieved to leave your brigade in good order.’
The prince pondered a moment. ‘I’ve appointed lieutenant-colonels for the musketeer regiments from among the local nobility. Whom would you suggest for my Prinzengarde?’
‘Von Meiningen and Britzenfeld for the dragoons and musketeers were good choices, sire. Britzenfeld fought the Swedes as a mere stripling, while Von Meiningen was a captain with King Rudolf at Vienna in ‘83. They’ll be respected by their men and of course it rewards the loyalty of the Mittenheimers. The Prinzengarde is a different case as it’s a guard regiment and will be on the establishment of the Strelsau garrison. All the captains and their lieutenants are competent men, several with experience in the field. I understand a major has been appointed?’ The colonel cocked an eyebrow at Serge across the table.
Serge laughed. ‘Believe me, colonel, it’s no more than an ornamental appointment, and I would not dare to inflict my leadership on such a fine body of men.’
The colonel shook his head. ‘My lord, I’ve observed you in the saddle and at arms, and believe me you have nothing much to learn in those respects. But I respect your diffidence as to putting yourself at the head of a regiment. It does take experience of command which you do not yet have. Then may I suggest, sire, a second major promoted from among the more experienced captains and a lieutenant-colonel from one of the other cavalry regiments. I can give you a list of candidates who would not disgrace the appointment from the Guard Dragoons, the King’s Horse Guards and the cuirassiers of the Strelsau and Hofbau garrisons, and who would be able to afford the premium.’
It occurred to Serge that the colonel had been making quite a study of the military establishment of the kingdom of Ruritania, down to the company level. Not surprising perhaps, but maybe significant as to quite how much his master, the Savoyard prince, was interested in the military potential of such a large neutral power.
As if on cue, Colonel Dudley produced at this point an unsealed letter. ‘Your Royal Highness may be interested in the contents of the most recent missive from my lord Eugene at Venice. He extends his warm greetings to your royal highness and expresses his intention of travelling to Munich by way of Strelsau at the conclusion of this season’s campaigning. He asks your hospitality and that of your royal father. He proposes a stay of some weeks.’
‘Hear that, fellows?’ the prince beamed around the table. ‘Prince Eugene’s coming to Ruritania! Delighted, colonel. You of course are always welcome here as a friend, Dudley, and your prince as – who knows? – a future comrade in arms. I will write myself to extend an invitation. You may take it with you when you leave for Vienna. Excellent!’
***
The courtyard of the Sign of the Angel seemed full. Two black stallions and a mare were awaiting their riders, Onyx stamping restlessly, with Gottlieb and Jan Lisku standing to their bridles. Andreas Wittig was hanging out the rear parlour window watching the scene with fascination. First to emerge was Karl Wollherz in his military gear, including his little sword. He grinned as he looked up at Andreas and touched his whip to his hat brim, as though they were two gentlemen, then he effortlessly pulled himself up into Brunhild’s saddle. Brunhild moved her head to gently nudge Onyx, who seemed to take her hint to settle himself down. Karl reached over and checked and adjusted his bit. It almost looked to Andreas as if the two horses and his friend were in communion at some level.
Next came Serge in his uniform and topboots, wearing not just the gorget of his rank but a new gold shoulder sash as a major, presented to him by Lady Ulrica that morning after breakfast, investing him, as she said, as her very own Sir Gawain. Boromeo followed his brother out in his uniform, looking less gawky as a result though still nervous. Neither brother wore the cuirasses of their regiment, as they were not on duty and the idea was to get Boromeo and Onyx used to the streets and to exercising with other stallions. ‘Off we go fellows,’ Serge ordered. ‘We’ll ride to the Great Park, Janeczu, then go over to the Arsenal to meet with Captain Barkozy and introduce Boromeo to his comrades. Don’t expect us back before five.’
The riders rattled and jingled under the arch and out onto Engelngasse, Karl bringing up the rear. Andreas permitted himself a moment to daydream, checked the parlour was neat and then trotted downstairs to find Jan Lisku.
‘There you are,’ the valet greeted him. ‘Time to go off and pick up your new coat from Herr Meisel’s shop. When you’re back we’ll check the fitting and then you’ll be properly equipped for your life as a page.’
‘Master Jan? Do I get a uniform like Karl’s for riding out with my lord?’
‘That’s to be seen, young Andreas. Do I detect some envy?’
‘Er ... not really, but he does look so smart.’
‘We don’t know yet if we’ll have the money so you can ride out with your lord, and a new mare would be expensive not just to buy but to maintain. My lord Sergius sometimes needs a military servant as a major of horse but his brother not so much, obviously. An ensign, as I understand it, is a lowly sort of officer and I would imagine that those who aren’t nobles have to be their own servants. He’s lucky to have you here to take care of his clothes and equipment, but you won’t go into barracks with him. If lord Boromeo has to go on campaign we might need to look at the question again, but until then you’re a member of the household of Sergius von Tarlenheim, who pays your salary.
‘For now, once you’re back from the tailor’s you and I have cutlery to polish, hearths to prepare, floorboards to wash down and clothing to inspect, fold and store. There’s an art to it that my mother taught me, and I will teach you. Also we have to consider whether you should begin to learn your letters, as Karl has.’
***
Next afternoon, Serge volunteered to deliver Karl and Andreas to the Veronkenkirche of the Altstadt for their weekly catechism class in preparation for their confirmation at Pentecost. Serge had an amiable interest in the education of his young servants but it also occurred to him he had not seen the medieval church of St Veronica, tucked under the south precinct wall of the Benedictine abbey of St Waclaw. The church served as one of the two parish churches of the Altstadt, and Jan Lisku believed that Engelngasse was within its district. Jan himself however had chosen to make his daily and Sabbath devotions at the Dom, on the grounds that there were a variety of masses and offices which suited the irregular hours of a manservant.
‘My lord?’
‘Yes, Andreas?’
‘My lord, they know I can’t read, don’t they?’
‘Master Jan checked, Andreas. The priest said they don’t expect you to read. The catechism has to be memorised, that’s all. You can do that. The priest explains it bit by bit. Boys who can write may take notes, but it isn’t needed. The class is made up of people just like you, servants and children of tradespeople. No need to worry. You won’t stand out.’
Two dozen children fitting that description were gathering and chattering at the church’s west door. Karl and Andreas sidled amongst them and soon enough the pair were chattering away with the rest. Serge double-checked Karl had his baptism certificate ready to present to the priest. There would have to be a conversation about Andreas’s baptismal status in due course. That done, Serge passed on into the church and had a look round.
The church was very high-vaulted, with flanking aisles under the same roof running the entire length, the choir separated from the nave only by a wooden screen. Since it was ranged hard against the cliff-like south wall of the abbey precinct there were no windows on its north side, just blank arcades, some painted with images of the saints of the Church. And there was no tower, so the whole was like a vast, long Gothic barn. The east and west windows were remarkably large but entirely of clear glass, to maximise the light they let into the church, Serge assumed. The windows opening south onto the Veronkenplatz were also big, but storied with glorious stained glass scenes of some considerable artistic distinction. Serge had seen little to compare with them.
Without doubt the most glorious of them all was the window of the fourth bay, above the south door. Serge wandered over and studied it. He became all the more fascinated when he recognised the subject. It was the Vision of St Fenice of Tarlenheim, the same he had seen as the frontispiece of her Life in his family’s library. The saint, garbed as a Cistercian nun, was at her desk and an angel was holding a napkin to her view with the same youthful face on it, lit up brilliantly by the artistry of the glazier. This time the face did not seem to him to echo his own features, for which he was grateful, as he now recognised the theme. Fenice was seeing a napkin bearing Christ’s face, the same as was given to St Veronica at the Passion, which explained why she appeared here in Veronica’s church.
As with the book, two lines of women were appearing in her vision: one line with red hair and the other with golden, but both lines had a feature in common: pinned to the right breast of each lady was a silver skull. Now Serge remembered. The same sort of skull had been pinned to the robe of his aunt, Abbess Maria, the last time they met. It could not be a coincidence, but what on earth could it mean? Serge cursed himself for forgetting his sketch book and pencil. He would have to come back tomorrow. But for now he must get back to the Marmorpalast and his duty.
***
Karl and Andreas spilled out of the vestry with the other children.
‘It were boring,’ was Andreas’s verdict, masking his relief that he was no more at sea than any other of the kids. ‘Just repeating words. “Pater noster qui est in coelis” he parroted. That’s not German, it’s not even country speech.’
‘It’s Latin,’ Karl informed him. ‘That’s the language priests speak. Jesus did too. Master Jan knows it.’
‘Really? D’you know any?’
‘Nah. Master Jan said he would pay for me to go to the grammar school once I could read German, but I said I’d much rather learn Horse so I could talk to Brunhild. He thought that was very funny.’
‘Jonas knows Horse-speech, yer said.’
‘So he does.’
‘Perhaps he’ll teach us.’
The two paused by the south door, which was open to let the boys and girls out, as the main doors were now closed. Karl looked up and saw the same stained-glass scene that his master had an hour before. His eyes were drawn to the Cistercian nun and his neck prickled. Unlike Serge he recognised her face perfectly well.
Karl gripped Andreas’s bicep hard. ‘Ando! Look up! That lady nun in the window. She’s the old lady nun I talked to in the abbey cell. She’s the one Jonas called “Her”!’
‘What? Really? Who is she?’
‘Dunno. There’s no writing I can see which says who she is. Maybe Master Jan might know.’
‘Or Lord Sergius maybe?’
‘Somehow, we have to find out. This is weird.’ A little scared, though not willing to admit it, the two boys hurried out into the small square, grateful the sun had not yet set.
***
‘So Dodie, do you remember the famous performance of the masque Ajax and Medon of which I’ve heard so much?’
Princess Dorothea Sophia and Serge had become fast friends. The girl had humour, frankness and considerable intellectual depths. Also she was devoted to Willi von Strelsau, very much approving of Willi’s and Serge’s relationship, which neither hid from her.
‘As it happens, dear Phoebus, I remember it vividly. My brother couldn’t take it seriously of course, though he did like the costume Willi devised. It was quite skilfully created. Willi has real ability that way, you know. He was passionately into the play. There was obviously something in the story that meant a lot to him and acting it made the emotion he felt about his birth real to him. I applauded very much at the end, which of course my brother took as intended for him.’
‘That is no surprise. Dodie, tell me more about the circumstances of Willi’s birth if you can.’
The girl pursed her lips. ‘It happened before I was born, Serge. I know little more than the common gossip around the court. My aunt fell deeply in love with a captain of the guard, a good friend of my father but only a man of minor nobility. She was destined for a political marriage with the Duke of Glottenburg, which had it come off would have been quite a diplomatic coup for both families. Her pregnancy put an end to that and threw my father into a rage with both of them for their treachery. The results for the captain were awful and enacted in public. As for my aunt, she was confined here in the Marmorpalast until the baby came to term. She was permitted one night with Willi and then banished from the court to be held for the rest of her life in strict confinement, no one knows where to this day. Her name is never to be mentioned at court.’
‘And he has no souvenir of his mother? A lock of her hair? A miniature portrait?’
Dodie frowned. ‘It’s not generally known but yes, there is one item. Willi had a happy relationship with his nurse, a good and honest lady whom both he and my brother adored. I rather think that it was her influence which was responsible for the close bond between the two boys. Just before she died, some four years ago, the boys went to visit her at her residence outside the city. As Willi went to leave she called him back and pressed a ring into his hand, whispering some words to him. It was, she said, the same ring Willi’s mother had pressed on her as Willi was taken from her, with an urgent entreaty that she give it to her son as a token of the love she was never able to show him. And so at the last she did. She died within a day of giving it to Willi.
‘He keeps the ring always close to his heart. As far as I know he has not shared its existence even with my brother, with whom otherwise he is so very close. But one afternoon when he was very low, we sat at the window in this little room and he told me of it, and what’s more I was given a sight of it. It is of rich gold dusted with diamonds, with a remarkable ruby as a stone, the symbol of true love. It was the same ring her lost lover gave her in an illicit marriage the pair arranged. It was one of a pair, and was the one that was stripped from her lover’s body and thrown in her face by the king in scorn after his horrible end. The other, I presume, she kept.’
Serge was very much moved by this tale, told so affectingly by the young princess. ‘I’ll keep that to myself, Dodie. If he wants to tell me of it, let him do so in his own time.’
‘That’s good, Serge. I’m so happy he’s found you. You’ve taken away all his blackness. He truly loves you. I’ve never seen him like this. It gives me hope.’
‘Why so, Dodie?’
She gave him a look older and wiser than her years. ‘Why my lord, you must be aware that I am in no different circumstance than my poor aunt. The heir to Glottenburg is of my age, you must know him?’
‘Well yes. Prince Willem Stanislaw. I was at court with him at Glottenburg last year. You mean ...?’
‘We were betrothed by proxy when we were both but five years old. I hear good things about him, though I have yet to meet him.’
Serge rallied. ‘He is as you’ve heard. A straightforward youth, good humoured and educated at the direction of my own grandfather, to whom he is devoted. You need not fear the match, your royal highness. He will be a man you can respect and like.’
The princess smiled. ‘Good. Maybe I might love him too. But as important, Serge, it seems that one day you and I will be leaders at the same princely court, and that pleases me immensely.’
Serge knelt and took the girl’s right hand and kissed it. ‘Your royal highness, I as much as you.’