Werewolf fairytales

How royalty act in private

*Paisley*

The door opens, and Ella reenters, carrying Jonas and followed by a man who is the prince, presumably. A tottering elderly lady clutches his arm. She is wearing so much face paint, topped by a fuzzy and rather shabby wig, that she resembles a Chinese dog that had once gone through Little Ha’penny along with a traveling fair.

But it is the prince who catches my eye. I stand rooted to the spot and look from Mr. Theodon’s eyebrows to the prince’s, at their hair, their eyes, their chins…

“Her Highness, Princess Sophonisba, and His Highness, Prince Gabriel Albrecht-Frederick William von Aschefoot of Warl-Marburg Baalsfield,” Mr. Theodon announces. Turning to them, he says, “May I present Miss Paisley.”

“Most irregular, being introduced by the butler,” the old she-wolf says irritably. “Well, who are you, then?”

“I’m…”

“She’s a friend of mine,” Ella interjects. “She’s come to help with Jonas.” She smiles at me, and I realize, rather to my surprise, that it’s true. Even though I’ve known Ella for only a matter of hours, we are friends.

“I can’t hear a word over that howling,” Princess Sophonisba says. “I never heard of a princesd nursing her own baby before. I’m sure that’s the problem.” She levels a thin finger at Ella. “What that child needs is the milk of a hardy peasant. Yours is probably thin and blue. Though now I think on it, you’re practically a peasant yourself.”

My eyes meet Ella’s, and I say hastily, “I’ll just walk Jonas in the corridor until he calms, shall I?”

“Yes, do,” the elderly princess says. “He sounds like one of the devils they like to talk about in church, the kind who have nothing to do but yowl. Theo, why aren’t you offering us something to drink? Just because Rome is burning doesn’t mean we needn’t fiddle. This screeching is terrible for my nerves.”

I settle Jonas into the crook of my left arm and nod to the footman, who opens the door for me.

In the hallway, Jonas waves his tiny clenched fists and wails. He’s pulling up his legs again, so his stomach must be aching. I settle him on my shoulder and pat his back gently as I walk.

If Mr. Theodon insists on summoning my uncle, it will all be over. My father will arrive within hours, and I will end up back in Little Ha’penny, married to Rodney. Jonas lets out a big burp.

“You have a lot of air in your tummy,” I say. He’s still crying, but he sounds more halfhearted about it. Another big burp erupts from his stomach.

I keep walking, up and down, worrying at the problem of my uncle, my father, Rodney, Jonas, colic… what if I’m wrong? If it’s intussusception, my uncle will say there’s nothing to be done. But…

Finally, the door to the dining room opens, and Ella emerges. “Bless you,” she says, taking the baby. The moment he comes off my shoulder, he screws up his face and cries even louder.

“Hush, sweet one,” Ella croons.

“Try your shoulder,” I say. “Like this.” I arrange the baby so he’s lying over his mother’s shoulder.

“But his head is hanging down. All the blood will go to his head.”

“This way feels better for his stomach. Listen.” Sure enough, his crying doesn’t cease, but the wails aren’t quite so desperate.

“Go eat something,” Ella says, nodding toward the door. “We’ve worked it out. Gabriel is coming to take a turn in half an hour, and then Theo will take a turn.”

I nod. “And then Princess Sophonisba, I expect?”

Ella blinks. “Well…” She catches my smirk and grins. “Go eat!”

I return to the dining room to find the prince seated at the head of the table, and Theo at its foot. I hesitate for a moment, uncertain where to sit.

A footman steps forward. “Miss Paisley,” he murmurs, pulling out the chair next to Theo.

Two slender silver candelabra throw light on the silk damask covering, the gold-plated dishes, and a greater assortment of cutlery than I know existed. For a moment, I feel dizzy. Was it really only yesterday that I was lying in the straw under Rodney?

Could it really be me, sitting in a castle, eating with royalty? I don’t dare look to my right, at Theo, or even more terrifying, to my left, at the prince himself.

Across from me, Princess Sophonisba sucks vigorously at the chicken bone she clutches. “You’re pretty enough, but you look like a bit of a goose,” the old she-wolf says. “Haven’t you ever been in a castle before?”

“No, I haven’t, Your Highness,” I say, picking up my napkin and spreading it in my lap.

“Most people in this one are dim as a snuffed candle,” Sophonisba says. “In fact, one castle is the same as another. The lot of them sit around buggering each other, if not the sheep.”

The prince clears his throat and leans forward, giving me a charming smile. A smile I recognize from his…

Brother? They look almost identical, which couldn’t be accidental.

“You seem to have performed miracles already with Jonas,” he says. “I don’t know how we’ll be able to thank you.”

“Give her a gold chastity belt, I’d think,” Princess Sophonisba says. “The way your brother’s looking at her, she’ll be dropping a bastard in a matter of nine months.”

So Theo is the prince’s brother. No wonder they look so much alike.

The prince closes his eyes for a moment. “I apologize…”

The princess talks right over His Highness. “Actually, that’s just what we need around here. More bastards. Look at Theodon, here.”

I don’t dare look. I can feel him sitting next to me, his large body, his eyes on me.

“Look at him!” the princess orders.

I look.

To my relief, he’s grinning, his eyes alight with a deep pleasure that sends little shocks down my spine.

“A bastard,” the princess says with satisfaction, licking her fingers. “And yet he’s the best of the lot. My favorite, and I’m a good judge of men. Always have been, ever since I dumped my barking-mad betrothed and decided never to marry.”

I feel a smile playing on my lips.

“You may be in a castle, among royalty of sorts,” Prince Gabriel remarks from the other end of the table, “but I’m afraid you’ll find, Miss Paisley, that we descend to the lowest type of behavior while in private.”

“Speak for yourself,” the irrepressible princess retorts. “I’ve no wish to know what sort of roguery you get up to in private. Ain’t a fit subject for the dinner table. Watch your manners!” And with that, she pokes him in the chest with the chicken leg.

Giggles rise in my throat. A footman leans down and gives me a portion of roast beef.

“If you want your own drumstick, I can request one,” Theo says. His voice is deep and husky, so different from Rodney’s. And there’s that enchanting accent, the one that makes me a little breathless.

“No, thank you,” I say, pulling myself together. To my relief, the prince engages his aunt in a discussion of Emperor Napoleon’s height.

“Small as a flea,” the princess says scornfully. “And his eyebrows jut out like the casements of a shop window.”

“I suppose you will have gathered by now that my birth was not sanctified by matrimony,” Theo says to me.

I nearly choke on my bite of roast beef. “I…”

“Does it appall you to hear of it?” he inquires, putting on an innocent expression. “I’m afraid that we’re used to the circumstance around here since it’s been the case since birth. My birth, that is,” he adds.

I finally manage to swallow my beef. “Not at all,” I say weakly.

“Give that girl some chicken,” Princess Sophonisba bellows across the table. “She’s got a lung weakness, likely won’t last the week.”

Prince Gabriel rolls his eyes and nimbly reels his aunt back into another topic of conversation.

“My aunt drinks too much,” Theo observes.

I put down my fork. I very much hope it’s the right fork; with three to choose from, I’ve chosen at random. “I have noticed that inebriates tend to have few teeth. However, the Princess Sophonisba seems remarkably endowed, in that respect.”

“Yes, she’s gnawing that bone like a champion bulldog,” Theo says. “Well, then. Have you decided to tell me where to find your uncle?”

“I can’t,” I say. “Please don’t ask me.” Theo has a beautiful mouth. I jerk my eyes away and hope he hasn’t noticed I’m gaping at him.

“How long does it take to ride to his house?”

“Please don’t…”

“If Jonas continues to improve, I won’t summon him. But if Jonas grows more ill, even suddenly, how long would it take to fetch him?”

“A day,” I say relieved. “He would be back here the next morning if I sent a note along. Especially...” My voice trails off.

“Especially because said uncle is probably looking desperately for you under every hedge and hillock,” Theo states.

There’s a moment of silence between us.

I decide I’d rather not answer. I’ve read somewhere that prisoners can’t be forced to incriminate themselves. So I take another bite of roast beef.

“You’ll rue the day you were caught in the parson’s mousetrap,” Princess Sophonisba says to Prince Gabriel. “Children are a she-wolf’s work. Your father would be ashamed of you.”

“Ah, but the cheese in that mousetrap was irresistible,” the prince says politely. “If you’ll excuse me, dear aunt. Miss Paisley, Theo. I believe my turn has come.” With that, he leaves.

“You’d better stop looking at that wiggle-eyed gal,” Princess Sophonisba says, waving another chicken bone at Theo. She doesn’t seem to expect an answer because she turns about and starts haranguing a footman.

“Wiggle-eyed?” I ask.

“She means velvet,” Theo says. His smile is… well… it should be outlawed. It makes my insides feel hot and yielding.

“Velvet eyes?” I say, pulling myself together. “I think I prefer wiggle.”

“Smoky,” he offers.

I wrinkle my nose. “I sound like a brothel, all velvet and smoke.”

“And what do you know of brothels?” he asks. His smile makes my heart pound.

“Nothing,” I admit.

“Well, I can tell you this,” he says, leaning toward me. “There are no doxies with smoky sea-green eyes nor hair the color of pearls.”

“Not bad,” Sophonisba barks from across the table.

I jump. Caught by the sultry tone in Theo’s voice, I’ve forgotten all about the princess.

“You’d better look out,” Sophonisba says to me, using a half-eaten chicken leg as a pointer. “The man’s a devil, of course. His brother was the same. Do you think the princess had a chance once Gabriel had her in his sights? Not a chance!” She snorts. “I almost had to give up my brandy, but he ended up marrying her.”

“Brandy?” I repeat, completely bewildered.

“Don’t ask,” Theo murmurs.

Sophonisba has apparently reminded herself of the drink; she’s now demanding some to accompany her chicken.

“You seem remarkably unscandalized by the knowledge of unseemly circumstances of my birth,” Theo says. “I’m still waiting for you to shudder and avert your eyes.”

“Have people shuddered in the past?” I inquire.

“She-wolves of quality have.” There’s something uncompromising in his voice. A little bleak.

“I am no longer a she-wolf of quality,” I say, shrugging. “Though of course, one must distinguish among bastards.”

“Must one?” Theo asks.

“Absolutely,” I say firmly. “There are those who earn the appellation, by their behavior, and those who are merely given it by circumstance. Besides, I’ve been thinking a great deal about what it means to be a she-wolf of quality.”

“I suppose your altered circumstances lead to such philosophical thoughts,” he asks, his eyes laughing again. “Because true she-wolves of quality never contemplate the question. So what qualities did you conclude were necessary? Elegance, culture, discernment? Or perhaps the ability to live in luxury is enough?”

“Sacrifice,” I say flatly. “And sometimes, it just isn’t worth it.”

I think of his eyes… what I see in his eyes couldn’t be respectable, or true, so I devote myself to my roast beef.