"Good idea, Master.” Nightfall turned to head back in the direction from which they had come.
Before Edward could follow, a sultry voice wafted from above. "Hello, Ned."
The prince stiffened, obviously startled. His head whipped upward, and he squinted through the darkness. Willafrida’s face poked through the window, and Nightfall could make out the regular hatchwork of the rope ladder he had left grappled to her window.
"Hello, Ned." Willafrida repeated.
"Hello, fair Lady," Edward returned in his usual friendly manner.
Before honesty drove Edward to say anything about not knowing her, Nightfall whispered the information the prince needed. “Willafrida. The duke’s heir."
Edward nodded slightly to indicate he had received the message. "What can I do for you tonight, Lady?"
"Are you, in fact, a prince of Alyndar?"
“I am," Edward admitted.
"Come up and talk with me, Prince Ned."
Edward glanced at Nightfall, who bobbed his head encouragingly. "Go," Nightfall whispered. "I’m fine, and I’ll take care of Kelryn." The oath-bond flared slightly, though he reassured it and himself that he had no intention of straying far from Edward, his only obligation to Kelryn revenge.
"I’ll be there shortly," Edward called back to the duchess-heir. He headed away.
Surprised by the sudden change in direction, Nightfall caught up to Edward. “Where are you going, Master?"
Edward stopped, features crinkled, obviously confused by the question. "To call on her, of course, Sudian. What did you think?"
Nightfall kept his voice low. "Master, I think she wants to have a secret meeting. I think she wants you to go in through there." He made a subtle gesture with his head to indicate the window. He held the lantern so as to reveal the hemp resting among the ivy.
Prince Edward followed the direction of the gesture, finally noticing the ladder. "Oh," he said, then, more carefully, "Oh. All right, then." He hesitated. This obviously did not fit his image of propriety, though neither did refusing the request of a young, female noble. With a shrug, he strode to the base of the wall, caught the rope, and clambered to the window. Willafrida met him at the top and helped him inside.
Grinning like a slave served his master’s dinner, Nightfall put out the lantern, settled his back against the wall, and waited in the shadows.
Prince Edward flushed, feeling like a sneak thief breaking into Alyndar’s castle. The duchess-heir’s room seemed strange and feminine; veils, canopies, and the heavy scent of oils, spice, and flowers only adding to its exotic air. The furniture and smells reminded him of his mother’s private room, where she had gone to spend quiet time alone, away from his father as well as the hustle and responsibility of queendom. Flowers always perfumed the spring or summer breezes wafting through the window, and he had come to associate ginger and deprim with her. She had always welcomed him, even into her special chambers; and there she had taught him the gentleness and breeding behind the many rules his nannies made him memorize. She would have encouraged him to treat Willafrida with politeness and dignity.
Willafrida smiled at Edward, her silky gown hugging the ample curves. His mother had carried extra weight, too, though it had settled at the belly and breasts rather than the lower regions. He had never considered her anything but beautiful, and her happy carriage did not imply she believed herself otherwise. Nevertheless, she used mirrors without gawking and never lorded her looks over anyone. Now, Edward could see the inner quarters of Willafrida’s breasts and make out the nipples impressing the fabric. His eighteen-year-old body responded without input from his mind, and the lust without love embarrassed him. He imagined she could see his excitement through the fabric of breeks and tunic, and he self-consciously pulled his cloak closed.
"You’re as handsome as your servant promised," Willafrida said, admiring his face and body as he studied her.
The words confused Edward. "You spoke with my squire?"
"Yes," she said. “He said you were shy."
Edward had never heard that particular word applied to him before. In fact, he had been scolded for boldness and discarding convention for cause so often, the description nearly made him laugh. Yet, in truth, around women, he did display some quiet uncertainty. "Yes, well. He’s a good and loyal servant."
"So I’d gathered? Willafrida smiled flirtatiously.
Edward felt a knot form in his gut. The idea of leaving seemed pleasant but rude. The comment required no response, but politeness deemed it his turn to speak. If he could not continue the thread of the current discussion, he had the obligation to turn to trivial talk until a new subject was broached. However, before he could find even a minor topic, she took over again.
"You’re going to the Tylantian contests?" Willafrida gestured him to sit beside her.
"Yes, I guess I am." Edward perched on the edge as invited, uncomfortable intruding on a woman’s sleeping pallet. "My squire talked me into it."
"He’s good at that, isn’t he?"
"Good at what?"
"Talking people into things."
“Sometimes," Edward returned, finding the duchess-heir’s comment strange, an obvious attempt at conversation that seemed awkward to him.
"Six of my suitors are already there, trying to win a duchy."
"That hardly seems necessary." Edward glanced around to indicate the citadel. "You have one already. Why would they need to win you another?"
Willafrida shrugged then smiled, lowering her eyes modestly. "I’m nobility, but most of them are just gentry. I think they want at least as high a title as me. You can understand that."
Prince Edward nodded, without commitment. He did not see why station should matter to a man and woman who loved one another. "I suppose so, Lady."
"You wouldn’t have to enter the contests to get a title, of course."
"No, Lady, I wouldn’t," To Edward, the conversation seemed inane, but he stuck with it, seeing merit in learning to chat with women. He wondered if all conversations with the fairer sex would prove as tedious and realized he already had the answer. He had loved spending hours with his mother, discussing emotions and aspirations, reading stories and poetry. His conversations with Kelryn seemed to flow as easily, and the thought of her made him grin. His first meeting with her had proven even more awkward. His throat had closed down, making words impossible, and it had taken all of his sense of honor to tear his gaze from her near-naked beauty. From that moment, he had known she was special. Though he hated the idea that Ritworth the Iceman menaced her as well as him, he had appreciated the excuse and necessity it had created. The injury that marred her grace made him cringe every time she walked, but it had given her reason to quit dancing for a time and join them. And her fast and eager acceptance of his invitation suggested that maybe, just maybe, she had some feelings for him in return.
"… a prince need to do so?"
Prince Edward started from his reverie, embarrassed that he had let thoughts of a woman preoccupy him so much he had become rude to another. Though he had not heard most of her question, he could divine the rest. If he guessed wrong, he hoped she would attribute his error to misinterpretation rather than inattentiveness. “I’m the younger prince. I have no claim to Alyndar’s throne, kingdom, or lands. I need to establish myself elsewhere, and Tylantis’ duchy will serve that need well." Edward gave the proper response by nature, and the doubts did not come until after he spoke the last word. "But mostly I’m going for the camaraderie and the thrill of competition. I have little hope I’ll win."
That attitude clearly surprised Willafrida as boastful certainty seemed a much more common conviction among highborn. For the first time, it took her several moments to formulate a reply. Before she did, someone knocked on the door, the sound deep and reverberating. Edward stiffened, naturally leaping to his feet. Willafrida clasped her hands in her lap and turned her head toward the sound. "Who is it?"