Oh, lord. That wasn’t a roguish twinkle in Rupert’s washy blue eyes, was it? She could feel Gerald, beside her, retracting like a snail.
“Sorry,” she said. “I forgot you two haven’t actually met. Your Majesty, this is Emmerabiblia Markham. Bibbie, my brother, His Majesty King Rupert the First.”
“But please, you must call me Rupert,” said Rupert, taking Bibbie’s outstretched hand in his. Smiling, he touched his lips to her knuckles. “Melly’s told me so much about you, I do feel as though I know you quite well already.”
Bibbie was dimpling. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you at last, Rupert. Melly adores you so completely, and I’m sure that now I know why.”
Melissande felt her stomach turn over. Oh, lord. Monk’s incorrigible sister was flirting with him. So much for her protestations of disinterest in tiaras.
Bibbie, how could you?
And then, belatedly noticing the laden gold-and-silver tea trolley pushed against the wall, and the small table and chairs placed strategically nearby, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Rupes, you thought of refreshments? How hospitable of you. I’m impressed. So now you can toddle back to bed and we can amuse ourselves quite happily until it’s time to go. No need to worry about the portal, Gerald can operate that for us, can’t you, Gerald?”
“Oh, yes, of course,” said Gerald. “I’m-”
But Rupert was wagging a finger at her. “No, no, no, Melissande. I won’t hear of it. We hardly had a chance to speak the other day, Sir Alec hustled me out of your office so fast. You can’t deprive me of this chance to enjoy your company. The busy life you lead these days, Saint Snodgrass alone knows when we’ll catch up again.”
Bibbie batted her eyelashes. “Quite right, Rupert. Make hay while the moon shines, that’s my motto.”
“And a charming motto it is, too,” said Rupert, terrifyingly gallant. “Shall we, Miss Markham? Or might I be so bold, given these extraordinary circumstances, as to call you Bibbie?”
Another devastatingly dimpled smile. “Rupert, I’ll be cross beyond measure if you don’t.”
Breathless with horror, Melissande watched her brother escort Monk’s appalling sister across the opulent portal chamber to the table, seat her, then trundle over the gold-and-silver tea tray.
She glanced sideways. “Gerald…”
“What?” he said, his voice tight with self-control.
They’d never properly discussed his feelings for Bibbie. What she knew of them, she knew mostly from watching him watch the girl he’d convinced himself he could never have. But while there might well be some solace in the notion that the sacrifice was noble, it could only be shattering to see the object of that sacrifice batting her eyelashes at another man. Worse, a king. Not that Rupert was looking particularly kingly, in his patched shirt and baggy trousers. And even when he was done up in his royal best, not even the kindest sister would mistake him for shockingly handsome Lional. But the absence of dashing good looks aside, Rupert was a king and Gerald… wasn’t.
“Well, you two, don’t just stand there,” Rupert called, expansively genial. “Come and drink this tea while it’s hot. And you must try the scones. Zazoor sent me three crates of best Kallarapi dates and the palace cook’s been going mad trying to use them up.”
So they sat at the table for nearly an hour, drinking tea and eating date scones and cream cakes and discussing the world at large. There was much rueful merriment from Rupert about the ongoing difficulties of modernising his tiny kingdom without entirely abandoning Tradition with a capital T. Bibbie overflowed with sympathy. She could completely understand, she said. Didn’t she battle the forces of hidebound tradition every day at home? She was so deeply impressed that Rupert never dreamed of treating his sister like a gel.
Melissande pushed her empty plate away, decisively hinting. “No, indeed, as brothers go Rupert’s very nearly a paragon. And now, while this little interlude has been delightful, I’m afraid we really must be pushing along. By my reckoning it’s past ten o’clock tomorrow morning in Grande Splotze, and we’ll be expected.”
“Oh,” Bibbie groaned. “Really? Does that mean it’s time to put on Gladys Slack?”
Rupert looked bewildered. “I’m sorry? Who is Gladys Slack?”
“Gladys Slack is my lady’s maid,” said Melissande. “And yes, Bibbie, it’s time she made an appearance. Same goes for Algernon Rowbotham, Gerald.”
“Ah,” said Rupert. There was a smidgin of disapproval in his voice. “And Algernon Rowbotham’s to be your secretary, I suppose?”
“He is,” said Gerald, who’d hardly said a word since they sat down. “Thanks to some hex disguises we’ve worked out, we’ll be unrecognisable.”
Bibbie giggled. “We just have to cross our fingers that we don’t break out in a rash. That can happen, you know, Rupert, with these kinds of thaumaturgics.” Another giggle. “Once, my other brother Aylesbury lost a bet with Monk and he had to wear a hex for a whole month. Brought him out in green spots. The young lady he was seeing at the time laughed at him so hard he had to rusticate in the country for ages. I don’t believe he’s forgiven Monk to this day.”
“Yes, well,” said Gerald. “With all the tweaking I’ve done to our hexes, Bibbie, I doubt we have to worry about spots of any colour.”
“Oh, I’m sure,” said Bibbie, waving a careless hand. “Gerald’s always fiddling with incants and things, Rupert. He’s almost as bad as Monk when it comes to having no time for anything else.”
Rupert shook his head. “Extraordinary, the things you witches and wizards can achieve these days. You know, Gerald, when this little matter of the wedding’s taken care of, I really must have a chat with your Sir Alec. I’m sure there’s a great deal to be done in New Ottosland, thaumaturgically speaking, and I can’t imagine anyone better to give me the benefit of his experience.”
Melissande tried to picture Sir Alec as a thaumaturgical consultant, and failed.
“Or,” Rupert added, “perhaps, Bibbie, you might care to share some insights with me. I’m sure you’d offer a most unique perspective.”
Oh, lord. “That’s a very interesting suggestion, Rupert,” Melissande said, standing. “Only we really don’t have time to talk about it now. Gerald and Bibbie might be dressed for their parts, but I’m afraid their faces are all wrong.”
“Of course,” said Rupert, disappointed. “Duty before pleasure, always. Melissande, perhaps we could have a word while Bibbie and Gerald are assuming their disguises, yes?”
“What is it?” she said, as Rupert drew her aside. “Is everything all right?”
The rackety nonsensicality she remembered in him from his butterfly days faded. “That’s a silly question, Mel, don’t you think?”
“Oh, Rupes.” She stroked her hand down his arm. “Honestly, there’s no need to worry. I’m not the one who’ll be in danger. That’s Gerald. He’s the janitor. I’m just the other half of his disguise.”
Her brother frowned. “You thought there’d be no danger when you agreed to help Permelia Wycliffe, and look how that turned out.”
“Careful, Rupes,” she said, giving him a little poke. “You’re starting to sound like the very opposite of a paragon.”
“And you, Princess Melissande,” he retorted, “are becoming uncomfortably reckless. I wish you’d remember your position. And mine. D’you know what’ll be said about me if anything happens to you?”
Closing her fingers on his shirt front, she shook him. “As if you ever gave a fig for what other people say!”
“They’ll say I held you too lightly,” he continued, ignoring her. “And they’ll be right. Melissande, it’s not too late to change your mind. You don’t work for Sir Alec or his dubious Department. There’s no reason for you to risk yourself like this.”
She smoothed the wrinkles she’d left in his shirt. “Would you still say that if I wore trousers all the time, instead of the occasional dress when I have to? I don’t think so. Please don’t tell me you’re going to break my heart now by treating me like a gel.”