“I’m not here because of the duke. I have nothing left except the will to fight, and I came here to fight for you, my prince. The siege at Lionn needs to be broken. Surely you do not dispute that! Just see the girl, my lord. Just for a moment. It can be in private, if you prefer.”
The prince shook his head. “No, no—not in private.”
The Earl of Doone and the deconeus were creeping forward like rats, trailing them. “My prince, listen to me,” Doone said.
The prince turned with practiced patience. “Yes?”
“Send the girl away for good. She’ll bring you nothing but trouble.”
The prince gave Alensson a look.
“The Fountain sent her here,” Alensson said sternly. “Let her be tested then. In front of us all.”
The prince thought a moment and then tapped his chin thoughtfully. “I have an idea. A little game, actually. A test. Bring her in, but not to me. Let her find me.”
“But your red tunic shows you’re the prince!” the earl complained. “It’s the royal color of House Vertus!”
“I know, I know!” the prince said glibly. “As would she. So, my lord earl, we will exchange tunics before she comes. Alensson, you’ll wait over there where you can see and hear us. But you won’t be able to direct her to me. If she hears the Fountain, as you said, then she will know she’s being deceived. If not, what a little joke it will be! No one will be able to criticize me then for having allowed her in. Either way,” he said smugly, “I do not lose.”
The deconeus and the earl exchanged a look.
“Don’t bother arguing with me,” the prince said. He snapped his fingers and his herald approached. “Bring in the maid.”
Alensson watched furtively by one of the massive hearths. He did not like the prince’s plan—his heart told him the trick was beneath them—but it did make sense. Besides, it would soothe the various egos involved. Staring across the crowded hall, he watched for her eagerly. At first, he was unable to hear anything over the commotion of talking, but then a sense of quiet came across the room, spreading like liquid from a spilled cup. The lords and ladies in their finery began to whisper as the peasant girl in men’s clothes slowly made her way through the assembly. Genette walked by herself, no one guiding her, her mouth a little open as she took in the decadence of Shynom.
Jianne appeared at his side, her hands closing around his arm. “What is going on, Alensson?” she whispered to him. “When they let her in, I was told I couldn’t accompany her. Someone told me where you were. Why isn’t the prince wearing red?”
“Sshhh,” Alensson said to her. “It’s a test.”
“A test of what?” his wife asked worriedly.
“To see if she is Fountain-blessed,” he answered. “The prince doesn’t wish to be taken for a fool.”
“Look how they’re sneering at her,” Jianne said, her tone filled with concern. “This isn’t right, Alensson. They’re making a mockery of the poor girl. You told the prince we met her? He didn’t believe you, his own cousin?”
“He must show the counsel of his court due consideration,” Alensson answered. Genette was getting closer to them. She noticed them both standing to the side, but she did not come to them. Walking cautiously through the crowd, she looked from side to side until she spied the red tunic.
“This is unfair,” Jianne whispered sadly as Genette marched deliberately forward. “They’ll make a sport of her.”
Alensson felt a frown of disappointment on his lips. Could he have been wrong? The Earl of Doone had his back to the girl, and he was in quiet conversation with the deconeus and the disguised prince. The prince watched Genette’s approach from behind his goblet, his eyes narrowing as the unkempt, shorn creature approached them. The eyes of everyone in the hall followed her, the nobles’ expressions mirroring the disgust they felt. Some had even grown bored with the ruse and were talking lightly amongst themselves.
Genette walked directly up to Chatriyon, ignoring Doone completely, and then knelt before the prince, bowing her head. “My prince, thank you for permitting me to see you.”
Alensson felt a throb of victory and his frown turned into a triumphant smile. His wife squeezed his arm, gasping in surprise. She was what they’d both sensed her to be.
There was a startled look on Chatriyon’s face as he lowered the cup. “You mistake me, my dear,” he said with a joking tone. “This is the prince.” He motioned toward Doone.
The girl looked up but not away. “You are my prince,” she said boldly amidst the hush of the room, without any hesitation or even a hint of doubt. “The Fountain has sent me to you, to see you crowned at the sanctuary of Our Lady at Ranz. You are the true king, my lord. And the Fountain has given me a sign to prove myself to you.”