Princess of Glass - Jessica Day George [26]
Dickon Thwaite lunged and Christian easily stepped aside. A parry. A thrust. Another parry and Christian tapped Dickon’s chest with the capped tip of his rapier.
“A hit!” The fencing master clapped his hands. “Very nice, Your Highness!”
Grimacing, Dickon shook his head when Christian offered another round. “You’ll only win again,” he said glumly. “Give Roger a good drubbing, why don’t you?”
Christian wiped his face on the towel that a servant offered him, and turned to look inquiringly at the older Thwaite brother. It was the day after the Thwaites’ dinner party, when Christian had found an instant rapport with the oldest brother, Roger. Taller and more sophisticated than his younger brother, Roger was already sighed after by a number of women, despite only being home a week.
“Shall we?” Christian flourished his rapier.
“With pleasure.” Roger picked up his own weapon and came forward to the center of the floor, where the polished boards had been dusted with powdered resin to prevent the combatants from slipping. “But be warned: I have learned a few things in my travels.”
“I like a challenge.” Christian grinned, and lunged.
“Is that why you are courting Princess Poppy?” Roger easily parried and made conversation as though they sat at tea.
Christian nearly dropped his foil, and only just managed to skip out of the way of Roger’s next attack. “Courting Poppy? We’re friends,” he said weakly. Sweat was pouring down his face, but that was from fencing. Of course.
“Ah”
“Roger has daring tastes in women as well,” Dickon said from the side of the room. “That’s why he went to the Far East.”
Roger looked irritated. “Actually, I went on the king’s request, as part of the new ambassador’s entourage,” he said icily. He wasn’t even slightly out of breath, while Christian thought he might have to forfeit before he collapsed.
“What was it really like?”
At dinner the night before, most of the conversation had been about the inconvenience of travel, and the general strangeness of foreigners, as viewed by Lady Thwaite’s mother. Poppy and Christian were apparently not considered foreign, since they spoke Bretoner and wore clothes, which the elderly lady seemed to think foreign peoples eschewed.
“Fascinating,” Roger said, and then he struck Christian, pressing the capped tip directly into the center of the Dane prince’s sternum.
“A hit,” the fencing master said, and clapped to end the bout. “Very nice, Lord Roger.”
“Thank you.” Roger handed his foil off to a servant, took a towel, and then turned back to Christian. “The Far East is steeped in magic in a way our side of the world hasn’t been in centuries,” he said. “When I returned and heard about Princess Poppy and her sisters, and the strange deaths that surrounded them a few years back, well, let me just say that I am not as prone to scoffing over such stories as some people are.”
Still gripping his weapon, Christian felt his face harden. “What do you mean?” If Roger was insulting Poppy…
“I simply mean that if any more strange doings erupt around the Westfalian princesses, I recommend that you pay heed to even the most bizarre rumors about their past.”
“Like Princess Rose stabbing someone with a darning needle?” Dickon had sidled over to eavesdrop, and now he laughed. “What kind of damage could that do?”
“From what I have heard,” Roger said, giving his brother a quelling look, “Rose’s husband, Galen, used a knitting needle to kill a creature that was nothing that I should like to face.”
Christian wanted to know more, much more, without it seeming that his interest was as a prospective suitor. Fortunately, he had already accepted an invitation from Dickon for tea at the Thwaites’ manor after their fencing excursion.
He had decided to accept any and all invitations he received in order to get as far from Tuckington Palace as possible. Princess Emmeline had decided quite abruptly that morning that she was heartbroken over Christian, and was trailing about the palace in a drab gown with her hair in a tangle, sighing and dabbing her eyes with