Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [27]
And all seven had left without solving the mystery of the worn-out dancing slippers. The king could be heard shouting at all hours of the day and night to anyone who would listen. Relations were even more strained with their neighbor nations than they had been before. If King Gregor had thought that a contest to win his throne would bring the countries of Ionia closer together, he had been wrong.
“It’s been three months,” Galen said suddenly.
Walter just grunted.
“Princess Rose has been ill for three months.”
“She’s on the mend,” Walter assured him. “Pneumonia is never easy, even on the young.” Walter patted Galen’s arm. “You’re a good lad to worry about them, Galen. A very good lad.”
Just then the door at the far end of the hothouse opened, and a pair of figures came through. They were heavily bundled against the cold, and all Galen could say for sure was that they were female. The two figures divested themselves of their bonnets and cloaks, steaming in the sudden heat, and Galen saw that it was Princess Rose herself, leaning on the arm of the musically inclined princess—Violet, he thought her name was.
Violet helped Rose to a little bench beneath a banana tree, and then wandered off to look at some flowering vines. Galen put down his pruning shears. Walter raised an eyebrow, and Galen grinned. He picked an orange from a nearby tree, winked at Walter, and strolled down the aisle to the bench.
Now that he had spent more time working around the palace, running into princesses and ministers of state, ambassadors, and the occasional prince, his manners were much more refined. “Good morning, Princess Rose,” he said gallantly, and offered her the orange with a flourish.
In truth, he was a little shocked by her appearance. At her window she appeared romantically pale and slender, but up close she was too thin and hollow cheeked, with dark circles under her eyes. Her thick golden-brown hair was pulled back tightly in a simple braid, which emphasized the taut whiteness of her skin against the dark-colored dress she wore.
Still, Galen did not let his smile slip. She was even more beautiful now, he thought, with an otherworldly quality to her and a maturity that had not been there before.
“Allow me to give you this orange, Your Highness, along with my wishes for a swift recovery.”
“That’s very generous of you, Master Galen,” she replied, a faint light kindling in her eyes, “especially since they are my family’s oranges.” She took it from him, rolling it between her palms. “And considering that my illness is most likely a result of falling into the fountain the day we met.”
Galen winced. He had known she would remember that, but he had hoped she wouldn’t hold it against him. Although, judging by the faint smile on her pale lips, she didn’t mean it in earnest.
“Well, Your Highness, I know that I am indeed handsome, but I can hardly be blamed if my good looks overcame you so strongly that you fainted,” he said, striking a pose. He had butterflies in his stomach, wondering if he was taking the teasing too far.
But he was rewarded: Rose laughed, a high, clear sound, and lobbed the orange at him. He caught it deftly, but when her laughter turned to a cough, he dropped the orange and bent over her, not sure if he dared to pat her back or take her hand. “Your Highness, forgive me. Are you unwell?”
Violet heard the coughing and came running back. She sank down on the bench beside Rose, putting her arm around the older girl and holding a handkerchief to Rose’s lips. “What happened?” she asked Galen, her tone just shy of being accusatory.
“I am so sorry, Your Highness,” Galen said, backing away. “I made her laugh, and—”
“You made her laugh?” Violet’s eyes widened. “She hasn’t laughed in weeks!” She smiled at Galen and gave Rose’s shoulders a little squeeze.
“Oh, dear,” Rose gasped, her coughing finished. “I’m sorry,” she said to Galen.
“No, please, Your Highness, the fault was all mine.” He cleared