Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [42]
Galen didn’t want to stand on the doorstep of the palace and ponder Walter’s odd remark, so he squared his shoulders and knocked loudly on the tall front door. Herr Fischer, the butler, once again tried to direct Galen around the back, but Galen just smiled and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” Galen told Herr Fischer, “but I’m here on very important business. I really must see the king.” He pushed past the short, fussy man and strode into the entrance hall. It was large and grand and scrupulously clean. He fought down the urge to check the soles of his boots and straighten his coat.
“The kitchens are that way,” Herr Fischer said, pointing down a narrow passage that led off to the right.
“I didn’t come to see the kitchens, thank you,” Galen said. “And I can wait as long as need be, but I must see the king.”
“Very well.” The butler stalked off.
Galen sat in a carved wooden chair at one side of the hall. He put his satchel down at his feet and pulled out a pair of needles and some yarn. He was making himself a stocking cap out of green and brown wool. His current hat was blue, to match his soldier’s uniform, and he was heartily sick of it. He began to knit.
A few maids passed him. Their eyes looked swollen, as if from crying, and one of them was clutching a little cross worn on a chain around her neck. Galen nodded to them pleasantly, and they stared at him.
“Would you mind telling the king that Galen Werner is here to see him?” he called after the maids, knowing full well that Herr Fischer had conveniently “forgotten” his presence. The maids hurried on.
After an hour or so, a large man in purple bishop’s robes swept by with a younger, smaller priest trotting at his heels. Galen rose and bowed, but neither man even looked at him. The bishop’s eyes were narrow and cold, and a catlike smile played about his lips. Galen guessed him to be the archbishop’s emissary and the young priest his assistant.
Shortly afterward, Galen heard quiet voices and the patter of light steps on the gallery above his head. He jumped up and turned around. Princess Violet and Princess Iris walked along the gallery. Their faces, like the maids’, were blotchy from crying.
“Hello there, Your Highnesses,” Galen called out. When they looked at him, he saluted with his knitting needles.
“Are you here to see Rose?” Iris’s voice was tremulous, and she sniffed into a handkerchief.
“No, indeed, ladies. I’m here to speak to your father, King Gregor.”
“Why?” Curiosity wiped some of the sadness from Iris’s face.
Galen decided that, if he had risked his home and livelihood simply by coming here, he might as well throw everything in. “I’ve come to ask the king if I may try to solve the mystery of your worn-out dancing shoes,” he called up to them. His voice echoed loudly in the high-ceilinged hall.
“I knew it!” Poppy came flying out of a room along the gallery, her dark curls bouncing and a handkerchief waving like a flag from one hand. “I knew it! You fancy Rose!”
Much to his embarrassment, Galen blushed. “Well, n-no, I just want to help,” he stammered. He felt the heat from his blush creeping up to his ears and down his neck to his collar.
“What is going on out here?” Lily came out of the room Poppy had just appeared from, a frown creasing her lovely brow. “Poppy, Iris, Violet! This is hardly the time for … May I help you?” She looked down at Galen with a surprised expression.
He realized how he must look, standing on the floor below the princesses, in his secondhand best suit and with a tangle of yarn trailing around his boots.
“I need to speak to your father, if I may, Your Highness,” Galen said, blushing even darker beneath his tan. “I—”
Rose appeared at the far end of the gallery. “What is all this to-do about?” she asked in a chiding voice. She saw Galen, stopped, and blushed.
Around her shoulders was the white shawl he had made for her. Galen felt a thrill of pleasure at seeing her wearing it. It looked lovely on her, as he had known it would, but more than that, the way she was holding the edges made him feel as if she were holding his hand.