Princess of the Midnight Ball - Jessica Day George [46]
“With all respect, Your Excellency,” Galen said in a mild voice, “the only thing you can prove the princesses are guilty of is wearing out their shoes too often. None of the princes who have died in recent months met their fate on Westfalian soil. They perished in tragic yet normal accidents. That is, those who didn’t die at the hand of another prince.”
Poppy rapped on her glass with a knife to applaud Galen’s speech. Violet made an appreciative sound at the chiming of the silver on crystal, and began tapping her glass with a fork, her head cocked to one side. She hummed a little, trying to match the note. Iris, Lilac, and Orchid, with relieved expressions, all began tapping their glasses as well, trying to find a melody.
“Girls! Girls!” King Gregor looked shocked.
Rose and Lily exchanged glances. Such behavior was quite appallingly rude, but Rose could see that it was more a reaction to the stresses of the day than a lack of manners. She just shrugged at Lily, who smiled back faintly.
But it was all too much for Hyacinth. She had been stumbling about like a sleepwalker since Angier had arrived. And now the argument with the bishop and the chime of silverware on crystal broke her. She began to sob loudly into her napkin. “Stop it, stop it!”
“Hyacinth!” Rose got to her feet.
“I wish we’d never been born,” she wailed. “I wish we’d lost the war, too!” She threw down her napkin and fled the room.
“Very interesting,” the bishop said in his shrewd voice, steepling his fingers under his chin. “I wonder what she meant by that.” His small, sharp eyes sought out Rose’s, and she shuddered.
Recovering quickly, she made a polite curtsy to her father and then to the bishop. “May I be excused? I don’t think Hyacinth should be alone.”
“I would also like to go to her,” Lily said, rising to her feet. The rest of the girls rose as well, and Galen.
“And I should be keeping an eye on them,” he said, and bowed to the king and the bishop.
The king dismissed them and they all filed out. Galen took Rose’s arm as they went up the stairs to the sisters’ rooms. His arm was hard with muscle, and warm through the sleeve of his suit. Rose did her best not to clutch at him like she was drowning.
Inside their sitting room, Galen sat down in an armchair by the fire and took out the whatever it was he was knitting. Hyacinth was huddled in the window seat, weeping piteously. Rose went to her and sat down, pulling Hya into her arms while the other girls clustered around them, making sympathetic noises.
The younger set could not be expected to fuss over Hyacinth forever, though, and they drifted away to talk to Galen. Rose noticed that he was endlessly patient with them, not minding when Petunia unrolled one of his skeins of yarn to play cat’s cradle with the end. He sat Pansy on the arm of his chair and showed her how to knit.
Rose went over and sat in the chair across from Galen. He looked up at her, smiled, and went back to coaching Pansy, who finally set the puff ball he’d made for her aside to better use the needles. Mewing like a cat, Petunia came over and started to wind yarn around Rose’s skirts.
“So,” Rose said, and then couldn’t think of anything to say. “What was the war like?” she asked finally, feeling like a fool.
A shadow passed over Galen’s face, making Rose regret her question. “It was”—he glanced at Pansy’s bent head—“it was not pleasant,” he said shortly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to open any old wounds,” she said, contrite.
“Wounds? Were you ever injured?” Orchid came over, her eyes wide with curiosity.
“A few times,” Galen replied. “Nothing serious.”
“Oh.” She sounded almost disappointed. “Walter Vogel lost a leg. But he says it wasn’t in the Analousian war.”
“I know.”
Orchid pursed her lips. “Do you think it hurt?”
“I’m sure it did,” Galen said grimly.
“Were you with your cousin Heinrich?” Orchid persisted. “Did you see him die?