Shadows: Book One of the Eligia Shala (9 page)

At Chancellor Menzetti’s discreet nod it was almost a unanimous decision. Admiral Massili staunchly refused to sanction the appointment based on his opinion that, “She’s trouble. I love her to death, but she’s always been the same … trouble.”

“Well, that’s that. I’ll make the official announcement myself sometime soon. We keep the information private until then. Thank you for your time gentlemen.” Phillip offered his mother his arm and they left the chamber together. “Nothing to say, mother?” He gave her a sideways grin she remembered from his childhood. “That’s very unlike you.”

She smiled sweetly at him, slapping the side of his face gently. “I have plenty to say to you my dear boy. I also have plenty to say to your cousin and to Commander Rabenaldt, but I think I’ll wait until I can get you all together … privately.”

Phillip winced.

 CHAPTER SEVEN

The next official dinner was even more strained for Jenevra than that of two nights before. To begin with it was a more formal affair. With numerous visiting dignitaries already arrived for the forthcoming ceremonials, the Lord Chamberlain was in full flight, although still only in the smaller section of the formal audience hall. Two long tables had been set running towards the entrance, with a cross table for the Imperial family at the far end. Pristine white linens flowed over the tables, interlaced with evergreen garlands and large crystal bowls of early spring flowers in shades of yellow and white, fresh from the glasshouses of the Palace gardens. Huge glass candelabra threw light across the tables, their light refracting through the crystal flower bowls, and echoed around the room by towering golden stands holding a dozen tall pillar candles each. Due to the heat provided by so many candles the Lord Chamberlain had simply filled the vast fireplace with an immense floral arrangement.

All dinner guests were supposed to arrive before the Imperial party, so Jenevra knew that at least she’d be spared the tedium of listening to all the arrivals being announced. Waiting in the antechamber until all the Imperial family was gathered, and outfitted once more by Serena Massili’s unerring taste, Jenevra fidgeted; pulling and scratching at the formal crimson brocade gown she’d been laced into. Unlike the green velvet gown, this one was the style worn by most of the other ladies of the court, and was far more restricting than anything Jenevra had ever worn before. She loathed the constriction of it, and the material was just plain itchy. Barely distracted by the flickering pains of a headache starting, Jenevra knew this was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.

Raik arrived with Mikyle Manvi. Jenevra’s scowl deepened as she saw their broad grins emerge at the sight of the princess in her formal dress. Stomping over to them, she hissed. “It’s not funny. I can’t breathe in this thing.” She turned her back to Mikyle. “Just undo the bottom of those laces a bit … you know, loosen them off.”

Captain Manvi’s eyes widened in warning, as Serena swept across the room towards them. “Jenevra! What do you think you are doing? Is that any way for a Princess to behave?” She pulled and tweaked, adjusting Jenevra’s gown in miniscule motions that didn’t have any impact at all as far as Jenevra could tell. Over Serena’s shoulder, she could see Mikyle, Raik and Rafael trying not to laugh out loud. Luckily, Lennia Manvi arrived, distracting their attention; closely followed by Chancellor Menzetti, and the two other senior commanders of the Imperial army, Blaise Tessier and Reiff Pichot.

The Chancellor was accompanied by his wife; a rare occasion as she was frequently ill and tended to stay on their estates in the south for her health. A pale quiet woman, Graea Menzetti was devoted to her husband and, on the few occasions that Jenevra had seen them together, she had noticed a significant softening in the Chancellor’s usually icy demeanor.

Despite Jenevra’s impressions of him, Captain Blaise Tessier was, in the view of most of the ladies of the court, gorgeous—in a curiously dangerous way. He wasn’t the tallest, biggest, best looking of the men at court, but there was an indefinable quality about him that just suggested that an evening with him would be about the most fun a girl could have. At his most captivating he had a lazy, insinuating smile; the neatly trimmed moustache and beard that Jenevra had watched him prune into perfection; and long hair that was almost, but not quite, curly. In the formal deep blue uniform of the Imperial Guard tonight, his darkly tawny mane was smoothed tidily back in a black ribbon, giving his lightly stubbled jaw a clearer outline. Remembering his outburst in the forest, and placing that alongside every tale she had heard of his conquests, Jenevra alone remained unimpressed. With an icy expression, she watched as he greeted the other gentlemen with a bow, before turning on the charm for the ladies; Serena and Lennia blushing and giggling as if they were still teenagers.

As Tessier turned to greet the princess, Captain Pichot pushed himself forward. “Your Imperial Highness has returned to us, and the court is certainly brightened by it.” Pichot grabbed Jenevra’s hand, planting a sloppy kiss on it with over-large, rubbery lips. “Ravishing, Your Highness. You have grown into a truly beautiful woman, if I may make so bold.” A sycophantic smile oozed across his face.

“You may not!” Jenevra snatched her hand back, scrubbing it vigorously down the skirt of her gown.

Mikyle Manvi choked, turning away to hide his face: Raik and Rafael busily slapping him on the back, their faces also carefully averted, but shoulders shaking. They all knew of her deeply rooted dislike of Reiff Pichot; a dislike that had been instantaneous from the first time she had set eyes on him. Not even Raik’s approval of the man on a military basis had changed her mind. She knew only that she distrusted him from the very core of her being. Something about him just made her flesh crawl.

A sudden flurry of attendants heralded the arrival of the Empress and the Emperor-to-be, saving anyone else from having to deal with the situation.

Arrilia Neilla called on the Lord Chamberlain to begin seating them. “Captain Pichot, you will accompany Her Highness please.” The Captain looked smug, as he offered Jenevra his arm. Trumpets called out a fanfare and the Imperial party began entering the dining hall and taking their places at the table. A loud-voiced attendant announced each of them as they entered. The Imperial Captains entered first, followed by Rafael and Serena Massili, and Lennia Manvi accompanied by Commander Rabenaldt. Chancellor Menzetti and his wife moved slowly through the room, while the final group waited for them to take their places.

Arrilia Neilla turned to her niece as they waited. “Phillip told me about the Protectorship. We will discuss it tomorrow. Tonight please try to not insult any of our guests, and behave as if you are worthy of being given such a responsibility. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Your Imperial Majesty.” Jenevra knew when an argument was futile. As they were announced in the hall, she heard the buzz as people realized she was back. Pulling on all the training she had received in control and calmness, she laid her hand as lightly as she could on Captain Pichot’s and they set off through the room at a properly dignified pace. Gritting her teeth, she felt an increase in her headache as she approached her place between her cousin, the Emperor, and Captain Pichot.

Knowing she was just two chairs away from Arrilia Neilla, and well aware that her aunt would seize upon any excuse to deny her the Protectorship, Jenevra worked as hard as she could to behave appropriately. She kept up conversation with Captain Pichot which, although strained, was based around Pichot’s favorite topic…himself. He droned on throughout the meal, extolling his own brilliance. Captain Pichot had a peculiar custom of wearing his hair slicked back from his face using some obnoxious smelling oil he believed to have an overwhelming effect on women. He was right, but for totally wrong reasons; Jenevra’s eyes were watering. The princess had quickly discovered that all she had to do was nod vacantly, and ask Pichot another question, to keep him talking. Occasionally Phillip would lean across to ask him something and she could relax for a few minutes.

Throughout the whole interminable meal, the heat from the candles kept growing. The doors to the hall had been closed to keep any guests from sitting in a draft. It was still early spring and many of the guests felt the evening chill. Jenevra was used to living almost in the outdoors. The temple had not had windows, but had been shaded with light wooden shutters during the few extremes of weather that they received. With her headache fully developed now, not having fresh air around her was starting to make her feel trapped and ill. The tightly laced gown wasn’t helping. Towards the end of the meal, just before the dessert course was served, Arrilia Neilla and Phillip made short speeches of welcome to the newly arrived guests. Various toasts were offered and drunk in quick succession. Phillip then offered a final one for the evening. “You will have noticed that we have been graced with the company of Her Imperial Highness, Princess Jenevra Couressime, Duchess of Coursim this evening. My mother and I are delighted to welcome her back to court, where we look forward to her remaining as a more permanent ornament. Please raise your glasses to welcome back Princess Jenevra.”

“Princess Jenevra” echoed around the hall.

Jenevra, totally embarrassed and discomfited at this, nevertheless managed to stand up and bow her head graciously before sinking back down into her chair. Under pretence of turning to smile and thank her cousin, she muttered, “I hate you,” at Phillip.

“And I’m supposed to let you protect me with that attitude?” he grinned.

“How much longer?”

Phillip raised his eyebrows. “It’s that bad?”

“It’s the heat, and this ridiculous dress they’ve got me tied into.” She nodded her head at the greasy-haired Pichot to the side of her. “And he stinks too. I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“Really?’ Phillip looked at her. Apart from being slightly pale, he thought she looked quite appealing this evening. The deep red of the dress suited her, and the lacing that she was objecting to made her look like the young woman she actually was. Two spots of pink on her cheekbones made her look slightly flushed and highlighted the vivid blue of her eyes reflected in the bright candlelight. “It won’t be too much longer. Several of the visiting Princes and Dukes will want informal discussions soon. We can probably open this all up and head out to the other rooms and the terraces.” Beckoning the Lord Chamberlain across, Phillip gave instructions for dessert to be brought speedily, and for chilled drinks to be available in the long gallery immediately afterwards.

The fresh air of the terraces definitely helped, as Captain Manvi hastened across the room to escort Jenevra, taking advantage of the chance to ask if she knew when the rest of her family would be arriving. Leaning against the cold marble balustrade gratefully, she gave him what little news she had, pleasantly surprised at his opening up to her a bit more warmly once they began to talk about her brothers and sister. Away from the main crush, the headache receded just slightly to a dull throb.

For the next two hours various nosy nobles from all parts of the Empire came to her, ostensibly to add their own personal welcome to the Emperor’s, but mainly to see if they could find out where the enigmatic princess had been for the last five years. Portly Dukes bustled up with their pimply sons, eyeing a chance to marry into the Imperial family. Simpering Ladies brought their bitchy daughters to see if they could become ladies in waiting to the newly returned princess. Hating the evening beyond anything she could have imagined, Jenevra still managed to greet each one courteously, picking up on snippets of information that these people managed to let slip in their eagerness to impress.

“Princess Jenevra?” Lennia Manvi interrupted Jenevra’s conversation with a minor Count. “Her Majesty is asking for you.” Scooping her arm around Jenevra’s back, Lennia steered her skillfully through the throngs still cluttering the hall and gallery, until they reached the small audience chamber Arrilia Neilla used for informal meetings. As Jenevra paused ready to go in, Lennia gave her a small push. “Go to bed, Jenevra.”

Jenevra blinked at her, surprised. “What?”

“Neilla sent me to tell you to go to bed, child. You look washed out.” She brushed flyaway strands of hair away from Jenevra’s face. “Neilla’s pleased with you Jenn. I think she was quite impressed with how you handled yourself tonight. Go on … get to bed. She’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Leaving so soon, Your Highness?” In the long hallway outside the room Captain Tessier turned from checking on one of the guards from his Flight who were on Palace duty that evening. “I’m not sure I can permit you to wander the Palace unaccompanied.” As she ignored him and continued walking, he paced along beside her, hands clasped behind his back, the heels of his highly polished boots clicking loudly on the marble floor. Commander Rabenaldt had also left the Captain in no doubt as to the behavior he expected from him anywhere near the princess; the words had been harsher than any he had heard since joining the Imperial Army as a callow Lieutenant. Jenevra thought she saw a sly gleam deepen in his amber eyes as he noticed her discomfort at his presence. “May I escort you, Princess?”

“That’s not necessary, Captain, thank you. I think I can manage to walk to my rooms all by myself.”

“I’m sure you can too, Your Highness. But Prince Phillip made my responsibilities quite clear—especially with regard to you, Your Highness.”

“I assure you, Captain, I am perfectly capable of getting myself to my rooms,” the princess snapped, her jaw clenching and her hands balling into tight fists. The shadows in the hallway couldn’t hide Tessier’s smug response to her agitation, and she resolved to disregard Commander Rabenaldt’s direct order and make certain she had a knife somewhere on her at formal occasions.