The Silent Prince

6: My Mother Betrays Me

$ RIKKARD $

"Rikkard, dear," my mother's voice said. I didn't bother to waste energy and time by turning around to face her when I could hear her very well from where I was sitting at my desk. "Why on earth are you not at the ball?"

In between signing a check with one hand and writing down calculations with the other, I answered her. "Because, Mother, I do not have the time to throw away on frivolous pursuits like a ball. I require a secretary, not a wife, and seeing as I have already chosen a secretarial candidate, my quota on social interaction with anybody outside the palace has been reached."

"Ricky, my darling boy!" She sounded aghast. "How can you speak in such a manner? Those girls came a long way to meet you, and now you are disappointing all of them."

"Well, Mother--" I felt my jaw twitch at the same time that my littlest finger did, causing me to drop my quill. Frustrated, I bent over to pick it up--only, it was snatched from me.

"Looking for this?" Adaira asked, her arms crossed behind her head casually, while one hand clutched my sole quill.

I only kept one quill on hand at a time, though I could have owned plenty more because it allowed me to allocate resources to other, highly significant things. However, now I was considering investing in perhaps another quill, or else I would have difficulty writing if someone stole my writing implement.

"I am, now return it," I snapped back, reaching for it.

"Now, now, Ricky," my sister singsonged. "I will return it after you dance. Just one measly, little dance, and then you can have your precious quill back."

I took a threatening step closer, and she flung it out the ajar door and down the hallway. A surprising, bold move. It was a shame for her that I was far more audacious than she, flinging open the door the rest of the way and darting down the corridor, only to run into...

"Miss Linton?" I asked.

Her fiery dress matched her temper, the red colour blinding me even under the gaslights. She curtsied, the falsest one I had ever seen. "Hello, s--I mean, Your Highness."

"Are you holding my quill?" I folded my arms across my chest, taking a step closer.

Miss Linton looked up at me, not the least intimidated. I could see the quill in her hand.

"Oh, this little thing?" She smiled at me, not at all pleasant and yet very, very attract--no! "It's mine now. Your Highness."

"That is the property of the prince of Battlewood, Miss Linton." I took another step, and our chests almost brushed against each other, an inch of space separating. It was indecent, but then again I had never been one for social propriety. And I sensed that neither was she. "Give. It. Back."

I held out my hand. She stuffed my quill down the front of her gown.

"Oops." She smiled again, as though pretending to be innocent! That ifrit! "How clumsy of me."

"I—I—" I was impressed by her ingenuity, her utter absurdity!—and yet unwilling to admit such a thing. To try and wretch the bloody thing from her would be beyond a shadow of a doubt utterly too scandalous for me to attempt, considering the, ahem, area that it was in."Miss Linton!"

She fluttered her lashes at me. "Yes, Your Highness?"

"You owe me a new quill" was all I muttered before shoving past her and walking briskly toward the ballroom as my mother had suggested. Behind me, I could hear the giggles of her and my sister. So they were co-conspirators in my humiliation—that certainly made sense. Were all the women in my life trying to ruin me?

"A dance, Ricky," Adaira prompted when I reached the ballroom's double doors. The sounds of swelling orchestral music and useless, boring, polite conversation—I suppressed the very thought of that with a minute shudder—reached my ears. "You promised."

"Let it not be said," I stated slowly, "that I do not keep my word. I will dance... with Miss Linton."

Next to my sister, Miss Linton paled. I extended a hand to her. "Dance with me, Miss Linton."

I made it clear in my tone that there was absolutely no choice, and led her to the ballroom.

"What is your master plan, Your Highness?" She wondered aloud. "Are you planning on inappropriately ripping open my bodice and taking back your quill?"

"No matter what you might believe, Miss Linton..." As the strings grew to a blaring crescendo, I put my lips close to her ear. For the life of me, I could not understand what urge drove me to move closer to her, to seek out her touch as though it were silver or diamonds or gold itself. "I am a gentleman. I would never do such things to a lady."

"I am no lady," she said with a cheerful grin. "Rip away, Your Highness."

"Are you attempting to be evicted from this ball, Miss Linton?" My jaw tensed, my littlest finger twitching. I ignored both physical responses as simple reaction to stimuli. It did not signify anything. "Because I certainly have the power to do so."

"I'd love to see you go up against my aunt." Her brown eyes were wide as if with excitement at the prospect of being thrown out of the gala on her rear end. "I am already placing bets on who would win."

I blinked once, the only sign of emotion. "Your aunt?"

High heels clicked over to us along with the sickening scent of perfume. "Oh, Lillian!"