The Robber Princess

Chapter 2. A Perfect Fiasco

Chapter 2

The platinum-blonde in royal blue satin had not entered through the main doors and been announced like the others, but instead had slipped in unnoticed from an unobtrusive side door. Brickelstein recognized her instantly from the intelligence dossier: Crown Princess Regina, the elder daughter of Queen Rega and future Queen of Rochevaux. Brickelstein thought it strange that she had entered this way-even if she had been running late, the cryer should have stayed in position and had the first dance delayed until her arrival. He also thought it curious that she wore no royal regalia; in fact, unlike every other woman in the room-some who even had the audacity to wear tiaras-Regina wore no jewelry at all, not even a wristwatch. Not that she needed any accoutrements or enhancements, for her gorgeous face, supermodel figure, and long, shiny hair must have turned mens' heads so thoroughly that they walked into things.

Brickelstein was unable to tear his eyes away from such perfection. She moved like a cat; gingerly and self-consciously, as if surveying her surroundings for danger, making no sound even as her heels hit the mahogany floor. Usually when Brickelstein first encountered a beautiful woman his throat went dry and his uniform felt a little tight. But this time he felt completely at ease. The blonde feline had stopped moving but was still looking around. Why did she no longer seem so distant? Then he realized that it was he had moved nearer to her, unconsciously mimicking her stealthy gait.

Just when Brickelstein was thinking he should probably avert his eyes to avoid being caught impolitely staring, her gaze met his and she smiled. It was not the bawdy ear-to-ear grin of the insincere socialite. Rather, Regina smiled more with her eyes than her mouth, displaying that same understated elegance that Brickelstein saw in the other Rochevauxian attendees. Beyond that, he could size her up no further; his analytical prowess had drowned in a sea of emotion. All he could do was continue approaching her. To his immense satisfaction and relief, she moved nearer to him also.

They met at the edge of the block of guests who were still dancing the Grächenaise. The dancing guests were self-preoccupied, oblivious to the mysterious force fixing Brickelstein's and Regina's gazes on each other. Brickelstein's unpracticed spoken French was escaping him and he blurted out, "Your Highness." He could say nothing more. His greeting had come out in English, the foreign language he knew best. To his further relief, she replied in English also. "Your Lordship ... Your reputation for excellence precedes you." Instinctively, they clasped hands and joined the Grächenaise. He had not danced it since his Sankt Ambrosius days but her obvious fluency in the routine put him at ease. His stoic demeanor, cultivated and polished over twenty years, evaporated like raindrops on hot coals.

He brushed a hoopskirt behind him and Regina gently tugged him away. It was enough to remind him of his surroundings. He realized that not once had he and the Princess taken their eyes off each other. He could not help but crack a faint smile. Regina's understated smile broadened and she broke into a muffled snicker. Her demeanor was controlled but her eyes radiated, as if saying "Take me now." Brickelstein's heart pounded; for the first time since he could remember, an interesting woman was laughing with him, not at him. They continued to dance. When the routine brought them close enough, Regina broke gaze and whispered slyly into his ear, "Nothing to say tonight?" But Brickelstein was too mesmerized to speak, so he just pursed his lips and shook his head slightly.

Clearly satisfied with his militarily efficient response, Regina pulled him further from the dancing crowd and back into their little bubble. There was no outside world: no foreign military intelligence to strategize, no Waltrauds or Antonias to humiliate him, no mysterious museum thefts to investigate, no side-looks or raised eyebrows from the noble hostages of their own social mores, not even any music to keep tempo to. There was only him and her. Without thinking, he put hand around her waist and drew her closer, and she embraced him with both of hers. The intricate moves of the Grächenaise did not matter anymore. They leaned in, their lips moving ever so closely to each other-