Page 101 of Of Fate and Phantoms
"Quite. Indeed, she was in good spirits. She is utterly convinced it's him, you see, and no matter how often I tell her it's an imposter, she refuses to believe me. Once she makes up her mind, it takes a miracle to change it, and she's made up her mind that my father's ghost visits her for a chat."
"Did you question the servants? Did anyone see him enter?" They must have. A man looking like the late prince consort couldn't wander into the palace without being detected.
"No. Not a single one. It's very odd. They're all on the lookout for someone claiming to be him after the last incident, but nobody saw him this time. Hopeless, the lot of them."
Or perhaps King had taken on the shape of someone else, someone the servants expected to see in the palace. He could have changed into the form of one of the servants, another family member, or official. If he was capable of changing into any shape, the possibilities were endless. And frightening.
"Did your mother—did the queen—tell you what they discussed?" I asked.
"He made her promise not to tell anyone, and she won't break that promise. I tried to get her to tell me, as did one of my brothers, but she refused. She's a bloody—" He cut himself off and drank his chocolate instead.
I sipped, too, considering the possibilities. What did King want? Money? He hadn't asked for any yet, but he might. On the other hand, he could have simply taken whatever he wanted from the palace and sold it. An expensive vase, a gold frame or candlestick. "He must want something," I said, thinking aloud.
"Perhaps to influence her, in some way, but I don't yet know to what purpose."
"Does she have much political influence?" I asked.
"In certain quarters. There are other types of influence, however. If she endorses a business, say a jeweler or horse trainer, customers would flock."
I nodded slowly. "It's a sound theory." I wondered if Lincoln would think to ask King that sort of question.
"She is utterly convinced that it's him," he said quietly. "Nothing I say can sway her opinion."
"It must be frustrating for you and your family."
"My family?" He looked taken aback. "I meant frustrating because she's the queen and she knows she can do, say and think as she pleases. The opinions of others, even those of her children, are irrelevant to her." He studied his teacup then finally lifted it to his lips. "I'm sorry, Miss Holloway, I didn't mean to say such a thing to you. My family is a sensitive topic."
"It's quite all right. I'm not used to families, you see. I don't have one. Not really."
He smiled. "That is not entirely a bad thing. Family are sometimes a thorn in one's side."
"I'm sure they're a great comfort, too. One can depend on family to keep one's secrets. You can trust family."
"Trust them to tell you exactly what they think of you, you mean." His smile became a smirk. "To lecture you, point out your sins, and compare you to your upstanding father whoneverput a foot wrong." He went to sip his chocolate again but set the cup down, a sour look on his face. He got up and poured himself a drink at the sideboard.
I didn't know what to say, or if my opinion was even sought. Perhaps he simply needed to talk to someone who wanted nothing from him in return. Perhaps being here, he felt safe. Did he bring his mistresses here? Or his friends, to get away from the public? What secrets did these walls and servants keep?
"At least we have the fellow in hand now," the prince muttered into his glass, his back to me. "It'll shut her up when she finds out he's an imposter."
"Almost have him in hand," I corrected.
He turned, a scowl on his face, as if annoyed that I was still listening to his private musings. I put down my cup and began to rise, but he put up his hand to stay me. He did not, however, say anything.
"Is there something else, your highness?" I asked.
He returned to his chair, sighing as he settled down. He suddenly looked every bit middle-aged and weary, like a man with many burdens. Up until now, I'd thought him rather sprightly and reasonably handsome for a man nearing fifty. I wondered how he kept up with a wife, mistresses, children, a demanding mother and his duties as heir to the throne.
"Sir?" I prompted. "Is there something else you wanted to ask me? Or something you wish me to pass on to Mr. Fitzroy?"
"Fitzroy." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "That's an interesting name."
Ohhhh.Sothat'sthe direction his thoughts took. I sipped my tea, keen to see where this conversation led. Very keen.
"Leisl's son," he mused. "And twenty-nine years of age."
I pretended to study my cup but I kept my gaze on him through my lashes. He suddenly looked up, however, and my attempt at being subtle failed. My face flamed.
"What's he like?" he asked.
