The Woman With Blue Eyes Like Theirs
The banquet hall was so loud and crowded that my reaction went entirely unnoticed. Beside me, Henrik and Warsza were chatting away in low, easy tones.
"What do you think? It's my brother's banquet, so I planned every detail myself. I've been so curious about when he'd finally get married."
"It's flawless, Warsza. Truly."
"Hehe, I did put in the effort? And I even got Father's permission to spend freely for the occasion. Oh—Your Highness, Father isn't feeling well today, so he's resting. I'm afraid you'll have to forgive his absence."
"Of course. Being welcomed so warmly by Her Highness the Princess is an honor in itself. I shall pay my respects to His Majesty once he has recovered."
I answered with careful courtesy and stole a glance at Henrik. He gave a small nod.
"A good answer, my lady."
And in that very moment, a thought surfaced unbidden.
Then where is his mother?
I had never once heard it said that she had passed away. But I did not make the mistake of giving voice to my curiosity on the spot.
For now, the wisest course was to quietly take the measure of how this royal family operated.
I had read a little about Henrik in the intelligence files back in Francia, but the material on his family had been thin. There was nothing to regret in that, though. I could simply come to know them from this point forward.
"Shall we begin with the stew, Your Highness? It's warm—it will sit well and chase the chill from you."
Seated at the table, Warsza attended to me with genuine care. The spread laid out before us was, I had to admit, splendidly composed.
"Does it suit your taste, Your Highness?"
"It's magnificent. I find myself simply marveling, Princess."
I answered in all sincerity. Everything Warsza pressed upon me was delicious, and even the silver-glinting goblets and tableware seemed designed to whet the appetite. In truth, it hardly mattered whether the food was good or not.
Outwardly I played the gracious guest, savoring each course, while inwardly I catalogued, one by one, how the banquet customs of this place diverged from those of the Kingdom of Francia.
I had noticed it at meals in Henrik's palace as well—the salad studded with cucumber struck me as novel. No doubt the delegation that would soon arrive from Francia would think much the same.
And one more thing.
"Eat more, my lady."
Henrik urged food upon me in that low voice of his. I was full, but I made a show of taking another bite.
That he sat directly beside me was itself remarkable. In Francia, no wife shared a seat beside her husband at a formal occasion such as this.
Even in the weeks since my arrival, I had never once dined at his side in his palace. It had always been the table, and the two of us at opposite ends of it—nothing more.
But tonight was different. I was still turning over in my mind what else this kingdom's banquets might do differently from Francia's when—
"Henrik. Congratulations on your marriage."
Someone wearing a lavish golden belt approached and called to him. Henrik rose at once and bowed.
"Brother. You've come."
I rose just as quickly and offered the same bow. Prince Leszyca was, I confess, a curiosity to behold.
The brothers looked so little alike that I might have doubted they shared a father. What they had in common was a certain elegant bearing, and the smooth music of their speech.
But where Henrik was a blade forged of black jewels, Prince Leszyca was a lofty candelabrum, gleaming and reserved.
His platinum hair caught the light, so pale it seemed ready to melt away. And behind his glasses, his amethyst eyes glittered with a thoroughly intellectual sheen.
"A pleasure, Princess Consort."
"The honor is mine, to meet His Highness Leszyca, First Prince of Bwendowska."
"This banquet is held in your honor, so I hope you'll enjoy it freely. May Błęndia bless you."
I swallowed. Leszyca and Henrik were rivals for the succession. So I did not believe for a moment that his blessing was offered in earnest.
Henrik, no doubt, thought the same. And yet, beneath all that, the gathering of Henrik's family maintained a graceful warmth.
The King was ailing, and of Henrik's mother I had heard nothing at all. Which meant I had now met everyone who mattered—if only I could see this banquet through unscathed, the evening would be a success.
I was keeping a careful hold on my nerves, thinking that half the day's trials were behind me, when—
"My lady, that table is for the Prince and Princess—"
A servant moved to block someone advancing without hesitation toward our table. The woman called my lady raised her voice.
"I come merely as head of the Biauby family to pay respects to Their Highnesses. Naturally, I owe them my congratulations as well."
Henrik's broad frame blocked my view, and I could not place her at a glance. He murmured, low, in front of me.
"Lady Biauby. So she's come."
"We are gathered to celebrate Your Highness's marriage, after all. Prince Leszyca. Prince Henrik, Princess Warsza. Glory to Błęndia. I am Tatra, come as representative of House Biauby."
"Welcome, Lady Biauby. Is the meal to your liking?"
"Oh my—it's Warsza's banquet, so that hardly needed asking. I could almost beg the Biauby head chef for the recipes."
"Hehe. If you say so, I can rest easy."
Tatra, trading pleasantries with Warsza, took a few more steps and drew up in front of Henrik. Only then did I finally see her face.
"Your Highness. It has been too long. I prayed every day for your safe return."
Oh no. The moment I saw her, my lips stiffened without my willing it.
Tatra—she possessed the most striking blue eyes. The exact same shade as Antoni's. As Selena's.
Her golden hair, rippling like the finest silk. The jewelry that harmonized so perfectly with her looks. The dress shaped like a flower bud. The graceful, gentle manner and the soft voice—every last detail of her.
Everything about her proclaimed that she was the most beautiful woman in this hall.
Having paid her respectful greetings, Tatra turned her gaze—and met my eyes.
In that instant, I understood at once. This woman, who adored Henrik, was looking at me with jealousy.
"I've been so curious what sort of person His Highness chose as his bride. Your Highness—I find myself thinking he chose well, truly."
Tatra flung her elegant barb at me, and I knew I was obliged to return something in kind. Even if it was nothing but a false smile.
"And I am glad, in turn, to meet you at so grand an occasion."
But I reminded myself of reality.
My true enemy is not you, Tatra. So I hoped she would not provoke me further than this.
"How fortunate that you're enjoying the banquet, Your Highness—though I can hardly imagine how different it must be from the ones you've known. Once the meal concludes, there will be dancing, open to all the guests."
Tatra kindly explained the evening's proceedings to me, a foreigner, but I did not trust her sweetness for a moment.
"You know, I used to dance with His Highness, in days past. Do you remember, my lord? I had only just made my debut, and thanks to your kind guidance, I learned so very much."
I barely suppressed the urge to snort.
She was advertising, before the whole assembly, whatever her history with Henrik had been—while simultaneously, and with practiced naturalness, showcasing her own innocence and warmth.
Had this been a banquet of House Biauby, such conduct might have passed without censure. But this was a celebration of my marriage to Henrik.
"Ah, yes, that. Your father asked it of me, as I recall, and so I obliged."
Henrik answered in his characteristically cold voice. It amounted to a declaration: those dances had been nothing more than a consequence of her father's interference.
And honestly, it felt a little satisfying. Even though Henrik was not Antoni.
I knew perfectly well that he was a different man entirely, and yet I was projecting Antoni and Selena onto the pair of them.
But I had entered this sham marriage with Henrik for a clear purpose.
I had handled the last banquet where I saw Selena without a crack showing—so I would do the same now. I was still steeling my resolve when she spoke again.
"Oh my, how right you are—that is what you said. And I remember it, my lord. Though how could any woman forget that day? You showed me such tender consideration, after all. Hehe."
Against Henrik's indifference, Tatra did not yield an inch. Perhaps there was a reason she dwelt so insistently on that day.
Most likely Henrik had always treated her well—ever since her debut into society. The two of them may well have appeared together at banquets like this one, again and again.
Even without Henrik giving her any special response to play along with, her eyes brimmed with lingering attachment. It was plain enough not only to me, but to every member of the royal family seated at this table.
So she doesn't care who sees that lingering fondness. Or the jealousy.
"Is that so? A woman's sentiments, I'm afraid, are rather beyond my understanding."