A Questionable Quest

Chapter 30... in which I call my infuriatingly incompetent fairy godmother

Van was waiting just outside the door when I slipped out. The ballroom still echoed with the sounds of laughter -- and now music -- but I didn't hear either as Van stepped up to meet me.

"No fire?" he asked, peering past me into the dim room. I grinned.

"Not this time, no."

"And?"

"And what?" I pulled my half-drunk, no-longer-steaming glass of cider from Van's grasp. He relinquished it easily, and gave me a look that said clearly, "what did they say?"

I shrugged, and downed the glass. "I still have to marry your brother."

"What?!" Van nearly choked on his sip of cider. As it was, my innocent (okay, maybe not-so-innocent) joke sent him into a coughing fit that attracted worried stares from several guests. Some of them glared at me, as if it were my fault the prince couldn't drink his apple juice like a normal person.

I patted him hard on the back, until he stopped coughing. Then, eyes slightly red, he stared at the grin twitching at my lips. "That was a joke," he said, his voice rasping slightly, "right?"

"It was a joke."

"Good." Van placed his now-empty cider glass on the nearest table, with mine, and pulled me a step closer. (Just a step, though, as any closer would have been wholly inappropriate for a ball.)

(I knew there was a reason I'd always despised high-societal etiquette.)

Van continued, oblivious to my inner ramblings, "because I don't care what my parents say, we're going to have that happy ending you promised me."

"When did I ever promise you a happy ending?" I joked, the teasing smile that came to my face clearly dulling the biting words. Then I registered what he'd said, and the smile slipped away.

"You-"

"And what did your parents say?"

That quieted him. He looked away, to some uninteresting corner of the room, before meeting my eye again. "Exactly what you'd expect them to say."

"That I'm not Portsburringly," I guessed. My stomach didn't drop this time -- after all, I'd expected him to say as much -- but I couldn't stop the slight twinge of frustration that inched into my voice.

"That you're not Portsburringly," Van confirmed. He, also, sounded frustrated. Not resigned, though, which was good.

As long as he still believed there was a fighting chance and I still believed there was a fighting chance, there was still a fighting chance. I didn't say this, but I squeezed his arm reassuringly.

Right at that moment, the concealed door to the back room opened, and my parents strode out.

My mother's eye swept expertly over the crowd, immediately spotting Van and me. She'd always been good at finding people -- whether you were hiding behind a potted plant, or sneaking away from the ballroom before the night was over. (Yes, I'd done both. On several hundred occasions.)

Her lips twitched, as if she wanted to smile. The triumphant glint in her eye was unmistakable, and I knew then that she'd suspected this outcome for much longer than she'd let on. Maybe even from before I'd first set out to join the prince's quest.

I couldn't help the sullen thought that if she'd told me her suspicions sooner, then maybe things might have gone smoother.

I met her eye, with a raised brow of my own, then turned back to Van.