The food arrived in short order, a passable meal. Krapfen, as it turned out, was a knot of hearty bread fried in pure animal fat–quite tasty, but heavy in the stomach. By the time the roasted game hen arrived, ludicrously coated with mustard, Erzsebet had not the appetite to manage more than a nibble. Gertrude clearly took no offense, and for her part ate only a few bites, and the rest was soon taken from their sight. The wine at least was delicious.
Certainly no princely banquet, but sumptuous compared to the fare she'd been given while awaiting audience. They talked in spurts while they ate, niceties and nothings, neither probing any further beyond the superficial. When at last Erzsebet had drunk her fill, she aimed an appropriately grateful smile to her hostess and announced that she would like to retire.
"Aww, already?" Gertrude pouted, looking all the more childish. "The night is still young, and we have much yet to talk about."
"Apologies, my lady, but I am rather tired. Unless there is some pressing matter?"
"No, no, nothing serious," she said, daintily waving her hand, but the motion slowed to a thoughtful halt. "It is only... Well, I am curious, is all–but we can save it for another time."
Erzsebet stifled her sigh, and with honeyed sweetness she asked, "What is it, my lady?"
Gertrude dropped her doe eyes, hands now clasped primly on the table's edge. "I just wondered... why you came here, to the prince's court, for refuge. Why not the king?"
Erzsebet watched her openly, reading the pose as closely as any text, as dire as a pagan of Rome who studied the flights of birds to learn the will of his gods. What made her ask this question, and why now? Such meekness could only be an act; she played the role of the innocent, lonely girl, afraid that she might be supplanted, afraid that her prince might already have set his sights elsewhere.
Such a sordid play; if this was to be the first act's drama, Erzsebet knew well enough her lines. "Why, because the king has already sided with my foe," she answered, as meek and innocent as the other. "I said as much earlier, to the prince. A royal messenger–"
"Even so," Gertrude cut in, her first transgression. There was a raw tremble to her voice, as if she only now saw the threat Erzsebet might pose. "Even so, you could have pleaded your case to the king. It is his kingdom, his servant who has sinned against your family. What justice could you hope for, from the Duke of Slavonia?" She raised her eyes, beseeching. "What exactly do you want here, my lady?"
Erzsebet held the girl's gaze, to all appearances free of guile, pure of heart. "To be honest," she eventually said, "I am not sure. I was... I was alone, and scared. I had been betrayed–over and over, betrayed, until I could trust no one. It felt like the whole kingdom had turned against me–and here was a prince who sat outside the kingdom, who had in fact turned against the kingdom. Maybe part of me wanted vengeance, however that may look, and thought I might find it here." She felt tears pushing at the corners of her eyes–a fine climax to the performance. "I think mostly I was afraid, and I wanted to find somewhere safe."
Gertrude held her stare, and there in the girl's eyes were twin glimmers of answering sympathy–for the first time, Erzsebet considered the possibility that Gertrude was being honest with her. "You are safe here," the girl promised. "I swear it."
"Thank you, my lady." Erzsebet dabbed her eyes, gave a smile that said I hope I can trust this kindness, when so many others have been false.
Blinking, Gertrude nodded, then suddenly shook her head. "Right. You said you were tired, and here I am keeping you from your rest. So selfish!" She clapped her hands, and there again was Lavina. "Show the lady Erzsebet to her new quarters, would you? And if she wants for anything, anything at all, she shall have it. Understood?"
"Yes, my lady," said the servant. "This is away, my lady."
With a final glance at Gertrude, Erzsebet left the parlor. She followed Lavina through the halls, hardly even aware of their path, for her mind was running backward through the evening. Every word, every motion, every look; nothing could be forgotten, nothing left unmeasured.
"It is here, my lady," said the servant, coming to a halt before a sturdy set of doors. "Are you needing any more else?"
"Nothing, Lavina," Erzsebet answered absently. "Thank you."
The servant bowed and left. With some mental force, Erzsebet returned her attention to the present moment, and pulled the door open, looking into her new abode.
It was certainly more befitting the daughter of a count than her old lodgings–though smaller by far, she could not help but notice, than Gertrude's accommodations, if her parlor was any indication. Daughter of a duke–was a duke of Rome greater than a count of Hungary? Royal engagement notwithstanding–and indeed, with any luck, it wouldn't stand much longer–Erzsebet could not quite decide if she ought to take offense.
The rooms were orderly, but to nowhere near the obsessive heights of Gertrude's parlor. Nor indeed was the atmosphere as dark: pale wood and brightly dyed fabrics gave an air of a spring morning, despite how everything tended to look autumnal in candlelight. With the great bay windows at the back, she had high hopes that the dawn would bring the solar to vibrant life.
Her meager belongings had already been brought, dumped just beyond the doorway. The thought of some servant handling her clothes made her wrinkle her nose as she arranged them. For a moment she couldn't find Ilona's doll, and feared it had been thrown out, but the little wild-haired Ila was tucked neatly into the side of a trunk. She took it in hand as she explored her new residence.
Listless she meandered from parlor to bedroom to washroom and back, not feeling the least bit tired despite her excuses to Gertrude. Even so, she sat tentatively upon the bed, testing the prospect–wide, comfortable, heaped with blankets, and yet it did not call to her. A bath would better suit the hour; the wooden tub in the bathing room was spacious and smooth, but she hadn't a clue where to go for hot water. With some trepidation she clapped her hands, just as Gertrude had done to call Lavina, and just as swiftly another maid appeared.
Erzsebet stared at the young woman for a breathless moment, utterly out of sorts. She had called servants in just such a fashion countless times in her father's castles, yet now it struck her as a horrible thing. They were always there, just out of sight, waiting to be summoned. This was not her place; these were not her creatures, but the prince's, or Gertrude's. She could not trust them, and yet she must suffer their constant nearness.
She had to master her growing panic, for surely this woman would report anything out of sorts to whomever she served. "I would like a bath," Erzsebet said primly. "Could water be heated and brought?" The presumption struck her, something she had never questioned before: the fuel burnt to heat the water, the many trips hauling ewers up to her room to fill her bath. What arrogance, to expect such efforts for the sake of her comfort, when she was but a guest, already leaning heavily on the prince's generosity.
And yet, presumption or no, the servant nodded. "Right away, my lady," and then she was gone.
Stewing in her sudden misgivings, Erzsebet sat and stared blankly upon her lush accommodations, and found herself missing the rustic comforts of travel. She would be at once warm, clean and comfortable this night, whereas she could rarely expect even one of the three during her time on the road, and yet still she reminisced fondly of her journey through Croatia. Even before, her time in the mountains, among the pagans, caught in the storm... Now she was returned to courtly life, made once more to play the petty games of the nobility. Bolya and his people in the Tarcal mountains might well be fighting for their lives, while she sat atop a feather mattress and schemed how to steal a prince from his betrothed.
And yet it is only by such scheming that she might save her parents, and prevent further bloodshed. The great absurdity of life: that such fickle things as courtly intrigue could ripple out into the real world; that hundreds of lives might be saved or lost, depending solely on how the coming farce played out. Hundreds, perhaps thousands–she could not forget that she sought the hand of a rebel prince. The fate of the kingdom might be changed if she batted the wrong eyelash–or the right one.
A paralyzing horror descended upon her. She had spent so long considering how she might achieve her aims, yet had never reckoned with the immensity of her task. Benedek had said that she meant to become queen–even now she could not say if it was so. Surely, the greater her power, the better she could protect those she loved from men like the palatine, but what of the road to that power? If she won the prince's heart, would she push him to rebel again? Already she pressured him to move against the palatine; already she begged him to commit treason against the crown. How many would have to die for her to feel secure?
"My lady," came a gentle voice, pulling her from her thoughts. She raised her eyes, focusing once more upon the maidservant. "The bath is ready."
"So quickly?" It had been but a few minutes... hadn't it? The servant only bowed, as if it had been a compliment, then turned to leave. "Please, wait," Erzsebet said quickly. "What is your name?"
The woman turned back. "I am called Herlinde, my lady, if it please you." Another German, though better hidden–her tongue more sure, her accent less harsh, she might have been a native Croatian were it not for the name. But no–one of Gertrude's, surely.
"Thank you, Herlinde," Erzsebet said cordially. "Will you be attending me hence?"
"If it please you, my lady," she repeated, curtseying. Erzsebet gave only a smile, and in the silence the maid stood awkwardly. "If there is anything else, my lady, I would be happy to serve."
"No, that will be all, Herlinde. Thank you." The servant curtseyed once more, then left.
A moment later Erzsebet rose, surveying the empty room, wondering just how many eyes and ears surrounded her. She strode to the washing room, found the tub full and steaming. With a quiet sigh she stripped, shivering against the exposure, and slipped into the water. Blessedly, she found her mind quieted as she focused on cleansing herself. The first proper bath she had had in weeks–here, at least, she allowed nothing else to assail her.
Soap and natron hair-rinse were provided, the latter sadly unscented, but Erzsebet was grateful all the same. She took her time with her hair, washing and untangling, then adding water to the natron powder and applying it evenly, one lock at a time. Vaguely, in her empty peaceful mind, she longed for old Cecilia's gentle hands, and wondered idly if she could call a servant to wash her hair and massage her scalp. The thought of Herlinde laying hands upon her made her flinch; she finished rinsing her hair alone, then began washing her body. The soap at least had a rich floral scent, rose and watercress, and as she lathered the smell filled the room, a heady fuzz suffusing her thoughts.
She stayed in the bath long after she had finished cleaning herself, until too much of the heat had risen as vapor and the water grew tepid. The moment she raised herself from the tub, the shivers returned; she felt watched, vulnerable; she dried herself quickly with a linen towel, and returned to the bedroom. There, lain out atop her blankets was a chemise, purest white and finely embroidered, thin and soft and utterly unknown to her.
Were they intentionally trying to unsettle her? Someone had skulked through her bedroom while she bathed–they might well be in her bathing room already, drawing off the water. With every step, an unseen orbit stepped with her, room to room, always just out of sight. Did they mean to cow her? Perhaps Gertrude had ordered her servants to torment her, to make it clear that she was always watched, that no misstep would go unnoticed.
A challenge, then.
She set her towel aside, exposing herself once more, but this time she did not shiver–someone had set a fire in her hearth. How kind of them, how considerate. She donned the chemise, smiling darkly at the sheer fabric, the close fit, knowing well what a silhouette she would cut in the firelight.
Her purpose in this castle was clear, and no intimidation would dissuade her. Let Gertrude watch to her heart's content–Erzsebet had no need for impropriety to win her prize. She would play a blameless angel, and snare the prince with all the guile of the devil. She need not misstep to find her way to him; he would come to her.
"My lady Erzsebet?" called a voice from her parlor, yanking her from her thoughts.
A male voice.
A princely voice.
She froze. It had sounded as if he was already inside–he had opened the door to her room without her leave. She knew not the hour, but certainly it was well past any proper time for an engaged man to be calling upon a young woman, alone in her room.
She looked down at herself, dressed in nothing but the chemise, which in truth revealed as much as it hid. Purest white–angelic.
She smiled and strode towards the voice.
How crude it would be of her, after all, to keep the prince waiting.