"Will you grant me the honor of a dance, Princess Dulce?"
Dulce looks up from her wine, feeling a bit tipsy. She has never had so much of the drink before, and her insides feel warm and tingly.
To her surprise, the voice belongs to Prince Killian, the youngest and arguably the most handsome of the Fleming brothers, with his tall, lean build and the shaggy golden hair that falls over his sparkling blue eyes. She gulps, unable to find the words to address him. She glances from side to side, then points to herself.
"You wish to dance with me?"
"I see no other Princess Dulce," Killian says with a smile that aids the wine in turning her insides to mush.
Dulce glances down self-consciously at her gown, a beautiful cream color trimmed in sable and embellished with pearls from the Narrow Sea, a small replica of Felicite's own wedding gown. Her bosom does not fill out the dress as Felicite's ample bosom fills hers (how tightly they had laced that stomacher during the preparations for the wedding - it is as though her dear elder sister had eaten her way through her sadness and grief!) and Dulce wonders what Prince Killian could possibly have to gain by dancing with her, but she does not wish to be rude.
"Oh, yes, of course," Dulce blushes profusely as she takes the hand he offers, allowing him to help her from the raised table where she had dined beside her sister for the wedding banquet. Julien and Felicite have long since retired for the evening, but the merriment has continued far past their departure. To Dulce's great pleasure, no one notices her presence, so she has been allowed to stay far later than the other children.
"You dance beautifully," Prince Killian tells her, smiling his handsome smile down at her, and now she knows it is merely his presence and not the wine that has made her drunk.
"Thank you," she manages, glancing up at him shyly. "I learned at my father's court. He loved music and dancing and insisted we all learn. Although I am not nearly as good a dancer as Felicite."
"Have you enjoyed the party?"
"Oh, yes," she says, eyes shining brightly. "Felicite is so beautiful. She was such a lovely bride. Do you think so, Prince Killian?"
"Of course," Killian replies. "The Agincourt princesses are all rare beauties."
Dulce frowns. "Are you making fun of me, Your Grace?"
"Oh, do not call me that," Killian replies with a laugh. "Call me Killi, as my friends all do. And I would never dare to make fun of you."
"Why do you dance with me and not my sister, Claude? She is older than me. And prettier."
Killian spins her around, close enough to pluck a white rose from an arrangement adorning a pillar marking the dance floor, and hands it to her, bending to kiss her hand.
"Claude is boring. And rude. You are exciting. And pleasant. Good evening, Princess Dulce, and thank you for the dance."
Torran takes two mugs of ale from a servant and hands one to Killian, keeping one for himself. He raises it cheerfully.
"To our brother, the king."
"Indeed," Killian replies, downing the contents of the mug in a single drink.
"You realize that girl you were dancing with is...a child?"
"I do," Killian replies. "But she is only three summers younger than I am. And I know what it is like to be in the shadow of my elder siblings. I wished only for her to have a bit of fun before she was sent away for the night with the other children."
"You should use care, little brother. You will break her poor, dear young heart."
"She will forget me before I find a bed tonight," Killian says with the grin of a rogue. "I only wish to be the favorite of the Fleming brothers, as I no doubt always have been, with the young and old alike."
"Well, thank the Ancestors for that. We've no need to join anymore Agincourt princesses to Fleming princes."
"Dulce? You are late to bed," Cosette's sleepy voice mumbles against the pillow as Dulce climbs between the sheets beside her younger sister, long since sent to bed.
"I was dancing."
"Dancing? Who danced with you?" Cosette is awake now and sits upright. "Tell me about the party!"
Dulce smiles. "No one, go to sleep! I shall tell you in the morning."
"Tell me now!" Cosette insists. "Felicite is not here for you to tell, she is with her husband, so now you must trust me with all your secrets."
"I suppose so," Dulce replies. "I danced with a prince."
"A prince? Which prince? Not one of the Flemings, I hope!" Cosette gasps in horror. "They are terrible!"
"Oh, yes, a Fleming prince indeed. Prince Killian. And he was not terrible at all. He was quite nice, in fact."
"Do not set your hopes too high, Sister," Claude interrupts as she enters the bedchamber. "He is a man, and you are a silly girl. He danced with you out of pity."
"Do not be cruel," Cosette says, shooting Claude a glare.
"I do not mean to be cruel, only to tell the truth. King Julien will soon begin marrying off his brothers, and Dulce is not of an age to marry them, not even Prince Killian. He will be wed long before you are even old enough to catch his eye."
"I did not mean that I wished to marry him," Dulce replies sullenly. "Only that we shared a dance."
In the morning, Dulce awakens to a commotion in the courtyard beneath her window. She stands on tiptoe to peer over the window ledge.
Below, men are assembling and mounting their horses.
"What is it?" Claude asks, pulling the covers above her head to block out the light. "What is all of that noise? It is so early!"
"The king!" a herald calls out, and there is a flurry of activity as the men form their ranks as Julien passes.
"Killi!" Julien's voice rings out, immediately drawing Dulce's eyes.
Killian stands near his horse, a grand dappled grey charger, and looks more handsome than Dulce even remembers him appearing from the night before. His face lights with a smile when he sees Julien approaching, and while everyone else bends their knee to the king, Killian merely laughs and throws his arms around his brother.
"Have a safe journey, little brother," Julien says. "I shall miss you."
"There is not a face here that I would trust my back to," Killian replies, nodding toward the crowd gathered in the courtyard. "You will take care?"
"I will. And when you return, you shall have a nephew," Julien says softly, although Dulce's delicate hearing picks out the words easily. She gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. Felicite is with child? I will be an aunt. Prince Killian and I will share a nephew!
No wonder her wedding gown was so tight!
Thank the Ancestors. At least she is not just fat.
"Your line will be secure," Killian says, genuine joy in his voice. "Oh, thank the Ancestors for that! I will offer a sacrifice in thanks when I return to the Norselands."
"Enjoy this last journey across the sea as a free man," Julien remarks. "Lucien is already plotting the most advantageous marriage for him. Your marriage, of course."
"Of course, he is. And you wonder why you are my favorite brother."
"Goodbye, Killi," Julien replies with a final embrace. "Do not die. I cannot do this without you."
"Goodbye, Your Grace," Killian replies, sweeping an elegant bow. His eyes raise and travel to the window which Dulce now hangs from quite precariously as she struggles to get a glimpse of him before he leaves.
He raises his hand to her, smiling warmly, and then he mounts his horse and leads his men from the courtyard.
"Goodbye," she says wistfully, as he rides through the castle gate and disappears into the city beyond.
Dulce returns to her bed, reaching under her pillow to feel the rose that Killian had gifted her the night before.
When you return, I will be a woman, and you shall love me.
She returns to sleep with a smile upon her lips and her hand wrapped around the flower beneath her pillow.