Chapter Eleven: Excuses, Excuses

Radovan's wretched sneer tore through Aella's body. Every cell of her being froze in terror. He recognized the mantle? Of course he recognized the mantle! He was the one to commission its tailoring. Aella needed an escape, and she needed it fast. Before she could even think though her actions, she spoke.

"This ol' thang?" She was surprised by the caliber of her acting. The accent she pulled off had a distinct peasant twang to it. "Aw shucks, you like it?" Gently, so that she would not warrant another kick from her father, Aella stood. Radovan looked completely bemused by her answer.

"Where'd you get it?" he repeated himself. Aella did not respond right away. She took a moment to brush off the dirt hanging onto the fur before straightening it on her lanky figure. During this, she scoped out a viable excuse.

"Found it on a stiff one night," she said. "Purty gal. At least it looked that way. She was kinda rottin' and smellin' funny." Radovan's nose crinkled, and he backed up from Aella.

"You mean…she was dead?" he asked. For a second, Aella thought she heard a note of true bereavement in his voice, but she dismissed it and nodded. "Well, as that mantle belonged to my daughter, I will now relieve it of you." He took a step towards Aella, but as he did so, his face screwed in more disgust. Another step and he looked away so that he would not have to face the peasant fiend he was about to touch. Aella stared at him innocently this whole time, mentally smiling to herself in amusement.

"You know what," he snarled at her, slinking back. "You keep it." And he disappeared down the walk. Aella smirked to herself, then stole a glance around to see if anyone had overheard their conversation. Someone might put two and two together-mysterious Roughskin with the Princess' mantle- but there was no one in sight.

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Aella was still shaking from her encounter with Radovan hours later as she swept the kitchen after the nightly meal. Flavia noted this, and Aella pushed it off with a shrug.

"I suppose I'm just struck by the glamour of it all," she spoke, referring to the glitzy nobility. "Never seen such a thing before." Of course, in reality, she had experienced many fancier events, with ostentatious balls, grandiose fashions paraded with every step, and the general pretentious showing-off contest.

While she had slipped through the meeting with Radovan with ease, in reality, it left her anxious and trembling. She made a note to herself never to cross the paths frequented by the nobles and to avoid any unnecessary attention from anyone- especially Xavier.

Aella couldn't sleep that night. Not an ounce of torpor weighed her down. In fact, her legs ached to move. Resolving that no one would be out that late at night, she slipped out for a walk, sans the mantle. Instead, she strolled in her overly-large white nightgown. Her bare feet enjoyed the caress of the grass as she took each step, and the gentle coolness of night left her refreshed.

She took a seat by the stream, staring into the tiny ripples the lethargic current carried past her. Her eyelids drooped, and she fought to stay awake, at least long enough to return to the stables. Her limbs, on the other hand, were perfectly content resting on the grassy banks. Her body had to scream at them to move. Sluggishly, she went for her home.

"Alas, it is a ghost!" a voice cried behind her. Fully awake now, Aella spun around, throwing her hands over her lips to stifle a shriek. A man stood there. At first, Aella believed it to be Xavier, and a sharp retort burned her lips. However, his voice was different, and as he took a step closer, Aella noticed that while his features were similar to Xavier's, he was taller and less aloof in his expression.

"Um, hello," Aella whispered. The man was only in his night clothes and she in hers. A small warmth spread over her cheeks as she realized it was the inappropriate of situations. An alarm rang in her brain; would he try to rape her as Damion had?

"I truly thought I saw a ghost," he said, speaking as though he were reciting a poem. "But it is a girl. And a pretty lass at that!" Aella snorted.

"I have a reputation for being quite the opposite," she told him.

"What? A girl or pretty?"

"Pretty?"

"Oh, because it would be quite a sight to see you try to disguise yourself as a boy." Aella couldn't help but grin. While she was sure the darkness masked her features so that he could not see the grime caking her face, there was a certain charm to his words. "So, my specter beauty, pray tell what you are doing on castle grounds alone so late at night? A lady from afar perhaps? A dazzling princess of an exotic land?" Aella schooled her expression so that it would not betray her to the last statement.

"I am a servant actually, simply taking a walk," she told him. "And excuse me for being impertinent, but who are you?" He laughed.

"It is quite dark, I suppose, and in the darkness, there is mystery," he said. "And I will leave you with a bit of mystery tonight. Sadly, I must leave you, my maiden. The lad in me is disappointed that you are not a ghost or demon woman, but the man in me is most certainly happy that I stumbled upon you." He ventured closer and took Aella's hand in his own, pressing his lips against her knuckles. The warmth razed her entire face.

"Good night," she murmured as he slipped into the shadows.

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There was nothing like a splotch of yellowish-red mystery casserole stuck on the rim of the finest plates that could raise Aella's temper as it did. Little particles of dinner flaked away, one fleck at a time. She had tried the brush on it, the rag on it, her own fingers on it, but there was simply nothing that would speed up the process without damaging the plate.

"I hate dishes," Flavia moaned next to her. "And with all this extra noble-crap, we got ourselves a whole lot more of it." She dipped her own bowl under the suds. "I can't wait for them damn Kings to ride off on them pompous steeds and get the hell way from our kingdom."

"I know," Aella affirmed with a grunt. Her hands submerged in the water, and she sighed. "It's gone cold again. Marian, I hate to be a bother, but is the next kettle boiling yet?" Marian peeked over as she put away the baker's tools.

"Give it another sec. You might as well dump the water you have now." With matching sighs, Flavia and Aella tugged at the handles of the basin of dirty dishwater. They lifted it to the door, letting the door pour out over the stoop. The water splattered across the top step, pooling in the dirt.

"So, did y'all hear about the mysterious girl at the festival?" Marian asked as they returned. She picked up the kettle and refilled the wooden tub.

"Course. Hear the King fancies her," said Flavia. The rising steam met with her forehead, dampening it like a layer of perspiration, and she wiped it away with her arm. "If I had a penny-pence for every girl the King supposedly fancies, I wouldn't be working no more."

So, the rumors of Rosalind had finally trickled down to the servants. Aella smirked. But Cassy and Qasim were still incredulous.

"The King likes some girl?" Cassy said, shaking her head.

"I know, the wonders of it all!" Aella said, dramatically imitating Cassy's voice. "And here I was thinking he was sweet on a Lord." Marian gasped, then broke out into a fit of giggles at the statement, and Flavia's arms bounced on her hips.

"Oooh, girl, you better watch where say that, 'fore one of the higher ups hears," said Flavia, though approval and even amusement marked her voice. "You could get in a lot of trouble."

"As if she hasn't raised the roost's roof and freed all the chicken's already," said Marian. From her time in the kitchen, Aella learned that the woman was prone to using such rural sayings. "Honey, I'm beginning to like that mouth of yours." Aella could not help but beam at the compliment. A bubbly warmth rose up in her.

The casserole flecks no longer seemed to bother her that night.

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Dacre's face held that dreamy look, one Xavier always knew to beware of. Dacre had been waiting in Xavier's apartments for him to arrive. Upon entering the room, Xavier saw his brother draped across the window seat, his focus drifting out of the window.

Xavier cleared his throat, and when that did not catch his brother's attention, he said, "why, don't tell me you lost the last bit of your sensibilities." Dacre jumped and turned to look at Xavier. He grinned sleepily, standing and stretching.

"A dreamer's lost in a dreamer's world," he said. One hand ran through his hair.

"A dreamer? You mean a fool."

"If that is what you brand me, so be it. I was just imagining the world beyond our little estate." Sometimes, when just the right mood hit Dacre, he referred to Grosmit as their "estate". "Grosmit is a boring corner of the world, a nook, a cranny if anything."

"You've traveled outside of Grosmit before." Xavier took a seat on the bed and folded his hands in his lap.

"Yes, but I've never really seen the rest of the world. I figure there's something beyond this humdrum life." Xavier snorted. Few would refer to the life of a Prince as humdrum. Dacre tapped his fingers against the window before looking back at Xavier. "So, any word of this Rosalind?" Xavier shook his head. "What of Lord Ece?" Another shake. "Do you have a ring yet?"

"Dacre," said Xavier in a warning tone, "let's change the subject."

Dacre shrugged and returned to his countryside view. "Did I tell you that I met a ghost last night?"

"Were you drunk?"

"Please, you don't give me enough credit. I'm usually sober; forgive if I indulge myself when the occasion calls for it. You know, maybe you'd loosen up a bit if you tried it." Xavier ignored that statement, staring intently at his brother, waiting for him to continue. "Well, she wasn't really a ghost, though I like the concept of it. A ghost lady, so ethereal."

"I'm guessing she was pretty."

"Yes, and modest too. Clothed in all white, awash in the moonlight." He traced one finger up the pane until it reached the silver orb.

"A visiting lady."

"She claimed to be a servant, though I'm not sure how such refined looks make their way onto the handle of a broom. Ah, my ghoulish maiden." Dacre stood. "I shall dismiss myself. Dreams are awaiting, dreams of ghost ladies."

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Thank Nixiesocean for getting me to go back to this story. I had kind of forgotten about it, then wrote most of the chapter, forgot about it again, then got interested in it again. I know I promised this chapter to come even faster, and look how that turned out, so no promises this time, but I am interested in continuing this story. Reviews are loved!