Tuesdays at the Castle: Chapters 6–10

“Good afternoon, Princess Cecelia,” said a very subdued undercook as she entered the enormous kitchen.

The sauce smelled like oranges, and Celie’s mouth watered in spite of her resolution to behave with decorum.

The roasting pig thoroughly basted, Cook admonished the spit boy to keep his cranking slow and steady, and turned to Celie.

He had requested special foods brought to him and his servants and dogs, a tailor on hand to help him if he needed to alter his clothes or order new ones, a carpenter in case his rooms were not to his liking, and a private study large enough for him to meet with his ambassador and other confidants as often as necessary.

With the maids behind her, one looking smug and the other angry, Celie wound her way back through the Castle to the small family dining room, where Rolf and Lilah had taken to barricading themselves when they needed to talk.

Rolf looked askance at Celie. “You know, just in case there’s any unpleasantness.”

Lilah did not look at all mollified.

Lilah’s voice faltered.

The carved pedestal with the scarlet cushion on top, bearing the crown of state. Their father had taken a smaller circlet to wear at Bran’s advancement to wizard.

“Pogue, would you?” Lilah reached out a beseeching hand to him.

Sometimes when she shook off the bleak pictures in her head, she found that her cheeks were wet and her bodice soaked, but couldn’t remember when she had started crying or how long it had been.

Sometimes when she shook off the bleak pictures in her head, she found that her cheeks were wet and her bodice soaked, but couldn’t remember when she had started crying or how long it had been.

Celie snatched up her charcoal pencils and parchment and slithered under the throne with a sigh of annoyance.

“No, of course not,” she said with as much confidence as she could muster.

Celie trusted the brusque and efficient woman, and knew that she would never intentionally harm Rolf or any of their family.

“The Vhervhish are always plotting to assassinate someone,” he said airily.

“If my jokes do not amuse you, ladies, then let me apologize,” Rolf said with a show of gallantry.

He bowed effusively at them, walking backward.

But they were just inside the main entrance hall when they were accosted by several of their father’s Councilors.

Standing silently against the pale stones of the main hall in their long black robes, they looked like a copse of trees on a moonlit night.

Celie had to repress a little scream when the foremost of them moved forward suddenly and began to speak.

“My sisters and I were about to pay a visit to one of our foreign guests, and then I shall be at your disposal.”

He listened to them, and nodded sagely, and made thoughtful noises without really saying anything in reply, just like their father did when he was listening to something he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

The Council understood, Lord Feen kept saying, in a strange gentle voice that he probably also used with wary dogs and skittish horses.

“Meaning that we, your regents, will be there to guide you in every step you take, until you reach such an age that you can rule alone,” Lord Feen said.

“Naturally your father didn’t leave provision for a regency, because he never imagined that we would need one. But it’s clear that Prince Rolf's tender age cannot support the burden of the crown.”

“The Council has put it to a vote, and agreed unanimously that a regency is required.”

“The Council has decided that ten years of ruling with our wise guidance should fit you for sole rulership,” the Emissary said with an oily smile. “Under our tutelage it is quite possible that you may become the greatest King Glower ever known!”

To make it worse, Rolf had been livid for days, and he and Lilah had been arguing the entire time as well, Lilah trying to make Rolf stop complaining and accept matters, and Rolf snapping back at her and threatening to fight the Council over everything.

“I was down appeasing Cook. She wasn’t told about the coronation, either.”

“Make sure he doesn’t dawdle on the way home.”

The Castle did things that they couldn’t fathom, the Castle appeared to like some people and not others.

Had this really happened, or was she just dreaming? She touched the cloak tentatively, but it felt real, heavy and soft.

She was spying on the Council’s privy chamber! Even Celie’s father hadn’t been allowed in the Council’s privy chamber, and he was the king!

Celie fervently wished that the blood she could see pounding through his temples would cause him to have some sort of fit.