The Heir Apparent

ETAN

Etan stood, stunned, as the Master of Ceremonies' magic-amplified voice called to the gathered nobles and he had to watch her force herself to turn from him. He almost reached for her. Then he caught himself, staring as the women surrounded her and turned her away.

It couldn't be.

It couldn't be.

Something within him ached to be close to her again. She had to have bewitched him. Yet, he did not feel poisoned. On the contrary he felt as if he might walk straight off the earth and into the clouds.

He blinked and hmphed at his own fanciful thoughts. He was a man, not a flighty girl! Yet, as she was surrounded by the Lords and Ladies of her Court, he fought desperately not to simply plow through them and take her away.

"Poor, sad, little future-King," a needling voice sighed.

Etan rolled his eyes and turned.

Borsche, the man who the world believed was his personal Court Clown—but was actually his secret bodyguard and spy—stood behind him, his eagle eyes following the crush of nobles salivating over all the gathered royals. He was one of the sharpest minds on the Continent—not that anyone cared to notice. Which was exactly why Etan's father, the wise Summitran King, had given Borsche the dual role when Etan was just a boy.

Yet, to keep up the ruse, he wore a ridiculous pair of tights painted in yellow and red diamond shapes. The puffed shoulders of his matching tunic hid more than one dagger, and the hands he used so deftly to juggle, and play the lute, possessed the strength of weapons.

In public Borsche was always careful to keep the appropriate distance between himself as a servant, and Etan as the Heir to the throne. Tonight, his Joker's mask leering in a very disturbing manner, Borsche pulled a handful of small balls from his pocket and began to juggle, first in two crossing circles, then in one hand, as he spoke.

"Do you know who she is?" he asked far too casually.

"No." Not for certain, anyway, he thought.

"Would you like me to find out?"

"No. That is a task for me." If his fears were correct…

"Very good, Your Highness." Borsche gave a mocking, overly fussy bow. "Though, if you really hope to find a wife, you'll have to lower your nose around the Zenithrans. Else that Lion's snout may blind you. I'd hate to see you walk into a hedge while in polite company," he chuckled under his breath, then nodded at one of the noblewomen nearby who watched his juggling with great interest. He tapped a foot on the floor to make the bells on his ridiculous slippers jingle.

"Perhaps you can fumble your backflips again at the stroke of midnight and save me from notice, just in case," Etan replied dryly.

Borsche snorted, but Etan was already distracted. She had been buried in that cloud of young nobles, but not without a pleading glance back to find him. And now… now that blasted tugging had begun in his chest again.

He had to go after her. But how to do it without drawing notice?

"I know it isn't what we planned, but I think I shall go to the unmasking after all. It isn't as if the others won't see my face tomorrow anyway."

"Has one of the ladies caught your interest? Don't let yourself be too easily caught, Highness—the ladies of the royal stable are more often interested in the size of your… banknotes, than your heart's devotion."

He whirled on the man, intending to defend his Lady's good heart, but caught himself. It would only make Borsche suspicious. "Stop… baiting me to make yourself sound clever," Etan growled.

Borsche stopped juggling and turned his back to the woman—who now looked disappointed—pretending to fix the cuffs of his tunic as he spoke, low and hard, for only Etan's ears. "You complain about me baiting you? About my words? You think the people in these halls will give you any mercy, Et? Do you believe they'll wish to soothe your ruffled feathers? Make no mistake, there are rulers and heirs here that will slit your throat the moment they're given the opportunity—and celebrate your death. Do you think if you gas and whine when they abduct you, they'll change their minds and let you go?"

"Of course not!"

"Then stop complaining and instead take hold of what is yours to control. Step into the shoes of a man—more than a man, a King!"

"Why do you think I'm here?" Etan ground out.

Borsche tapped his chin as if he were considering the question. "You do seem oddly fond of the Zenithran-made silk underthings."

"Be serious."

"I am. I'm certain I heard you instruct the Master of Servants to purchase four sets while we are here—"

"Borsche! Please! I am here to find a wife, and you know it."

"Ah, yes, the ever-urgent quest for love," Borsche said in a soft voice, producing a caramel from somewhere in his impossible clothing and chewing it slowly, glaring at a young, drunk Lord who staggered past.

Etan cut him a sidelong look. As his sworn Defender, Borsche had vowed never to marry or have a family of his own so that his loyalty to the Heir would never be threatened. Etan wondered if this incredible man, his friend, ever regretted the decision. He opened his mouth to ask, but Borsche spoke first.

"While I agree with the King's summary that this is the most efficient way to find a wife, given that all the royal lasses will be in one place for a full month, I do wonder if you're suited to the… scramble."

"What do you mean?" Etan frowned.

"I mean, dear Etan, that you are a soul. You care for others. You have manners—the Light knows more of the noble sons could use a good dose of those." He glared at two of the ruffian lords in question across the ballroom. "Are you prepared to engage in the necessary competition? No woman of noble birth who intends to find a husband will stand aside and wait for you to approach quietly when half a dozen Princes, Dukes, and Masters will leap to fight for her hand." He took a deep breath and turned away from Etan, so he didn't appear to be speaking with him. "I understand your desire," Borsche said gently, glancing left and right before producing another sweet from nowhere. "But you must show great discernment if you wish to succeed. Great discernment."

Etan nodded. "Will you help me?"

"Of course. And not just because the King would literally kill me if I didn't." Borsche's face was serious again. "You are the light of the future, Etan. I know what the Light has given you, and I'll do everything in my power to Defend it—and help you thrive. I pray daily you find a woman who appreciates what you bring to her life."

Etan broke into a grin. "I am touched. The Clown has a heart after all. What a friend." He threatened to pinch Borsche's cheek while the man slapped at his hand and glared at him. "Thank you for your loyalty, brother." Etan gave a sharp bow of respect, though he kept his eyes on Borsche as was the custom in their land. "Now, stand aside while I go find a diamond among women. Preferably one who can ride."

Borsche huffed a laugh. "Just make sure she's not a horse herself," he offered. "I want to help you train your children for Court, not break them to saddle."

Etan threw back his head and laughed, ignoring the cutting looks from the Zenithran Court Lords and Ladies that surrounded his future wife.