In The Name of Love
6: Dazzling

Fifi winces under King Ansgar’s exasperated glare as she rushes into the Great Hall, barely catching up to Queen Ingrid and Prince Emrik before they reach the dais where their seats are waiting for them. Let him think what he likes of me, Fifi thinks as she settles next to Minna. As he said, today isn’t about me. I’m here for Minna, not because he requires it.

The Chief Royal Steward plays an ear-splitting trumpet fanfare, driving Fifi’s thoughts away, and then the suitors strut back into the Great Hall. Next to her, Minna’s face looks pained. I wonder what else was said in that luncheon, after I left. Is she okay?

“How was your reprieve?” Minna asks Fifi, her voice barely audible under the sounds of the suitors’ footsteps echoing through the stone hall.

“Equal parts restful and instructive,” Fifi whispers, glancing towards the main entrance as she rearranges her skirts to make her seat more comfortable. “Did I miss anything important during the rest of the meal?”

Minna bites her lip, and Fifi knows she must wait until later to hear the truth. “Nothing of consequence. What could possibly have been instructive to you from a quarter-hour in a courtyard?”

“And now we will begin the Music category of the Talent Round of the Quest for Favor!” the Chief Royal Steward declares with a flourish as the last suitor to enter the hall, a somewhat breathless Kai, takes his seat in the Great Hall. His eyes meet Fifi’s for a moment. He must have stayed out there longer than I did, she guesses. Not that I blame him. I’d be horribly nervous, in his shoes.

“The first to compete in this category will be…Lord Hjalmar of Trythnym!” the Chief Royal Steward continues. To Fifi’s mind, he seems to enjoy his duties as Master of Ceremonies a little too much. Certainly no one else in the room exhibits the same enthusiasm for the day’s events, least of all Lord Hjalmar, who steps to the center of the room clutching a zither and wearing a dour expression.

“One of your suitors was also there, seeking a few moments of peace,” Fifi tells Minna, who leans a little closer to her sister to hear her better as Lord Hjalmar starts loudly playing a folk song on his zither. Is that Stenbocken? Fifi wonders. I haven’t heard it played so badly since the last time Mother made Emrik practice his lute. Minna must be hating this. On the other side of the dais, Emrik groans aloud and moves to cover his ears, but Queen Ingrid’s hand catches one of his and forces it back down to his armrest.

“Not this one, I hope?” Minna inquires. Tightness in her jaw and a slight furrow in her brow are the only hints that she might be anything but pleasantly engaged in the performance, but Fifi knows her sister wouldn’t show even that much displeasure if she found anything redeemable to observe. But Lord Hjalmar looks as miserable as his playing sounds, and Fifi, at least, could not replace anything nice to say to him about it if her life depended on it.

“No, but he’ll be competing in music. I’ll point him out when his turn comes.” I’m surprised she’s talking to me while he’s playing. Minna’s usually far more polite and concerned with propriety than this, Fifi muses.

“Did you speak to him at all? Or hear him practicing?”

“We spoke some, but he declined to practice in front of me.” A slight smile graces Fifi’s lips. If they weren’t in public, this would earn her a scolding from her older sister.

“You best hope Father doesn’t replace out.”

Fifi shrugs in reply. Their father’s cold words still echo in her head, and she sees little reason to care what he thinks of her, if he bothers to think of her at all.

“Is he royal?” Minna continues.

“No. An Earl’s son. Father would be quite displeased if your favor fell on him.”

Minna looks like she wants to ask more, but just then Lord Hjalmar concludes his performance with a particularly jarring chord. As he stalks back to his seat, Emrik sticks out his tongue at the lord’s retreating back. King Ansgar rumbles a warning at his son that Fifi can’t catch due to the perfunctory applause from the audience for Lord Hjalmar. More grateful that he’s done than anything else, Fifi surmises as she surveys the other suitors’ relieved expressions. I know I am.

“And now we will hear from Prince Lisandro of Syazonia!” the Chief Royal Steward announces, wasting no time in moving the competition along.

Prince Lisandro comes to the center of the room and offers a half-bow to the Aethyrozian Royal Family. His hair is a red-gold a few shades darker than Minna’s, his eyes a warm brown, his face clean-shaven. He glances at the Chief Royal Steward, who signals for a servant to bring Prince Lisandro a chair as the prince carefully removes a dulcimer from a velvet-lined case hanging at his side.

“Um. By your leave, Your Highness,” he addresses Minna, “I will be performing ‘In Our Pasture’ for you today.”

His earnest smile and manners, and the fact that he dared to speak, surprise Fifi, and beside her Minna seems equally caught off-guard.

“Proceed,” Minna invites the prince, whose smile broadens. He sits on the provided chair, plucks his dulcimer’s strings to ensure they are in tune, and then begins to play and sing.

“Fair little flowers will ask for a dance.

Come joy from the heart!

If you want, I can make a crown of flowers…”

Lisandro hasn’t even finished the first verse before Fifi is absolutely certain that this is the Syazonian prince Minna will choose. Unlike the previous competitor, this one can carry a tune, and he plays pleasingly. He’s also easy on the eyes, although not, in Fifi’s opinion, the handsomest suitor in the room. They’ll have their love of music in common, and he seems like a decent fellow, she muses.

The applause for Prince Lisandro at the end of his performance is far more earnest than that which Lord Hjalmar received—as it should be, Fifi believes. Minna could certainly do worse, anyway, whether or not she does what Father wants her to, she allows as the Syazonian prince returns to his seat.

“Next we will hear Lord Nicolaas of Lyrnola!” the Chief Royal Steward calls, and Fifi nudges Minna with her elbow.

“The one I met. He goes by Kai,” Fifi breathes as Kai replaces Lisandro in the center of the room, clutching his lute.

“A rule-breaker like you,” Minna answers in kind. Neither princess has failed to observe Kai’s slight grimace at the use of his formal name.

“If it please you, Your Highness—” he begins.

“Just play,” King Ansgar interrupts. Fifi glances indignantly towards her father, but seeing his displeased frown, decides not to make a scene. I guess he’s decided there’s no harm in visibly playing favorites, she gripes privately. I know Father doesn’t like the Earl of Lyrnola, but he could at least give his son a chance to shine as himself. She sends Kai a pity-laden glance, wondering if maybe she should have warned him that King Ansgar hates his father, but Kai seems to have gained confidence from the king’s glowering and starts his performance without further comment.

“I still treat you to all good things,

You sweet angel fine.

Though you have left me,

You are in my memory…” Kai sings as he plays his lute. Just as skillful as Lisandro, Fifi observes with surprise. I wouldn’t have thought it, from how he spoke in the courtyard. She replaces his voice more pleasant than Lisandro’s, as well, deeper with just a bit of rasp to it. He can’t have known that I love this song. But he’s glancing her way as he plays, rather than looking solely at Minna. Fifi smiles back at him, hoping he’ll take it as encouragement. This performance should earn you a place at the Questioning, if that’s what you want.

Kai’s song is short, and he wastes no time in bowing and retreating to his seat once he finishes. Neither Minna nor Fifi replaces words during the applause before the next competitor is announced.

“And now we will have Prince Didier of Vyrunia!” the Chief Royal Steward declares. Twitters of admiration emanate from the galleries as the Prince strides confidently to the center of the room.

“He certainly lives up to the rumors of Vyrunian royals being unusually attractive,” Minna remarks under her breath to Fifi.

“A moment, if you please, Your Highness, while we get set up,” Prince Didier requests, then claps twice towards a corner of the room without waiting for a response. Five servants emerge from a hall hidden behind a tapestry, four carrying musical instruments and a fifth laden with canvas and easel and painting supplies.

“What is the meaning of this?!” King Ansgar demands. “The competition for Visual Arts has already passed. This is the music competition.”

“And, if Your Majesty will have patience with me, I promise the music shall be forthcoming.” Didier seems completely unruffled by the king’s prickliness and proceeds to help his servants get set up. Their process is quick and efficient; Fifi suspects they have rehearsed this several times. “Now, I hope you will forgive me, but I replace myself unable to play an instrument, sing, and paint at the same time, so I have enlisted a bit of help, that my song may be tuneful for your Royal Majesties and Highnesses. I mean to make the music visible on canvas as I sing, and our song of choice is ‘Winter Has Gone.’”

Prince Didier nods to his musicians, and they start to play the familiar, triumphant tune as he dips his brush in paint and makes bold strokes on his canvas. Fifi is captivated by his painting technique, and as soon as Didier starts singing in a smooth, rich baritone, there might as well be nothing else in the room aside from the performing prince and his accompanists. He never misses a note as his paintbrush flies across the canvas, in perfect time with the rhythm of the song.

When the music fades, Didier makes a flourishing half-bow and presents his painting to the Royal Family, revealing a stunning sunset and sharp-peaked mountains.

“Whoa,” Emrik exclaims, and this time no one chides him. The Chief Royal Steward glares at a few errant paint splatters on the heretofore spotless stone floor, but Fifi thinks this a small price to pay for such a breathtaking performance. The other suitors grumble quietly amongst themselves, barely audible over their applause. Like as not they think him a show-off, and for all I know they might be right, Fifi tells herself. Even so, I pity the suitor that has to follow him.

“A gift for you, Princess Wilhelmina,” Prince Didier says with a dazzling smile. “Only wait until the paint has dried to hang it in your chambers.” With that, he and his servants start to pack up, placing the easel and canvas next to the royal dais and even scrubbing the paint from the floor. Fifi cannot help but be impressed by their consideration and attention to detail, and beside her Minna barely seems to be breathing, her eyes fixed on the Vyrunian prince. Could she possibly be considering going against our father’s will? Fifi wonders. Certainly none of the other suitors have so enthralled Minna, not even Prince Lisandro.