Divine intervention flashed through him like the pain of a dull carving knife. He should never have set about Chalmers to find a woman whose foot fit in a blasted slipper. He could see that now. He just wished someone had mentioned the fact.
The mysterious princess must have been a dream. He'd imagined the entire episode. That, or he'd fallen under the spell of wood nymphs and faeries. He let out a sigh. It had all seemed so real. He could still see her as she'd been that night. Silken skirts billowing out with each turn he'd guided her through the lighted ballroom. Candlelight enhancing auburn highlights in mahogany upswept hair.
"Ten minutes ago I met you," he'd murmured.
"You looked up when I came through the door," she smiled softly.
"I wanted to sing, fling out my arms, ring bells…"
Prince groaned. Mayhap he'd lost all of his faculties. It could happen.
Oui, he decided, it was too unreal. He'd been brainwashed. Age did not slow with time, the pressure of duty to marry and the guilt from his parent had hurled him into a fevered imagination. Besotted and helpless held by dreams that had taken over his sanity. He'd reached for the skies and…what a fool.
It explained everything, he reasoned. Even ported over his cousin's shoulder everything made perfect sense.
Well, except for her exceptional beauty, the breath of her laughter, the softness of her cheek, her fit in his arms. And…what of the slipper he'd found abandoned on the stair?
Mon Dieu, he was mad. 'Twas not possible she was a figment of his imagination. The slipper was real. He had it in his possession, oui? So why hadn't he found her?
"Mayhap I should marry Egberta and be done with the entire business, oui, Arnald? Please, Maman. Do my duty. Hadn't that been the sole purpose of that silly ball?"
"What are you mumbling about?"
"The wood nymphs cast a spell on me. 'Tis the only answer." Though no sound emanated from his cousin, the vibration of laughter was unmistakable.
Never had Prince's chambers seemed so far away. He suffered through the humiliation hauled over Arnald's shoulders. If anything, the servants would be entertained.
When Arnald finally reached Prince's quarters and dumped him on the bed, it was with unceremonious hilarity. Not aloud, Prince observed, at least not yet. Such restraint had to be admired.
Prince began a mental count to ten. Arnald's laughter burst through the room. The count had only reached four. There weren't many who could get away with laughing at Prince. But for their close age and kinship, well, Arnald was the closest thing to a brother he had. Mayhap that would change.