The Dragonfly Pool

The woman wasn’t sure, but she thought it was royalty. “My sister saw them last week; she said they were ever so friendly.”

Tally waited, keeping out of sight behind Kenny and stamping her feet on the pavement to try to keep the blood flowing.

It seemed most unlikely that anyone would come out of those forbidding iron gates, but after half an hour the sentry in the box stood to attention, the front door with its heraldic crest was thrown open and three people emerged.

She saw Karil first; he was exactly the same in spite of the cap pulled over his ears against the cold. Behind him came the Scold, black as ever in a fur coat the color of ink . . . and between Karil and the Scold came Carlotta.

Tally recognized her at once. She wasn’t wearing a white dress—or if she was, it was hidden under her velvet-collared coat—and she wasn’t holding flowers. But her long blond ringlets, her simpering smile, were exactly as they had been when she peered out of the window of the Daimler on the quayside at Dover.

It was Karil though who held Tally’s gaze. He had put his arm around Carlotta’s shoulders in a chivalrous and protective way, as though he was sheltering her not just from the cold but from anything bad that life might throw at her, and now he adjusted her scarf so that it covered her throat more securely and the Scold, looking down, nodded in a pleased way.

Then a footman came out of the back of the building and took his position behind them and they set off slowly toward the gate. The sentry saluted, the gate swung open and the bystanders stood aside to let the important people through.

“Long live Your Highness,” cried the lady in the purple headscarf, and Karil smiled and lifted his arm once, and twice, and three times, in that gracious wave that princes learn from infancy. Then he nodded to the footman, giving the signal that they were ready to set off, gave his arm to Carlotta, and they moved away.

Karil had not seen her and Tally stood stock-still in the icy cold. There was no escaping what she had seen. If ever there was a boy who was doing what he was best at, leading the life he was born to, it was Karil.

“Come on,” said Kenny.

And she tore up the note she had written and followed him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The Future King

Although Karil had long ago given up expecting anything good to happen in his grandfather’s house, even he was surprised by the sheer awfulness of the Rottingdene Christmas. There was no tree, no candlelight, no exchange of gifts, no music. The duke took morning prayers, the cook sent up two underdone chickens—and that was that.

Still, it meant that he was not expected to find a gift for Carlotta. Karil was used to hard work, but being nice to Carlotta was one of the most grueling tasks he had ever undertaken. Her treachery, her vanity, her lies seemed to grow rather than lessen with each day that passed, and yet somehow he managed to act the part of a devoted cousin and a prince who wished her to share his life.

And still he did not know yet whether his plan was going to work. His uncles now treated him with respect, the servants scuttled past him, and the governesses curtsied when he came into the room.

But it was the duke that mattered, and two days after what passed for Christmas his grandfather sent for him.

“I have to tell you, my boy,” he said, “that I have been most pleasantly surprised by your behavior in the last few weeks. I understand from Carlotta that you have seen the error of your ways.”

“Oh, I have, sir, I have,” said Karil fervently. “I can’t believe now how foolish I have been. And how ungrateful, when you have given me a home and a chance to fulfill my destiny. From now on I shall devote all my waking hours to preparing for kingship. I want to learn to be a proper ruler, not one of those weak kings who can’t make up his mind and has to keep consulting his ministers. A king should be an absolute ruler and his subjects should obey him without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Quite so. Quite right. I must say, I thought you would never see where your duty lay. What brought you to your senses?”

Karil was ready for this.

“I had a dream, sir. A dream of my future in the palace at Bergania. I was being crowned in ermine and at my side was . . . Carlotta.” Here Karil nearly forgot his script, because even mentioning Carlotta’s name made his gorge rise. But he gathered himself together. “It made me realize how fortunate I am to be here—and how lucky I am to have someone who, in good time, will share my life.”

The duke nodded, thinking of the double line of Rottingdene blood that would flow into the restored kingdom of Bergania.

“Yes, indeed. She will make an excellent queen. There are people who think that twelve is too young to decide about one’s future bride, but that’s just poppycock. Where duty is concerned, one can never begin too young.”