Mojitos with Merry Men (25 page)

I look around the room. No mirrors. But I do still have my camera. I set the timer and hold my hand out. World's first ever selfie!

Click!
The flash blinds me for a moment. Then I turn the camera around to check out the finished product. I raise my eyebrows in surprise. Wow! I look so different. So… ladylike! These girls are good!

If only Robin could see me now. I wonder what he'd think. Not that I care. Really. I'm so through with that scene. In fact, maybe I'll go down to dinner tonight and meet a really sexy knight in shining armor. One of those chivalrous ones who will recite poetry to me as he feeds me peeled grapes. One who can stay friends with his exes but who has no desire to hook back up with any of them.

Oh wait, these knights aren't allowed to have girlfriends. Just my luck.

I feel eyes on me and look up from my camera's screen. Susan stands in the doorway, looking bashful.

"What's up?" I ask.

She closes the door behind her and comes over to sit beside me on the bed. "Can I speak freely?" she asks.

"Of course," I say, wondering what's up.

"What you said before, about choices. Do you truly believe it?"

"Yes. Definitely. Why?"

She blushes and stares down at her hands. "There is this boy," she says, and suddenly I realize how young she probably is. Couldn't be more than eighteen. "His name is Paul. He works at the stable, making horseshoes. He's an apprentice to a great swordsmith." She smiles as she speaks, and I can practically feel her intense crush radiating from her.

"And you like him," I conclude unnecessarily.

"Aye," she says, her face's pink glow deepening. "And he has given me reason to think he likes me as well."

"So what's the problem?"

"He is poor. Life with him would be hard. I would be banned from court and forced to live as a peasant woman."

"But you'd be with him," I rationalize.

"Aye." Tears slip from her blue eyes as she looks up at me in utter honesty for what I imagine to be the first time. "Princess Christine, forsooth, I know not what to do."

"I think you do." I place a hand on her shoulder and give her a squeeze. "I think you want to follow your heart."

"But the other ladies will not understand," she protests, glancing at the closed door. "They will think I've gone mad. To give up a life of leisure to live as a peasant…"

"One, who cares what they think?" I ask. "And two, I think they might surprise you if you're honest with them."

Susan smiles through her tears and reaches over to give me a huge hug. "Oh, Princess Christine," she says, burying her head in my shoulder. "You are so wise and good. I am very glad you came here."

I stroke her head, feeling wise beyond my years. "I'm glad as well."

*   *   *

Fashionably late, we head down to dinner. The great hall has been transformed (and cleaned up, thank God!) for the feast. Torches and candles cast a fiery glow on long, row tables covered with plates and bowls overflowing with meats and fruits and cheese. On one side of the room sits a trio of musicians gently strumming their harps. Servants in grey linen tunics rush to and fro, delivering more and more food. Colorful, richly dressed courtiers lounge at each table, picking at their dinners. Judging from their waistlines, these guys aren't exactly downtrodden.

It's kind of sick, actually, to see so much food in one place. I mean, there's no way it's all going to be eaten by the small number of guests present, not unless they stuff themselves to the point of illness, which I guess is possible. But still! All this food, all this excess, and the common people are sitting in their villages starving. Babies are dying of malnutrition.

How can I be here? How can I enjoy this? It goes against everything I stand for, everything I've worked to eliminate since I've been here. If the Merry Men could see me now, I'd be so ashamed.

"Princess Christine," a voice calls out. I look over to the head table and see Prince John himself is beckoning me. Oh great, just what I need to make my night complete. But hey, this is my job now. I'm an official lady-in-waiting, and I'd better get used to the waiting part. I drop a curtsy and approach the table. The prince pats the empty seat next to him.

"Lady Marian is away this evening," he informs me. "So I humbly ask you do me the honor of taking her place by my side."

"Thank you, milord," I say, curtsying once again, trying to keep a poker face at the name of Marian. I can't believe she's not back yet. Did she decide to shack up with Robin for good? What do the men think of that? I mean, here I thought the "no women in camp" rule was pretty set in stone. After all, Robin made me hang out dressed as a boy for weeks. Does Marian get some special dispensation? God, I'd like to wring that stupid outlaw's neck.

"Princess Christine?" queries the prince.

I shake my head, forcing my thoughts back to the here and now. "Sorry, Your Majesty," I apologize. "You honor me. I'd love to sit next to you."

Okay, fine, "love" may be a tad too strong a word for my real feelings on the matter, especially as I see spittle on his mouth as he grins at my acceptance. Bleh! But really, what other option do I have? He's the prince. I came to his court willingly. I have to follow protocol.

Besides, maybe I can do some recon while I'm here. Find out the scoop on King Richard and his expected return date, for one. I've been playing around in the forest way too long. I can now focus on the real reason I'm back in time.

A servant beckons me into my seat, holding my chair for me as I sit down. Another dumps a plate of some kind of bony roasted bird in front of me. I wave it away. He bows, then returns a few moments later with a haunch of some other sickly sweet-smelling meat. I can't help but hold my nose, bad manners be damned. After all, getting sick all over the head table would be much worse.

"No, no. I don't eat meat," I try to explain. He looks at me like I just said monkeys fly out of my butt but shrugs and retreats, leaving me foodless.

"You do not eat meat?" Prince John questions. "How truly odd. I must say, you are a fascinating woman, Princess Christine."

"You're not so uninteresting yourself, milord," I say, trying to compliment him back. It's hard when the guy in question has a smidgen of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth. Um, ew. Gross.

"And you're very beautiful," he adds, in case I didn't realize that the first thing he said was a total come-on. He fancies me. Oh golly gee, great. Maybe those ladies-in-waiting made me look too nice. Now I've not only lost the hero of the story, but I'm going to have to fend off the advances of the villain as well.

"Thank you, milord," I acknowledge, then quickly change the subject. "So, how goes the whole ruling the kingdom thing these days? Any word from your brother on his return?" I bat my eyes and smile sweetly.

John's face darkens, and his eyes narrow. "My dear brother Richard is being held prisoner in Austria," he says at last. "We are attempting to raise the money to free him as we speak."

Mm-hm. Sure you are. That's why you're wearing piles of gold jewelry and hosting crazy feasts like this. Penny-pinching to raise the ransom money—real charitable of you.

"That's great!" I say, forcing my voice to sound completely naive: "So, when do you think you'll have enough to bail the guy out? I mean, it must be soon, right? Poor Richard. All alone in that dark, dank prison cell."

At least the guy has the decency to look embarrassed. "I'm…not sure," he says at last. "My advisors…"

"Your Majesty, we do not talk of state affairs to strangers at the dinner table," interrupts the Sheriff of Nottingham, picking that moment to take the seat to the prince's left.

Prince John blushes furiously. "Right, right," he says. "I apologize, Sheriff. My tongue got away from me, I fear."

The sheriff nods stiffly and goes at his dinner. Guess now I know for sure who's ruling this roost. It ain't the guy with a crown on his head.

Prince John turns back to me and lowers his voice. "As you can see, 'tis not a subject I can speak freely on," he whispers. "But forsooth, I will do everything in my power to free my brother. I miss him dreadfully."

I cock my head in surprise. What? Now this part wasn't in the storybooks. (Though I guess I should be used to that by now.) Prince John's supposed to be the baddie, the one who wants to take over King Richard's kingdom forever.

"You…miss him?" I ask.

Prince John nods enthusiastically. "Aye, of course. He's my brother, and I love him dearly. He's a fine ruler as well. I never had the taste for power he has. If I had my way, I'd sit and embroider all day."

Uh, what? Did I hear him right? "Embroider?" I repeat, pretty sure I must have misunderstood.

His face reddens, and he grins sheepishly. "The ale has loosened my tongue," he mutters. "But yes. 'Tis something I fair enjoy. However, I do not want to be teased for it." He glances furtively up at me.

"No-no," I assure him, trying to smother a giggle. "I think it's admirable that you don't let your gender or
position keep you from doing something you love."

"Truly?" he asks with puppy-dog eagerness. His IQ
cannot
be higher than his shoe size.

"Truly," I say. "In fact, I think it's very cool. I'd love to see your work sometime."

"Oh, thank you, Princess Christine," Prince John says, grinning from ear to ear like a little kid who just got praise for the
A
on his report card. Never mind that it was for attendance. "Not everyone in the court shares your mind in this matter, and it delights me to no end that you approve. If you'd like, after dinner I can show you some of my work."

"I'd love that," I say, smiling back. I'm warming to the prince. He doesn't seem that bad of a guy. He's not the super-villain the stories make him out to be.

I hear a commotion at the far end of the hall and squint my eyes to see. The guards are opening the far doors with great ceremony, and a lone figure steps through. A curvy, voluptuous, annoying figure that I'd recognize any day of the week.

"'Tis nice of you to join us, Lady Marian," Prince John says, jumping from his seat and clapping his hands in glee. "You have been sorely missed. I trust your father is well?"

Marian approaches the head table. She's dressed in a pristine white, impossibly delicate gown with silver trim. I bet she never drops food down herself either.

"He is, milord," she says, curtsying low. "I thank you for allowing me leave to visit him."

Ah, so that's the excuse she used in order to fly the coop and go hook up with my boyfriend. I should denounce her as a liar right here, right now. But that could endanger Robin and his men, and I'd never do that, no matter how much I want to strangle the guy. There's too much at stake. The entire kingdom's welfare depends on him.

Besides, you still love him,
something inside me jeers.

Marian turns and notices me, and her eyes narrow suspiciously. Does she recognize me from Robin's camp? It seems impossible but still…

That's the last thing I need. To be denounced as one of Robin's Merry Men right before dessert? I'd probably be hanged before breakfast.

"I'd hoped for a bit of supper," she says coolly, masking her face again. "But I see my place at the table has already been filled."

Oh! She's just annoyed that I'm sitting in her seat. Phew. That kind of annoyance I can handle.

I jump up and gesture to the seat in question. "All yours, Marian," I say. "I'm stuffed, anyway." I'm not really, obviously, since I didn't eat anything, but I'm more than happy to be excused from the banquet.

Marian bows coolly to me and walks around the table to take my seat. The whole court has their eyes on her. And why not? She's gorgeous and poised and elegant—everything I could never be. Suddenly my once-gorgeous dress feels unbearably frumpy.

But I have to wonder, why is she back? Did they have a fight? Did Robin tell her that he's in love with me? Or is she only back temporarily? Maybe to grab her stuff before moving out to the Forest Sherwood on a more permanent basis.

"Come over here and sit with us," call the other ladies-in-waiting to me from the left side of the room. They have their own long table piled with food, but none of them seem to be eating. Sure they all have full plates, but they push the food around with their spoons, never bringing a single bite to their mouths. Watching their figures, I guess. I've photographed enough models at
La Style
to know that whole game.

I take a seat at their table and grab a hunk of bread, gnawing on it, carbs be darned, as I watch the head table. The Sheriff of Nottingham leaves his seat and walks over to Marian, whispers something in her ear. She nods solemnly, and he retreats back to his side of the table. Prince John looks at her in question, probably wondering what it was the sheriff said. She only giggles and shakes her head and doesn't answer. I wonder what that's all about.

After dinner, music and court jester types entertain as overflowing pitchers of mead are passed around. It's rowdy, loud, and everyone's getting pretty sloshed. When a servant offers to fill my glass I decline, remembering what happened the last time I drank, back at the tournament. I'm so not interested in a repeat of that little adventure.

I watch as Marian slips out of her seat, unnoticed by anyone but me, and heads toward an unguarded side door. Where is she going? I try to tell myself that she's probably just tired—though hopefully not from all that shagging with Robin—and is heading to bed early, but a nagging Spidey-sense tells me there's something more to her disappearance. The fact that she did not say good-night—not even to the prince—is suspicious.

She's just probably going to the bathroom, Chrissie!

Maybe. But it wouldn't hurt to check out that theory, would it? So, against my rational brain's better judgment, I give her a little head start and then make for the same door she exited.

The door opens onto a long stone corridor flanked by lit torches. I tiptoe down, not wanting to be seen. A door at the far end creaks open…and then slams shut again. I reach it a moment later and open it cautiously. I see it leads out to a small garden. I slip outside, careful to close the door softly behind me.