Page 43 of Of Curses and Courtship

Ophelia is looking anywhere but at me. Well, sort of—she appears to be fixated on a portrait of me, one where I’m dressed in red and riding a white stallion.

“I’m decent now,” I say.

“You? Decent?” she quips. “I’m sure that has never been the case.”

Conversing with her is too easy, which may be why I have more fun with her than anyone else. Namely, I have more fun with her than I do with Princess Minetta.

The thought causes my stomach to sour.

“You would be right.” I laugh and shake my head. “Now that you’ve seen so much of me, surely you can tell me something about yourself.”

“There is nothing to tell. You're already in possession of my greatest secret.” She gestures to the painting. “Don’t you think having a portrait of yourself in here is vain?”

As quickly as I ask about her, she continues shifting the topic back to me. It’s a game I recognize. In this case, sheasks about a portrait I’ve had hanging for decades. I’m so used to it that I almost forget it’s there.

A smirk creeps onto my lips. “Why would it be vain? It’s not as if I painted it myself. I’m admiring a talented artist.”

“Ah…” Her brows furrow. “I hadn’t looked at it that way.”

I shrug. “And perhaps Iama bit vain. Who among us is not?”

“I’m not.”

“Saying that makes you the vainest of all.” I step closer as I shrug on my waistcoat, my fingers working on the buttons. “There is vanity in thinking one is humble. Either way, you believe you are better than the rest. I know I’m more beautiful than some, and you think you’re more morally upstanding. We’re both vain.”

Her lips part, surely with a retort, but there’s a knock at the door before she can answer.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty!” A flustered voice comes from outside. “I don’t know how this happened, but it’ll never happen again, I assure you.”

“It is quite all right. My son likely has something to do with it.”

I groan and amble toward the door. “Speaking of my father…”

“That’s him?” Ophelia speaks in a shrill voice.

“Afraid so.” I glance at her over my shoulder. “We must continue this conversation later—and trust me. Iwantto continue this.”

Our eyes lock. There’s something more to be said, but the moment is over too soon.

My father storms into the room with a red face. “You?—”

I slip into my overcoat. “What took you so long?”

He deflates. “At least you’re ready on time, for once.”

“I am.” I flash a brilliant smile. “Are you proud of me, Father?”

His flat expression does not shift. “As proud as I’ve ever been.”

The tension in the air is thick, but it’s not from my father and me. I never expected him to be proud of me, and I certainly don’t for something so small. It’s the maids who appear unsure what to make of our bantering, exchanging confused looks with one another.

“Shall we go?” I ask.

My father’s scrutinizing gaze lands on Ophelia, who appears frozen. I should have considered the trouble I could get her into—if not as a halfling, as an employee of the castle. My father is her employer.

“Who are you?” Father asks.

Ophelia drops into a low curtsy. “I am Ophelia Fellowes—a maid. I was only here t-to clean the prince’s bedchamber, Your Majesty.”