Engagement party (2)

Philippa laying Artus out on a couch in the study felt like it was happening to someone else. Artus's thoughts scattered everywhere like beans in a rattle. What did they mean, people they were compatible with? What did they mean, they weren't going through with the engagement?

Getting away from the crowd didn't seem to help. He still hadn't made sense of anything by the time Rita entered the room.

"Are you okay? Is he okay?"

"He's physically fine, just a few scrapes." Philippa's stoic countenance was unchanged, which was both annoying and strangely grounding.

"That's good. Can you go outside and make sure no one comes in? Especially not my brother?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"What have you done?" Artus wheezed after Philippa closed the door. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

Rita gathered her skirts and perched on the free space in the middle of the couch, right by Artus's stomach, which suddenly flopped. "It happened really quickly. Frederic contacted me earlier this week, and everything for the party was already set by then. We brainstormed a bunch of ideas for days, and this ended up being the best one. If we'd known it'd take so long, we would have contacted you earlier."

Artus flashbacked to the schedule of Frederic's solo visits to the Beaudennes estate. All that time, Frederic had been planning to break the engagement? "This was your best idea?"

"It was the only one we could agree on," Rita shrugged. "I suggested the classic condemnation event, he—"

"What event?"

"You know, when he publicly declares that he wants to break off the engagement, and then I run away from society and have to open a store. I already have the store!"

"That's not a store, that's a charity."

Rita clapped her hands in delight. "There's the Artus I know! Anyway, he said it wouldn't work because blah blah blah so he was thinking we could damage the palace somehow or say there's a rat infestation—"

"In a prince's palace?!"

"—but I told him," Rita continued proudly, "that you would hate that idea, so here we are."

"I, I suppose this was the better idea..." Artus's senses slowly came back to him, and with it, a growing inner turmoil. "But… I don't understand. You and Frederic got along so well."

"That's true."

"You had a great time riding together."

"Uh huh."

"And you spent so much time trying to woo him."

"I did!" Rita laughed.

"And you've met each other often. You… you played tennis together."

"We played tennis together."

"Fine, true, I just mean—you asked me to help you pick a dress for this party! Why would you do that if you didn't care about how it went?"

"I do care how it went—I mean, will go!" She glanced sideways at him. "I, well, I asked you what you thought was good..." She straightened her skirts meaningfully.

"I don't understand—" Artus's mouth clamped shut.

Once upon a time, Artus had been Prince Artus, a promising leader of armies and parties at age nineteen. His tactics were lauded, his social conduct unimpeachable. All those honed skills converged on a conclusion he didn't have the guts to say out loud.

"Who do..." He swallowed. "...Who does Frederic like, if not you?"

"Artus, I—!" Rita blinked. "Oh, uh, Frederic? Philippa, obviously."

"Mazarin?"

"Uh huh. Didn't you see them touching each other's biceps when we played tennis?"

"..."

Rita huffed. "Guess not. Anyway, he's planning on asking her out on a date tomorrow."

Technically Frederic being interested in Philippa opened up a whole new set of problems for Artus. Innumerable problems. Yet his brain still circled back to the question he most wanted answered, the one he didn't ask. "That's too soon," he said faintly. "The difference in status is already an issue. Now on top of that, it will look like he's snubbed you while already having her on the side."

A beat of silence. He felt Rita shift closer to the edge of the couch, away from him. "Status is really important to you, isn't it? Just some big, impassable wall you can't get over."

Artus sat up, ignoring the sharp ache of bruises. "Status is important, period. It should be important to you. The peerage are wolves that can take everything from you."

"What if I don't care about that?"

"I know you don't care. It's one of your best qualities, but also your worst."

"If you know I don't care, then why do you keep pestering me about it?" Rita got up abruptly, her hands clenched in her skirts.

Artus's stupid brain panicked as he saw Rita about to storm off, and he grabbed her arm. "Because I have to care about it for you! I care… for you," he finished, the words escaping his equally stupid and treacherous mouth. He let go of her arm and buried his face in his hand. "I want you to have everything. Status. Wealth. Reputation, happiness, everything that you deserve. Why are you making it so difficult?"

"Me? You're the one making it difficult!"

"What?!"

"You keep pulling away!" she burst. "Every time I feel like we're going somewhere, you go all m'lady excellent doing business with you m'lady have a scone m'lady—"

"—look here, never have I ever—"

"—but if any part of that confession on our date was real, then what would make me happy is a second date! I demand a second date!"

"You think I don't want a second date?" Artus asked, shrilly, because Rita made people lose their minds. "How could I ask for one when I have nothing to offer? And when until half an hour ago, you were engaged to my brother?!"

"You could—! I mean... …Okay, fine, I'll give you the brother part. But that's the only thing you're right about. You have a lot to offer! You're super smart, and funny, and nice, and no matter how much Philippa looks down on it I'm totally into skinny guys—"

"Excuse me?"

"—and you read all the books I recommend to you! Who does that? What kind of saint in this universe?"

"It's..." In the face of Rita's fiery aura, Artus could only sink back onto the couch. "That's nothing."

Rita sat back down, this time properly next to him, so that her arm touched his. "You think all the good things you do are nothing. Talk about best and worst qualities."

Artus was at a loss for words.

When Rita spoke again, it was deliberately slow, as if preserving a delicate balance. "We don't have to see each other publicly yet, if that makes you more comfortable. Just... we click so well. Wouldn't it be a shame if we didn't at least try? Things don't have to be different. Just keep coming to my store, and we'll spend time like we always have." Her hand reached up to touch his shoulder, the light touch of her fingers more of a stroke than a grasp.

The day Prince Artus had been no more, the nineteen-year-old left behind thought everything was over. In his new servant's quarters, he'd concluded that the best outcome for Reuchateau would be for Prince Frederic to gain influence, and the best outcome for him would be obscurity.

Yet at that moment, with Rita's eyes on his and her warmth at his side, Artus saw a future. He thought of what still needed to be done at the bookstore, and imagined applauding at the opening of the completed library. He imagined planning Frederic and Philippa's engagement, which would be held a tasteful amount of time after this party. He thought of managing Verger and becoming a baron wealthy enough that he might court the daughter of a marquis. He imagined a future he could look forward to.

Tentatively, he closed his hand over hers. "...If I were yours, I'd certainly do more than that." And Artus smiled. It was maybe a bit small, or brittle, or shy, but from Rita's expression, he doubted she cared. Perhaps even more surprisingly, he didn't care either. He pressed her hand to him as he leaned in.

She closed her eyes, and even his worries over this party faded away. The world melted into books, and endless debates, and slow dances at night. It was quiet, and warm, and full.