While Waiting to Wake

“Emmaline Grimshaw! Close your mouth this instant. You’re not a fish.”

Em did so with difficulty.

“Aunt.” Em touched the old woman’s elbow. Only half distracting Eileen from her quest to find their next conversation victims. “Who’s that woman? The one with the peacock feathers in her hat?”

Eileen turned with a frown. For an instant, she pressed her lips together. Maybe recognizing a fellow opportunist when she saw her.

“I don’t know.”

“Then who is she talking to?”

“That would be Count Irvan and Marquis Delco. They’re cousins and related to Duke Waghorn, that man right there.”

Em flinched. Waghorn. He was the man Flint would have to report to as soon as he was officially given his portion of the old lycan territory. Which included Silver Vale, Flint’s March.

Em chewed on her lip and took a step in that direction.

“Where are you going?”

“Duke Waghorn will be Flint’s superior soon.” She shot Eileen a bright smile. “I should greet him, don’t you think? If I’m supposed to be the Grimshaw representative?”

Eileen blinked in surprise but then smiled.

It was not only a socially expected thing to do, but a great opportunity for her. Particularly when the Duke’s wife joined the small group as Em and Eileen approached.

“... That’s what I thought! Between you and me, your grace, I much enjoy my trips into your Dukedom. His grace, Duke Caviet, may have a superior military but you have superior goods.”

“Thank you.”

The man sounded bored, but there was a gleam in his eye that Em interpreted as delight. That was good to know. The man liked to be praised and flattered, even if he pretended otherwise.

“Pardon us, your grace.”

Eileen swept into a perfect curtsy.

How does she keep her knees from giving out?

“I don’t mean to intrude, but I am Baroness Eileen Raynish. My niece wished to extend her greetings.”

Em also swept into a curtsy and briefly bowed her head to break eye-contact with the onlookers. Holding the curtsy as a courtesy, but raising her head again to establish eye-contact.

And hoping she didn’t look as awkward as she felt.

“I am Emmaline Grimshaw, your grace. I’m here to extend greetings to his Grace, the Duke of Waghorn, from Silver Vale March.”

“Rise, Emmaline Grimshaw. And you, too, baroness.”

The man didn’t smile, but he sounded smug anyway. Of course he did. Holding the curtsy was a means of conveying their respect. Flattery without words. Em held back a smile of triumph.

“It is an honor to be greeted by the Grimshaw household. Where, pray, is the Marquis?”

“I’m afraid my brother is with the bachelor party. I’ve yet to see him or his Highness arrive,” Em said apologetically.

The Duke waved a dismissive hand.

“They probably joined the early hunters. Unless they were lucky in their hunt, they won’t be back until after the noon meal.”

His wife leaned in and pinched Em’s cheek. Em’s mouth dropped in surprise by this break of etiquette.

“Aren’t you just a darling,” the woman cooed. “We don’t see many young ones here. How old are you, dear?”

“I, uh, I’m eleven, your grace.”

“And when do you turn twelve?”

“I-” Em’s mind blanked for an instant. Then her eyes widened. How had she forgotten that little detail? In all the mess going on… With a shy stutter, she answered, “Ne-next week, your grace.”

“Then you’re practically an adult!” Duchess Waghorn turned to the last woman in the group. “Lady Arnold, isn’t she just a little sweetheart? We should have a special tea served, to wish her a happy birthday. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Lady Arnold’s peacock feathers fluttered around her face as she gave the Duchess a strained smile. Her eyes darted to the two men she’d been talking to before any of the other intruders came. Then fixed back on the Duchess with a bright, fake smile.

“I would love nothing better than tea with her grace and her friends.”

“Good.” Duchess Waghorn claimed Em’s hand and tucked it into her elbow. “Then the four of us shall leave the men to their boring business talk and have a bit of fun.”

Eileen looked giddy with pleasure while Lady Arnold barely hid her scowl as the Duchess dragged them all away.

Chattering about everything that crossed her mind.

“I shall send you a birthday present,” Duchess Waghorn announced once they reached her tent. “What does a young lady like you desire?”

Em hesitated.

What she really wanted she didn’t dare ask for.

“I’m just honored you thought of me, your grace.”

The woman snorted. She didn’t notice the way Eileen flinched.

“Typically polite answer,” said the woman. “What do you want, child? I mean, young lady?” She winked. “A tea set? A new gown? Or-” She lowered her voice in a whisper. “A novel?”

This time both Lady Arnold and Eileen stiffened.

Em watched her face. Then smiled as she leaned in and whispered in the woman’s ear.

Duchess Waghorn threw back her head in a peel of laughter.

“Is that so! Very well, I shall have it delivered to your residence.”

Em wasn’t sure she liked the Duke, but she was certain she loved the Duchess.

A few more people trickled in as the Duchess got the tea party started. Countess Penelope, Marchioness Elantra, and a few others. And with the additions to the party, the attention finally shifted away from Em.

Em kept glancing at Lady Arnold. Listening intently to get clues about her.

Unfortunately, she seemed more interested in asking questions about the bachelors within the nobility than talking about herself.

“Is that who I think it is?”

Em choked on a cookie and glanced quickly at the manservant filling her teacup.

He winked at her, earring swaying into his neck with the movement. He was way too good looking to be just a manservant, but no one seemed to notice him. Well, except the Countess. Who was eyeing him with barely contained admiration.

He winked at the watching woman and she flushed. Looking away quickly.

“Loki?” Em mouthed.

This time, he winked at Em. Like he’d become one of those dolls that closed their eyes the moment they moved.

“Well, is it?” he whispered.

She glanced over at the peacock feather lady, then nodded.

“What is she doing here?” he murmured. Stepping back, he continued his thought in her head. “By the sound of it, she doesn’t even have a true title. The daughter of a knighted merchant, is it? How did she get an invitation to a royal party?”

Em shrugged, picking up another cookie to nibble.

“For her to have entrance into a hunting party, she’ll need someone hunting for her. Do you want me to look around?”

Em shot him a look over her shoulder.

What she wanted to ask was, “Can you do that without causing trouble?”

But, since he’d never been able to hear her thoughts outside her ghost state, she could only nod or shake her head. After a second of consideration, and watching the innocent way he arranged his features, she finally nodded.

Whatever he did to cause trouble wouldn’t be easily connected to her, she concluded.

Uneasily.

Loki slipped out of the tent, noticed only by the disappointed Countess Penelope.

And never came back.

It was another hour before the Duchess broke up the party, saying she needed to greet other people. Before she left, though, she grabbed Em’s hands and squeezed them.

“If you ever need anything, dear, come see me,” she said seriously. Then she let go and glided away, followed closely by a Marchioness Elantra.

Loki, where did you go?

Eileen dragged Em off another direction. Joining a group of Countesses, their daughters, and dominated by a Marchioness.

It was here that Em finally found an opening to escape.

Darting around the backside of the tent, she hid in the maze of tents by dodging servants and staying out of sight of the noble men and women. Then, finding a quiet spot, she plopped down and leaned back her head with a sigh.

It was so draining to be around so many people!

And to pretend to smile and laugh at things she had no interest in.

“Who cares that the Count is having an affair, or that baroness acts like a buffoon?” she muttered.

And where was Loki?!

As though called by her thoughts, something touched her leg. She looked down and blankly stared at the rabbit. Which watched her with big, innocent eyes.

“Loki?”

The rabbit guffawed.

“Where are you been?!”

“Playing.”

“Playing?”

“Yup! I have something to show you. Get up.”

Not waiting for a reply, he turned and darted away. Leaving Em to scramble to her feet and take off after him.

Servants cursed and yelped in surprise as Loki led Em into the main back stream of activity behind the tents. Darting between poles and feet. Sometimes intentionally tripping someone.

Em called apologies as she left her own stream of havoc behind.

Finally, they reached the place where the contest would be judged, and the banquet prepared and served.

The banquet tables were set up in a square shape and busy kitchen tents lined one side. Beyond them, in a big field bordering the forest, there were already groups of hunters returning with their kills. Among the hunters, she spotted a head of raven black hair.

“There’s Flint!”

She pointed him out, and Loki chuckled.

“As though I could see him from here,” the god said. Before darting under the nearest banquet table, forcing Em to run to catch up again.

“There it is!”

More than one hunter cried out in exasperation, and anger as Loki darted between them. And more than one pulled out weapons only to have their neighbors grab them. Reminding them they were now back, so no hunting.

What were you doing?, Em wondered.

Then she remembered one of his stories from before. About playing the ‘unattainable prey’ to hunters in the past.

Em snorted on her own laughter.

What would these men think if they knew they’d been pranked by a god?

Keeping her eyes on the ground, she made a sharp right turn when Loki suddenly did. While the god rabbit darted between someone’s legs, Em tried to dodge the person. And failed. Colliding with the boy and sending them both into a jumbled heap on the ground.

“I’m so sorry!”

Em pushed herself up, intending to get off the boy immediately.

Then froze.

Staring into a pair of ruby red eyes.

Red eyes. Silver hair. Strange tattoos that snaked around the side of his neck…

“You,” she breathed. Before she could stop herself.

He wrinkled his forehead.

“Do I know you?”

“Of course not! What gave you that idea?”

Flustered, Em scrambled to her feet and offered him a hand. Which he eyed, shook his head, and got up by himself. A brace of three dead rabbits swinging over his shoulder.

Was he hunting?

Once on his feet, he bowed to her. Not like a slave as he should have (resulting in practically banging his head against his knees). But more like a normal servant making a polite acknowledgement.

So, that’s how he wanted to communicate. She could play that game. Thank you, Eileen!

“I apologize for the inconvenience, miss.”

Em clenched her fists.

“What are you talking about?!” She didn’t mean to sound annoyed, but that’s how she felt. She tapped her chest. “I’m the one who ran into you, remember?”

“I-”

She interrupted.

“I’m the one who should apologize to you.”

With that, she curtsied.

Curtsies came in three types (with their subtle variations).

One for general respect and was more of a nod and a dip. But in which the lady broke eye contact briefly to show courtesy.

One was for equals. In which the lady bent her knees a little more, but did not lower her head or break eye contact. It was often used to insult the other person as well, as it wasn’t meant as a courtesy but to establish rank. Perceived or real rank.

And one for royalty.

In which the lady lowered herself a bit more than the equal’s curtsy and bowed her head and shoulders forward. Completely breaking eye contact. The lady was also supposed to hold that pose until told to rise.

But Em didn’t dare hold the royal curtsy for very long. Lest onlookers realized what she’d done.

“I apologize for running into you. Did I hurt you at all?”

There was a brief silence as the boy watched her with a befuddled expression.

Em didn’t dare look around for signs of onlookers. Onlookers who might’ve recognized her display for what it was and probably thought she was a foolish child in need of more etiquette lessons.

“No, miss, I’m fine.”

Fine? Maybe right now. But she doubted he was ‘fine’.

“Lady Arnold was talking about her champions. You’re the only silver haired boy here, so it must be you. Right?”

His expression turned guarded, and he bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“I knew it! She’s a real bitch, isn’t she?”