Ellie and the Prince (Faraway Castle #1)(7)
She looked up, and he saw something in her gaze that was nothing like anger or disgust. The corners of her lips turned up slightly. But then her lashes lowered, and she continued down the next flight of stairs. He headed back upstairs toward the suite, his heart heavy.
His parents wanted him to choose a wife this summer from among the princesses and ladies who visited the resort every year. He had delayed joining his family for as long as possible, dreading the ordeal he knew lay ahead, but now he was glad he’d come.
Not that the king and queen of Khenifra would accept Ellie Calmer as a prospective wife for their son, but at least he would be near her for the next few weeks. He might glimpse her in the halls or at the lake or anywhere on the grounds, and perhaps he would find, or invent, a respectable opportunity to speak with her again.
He was a prince. Ellie was a member of the staff, a working girl. Finding a harmless and acceptable way to interact with her would be no easy task.
What good was an expensive education and a supposedly clever brain if he couldn’t think of a solution to this equation?
In her confusion, Ellie took a wrong turn and left the castle through the main lobby, a path she usually avoided to keep from encountering guests. To her dismay, as she pushed open a glass door with her hip and maneuvered the stack of cages through the opening, two girls in short sundresses and strappy sandals approached on the front walkway and could not miss seeing her.
The Honorable Gillian Montmorency and Lady Raquel Cambout, both from the nation of Auvers and near Ellie’s age, were two of her least favorites among the hundreds of yearly visitors at Faraway Castle. Like most of the guests, they had never bothered to learn her name and always spoke to her as if she were a dim-witted child or scullery maid.
Their conversation broke off as soon as they saw her. Gillian, a stunning beauty with red-gold hair, asked sharply, “What are you carrying? I hear squeaking.”
“Cinder sprites,” Ellie said, peering around her stack of cages.
The girl’s lip curled. “How did you get so disgustingly dirty?”
“Capturing cinder sprites.” Ellie schooled her face into a pleasant expression. She hoped.
“I’ve never seen one.” Raquel, a slender brunette, peered into a cage, her nose wrinkled. “All I can see is straw. You caught them inside the castle? Where?”
“The Zeidan children found them outside and sneaked them into the royal suite.”
The girls looked at each other and sputtered with laughter. “Those adorable rascals,” Gillian said in a syrupy tone. “Good thing we have pest control available.” Her mocking gaze swept Ellie from head to toe.
“I don’t suppose you could tell us if the rumor about Prince Omar is true,” Raquel said, her vivid blue eyes eager.
“What rumor is that, my lady?” Ellie inquired, striving to sound pleasant. One of her arms began to cramp up, so she shifted the cages in her grasp.
Sensing her distress, one of the sprites whistled, and a chorus of squeals followed. “It’s all right, babies,” Ellie said, trying to calm herself as well as the little creatures. “I’ll get you home soon.”
“Can’t you keep those beasts quiet while we talk?” Raquel complained. “We heard that Prince Omar arrived during the night. Did you see him?”
Ellie paused, but there was no avoiding such a direct question. “I did.”
The girls gave little shrieks, giddy with excitement, and began to formulate plans to claim his time and attention. They were still talking when Ellie walked away, unwilling to hear more.
No matter how she tried to view Prince Omar as just another resort guest, even the thought of his marrying one of those two harpies made her want to throw something, hard. Preferably at their heads. Or maybe a kick in the shin would be more satisfying.
The cages in her arms seemed heavier by the moment, yet she walked quickly along the path leading to the staff cabins. “If I don’t stop thinking about—” cutting off sharply, she glanced around, saw no one near, then continued in a half-whisper “—Omar, I’ll either get myself fired or go stark, raving crazy.”
The mother sprite muttered irritably.
“I’m sorry,” Ellie sighed. “I’m upsetting you. It’s okay, little sprites, my angst isn’t about you. You’re going to be fine. I’ve got to stop thinking about . . . him.”
Omar wasn’t the crown prince. With two older brothers, he was third in line for the throne—primogeniture in Khenifra being through the male line—but he was still considered a hot marital catch. Probably because he was the handsomest of the older three brothers and wealthy in his own right.
“Girls like Gillian and Raquel can’t begin to appreciate his best qualities,” Ellie told the sprites. “He doesn’t think of himself as anything special. This morning he almost seemed worried about offending me.” After a pause, she huffed a laugh. She must have imagined the puppy-dog hopefulness in his eyes.
“Almost there now,” she said, striving to keep a cheery tone.
Ellie’s cottage was set amid other staff lodgings, comfortable one-bedroom homes offering no view but decent privacy. All were of weathered stone with crisp white trim, green shutters, and a red door. She released the magical lock with a verbal request, and the door swung open before her. A chorus of whistles and one shrill shout greeted her from the cages of captured creatures lining one corner of her tiny living room. “Yes, I’m back and will feed you all shortly. Have a little patience, please. I brought new friends.”