The Princess Plan. Julia London

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СКАЧАТЬ Secretaries. Advisors. Guards.

      And in full view of the public from which he was supposed to be sheltered. People had a way of seeing past the veil. His every step was recorded.

      Which might explain his aversion to such events as this. He was surrounded by people he didn’t know who clambered to be close to him. People who wanted to breathe in his air and push a little closer. It was vexing and at times could be terribly unnerving. Once, when he’d been dispatched to the initial launch of one of their newest warships, two men had come from nowhere, putting their hands on his shoulder, trying to capture him or toss him into the sea before the Alucian guard fell on them and stopped them.

      In large groups, he felt like a caged animal, a species on constant display.

      This particular ball had been planned well before he’d ever stepped foot on England’s shores, a courtesy extended by the English crown to the Alucian crown. Negotiations for it had been handled by Sebastian’s personal secretary, Matous Reyno. It was Matous’s idea for the masquerade.

      Matous had been by Sebastian’s side for many years, serving him since the day of his fifteenth birthday and investiture as crown prince. Seventeen years in all.

      Outside his immediate family, Sebastian trusted no one as he trusted Matous. That said a lot for the man, really, for the Chartiers believed that no one in the Alucian Court could be trusted. The forty-year-old rift between Sebastian’s father, King Karl, and his older half-brother, Felix, the Duke of Kenbulrook, had created an atmosphere of distrust and betrayal that had followed him all the way to England.

      Sebastian didn’t really fear betrayal—he tended to believe the good in most, and more than once had suggested to his father that perhaps the rift between him and his half-brother could be repaired. Sometimes men did unwise things when they were young, he’d suggested.

      His father had responded with a murderous look.

      His father’s fear that all men had been sent by Felix to harm them had settled into the marrow of everyone that surrounded the royal family. Especially while in England—everything and everyone was suspect.

      It was that overriding suspicion that had led Matous to suggest that if everyone wore a mask, and an identical one at that, Sebastian might have some semblance of privacy. Very little, Matous admitted, but it seemed far better than wearing the sashes and the medals and rings of the knight guard Sebastian would typically wear if the ball were more formal. “It is the only way that you might attend without great attention, I think. You will not be so easy a target. And the English like the idea.”

      Sebastian had laughed. “A silk mask will not protect me from all the assassins that supposedly lurk around me.”

      “It will not protect you, no, Your Highness, but your elite guard will. And it may serve to confuse detractors and menaces.”

      Sebastian thought his detractors and menaces were wilier than that, but then again, it hardly mattered what he thought. There were men in the crown’s service paid to think of these things, and their nerves had put Sebastian on edge since his arrival more than a week ago.

      The trade agreement he’d come to negotiate was vitally important to his country but perhaps even more important to him. His father had not wanted to pursue it. The prime minister of Alucia resented Sebastian’s interference in the delicate matters of state, and insisted they ought to be thinking of the military. “We should focus on preparing for war with Wesloria,” he’d advised the king, “not pursuing trade agreements with a country so far from our shores.”

      Sebastian saw it differently. This friction between Alucia and Wesloria had taken a toll on the kingdom’s economy. Border skirmishes did not come cheap, and had dented the coffers. In the meantime, Alucia had not progressed like other countries, had not begun to manufacture goods like England or America. What they needed was a stronger economy, he’d argued. Alucia might be a small European kingdom, but it was rich in resources. They needed the tools of industrialization, which England had developed above all others. The resources mined in Alucia—iron ore and copper, for example—could be traded for England’s help in creating new, viable industries. Cotton and wheat could be bartered for tobacco and sugar.

      Industrialization would give Alucia the upper hand if they found themselves at war with Wesloria, where Uncle Felix continued to sow seeds of discord.

      The crux of the dispute between the two royal half-brothers was that Uncle Felix, banished forty years ago to his family’s home in Wesloria when Karl took the throne, believed he had a more legitimate claim to the throne than Karl.

      The question of succession had its roots in a sixteenth-century civil war, when a Chartier had first assumed the throne. Felix’s family, the Oberons, who lost that struggle and had retreated to Wesloria, propping up Weslorian kings along the way. They’d long claimed that the Chartier claim to rule Alucia was not as legitimate as theirs.

      Felix had promised to unite Wesloria and Alucia under one rule if he was successful in gaining the Alucian throne, and with the many loyalists dedicated to the Oberon cause, the Chartiers feared they could be drawn into war.

      Sebastian wanted to unite Wesloria and Alucia, too. He wanted the Chartiers and Oberons and their fellow countrymen to unite in the strength of industrialization and shared prosperity. Not by the ravages of war.

      “The prime minister believes this to be a fool’s errand,” his father had said to Sebastian one night in his study, when the two of them had been alone save for the two footmen who stood quietly aside, ready to serve.

      “The prime minister can’t see the forest for the trees,” Sebastian had said. “We won’t survive a war by falling behind the times.”

      His father had harrumphed but said, “I will agree to your plan, but over the objections of my prime minister. He has threatened that the parliament may not ratify any trade agreement struck by you if it is not completely advantageous to Alucia.”

      “I understand.”

      “You must maintain the upper hand in negotiations,” his father had warned.

      Sebastian was well aware of that. Wasn’t that the goal of any negotiation?

      “There is one way you might appease me and the prime minister and perhaps pave a path to ratification.”

      “Oh? How?” Sebastian had asked curiously.

      “Bring home a wife.”

      “Pardon?” Sebastian had laughed.

      His father did not. “We’ve waited long enough. We must secure the question of succession—Felix’s son Arman has two children. While England believes in our legitimacy, Queen Victoria’s consort, Prince Albert, agrees with the view of his duchy of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, who favors Felix. They depend on Wesloria for iron ore, as you know. We can cement your trade agreement and England’s commitment to us with an English bride.”

      This had not been part of Sebastian’s thinking, but instead of debating the point, he’d said nothing. He needed to think about it.

      His father had pinned him with a look. “You’re not a young man any longer. You’re two-and-thirty. We must secure the succession—it’s as simple as that, son. If you can’t arrange it, then perhaps you have no business inserting yourself in these affairs.”

      “I understand.”

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