Page 11 of Songs and Spun Gold
It had been worth a try. Shrugging, he turned and paced toward the side of the stage. “Shame or not, I still can’t attend rehearsals. Even though I’d like to, I can’t neglect my duties that far.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Ralnor will need a king it can depend on when my father is gone. In the far distant future, hopefully,” he muttered at the end.
“The Tanner’s Secretopens in a month. We will continue to work on the role of Lars.”
“Lotti, I told you—”
“It is merely practice.” He peered into the darkness, but discerning her features was impossible. “Lars presents much opportunity for your growth.”
Axel wandered closer to her. “I suppose it doesn’t matterwhat I sing, really.” His eyes passed longingly over the arch of the high ceiling, the gleaming wooden stage, and the comfortable chairs in the audience chamber. “Outside of a private party, you’re the only one who will ever hear it.”
The shadows shifted near the height of her shoulders. “The future is yet unwritten.”
He didn’t bother to reply. He’d been pleading with his father for years, and the best he’d managed was the occasional showing for close friends or family.
Nothing could change that.
~
Axel danced a turn through the back street, holding an imaginary partner in his arms. He stepped back, then twirled her, walking beside her as she spun again and again. Taking her back into his arms, they skipped sideways, his light cloak fluttering behind him, before executing another turn. A final twirl, then dip her down into the finishing pose.
Straightening, he glanced quickly around to make sure the street was still empty. He would have waited to practice until he returned to his rooms, but there wasn’t enough space unless he rearranged the furniture. Rearranging furniture would draw questions.
Although Axel thought it was foolish, Lotti insisted he learn the blocking for Lars’s role. Since she spent most of her time at the theater, she was familiar with it.
Foolish or not, the movement of the dance had lifted his spirits.
Axel peeked around the final corner to make sure no one was looking, then darted up to the side gate of the castle. The blond guard on duty nodded to him.
Returning the nod, he stepped past and slipped through the gate. Before Otto transferred to Himmelsburg, sneaking outhad been a challenge. Guards liked to ask pesky questions of young princes wishing to leave the grounds, so when a new guard appeared when he was sixteen, he expected the same. Instead, Otto merely sighed and opened the gate after a glance at Axel’s nondescript clothing.
So for the last six years, he had scheduled his excursions during Otto’s shifts.
It was a short distance to the door of the castle, but as usual, he dragged his feet. The gray stone building sprawled out in front of him, the surface covered in decorative carvings and strange little spots that jutted out from the walls. His eyes traced the windows of his father’s study, the many panes of the casement windows reminding him of prison bars.
He entered the castle into a servants’ hallway, but his plain clothing gave him an air of anonymity. The servants all knew his face, but they had tolookat it to recognize him.
Before long, he popped out into a hall near the royal wing. Closing the door gently behind him, he strolled toward his quarters as if he’d been nowhere more interesting than the stable, the training yard, or the gardens.
“Axel, my dear, where have you been?”
Turning, he saw a tall, olive-skinned woman hurrying toward him, arms outstretched. He returned her embrace with a smile. “Good morning, Mother. Did I miss breakfast?”
She leaned back and frowned at him. “Breakfast, and the guild negotiation thatyouwere supposed to run.”
Axel cringed internally. He’d forgotten about that, or he would have insisted the blocking wait. “Sorry, Mother. I was enjoying the gardens in the crisp fall air and lost track of time. Have you ever noticed the way a fall morning—”
“Your father is in his study. I stronglysuggestyou go see him.” Her eyes flicked up and down, scanning his simple clothes. “Afteryou change. Why are you dressed like that, mydear?”
He glanced down at his rough brown pants and matching tunic. “I don’t want to spoil my clothes if I take a fancy to digging in the dirt,” he replied, shrugging. “It calls to me more in the spring, when the plants are springing to life again, but even in the fall, a patch of dark, moist dirt sometimes—”
Shaking her head, his mother placed a hand on his arm. “At least you weren’t out singing again,” she interrupted with a sigh. “I won’t pretend to understand your fancies right now. Hurry and put on something more appropriate, and then go see your father before he tears the castle apart looking for you.”
“Of course, Mother.” He lifted her hand and pressed it briefly to his lips (at which she rolled her brown eyes) before striding quickly away.
The lies he’d told her drifted through the back of his mind before he shoved them away. He’d never thought of himself as a dishonest person when he was young. In some sense, he didn’t think of himself as dishonest now. Unfortunately, keeping a secret sometimes necessitated cover stories.
Not that he wanted to keep the secret. But as long as he was his father’s only heir, voice lessons were not an acceptable use of his time. Even his overt patronage of the theater was frowned upon.
So although he made no secret to his parents of his desire to sing, his visits to Lotti remained between himself and her.
