A Royal Birthday

Eilis O’Neal

Note: The events in this story take place approximately one year before the beginning of

The False Princess. Because her true identity has not yet been revealed, Sinda is referred

to as Nalia throughout.

“I’m not giving that to her.”

Shaking his blond head emphatically, Kiernan Dulchessy edged away from the

small statue standing on the table in his family’s palace quarters.

“Yes, you are,” his mother said, her tone stern.

He stepped back farther, though he knew that no amount of distance would render

the statue acceptable. “No,” he repeated. “I’m not.”

It wasn’t that the statue was hideous. Far from it, in fact. Nearly a foot tall, carved

of the purest white marble by the best stoneworkers in Thorvaldor, it was a lovely statue

of a young girl in a long gown, standing as if in a slight wind, her skirts blowing about

her most fetchingly. Her hands were closed and pressed to her chest, her head tilted just

slightly, as if watching the horizon for some handsome young man on a white horse. Her

long straight hair looked as though a real wind had tousled it becomingly about her face,

a face composed of wide eyes, high cheekbones, and slightly parted lips that looked like

they were getting ready to accept a kiss. No, there was nothing to fault about the entire

statue, from the slender slippers peeking out from under her skirt to the delicately placed

crown on top of her head.

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Nothing, unless you knew that the girl supposedly depicted would only stand with

her hands curled into her chest like that if she were trying to hide the ink spots on them,

and would probably manage to step on her own skirt and trip if a wind blew it around her

legs that way. Nothing, unless you knew that being given a statue of such an idealized—

and, in Kiernan’s opinion, simpering—girl would merely make the recipient feel small

and mousy.

“And not as the gift from the family, either,” his mother went on as if he hadn’t

spoken. “You’ll give this to the princess as your personal gift.”

“As my what?” he yelped. “Mother, there is no way—”

“There is every way,” said a voice from behind him.

Kiernan did his best not to snarl at the iron sound in his father’s voice. Turning,

he watched as Kerrill Dulchessy entered the family’s palace quarters and closed the door

firmly behind him. The Earl of Rithia was looking at his son with the same expression he

had worn the time he discovered Kiernan’s plans to sing a particularly ribald song for the

palace’s Midwinter’s Day singing competition. Kiernan ground his teeth as he recalled

that he had given in and ended up singing the acceptable and boring “Glass Green Sea”

instead.

“You will give this to Princess Nalia at her birthday feast tonight,” his father went

on. “And you will do it with a smile on your face.”

“But she’ll hate it,” Kiernan protested, though he could hear the weakness

creeping into his voice. His lip curled as he stared at the statue. With the dreamy, longing

expression on its face, it was a gift that a suitor might give to a girl he was courting, not

the kind that you gave to your best friend.

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But that, of course, was precisely the reason his parents had commissioned it, he

supposedly grimly. With Nalia’s fifteenth birthday here, a season of princess-hunting was

about to commence. It wouldn’t be long before every Thorvaldian family with a son of

marriageable—and not so marriageable—age started parading their progeny around the

palace, and shortly thereafter the neighboring countries of Wenth and Farvasee would

begin sending their highborn sons as well.

And since Nalia, the princess of Thorvaldor, was his best friend, his parents must

think they could make an early strike. Never mind that it was nigh on impossible that

Nalia would be allowed to marry a mere Earl’s son, and never mind that she didn’t think

of him as anything but her oldest friend.

“It’s beautiful. What girl would hate a gift like this?” his mother asked with a

little shake of her head.

She would, Kiernan thought glumly as he pictured Nalia’s expression when he

placed the statue in front of her at her birthday feast that evening. Even now, he could see

her lips press together for an instant as she compared the statue’s face with her own

mental reflection. No matter how often he told her otherwise, Nalia was utterly convinced

that she wasn’t as graceful and pretty as a princess ought to be.

She definitely would.

An hour later, Kiernan left his family’s quarters with a scowl etched onto his usually

smiling face. No amount of arguing had dissuaded his parents from their scheme, and he
 4

had been forced to give in once they had threatened to send him back to Rithia for the

entire summer if he refused. As much as he hated the idea of giving Nalia the statue, he

hated the idea of being away from her for months even more.

And that, he thought with a sigh as he walked—he refused to think of it as

sulked—down the palace corridor, was the biggest problem. Not that his friend would

hate the gift, but that his parents’ intent in making him give it lay dangerously close to a

secret he had managed to keep to himself for over a year now. And not only might give

that secret away, but it would give it away in entirely the wrong context.

What he needed was a second gift, a foil to the stone girl. A gift that she would

truly like, and one that would show how utterly stupid he knew the blasted statue was. He

had been planning to give her a newly copied version of her favorite collections of

Farvaseeian stories—she had read the old one until the spine was more pieces than

whole—but now that didn’t seem like enough. He needed something better, bigger,

something that would nullify any bad feelings the statue brought up in her.

But what?

He needed to go somewhere where he could think, and that place certainly wasn’t

inside the palace. The sprawling castle bustled with activity as everyone from the

servants to the highest nobles prepared for Nalia’s birthday feast. He ran a hand through

his hair, pushing it back from his face as he dodged a lady’s maid rushing down the

corridor, her arms so full of frothy lace and shiny silk that he could barely see her face

above the fabric. More than to think, he wanted someone to talk to about the problem.

And, of course, the person that he immediately wanted to run to for advice was one

person he couldn’t ask about his dilemma.

 5

A high, breathy voice some distance behind him interrupted his thoughts.

“Kiernan?”

Kiernan’s spine stiffened as he recognized the voice, but he forged on down the

corridor, pretending that he hadn’t heard his name.

With so many people around, the ruse would probably have worked on anyone

else. Anyone else would have shrugged, thinking that they must not have called loudly

enough and that it would be too much trouble to wade through the throng of people in the

hall to go after him. But not Celine Andovia. Kiernan cringed as he heard her cry out his

name again.

The truth, he thought ruefully as he looked around in desperation for somewhere

to hide, was that he really deserved the trouble she was putting him through. After all, he

had kissed Celine in the gardens during the ball to honor the ambassador from the

Varanth Islands. But he had thought she’d been at court long enough to realize that he

was—as Nalia always said—a terrible, incorrigible flirt, and that his kisses were just

meant as fun, not a sign of impending life-long devotion. Celine, unfortunately, seemed

to see them as the latter, and since that night she had been determined to make him hers.

And since he had been the one to kiss her, he had been trying to push her away gently.

Too gently, apparently, because a quick glance behind him as he rounded a corner

showed her hurrying after him. Perhaps it was time to be frank with her, though in as nice

a way as possible, of course. If there was a nice way to tell someone you just didn’t feel

that way about them. But not today, not when he had a mere six hours to find a present to

outshine that God-cursed statue. What he needed was a diversion, to start a conversation

with someone grand enough that Celine wouldn’t be able to interrupt it.
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What he needed was Nalia.

A set of heavy, carved doors loomed ahead, and Kiernan eyed them with a

mixture of hope and trepidation. There was a slim chance that Nalia had escaped the

preparations for her feast and taken refuge in her favorite place in the palace: the library.

Of course, if he were wrong, he would be trapped in a room with only one exit—unable

to escape Celine and her batting eyelashes.

He wavered for a moment, then grabbed hold of one of the doors and pulled it

open.

Hushed and quiet, the palace library had an atmosphere all its own, where the

chaos in the hall might as well not exist. It smelled of paper, ink, and dust, smells that

Kiernan knew Nalia loved but that always made him feel vaguely as though he were

going to sneeze. Ducking his head to avoid the glares of librarians—for he had let the

door thud shut in his haste to get inside—Kiernan took the fastest route to the corner that

Nalia favored, the one with the table set just where the light from a window would shine

on it for easy reading. He held his breath as he came around a tall shelf of books, praying

that she would be there.

She sat at the table, bent over a scroll that looked to be at least two-hundred years

old, twisting a strand of brown hair around and around her finger as she read. Kiernan

couldn’t help his smile as he noticed that the finger in question had a liberal amount of

ink on it, and that she was completely heedless of the wiry mess she was making of her

hair. He also couldn’t help the tiny flip in his stomach, a feeling that was becoming more

and more common whenever he saw his best friend.

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He wiped the smile away as he approached and replaced it with a wide-eyed plea.

“You have to save me!” he said dramatically, setting both palms on the table and

breathing hard.

Jerking in surprise, Nalia looked up, her eyes caught between worry and

suspicion. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”

“I’m being pursued by the most dangerous of creatures,” he said with a glance

over his shoulder. “I must beg for my liege’s protection.”

Nalia raised her eyebrows at him, understanding lighting the eyes beneath. “You

still haven’t told Celine?”

Kiernan bared his teeth in a half-grin, half-snarl. “No, my ever-wise and tolerant

princess, I haven’t. And I don’t have the time at present, so when she comes around that

shelf, I need you to pretend that I’ve just said the most witty, clever thing you’ve heard.”

Now he gave his most charming grin. “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

At that, Nalia snorted. But as they heard the light, approaching footsteps, she

tilted her head up at him, rolled her eyes, and let out a small chuckle. It wasn’t quite the

all-consuming laugh he had asked for, but then, he hadn’t really expected that. Nalia

rarely let herself laugh that way when anyone but he was around, and certainly not in the

library.

Behind him, he heard the sounds of someone taking a step forward, and then a

step back, and finally deciding not to come any closer. A moment later, he hazarded a

glance behind him and saw that Celine had left the library.

With a sigh of relief, he hooked a heavy chair with his ankle, pulled it close, then

let himself flop into it. “You have my undying thanks,” he said.
 8

Nalia treated him to a small scowl. “You really do need to tell her that you don’t

intend to kiss her anymore,” she said. “It’s not fair to make her think otherwise.”

“I haven’t been making her think otherwise, except for the once,” he protested.

When she narrowed her eyes even further, he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.

She was right, of course, as she usually was when it came to matters of honor. “I’ll do it,

I’ll do it. As soon as your feast is over.”

At his words, though, Nalia bit her lip and let go of the strand of hair to rub her

hands up and down her arms, her eyes flitting away from him. Court functions always

made her nervous, convinced as she was that she didn’t look quite right or would trip

getting up from her seat. And court functions of which she was the focal point could push

her to doing things like hiding out in the library until her ladies found her.

He gazed at her, then put a hand across the table, palm up. “You’ll be fine,” he

said encouragingly.

Her eyes stayed on the floor.

“Besides, everyone will be concentrating on the gifts. Wanting to see what so-

and-so brought, and whether it’s nicer than what they brought. As long as you make

appropriately awed noises over every ivory comb and pearled glove, they’ll hardly even

notice that you’re there.”

A corner of her mouth twitched, but her body stayed still with nerves.

“Just be sure you don’t look at me if anyone gives you anything truly awful,

because I’ll probably be making a face that will make you giggle.” Never mind that he’d

be delivering one of the truly awful presents himself.

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Now a small giggle did erupt from her, and he felt his own body relax as she let

out a sigh, then looked up at him. Seeing his hand stretched toward her, she put her own

in it. He gave it a gentle squeeze, telling himself that he was ignoring the smoothness of

her skin and the way her small hand fit so well in his.

“It’s just that I hate everyone watching me,” she said. “I always feel like I’m

going to do something foolish.”

“I’m much more likely than you to do something foolish in court,” he told her.

“You’ll recall that recent incident with the fish. But you, you will be fine, and the

evening will be so busy that it will be over before you know it.”

“I know, I know.” She exhaled, then straightened her back and settled into what

he always thought of as her princess posture, all dutifulness and formality. “But still, I’d

have a better time if it were just you and me. None of the fuss and folderol, just a nice,

simple . . . Kiernan?”

Kiernan blinked, suddenly aware of how foolish he must look. Because at her

words, his mind had gone elsewhere.

“You’re right,” he said quickly. “That would be nicer. But, unless you plan on

becoming someone other than the princess, not very practical.” He stood, though not

before giving her hand one last squeeze. “And, speaking of practicality, if I’m to look

more roguishly handsome than any other young noble in attendance on your Highness, I

should probably begin my preparations.”

“It won’t take my ladies that long to get me ready,” Nalia protested. “Not even if

they forget that my hair won’t curl—ever—and try to put it into ringlets.”
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“Beauty can’t be rushed,” he said blithely. “I’ll see you soon. There’s a birthday

tonight, you know.”

And, for the first time that day, he was looking forward to it.

Kiernan enjoyed court functions. He liked the dancing and the food and the anticipation

of seeing what the other nobles had chosen to wear. He liked the inevitable scandals and

gossip, whether or not he was in the thick of them. He especially liked the opportunities

that balls and feasts presented for a good trick or two.

Tonight, however, he couldn’t wait for Nalia’s birthday feast to end for two

reasons, one of them good—he hoped—and one of them bad. And unfortunately, as he

stood in the Great Hall watching Nalia accept her gifts, the bad reason was nearly upon

him.

His parents had strategized the presentation of his gift like generals on the

morning of a crucial battle. They had positioned themselves midway through the line, so

as to make it clear that the statue came from Kiernan himself, and Kiernan had been

maneuvered to the very back of the line of gift-givers, so that his present would stand out

in the minds of Nalia and her parents. The statue itself had been wrapped in a swath of

red silk, the royal family’s color. Though it had not felt heavy at first, after more than an

hour of holding it his arms ached, and his attempt to use the silk as a sling had only

earned him a sharp look from his father.

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The ridiculous politicking had given him a headache and a return of the nasty

sourness in his stomach when he visualized sweeping off that piece of red silk and

presenting the statue to Nalia. Only focusing on his gift—his true gift—had kept him

from “accidentally” letting the statue fall to see if he could break off its too-perfect nose.

That and the fact that he stood on a long, royal red carpet, and the statue would probably

bounce rather than break.

As a rule, Kiernan wasn’t used to worrying, and he found the entire experience

unpleasant. Fortunately—or unfortunately—he was distracted when a tall, blonde form

appeared at his side.

“I saw you earlier today,” Celine Andovia said, smiling so that her dimples

showed. As usual, she sounded slightly out of breath, but as if she had just had gracefully

fainted rather than as if she had run across the palace. “I called out to you, but the hall

was so crowded that I don’t think you heard me.”

Kiernan produced a smile that he hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt. They

weren’t yet close enough to Nalia and the king and queen that it would be rude of him to

talk to Celine while he waited. “I had no idea,” he lied. “But I have to admit that my head

was taken up with the coming feast.” Celine could interpret that however she wanted.

“It is very wonderful, isn’t it?” she asked. “Her Highness liked our gift. Did you

see it? The set of gold and ruby hair combs. My mother and I chose them.”

“How lovely.” Kiernan grimaced inside; Nalia was more likely to use them as

bookmarks than hair combs, if they were thin enough.

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“Of course, as much as I like the Great Hall during a feast, the gardens are so

refreshing at night,” Celine went on, her blue eyes wide and her cheeks turning ever so

slightly pink as she gazed at him.

Now Kiernan did grimace. He didn’t want to have this conversation now, but if

she was going to bring up the gardens and blush at him. . . “Celine,” he said gently,

speaking softly so that they wouldn’t be overheard and feeling like the worst sort of

knave, “I think I may have given you the wrong impression. It’s entirely my fault,” he

added quickly as she paled. “I can be . . . impetuous with my feelings. Sometimes they

get away from me.” He ignored the exasperated sigh in his head that told him to stop

dragging it out, a sigh that sounded suspiciously like Nalia. “I like you Celine, but not . . .

that way.”

She swallowed, one hand going to her throat, and he wondered if it would be

physically possible to kick himself. He surely deserved it. “Of course,” she said softly. “I

understand.”

Surely it wouldn’t pain her for too long, he thought guiltily. Celine was pretty and

sweet, if not altogether bright. There were plenty of other young men at court who would

eagerly court her, but he still felt like a scoundrel. “I’m sorry, Celine,” he said. “Truly, I

am.”

“No, no,” she said with a weak wave of her hand. Then she paused. “Only, is

there someone else?”

Kiernan glanced down at his hands and the statue in them, and not toward the

large chairs where the royal family sat. Oh, there was one someone, but he wasn’t about

to confide in Celine.
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He couldn’t remember the moment when he had realized that he was in love with

his best friend. Perhaps it had been last year, when he had persuaded Nalia to help him

try to trap one of the ducks that lived in the palace gardens’ ponds and they had barely

managed to get back to her rooms without being spotted while covered in pond scum.

Perhaps it had been the night of the last great snowfall, when they had sneaked outside in

the moonlight and thrown snowballs at each other until her hair sparkled with bits of

freezing water. Perhaps it had simply been one of the innumerable times when she looked

up at him from one of her books and smiled, a bit of ink on her cheek and her hair loose

in her eyes.

The when didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was that he loved Nalia, and

that he never let her know it. Because the princess of Thorvaldor would never be allowed

to marry a mere Earl’s son, no matter how hopeful his parents might be. No, she was

destined for a king, or a second-born prince at the very least. And Kiernan had decided

that he would rather remain her best friend than chance ruining their friendship by

declaring his love openly, not knowing if she returned it and knowing that it wouldn’t

matter even if she did.

“No,” he said to Celine. “There’s no one else.”

Celine nodded, then looked up. The line had moved close enough that it would be

rude for Kiernan to devote his attention to anything but the royal family, so she gave him

one last glance, then moved away. Kiernan let out a small sigh once she had left. It had,

he supposed, gone as well as it might. And now his other concerns pushed away his

remaining guilt over Celine.

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He never quite knew why she was so convinced that she would bungle whatever

princessy thing she had to do. Nalia sat between her parents, the queen on her right and

the king on her left. They looked on with pride as each present was presented to her and

then borne away, though Kiernan thought the queen looked oddly tired, her smile a bit

tight. Nalia smiled graciously at each gift, making a comment about the fine

workmanship or complimenting the style. She looked properly royal, not basking in the

attention paid to her but not uncomfortable in it either.

In fact, he felt certain that he was the only one who would notice the strain the

evening was causing her. It probably didn’t help that few of the presents had anything to

do with her true interests—too many sapphires and not nearly enough books. He gripped

the statue tighter, wishing for the thousandth time that he didn’t have to give it to her.

Only one person preceded him now. Kiernan watched as Neomar Ostralus, the

head of the wizards’ college, flourished an empty silver vase. Holding it on one palm, he

touched one of the designs etched into the silver, and suddenly a bouquet of perfect roses

trembled in the vase. A touch on a different design brought forth a group of pure white

lilies, and another bright purple orchids. Seeing them, Nalia grinned a real grin—not

because cut flowers thrilled her, Kiernan knew, but because magic in all its forms

fascinated her. That the flowers were illusions and not real would only please her more.

And then it was his turn.

“Your Highness,” he said as he stepped forward. “May I present a small token a

of my esteem on this, your royal birthday?”

The little speech had been his parents’ doing, and he could tell from the way that

the barest corners of her mouth twitched that she knew it. As he pulled the red silk away,
 15

he hoped she would realize the same about the present. The girl was as beautiful—and

awful—as he recalled. And he felt his heart clench as Nalia did exactly what he had

expected, pressing her lips together for the smallest moment as she compared the statue

to herself. But then she was smiling, saying something about it having a place of honor in

her rooms, the princess again.

Most of those who had approached her had contented themselves with a curtsey

or bow as they left, but none of them were her best friend. Kiernan stepped forward, took

her hand, and bent over it.

He whispered so softly that only she would hear. “Meet me at the door to the

north servants’ quarters after everything’s over for your real present.”

The feast went late into the night. It felt longer because of the looks that quite a few

people, including Celine, kept giving him, looks that said that they knew what he—or at

least his family—was about. Luckily, those looks were somewhat mitigated by the

anticipatory glances Nalia kept shooting him when no one else was watching.

Finally, sometime after midnight, the king and queen and their daughter retired,

giving everyone else silent leave to do the same. Kiernan waited until the last of the

nobles had drifted back to their rooms, then went to retrieve the two brown, nondescript

cloaks his had stashed in his own room. He crept through the now much quieter palace

until he reached the doors to the north servants’ quarters, and he only waited there a

moment before a small figure came down the darkened corridor toward him.
 16

“Put this on,” he whispered as she neared him.

Nalia shrugged the cloak over her shoulders. With a quick look around them, she

whispered, “Where are we going?”

“Up,” Kiernan said with a grin. Then, laying a finger over his lips, he opened the

door to the servants’ quarters and ushered her inside.

The halls here were narrower than in the public parts of the palace but, luckily,

they encountered no one. Most of the palace servants would be trying to catch a few

hours sleep before the nobles rose; only the kitchen workers would still be cleaning up

from the feast. Up and up they went, until the last stair they reached had enough dust on it

that they left footprints on the steps. Nalia shot him a questioning look when they reached

a place where the tiny, steep stair stopped, a trapdoor set in the ceiling above it, but he

merely winked at her. He set his hands on the trap door, pushed up with all his strength,

and cool night air flooded over them. Going up the stairs that now led through the

trapdoor, he reached a hand back down for Nalia, then stepped back to let her see his

present.

A picnic awaited them, the blanket laid out on a small flat section of palace roof

set between two steep sections. On the blanket sat two glasses, a covered pitcher of fruit

juice kept cool by the night air, and a basket full of Nalia’s favorite desserts. Spice cakes,

blackberry tarts, sugared lemon peels, stuffed apples—and quite a few of each, since he

knew she wouldn’t eat enough at the feast. The sweet smell of some night-blooming

flower wafted up from the gardens, and the stars shone overhead.

“Oh, Kiernan!” Nalia said in a rush. “This is—How did you—This is marvelous!”
 17

Kiernan shrugged, affecting a casualness quite at odds with the triumphant glow

in his chest. “You said you wished that we could celebrate your birthday on our own. If I

could make that wish come true . . .” He swallowed, feeling a sudden spike of nerves.

“And besides, I had to make up for that horrid statue. My parents’ idea, of course.”

She waved a hand, and the last of the tension in him melted away. “Don’t be silly.

I knew you would never have picked that out.” She stepped forward onto the blanket,

lifted a spice cake from the basket and ate half the small cake in three quick bites. “But

how did you find this place?” she asked. “I had no idea this was here.”

Kiernan lowered himself onto the blanket, letting his long legs stretch out. “I

found it a few weeks ago,” he said. “I kept meaning to tell you, but I guess I knew I

needed to save it for something special.” He looked around the small space, then

shrugged. “I suppose it’s here in case the roof needs attention, so that builders can reach

it easily.”

Reaching under the corner of the blanket, he pulled out the book of Farvaseeian

tales. The moon shone brightly enough that she would be able to read the title even in the

darkness. “And here’s the last of your birthday surprises.”

She had finished all but one bite of the spice cake, which she popped into her

mouth at once. She gave a little sigh of satisfaction, licked her fingers, then rubbed them

on the cloak to be sure, and accepted the book. He could see the flush of pleasure on her

cheeks as she opened it to the title.

“Three pages fell out of my copy last week, I’ve read it so much,” she said. She

looked up at him, then back at the basket and the glasses. “You always know just what I

want. Even before I do.”

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He leaned forward and pinched her nose. “That’s what best friends are for. And it

was what you said that made me think of making our own feast.”

Rubbing her nose with one hand, Nalia smiled at him. “I’m glad. I can’t think of

anything I’d rather do on my birthday.” She glanced up at the sky, then smirked. “Even if

it isn’t technically my birthday anymore.”

“See how she spurns my gifts?” Kiernan said in mock indignation to an imaginary

audience, making as if to get up.

“No, no!” Nalia cried, trying not to laugh. “I didn’t mean it. If you stay, you can

have the extra blackberry tart.”

Kiernan looked at her sideways. “I’d rather have the extra spice cake.”

Her brown eyes narrowed as she grabbed the basket protectively. “I don’t know if

I can agree to that.”

Kiernan let out a long puff of breath. “Well, it is your birthday, so I suppose I can

overlook such greediness just this once.”

“Greediness?” She lobbed a lemon peel at him, which he ducked. “Who ate so

many orange cakes at dinner last week that he nearly waddled home?”

“Waddled?” He flexed his fingers at her. “Take it back, or I may remember that

you’re still more ticklish than any three people ought to be.”

“Never,” she said defiantly. When he wiggled his fingers menacingly at her again,

though, she added quickly, “But I might be persuaded to split the extra spice cake.”

“I could accept that,” he answered seriously.

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Grinning, she pulled a few more of the treats out of the basket and arranged them

between them. After a moment, she said softly, “I really am glad, Kiernan. There’s no

one else I’d rather be with tonight.”

And there, on the roof of the palace, watching her in the moonlight, Kiernan had

the sudden thought that he might not be as resigned to remaining merely friends as he had

thought he was. Especially since it would still be some time before Nalia would be

expected to marry. After all, the future wasn’t set in stone. Who knew what might happen

in the meantime?

Why, anything could happen, anything at all.