Free Princess of the Midnight Ball by Jessica Day George

anyone was beyond the glass.
    “Of course, she’ll kill me for telling you that,” Poppy said cheerfully.
    “I certainly won’t tell her,” Galen said fervently.
    “I didn’t think you would.” She laughed again. “Oh, look, Prince Fernand is here.” She made a face.
    Someone was throwing open windows along the east side of the palace, not far from the princesses’ rooms. Galen and Poppy could clearly hear orders being shouted in Spanian, and see servants running to and fro.
    “Well, he sounds pleasant,” Poppy said dryly.
    “I’m sure he has many fine … qualities,” Galen said.
    He wasn’t sure how he felt about this Spanian prince, really. Spania had been an ally of Westfalin during the war, and Galen had fought alongside some Spanian regiments. He hadn’t much cared for them: they were too concerned with keeping their uniforms clean. The Westfalians tended to be a rather rough-and-tumble people. Galen wondered how a Spanian prince would like ruling over such a nation.
    He saw Poppy to the wide terrace doors that faced out on the gardens. A maid scurried out immediately to scold the young girl and sweep her inside. Galen felt abashed for a moment, hoping that the maid, too, wouldn’t think him forward for strolling with a princess. But instead she thanked him for finding her errant charge and returning her. Galen went back to work relieved on that count, but not on his concerns about the prince.
    And the contest to win one of the princesses’ hands.
    Galen need not have worried about that. A week later the Spanian prince left empty-handed and furious. One of the other gardeners, who was courting a chambermaid, told Galenand Walter that the prince had spent several nights in the hall outside the princesses’ rooms, one night waiting in the garden under their windows, and had even been permitted to spend a night in the sitting room that led to their bedchambers. He had seen and heard nothing, yet their shoes were worn out every morning and they were as tired as ever.
    Galen stood with Walter and watched Fernand leave. The prince was quite a dandy, and as he supervised the loading of his many trunks into the luggage wagon, he waved his arms in the air expressively and ranted to the Spanian ambassador, who had come to see him off. The lace on Fernand’s cuffs flew, but his elegantly styled hair was so thickly pomaded that it hardly moved as he raged.
    “Too proud,” Walter commented.
    “What’s that?” Galen jumped. They had been standing there in silence so long that he’d almost forgotten Walter’s presence.
    “That young man is far too proud. He was in the gardens a few days ago, and I thought to give him some advice, the benefit of my wisdom, as it were. But he was too proud to listen.”
    “I see,” Galen said, giving Walter a sidelong look. “And what advice did you try to give him?”
    “The advice I would have given him is vastly different from that I’d have given you, young Galen,” Walter said cryptically. “He hasn’t been as … blessed … as you have been.” And with that, the older man stumped away.
    Shaking his head, Galen turned his attention back to the courtyard.
    Seeing Galen watching him, the prince whirled around and began to rave in his direction. Galen thought about answering back, but the only Spanian he knew was extremely unflattering, so he merely bowed and went back to the gardens.
    A week later, the second son of the king of La Belge arrived.

La Belge
    The second son of the king of La Belge was handsome enough, Rose thought as he bowed, if you liked dark hair and blue eyes. Which Jonquil did, judging by the look on her face. As for Rose, she was indifferent, reclining on a sofa in their sitting room, propped up by pillows and draped in shawls. She nodded her head graciously.
    “I am Prince Bastien,” he said in heavily accented West-falian. “It is a pleasure to meet you. All of you.” His eyes flickered appraisingly over the rest of the girls.
    Pansy