And, those eyes. Mon…Dieu! Determining the color? Impossible when they hammered like a thousand horses in an Indian desert in the midst of a dry spell. Nor could he remember the color of her hair, her dress. They were quite the distraction. Another hysterical urge to laugh almost escaped. It was an obvious sore point with her mother. He shook his head to clear the picture of Erlinda, and growled in frustration.

He'd been so focused on his goal that when the petite and surprisingly elegant foot slid right into that blasted tiny slipper-well, it was clear he had not thought the idea through with any sort of clarity. He needed advice and he needed it now. From anyone but his blasted cousin.

Papa? Possibly, he thought frowning. But even at his best, Papa was somewhat simple-minded. Abruptly dismissing the footmen, he stormed the castle and aimed a determined stride for the library.

A roaring fire blazed in the enormous hearth that gave the room warmth despite the high-reaching, frescoed ceiling and large windows. Heavy mahogany bookcases overflowed with books that covered two walls from top to bottom. Freshly waxed wood scented the chamber. Prince had loved this room as a child, partially due to the heat it provided in this monstrosity of a castle.

He spied his father slumped in an overstuffed gilded chair, feet propped on a matching ottoman. Reading spectacles sat askew on his large nose with one hand palmed on his chest. The picture was completed by the massive book that lay open across his lap. A loud snore ruffled the pages.

Always a jolly fellow, Papa had a zeal for laughter that would explode through the castle walls when the slightest humor took his fancy. "Sir?"

Nothing. This truly was not in the realm of Papa's strengths. Prince considered the sight of his slumberous father, and pushed a hand through his wind-ruffed hair. As life would have it, age carried Papa along. His mind tended to wander about sometimes with an absent-minded childlike excitement, endearing in its way. The decision was plain. He must seek assistance elsewhere.

Maman.

Yes, she, a paragon of virtue. A very wise woman, indeed. She would counsel him; she was quite clever in her way. In most times, wanted or not, she was a fountain of advice. Oui. Now that Prince had a clear direction, a reasonable tranquility settled through him. The blood in his veins slowed to a more acceptable level. The panic subsided. He let out a steady breath.

"Have you seen Maman?" Prince thundered, causing his snoozing father a violent start to attention. Prince winced. It was a very childish act, and he mumbled a hasty "Sorry, Papa."




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