The maid, one of the most hoity-toity I’d encountered, gave me a look of withering scorn.
“But, Princess. You used to be so slender.”
I looked down to where my bosom was threatening to burst over the top of my too-tight dress. I had filled out some in the past weeks of sitting around doing nothing more strenuous than needlepoint, and eating food that was healthy and plentiful, even if it wasn’t exactly to my taste. I’d thought it was good not to look so under-nourished anymore.
“Just take this thing off me, okay?” I asked.
The maid’s face set in an expression of downright defiance.
“I can’t. Queen’s orders.”
“I can’t believe the queen cares that much what I wear,” I protested.
“She might not. But the prince does. He asked his mother to have you wear something that shows you off.” Her voice was particularly mocking on the last three words. “And this is the latest fashion, just in. As the prince’s betrothed, you should wear it first.”
I felt light-headed. The prince and the queen weren’t around to debate with, and in that dress, I could hardly dash out of the room demanding to see them. Should I fight with the maid? I couldn’t take the dress off by myself. I decided to make the best of it. I took a shaky half breath that barely brought air into my lungs, and favored the maid with what I hoped was a dignified smile.
But I could hear Jed’s words echoing in my head: “You took charge of your own destiny.” What a joke. I couldn’t even take charge of my own clothes.
It was a full hour before they summoned me. The ladies-in-waiting came down the hall, in dresses every bit as ridiculous as mine.
“Princess!” Simprianna purred. “Thank you—” She had to stop to take a shallow breath. “Thank you for bringing this wonderful fashion to our kingdom. These new corsets do”—another breath—“wonders for our figures.”
She spun around and it was true, her waist looked no wider than a gold coin. It was amazing if you liked that kind of thing.
“I had nothing to do with it,” I snapped. “And I have every intention of ending the fashion as soon as I can.”
Madame Bisset appeared just in time to give me a reproving look.
“Princess! Ladies! We shan’t keep the court waiting!”
She led us down the grand staircase, through the vast ballroom and out onto the castle lawns. The fresh air felt like a blessing against my face, and my sour mood began to ebb a bit.
In front of us, dozens of riders were lined up before the reviewing stand. They kept their hands down and their heads bowed, and even the horses stood perfectly still. They looked like a tableau or a tapestry, their lines and colors already preserved forever. But you could tell they all longed for movement and action; horses and riders alike wanted the formalities over so they could do what they loved.
The crier called out, “Princess Cynthiana Eleanora, Prince Charming’s betrothed, and her royal attendants.”
I heard polite applause from the stands. I wasn’t sure if the court had so little enthusiasm for me or if they were just too well-bred to show more.
Madame Bisset led us to a section of the stands covered by a striped tent. I sat quickly in a padded chair in the middle, and the others followed my example. The chair was too low to afford me a good view of the tournament grounds, and I was just about to ask for a replacement when I saw Madame Bisset motioning to a servant, who promptly lowered the open side of the tent. Now we were surrounded on four sides by cloth walls. We could see nothing outside the tent except a half inch of sunlight at the bottom.
“What? What’d you do that for?” I squawked in surprise. “Now I can’t see.”
Simprianna turned to me in astonishment. “You thought they would make us watch the tournament?” She gave a shiver of revulsion. “Horses racing? Men fighting each other? Possibly even”—her face turned pale and she could barely whisper—“bleeding?”
I leaped from my chair, proud that I could leap in that insane dress. As it was, I had a second of fearing I would black out. I steadied myself and demanded, “Open that curtain this instant!”
The servant looked from me to Madame Bisset. She waved him away as though I had not spoken.
“Begone, James. Your services are no longer needed here.”
When he had ducked out under the tent, she whipped her gaze toward me.
“You are a fool,” she all but snarled. “You do not know our customs, and yet you try to change them.”
I couldn’t believe my ears.
“You mean, you go to the tournament and don’t watch it? Why? Why not just stay locked in the castle, doing needlepoint forever?” Just then I noticed that several of the women had, indeed, pulled out embroidery. I laughed, almost hysterically. “Oh, I get it, it’s a change of pace to do needlepoint in a cloth prison instead of a stone one—”
“Silence!” Madame Bisset hissed. “You are a disgrace to your gender. Do you not understand? You are here to beautify the tournament. And yet, if you were visible throughout, you would distract the riders and wrestlers. We will open the tent at the end, and you will present the ribbons.”
I gasped.
“So we aren’t allowed to see, because we might be seen.”
“Correct.”
I truly lost control then.
“The queen is out there watching. Are you saying she’s too ugly to distract anyone?”
Madame Bisset glared.
“She is not a virgin,” she whispered. Even in such a low tone, her voice still carried her full fury at being made to mention such a matter. “It is that combination of virginity and beauty that men must be protected from.”
I couldn’t stand to look at Madame Bisset another second. I appealed to the others.
“Why do you put up with this?” I asked. “Doesn’t she make you want to scream?”
Every single one of them gazed at me blankly.
“Don’t you ever want to do something—something real? Don’t you ever get sick of being ladies-in-waiting? Have any of you ever wondered what you’re waiting for?”
“That is what women do. We wait,” Simprianna said primly. “Men go out and have adventures, and we wait for their return. They like to know that we are safe at home, waiting. And in this case, we also wait on you, dear Princess.”
Her speech finished, Simprianna looked around to make sure her answer was correct.
I didn’t wait to gauge anyone else’s reaction. Thoroughly disgusted, I reached for the tent wall. I don’t know if I intended to leave, or simply to pull back the cloth so I could see. But I was suffocating in the closed tent. I didn’t think I could stand another second of it.
Just as I started to move the cloth, I felt a firm hand on my wrist. Madame Bisset stopped me with an unexpectedly strong grasp. She locked my arms together and whispered in my ear. “You open that tent, and you will never marry the prince. Never. You will be cast from the castle like so much refuse.”
I did what was expected of me then. I fainted.
14
“You suffered too much sun at the tournament, Princess?” Mary asked me when she crept into my room that night.
I had been confined to my bed ever since the faint. And I do mean confined. Madame Bisset stayed in my chambers the whole time. She told everyone, “I must assure my precious charge doesn’t exert herself unnecessarily.” I believe she actually intended to berate me more as soon as I woke. So I feigned sleep until finally I heard her slip out the door at half past seven, murmuring, in the fakest voice I’d ever heard, “The poor dear is so exhausted after all the excitement. . . .”
Mary must have been spying on my room, because she slipped in as soon as Madame Bisset left.
“Of course I didn’t suffer too much sun,” I told Mary crankily. “What’s too much sun? I barely saw a single ray of sunshine. It was that stupid dress. I couldn’t breathe. Why would anyone wear that torture device?”
Mary patted my hand.
“But you
looked so beautiful in it, Your Highness. I saw you across the field. . . .”
I snorted. “Oh, beauty. What’s that good for?”
Mary stared, her eyes round.
“It won you the prince, did it not?”
I snorted again. I seemed to be trying to do everything I could to annoy Madame Bisset, even though she wasn’t there.
“I prefer to think he was captivated by my charming personality.” I giggled to let Mary know I was trying to make fun of myself. But Mary only looked away.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing, Princess.” Mary patted my hand again. “I should leave and let you rest.”
“But I’ve been resting all day. I’m full of rest. I’m sick of it.” I shoved back the covers and sprang from the bed. I hopped up and down on the cold floor. “I want to do something. Jump. Dance. Run. Live.”
Mary hid a yawn, and I realized who truly did need the rest. She had probably been up at dawn and had worked constantly ever since. I remembered days like that, when all I wanted to do by nightfall was drop in a heap and not move until morning. She had probably had to drag herself in to see me. She was a true friend.
I sat down on the bed.
“Mary, are you tired?”
“A—” She yawned again, so hugely I heard her jaw crack. “A little.”
“Then you should go to bed. Really. I’ll be fine.”
Her eyes were already half closed.
“All right.”
But after she left, I paced the floor, so full of nervous energy I would have liked to scream too.
Up. Back. Up. Back. What was I going to do? I absolutely could not live the way everyone wanted me to. I would go mad.
Except—I remembered Madame Bisset’s threat: “You open that tent, and you will never marry the prince.” If I loved the prince, couldn’t I adapt? Couldn’t I change? Maybe I could get a little more freedom, force Madame Bisset and her cronies to bend some, after I was married and had some power. They could give a little, I could give a little. Surely it was worth it, for the sake of loving the prince.
I waited to be swept up in my usual rosy glow of love for Charm. I waited for my heart to speed up, the way it always did at the thought of him. I waited for the flush to creep up my face, the delicious shiver to crawl up my back.
Nothing happened.
I tested myself again.
Charm? Prince Charming? I conjured up the image of his perfect face, his perfect hair, his perfect body. I pictured him kissing me, touching me, holding me.
I felt nothing. Except—bored.
I paced faster, almost running, as if I could escape the thought I didn’t want to think. It caught me anyway. I stood still, overcome with dread, knowing what I didn’t want to know.
I didn’t love Prince Charming.
15
The clock ticked. I watched the hands move, almost to eight, almost marking the time when the door would open and I’d see the prince for the first time since I’d—what? Fallen out of love with him? Realized I’d never loved him? Just plain gotten confused?
It had been two long days since the tournament and my fainting spell and my lonely, late-night realization. During those days, I’d debated again and again what I should do. I couldn’t marry a man I didn’t love, even if he was the prince. Especially if he was the prince. It wasn’t fair. There were hundreds of girls in the kingdom who would love to marry him. How could I, the only girl who didn’t want him, be the one he vowed to keep forever?
On the other hand, how could I back out now? The wedding was barely a month away. I tried to picture my mouth forming the words, “Prince, you must release me from our betrothal.” I pictured the news spreading through the castle, the gossip throughout the kingdom. I told myself I didn’t care about gossip. But what would I do then? What would the prince do? How could I hurt him like that?
What if I was wrong? What if I’d just had an off night, and I truly did love him after all?
I really, really, really hoped that was true. Surely seeing him again, in the flesh, would bring everything back. Surely I hadn’t had a failure of love, only a failure of imagination.
The clock struck the first Dong! of eight and I jumped. Behind me the chaperon made a small sound—it could have been a dry laugh at my expense, or just a cough.
At the second Dong! I shifted my gaze to the prince’s door. I held my breath, remembering to release it only when my eyesight began to blur. I had no intention of ever fainting again. This time I wouldn’t even be able to blame it on my clothing. For once, I’d won a battle—no one had attempted to put one of the newfangled corsets on me since the tournament. See, see, I told myself, you shouldn’t feel so trapped. You are in control of your own life.
The door opened, and there was the prince.
I put on what I hoped was a gracious smile, but inwardly I was frantic, checking my response. Heart rate? A little fast, but that seemed to be mainly because I was nervous. Flushed face? No. Shiver up the back? None.
The prince smiled back at me. He was breathtakingly handsome. Wasn’t that enough?
He kissed my hand, and I felt only numbness.
“Prince—,” I blurted. “Why did you fall in love with me? Why do you want to marry me?”
He blinked, my hand still caught in his.
“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said.
I waited for a long time. Then I asked, “Is that all?”
He looked confused.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured again, and brushed a kiss against my cheek. I’d spent every previous moment with him longing for him to do that very thing. Tonight the kiss didn’t move me.
“But—” I pulled away, ever so slightly. “What if I had an accident, and my face were hideously disfigured?”
“Oh, Princess,” he laughed. “What do you ever do that could hurt you?”
It was true. Needlepointing was hardly likely to lead to facial scars.
“What if I got disgustingly fat?”
The prince laughed again.
“Is that what this is about? My dear, surely you’ve gained only a few pounds. I’m certain you’ll lose them before the wedding. Madame Bisset told my mother she’d watch what you eat very carefully—”
“My weight is not a problem!” So many angry responses sprang to my tongue that I choked on my own words. I began coughing, and the prince gingerly patted me on the back. When I finally regained control, the prince took my hands again and peered soulfully into my eyes.
“You should not fret your pretty head about these matters,” he said. “You are a princess.”
But I’m not, I wanted to say. I don’t want to be.
But was I sure?
I spent the next week biting my tongue. I wanted so badly to confide in somebody—anybody—that I even considered sneaking out of the castle and going to talk to Mrs. Branson, my next-door neighbor back in the village. But I didn’t want to involve her, maybe getting her in trouble.
That was the same reason I had to watch what I said to Mary and Jed. And yet, they were my only possible sources of information. So I was like a spy, asking questions I didn’t want to know the answer to, in hopes that they’d drop some tidbit I longed for.
“What do you think love is?” I asked Jed.
He got a dreamy look in his eye.
“Love is a wondrous thing. It moves mountains and stills a baby’s cries. It beats inside every human’s heart, yet is more precious than gold. It cannot be bought or sold or stolen. It keeps us alive.”
I wondered why he looked sad when he turned his gaze back to me.
“Whom do you love?” I persisted.
“Oh, Princess, you do wander so from your lesson,” he said with a laugh.
And because he’d called me “Princess,” I knew that meant: subject closed. Lately, more and more subjects seemed to be closed with Jed.
I tried a different tack with Mary.
“How did people respond w
hen they learned the prince was going to marry me?”
“Oh, la, Princess, as soon as they saw you, they understood,” she answered as she dusted my mantel.
“That beauty thing again,” I said sulkily. I looked at Mary carefully. “There was something you wouldn’t tell me before. . . . Why does beauty matter so much?”
“Me mum says ’tis because men have eyes,” Mary said stiffly. I saw that we were treading on dangerous territory. Mary was far from beautiful. I had to be wary lest I hurt her feelings. But I had to know.
“The prince seems especially concerned about it . . . ,” I said.
“Surely you know—the Charmings must always have beautiful children. It’s like the law or something.”
“So it’s more important to have a beautiful wife than a royal one.”
Mary’s expression didn’t change, so I knew she’d known all along that I wasn’t truly a princess. She waited so long to reply that I wondered what else she knew.
“It’s so strange the way the prince picked me—just out of the crowd, at the ball . . . ,” I said, watching Mary’s face. She kept her head down, dusting a particularly crevice-filled stone in my wall.
“I heard the king’s advisers talking, before the ball,” she finally said. “They didn’t know I was there, polishing the woodwork. Being ugly is like being invisible sometimes, you know? No—I guess you wouldn’t know. Anyhow, they were talking about how the prince had to marry before he turned twenty-one, but none of the eligible princesses met all the requirements for beauty. So one of them decided to have a ball, for everyone, and they would rate all the women and pick the best one for the prince.”
I remembered the setup at the ball, with some women sent into one ballroom, some into another. Had the less attractive ones been shunted away? For once, I felt a pang of compassion for Griselda and Corimunde. I remembered the way I’d been announced, as though I were a beauty contestant. Wait—I had been a beauty contestant. And the prince had been the prize.
“So he didn’t even choose me. He just did what he was told,” I muttered. “He wasn’t in love with me. He isn’t.”
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