The Sweetest Spell

by Suzanne Selfors

  I waited until a wagon of apples passed by, then I walked across the kitchen courtyard to a fenced area. As I approached a chorus of mooing filled the air. These were not the brown woollies of the Oak farm, nor the short-haired cows of the Flatlands. The royal cows were pure white, with black noses and black tails. They greeted me in the gentle way of all cows, flicking their tails and pressing their nostrils against my outstretched palm. Three were being milked by milkmaids. Three others were being bathed by servants. How difficult it must have been to keep the soot off their white coats. Each cow wore a gold ribbon around its neck. The greenest alfalfa I’d ever seen filled their troughs.

  “Hello,” I said to them. “It’s nice to meet you. My name’s—”

  A trumpet sounded. The milkmaids jumped to their feet and bowed their heads as King Elmer and Queen Beatrice entered the kitchen courtyard. Two servants swept a path across the soot-covered stones for Their Royal Majesties to follow. Another servant carried the royal crowns on pillows. I ducked behind a stack of alfalfa bales. Surely I’d get in trouble for leaving the churning room.

  “If we need more coin, then we shall make more chocolate,” the king said. He plucked a chocolate square from a golden box and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious.”

  “We’d like to increase production,” the queen said. “The problem is, the dirt-scratcher girl has only two arms. She can’t churn much more than she’s already churning. I suppose she could get less sleep but we need to keep her healthy.”

  As they strode close to the alfalfa bales, the king turned his golden box upside down. “It’s all gone!” he exclaimed. “Get me more!” He waddled off the carefully swept path. One of the sweepers followed, madly creating a new path.

  The Royal Secretary slid alongside the queen, a paper bundle tucked under his arm. “If I may be so bold as to make a suggestion?” The queen nodded. “Is Your Majesty familiar with the phrase less is more?”

  “Less is more?” The queen stopped walking. “Whatever do you mean?”

  They spoke in hushed tones. I leaned around the bales, straining to hear.

  “Would gold be as desired if it dripped from every tree?” the Royal Secretary asked.

  A smile spread across the queen’s powdered face. “Yes, of course. We will not make more. We will simply raise the price.” She fiddled with the jewels that hung from her waist. “Send a box to the king of Franvia and to the Imperial Pope of Italialand. Include a price list for future shipments at triple what we discussed.”

  The Royal Secretary plucked the white feather from behind his ear and scribbled on a piece of parchment.

  “No, wait!” the queen cried. “Tell them that we will be holding an auction. The highest bidder will receive a limited supply.”

  “Your brilliance shines like the sun,” the Royal Secretary said.

  “Make certain that every ambassador who attends the tournament receives a box of chocolate. That will be the best way to spread the word. We are going to be very rich,” the queen said to her secretary.

  Wasn’t she already rich?

  “Bring me more!” the king bellowed as he wandered over to the fence. Then he leaned close to one of the cows. “They tell me,” he said in the cow’s ear, “that the treasury is empty.”

  “Do not worry, my love,” the queen said as she took her husband’s puffy hand. “You’ve got the tournament to think about. I’ll worry about the treasury. I’ll get us lots and lots of pretty coin.”

  A kitchen boy ran up to the king and, after a little bow, handed him a new box of chocolates. The king shoved a piece in his mouth, the headed back to the palace. The queen and Royal Secretary followed. I took a deep breath, then hurried across the courtyard in the opposite direction. I retraced my steps, through the sweltering room of ovens, past the room of curing meat, and back to my little churning room where a bucket of cream waited for me. With a sigh of relief, I sat on the stool. I hadn’t been caught. But what I’d heard made my thoughts spin. How could the king and queen of Anglund have no coin?

  Just as I began churning, the door flew open. The scent of honeysuckle tickled my nose as Queen Beatrice stormed in. She towered over me, her hands on her hips. “What were you doing outside?” she demanded.

  I rose slowly to my feet. Not wanting to get the kitchen boy into trouble, I said, “I needed to stretch my legs, Your Majesty.”

  “You are not supposed to leave this room, dirt-scratcher girl.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. The room felt smaller than it had a few moments ago, as if the walls were pressing in.

  She ran a hand across her brow, patting a few stray hairs into place. Though she smiled sweetly at me, the rage in her eyes did not fade. “It is too dangerous for you to venture beyond this room. There are those who would try to take you from us. You must stay in here until the Royal Secretary delivers you back to your chambers.”

  “Who would try to take me?” I asked. “Surely no one would steal from the king.”

  “Don’t be a fool. People steal from the king all the time. They cheat on their taxes. They hide their coin beneath their mattresses. It has become a national hobby to steal from the king.”

  As she opened the door and was about to leave, another question came to mind. “Your Majesty?” She stopped but did not turn to look at me. “If you have no coin, how did you pay my friend his five thousand coin reward?”

  “That matter was taken care of. Now get back to work. We need chocolate for the tournament. The ambassadors will be in attendance.”

  She glided through the kitchen, her sweeping servant running in front, clearing the floor of carrot tops and potato peelings. As I stood in the open doorway, two soldiers approached, then took their places at either side of the door. I should have felt better knowing that they’d been sent to protect me.

  I thought about the Flatlander boy I’d seen sitting in the caged wagon—iron bars surrounding him as if he were an animal being taken to slaughter.

  You should be happy, I scolded myself. I’d been given everything I could possibly desire. Beautiful rooms, delicious food, clean clothes. And my father would be joining me soon. He’d never again have to work the field. We’d never again know poverty.

  But I’d never again know freedom.

  PART EIGHT

  Prince

  Chapter Forty-three

  I was eating supper when the Royal Secretary bustled in, a larger-than-usual stack of parchment under his arm. “You are called to the arena, immediately.”

  This was an interesting change in my routine because it meant that for the first time since being escorted to my rooms, I wasn’t going to take the winding staircase that led to my churning room. Instead, I was going out, into the palace. I didn’t care why I’d been summoned. The chance to get out was like the promise of a spring day after a long winter.

  I’d been lounging in my nightfrock, so the chambermaids helped me get into a clean yellow dress. They tucked my hair into a bonnet.

  “Make way for the Royal Secretary!” a soldier bellowed as we stepped into the hallway. When had they posted soldiers outside my chamber door? Lots of servants hurried about, carrying brooms and buckets, polish and rags. They stepped aside as we walked past, their gazes fixed on one thing—me. My, how things had changed. Not a single one of them stared at my limp. There were no sneers, no scorn. Their expressions were wide with admiration. Is this what it felt like to Griffin when all the girls gazed upon him?

  It felt like sunshine.

  “Secretary.” A soldier approached. “There is a crowd gathering for the Bestowing of Coal, but there is no coal. The king has given no orders.”

  “Tell them to come back tomorrow,” the secretary said. “That is what I told them yesterday and the day before.”

  “Tell them!”

  As the soldier marched away, someone else called out for the Royal Secretary. Two tax-collectors approached, their wide coats flapping as they walked, their floppy hats dripping over their foreheads. “We nee
d to speak with you.”

  “Now is not the time.” The Royal Secretary tried to dart around them, but they stood in the center of the hallway, blocking his way.

  “There are uprisings and strikes. The king needs to know,” said one.

  “Citizens are refusing to pay the new water tax and my jail is full,” said the other. “We have been threatened. We fear for our lives.”

  Water tax? How could the king tax something that flowed freely? I wondered.

  “The tax-collectors’ guild has sent us here to get instructions from the king. Leaders of the uprisings are being rounded up and sent to the mineral fields, but the king has yet to pay us for the transport of these offenders.”

  The Royal Secretary’s face twitched, and I noticed, for the first time, the dark circles beneath his eyes that even the powder could not cover. “Wait in my office and I will try to get you an answer.”

  The men nodded and stepped aside. They whispered to each other as I hobbled past.

  The arena was a gigantic round room with no roof. Because there’d been less burning in the city, patches of blue peeked through the gray sky. But how were the city folk heating their homes and cooking their food without coal?

  Four levels of benches rose above the arena’s dirt floor. Three thrones sat on the highest level. King Elmer slept in one throne, a plate perched on his belly. The queen, however, paced along a railing that separated the lowest row of benches from the dirt circle. She held a scroll.

  “Your Majesties,” the Royal Secretary announced as we entered. “I have brought the dirt-scratcher girl, as requested.”

  Queen Beatrice clapped her hands, and the soldiers who’d been standing guard at the entrance exited, as did the servants who’d been raking the floor. The queen waved me forward. I walked along the railing until I reached her. “Hello, Your Majesty,” I said with a bow.

  She looked past me. “What is wrong with you?” she asked her secretary. “Why are you twitching in that manner? And why is your collar limp?”

  “Your Majesty, please forgive my disheveled appearance,” the secretary said, fiddling with his ruffled collar. “There is much news to convey. There is citizen unrest. Uprisings. Strikes. Crowds have gathered outside the city walls.”

  “These are trivial matters,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “We have something much more pressing to deal with. We have important news.” She pointed the scroll at me. “And it involves the girl.”

  “Is it about my father?” I asked, a flutter in my chest. “Is he here? When can I see him?”

  The queen shoved the scroll at the secretary. He set his stack of parchment aside, then unrolled the scroll. “Your Majesty,” he said with surprise. “Have you read this?”

  “Indeed we have.” She stroked a strand of blue stones that circled her powdered neck. “Go on. Tell the girl.”

  He cleared his throat. “It would seem that you have a proposal of marriage.”

  I almost laughed. “Me?”

  “Yes. You. From the King of Germundy. He wishes to marry the Milkmaid.” The Royal Secretary rolled the scroll and tucked it under his arm. “It would appear, Your Majesty, that while word has spread about the chocolate, word has also spread about the chocolate-maker herself, thanks to the wanted posters.”

  “Yes, so it would appear.” The queen settled onto a bench, her silver dress cascading down her legs like water.

  “I’m not going to marry him,” I said worriedly. I didn’t even know him. Had never even heard of him. But if ordered to marry a king, what could I possibly do?

  “Be quiet. I need to think.” The queen tapped her long fingernails on her knee. Up on the fourth level, the king snored loudly. After a long moment, the queen crooked her finger and her secretary leaned in close. “She is too valuable to give to the Germund king. No matter what he offers. We must triple the guard. Germund spies will try to kidnap her.”

  “I concur,” the secretary said. “Shall I send a response to Germundy?”

  “We must have a good reason,” the queen said. “We cannot risk insulting a potential market. Those Germunds love sweets. And we suspect this is not the last proposal the dirt-scratcher girl will receive.”

  My name is Emmeline, I wanted to point out. They never called me by name. And they always talked about me as if I wasn’t standing right there.

  The queen continued. “How can we reject a sovereign leader? We will be at war before the year’s end.”

  “Your Majesty could craft a reason why the girl cannot marry.”

  I was about to point out the reason I couldn’t get married was because I didn’t want to get married. Not to someone I didn’t know. But the queen had turned her gaze to the sky. “What is he up to now?” she asked between clenched teeth.

  Something floated downward, appearing as if by magic from a patch of blue. It was a large woven basket and it dangled from an enormous inflated balloon. I’d seen this contraption on the floor beneath the golden bridge when I’d first walked with the queen. A man leaned over the side of the basket, his hands cupped around his mouth. “Watch out below!”

  While the Royal Secretary gathered his pile of parchment and scrambled up to the third level, the queen and I didn’t budge an inch. The sight was so amazing I didn’t want to miss a single moment as the basket landed in the middle of the dirt circle. It wobbled from side to side, tossing its two passengers about. With a drawn-out squeak, the balloon deflated, falling limp to the ground like a fainting woman. Except for the king’s snoring, all was silent in the arena. Then the two men climbed out of the basket and strode toward us. They both wore simple white shirts and regular britches, not high-waisted ones like the secretary. They wore gloves, leather hats, and thick round spectacles. The lead man peeled off his spectacles and hat. After a quick bow, he took the queen’s hand and kissed it. Then he nodded at the secretary and smiled at me.

  I immediately liked his smile. It was lopsided and goofy. Laughter lay behind it.

  “What is that thing?” the queen asked.

  “It’s a traveling balloon,” he replied. He smiled at me again. The way his hair was tied back with a ribbon reminded me of Mister Oak. “It can easily fly across Anglund. With a few improvements, I believe we might be able to fly to other countries. What do you think?”

  The queen stared angrily at the other man. He removed his spectacles and hat and bowed to the queen but said nothing. A thin mustache draped his upper lip.

  “Mother?” the first man said. “Are you aware that a crowd has gathered outside the city wall? Our citizens are upset about the new taxes.”

  Mother? I gasped. I didn’t know the king and queen had a son. I’d never heard anyone mention a prince. He had her same black hair and willowy build but was short like his father.

  “I fear Father’s safety may be in jeopardy if he doesn’t address the crowd soon,” the prince said.

  “Nonsense. The people love their king,” the queen said. The secretary and the prince exchanged a worried look. The queen turned her back to me and spoke in a low voice. “You spend too much time with your inventions. And far too much time with your companion. Your reputation is in ruins. There are wicked rumors about you two. You need to …” She froze. “You need to …” She whipped around and snapped her fingers. “Secretary!”

  The Royal Secretary stumbled down the stairs until he stood at her elbow. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “We have figured out a way to save our son’s reputation and a way to keep the dirt-scratcher girl from the Germund king’s marriage bed.” Flecks of powder drifted onto her dress as she smiled. “Inform the King of Germundy that the Milkmaid is unavailable for marriage. You will repeat the same message to any future suitors.”

  “And the reason, Your Majesty?” the secretary asked, his quill poised and ready.

  The queen glared at the mustached man. “Because she is already promised in marriage. To our son.”

  The prince and I may have had nothing in common, but at
that moment we shared the same stunned expression.

  Chapter Forty-four

  His name was Prince Beauregard Borthwick Elmer of Anglund. He was nineteen years old, and I was to marry him as soon as arrangements could be made, whatever that meant.

  Wasn’t this every girl’s dream? Even the Flatlander girls who’d spent their days and nights lost in dreams of Griffin Boar would have run Griffin over with a wagon to have a chance at marrying the prince of Anglund. Or any prince for that matter. This is what we were taught—to find a husband and then to have children. I’d always thought marriage to anyone but an unwanted was out of my reach. Yet here it was, offered to me on a golden platter. With a crown on the side.

  My insides felt all tangled up as I sat at the edge of my bed. After they’d dressed me in my nightfrock, I’d told the chambermaids to leave so I could think without faces staring at me, watching my every move. If arrangements were being made, this could be one of my last nights alone. I slid off the bed and limped to the window, a pair of specially made slippers covering my feet. Night had fallen, cloaking the city in an inky blanket. Usually I’d be asleep by now, resting after a long day of churning. But how could I sleep? The only reason these men wanted to marry me was because of the chocolate. No one wanted me for myself. I wiped a hot, angry tear. No man had ever paid attention to the unnatural girl with the limp. Except for Owen.

  How could I marry the prince when my heart still belonged to Owen?

  Stop thinking about him. He’s dead!

  A creaking sound drew my attention from the window. My door was opening slowly, inch by inch. The Royal Secretary had warned me about the dangers of kidnapping. “The Germund spies once infiltrated the palace dressed as pigs,” he’d said. “They are cunning. Do not leave your rooms.” As the door continued to open, I grabbed a candlestick. Where were the soldiers who were supposed to protect me? I raised the candlestick above my head. That’s when Prince Beauregard stepped into my room.