“Yes, mother!” Thalia’s voice rang out like a bell.
Celeste turned to Adelaide. She seemed very annoyed with having to answer her question.
“You can sleep in Cook’s room, if you’d like. It’s vacant. Or since you seem so fond of your father’s laboratory, perhaps you’d prefer to sleep there.”
“Cook’s room? By the kitchen? But won’t Cook be needing it?” Adelaide asked.
“She’s been dismissed,” Celeste responded. “Insubordinate woman.”
Adelaide agreed that Cook could be a bit uppity, but she would never classify her manners as insubordination, more of an air of know-it-all-ness. “How will we eat? Who will be cooking for us?” Adelaide asked.
“I believe you will fill that role quite nicely, Adelaide. It’s about time you did something to help out around here.”
“Me? I can barely boil water without burning it.”
Celeste’s lips pursed together even tighter. “I suspected that might be the case. I’ve hired a village girl who knows her way around a kitchen to come teach you how to cook. Once you’ve learned what you need to know, you’ll be working as the cook, full-time.”
“You’re making me into one of the servants?”
Celeste’s hand shot out and grabbed Adelaide’s chin, pulling her face up to meet her own.
“Adelaide, your father’s savings will get us only so far. Everyone must pitch in, and we will be cutting out anything that is not necessary for us to live. If we’re lucky, I’ll be able to find a new husband for myself. Or perhaps I’ll be able to find one to marry your stepsister. You, however, are another challenge altogether. Honestly, Adelaide, with a face like yours, you’re bound to be someone’s servant, eventually. You might as well get used to it.”
The sting of Celeste’s words reddened her face just as if it had been slapped. Her stepmother had never before remarked so candidly about the birthmark splayed across half of Adelaide’s face, neck and shoulder. The blotch that usually remained a dull reddish-brown flared, belying her embarrassment. Adelaide twisted out of her stepmother’s grasp. The pin prick of tears stung at her eyes, but she willed herself not to cry. She would not cry in front of Celeste.
“Clean this mess up,” her stepmother said as she left the room.
Adelaide stared for a long time at the pile of clothes, books and parchment strewn down the stairs and over the floor. It wasn’t in her nature to talk back to adults. She’d been raised to act like a proper lady, even if there was no hope that she would ever become one.
Adelaide had grown used to people shying away from her and her marked face. Eventually the people of the village who knew her father had grown used to it, but she still heard them murmuring about the mark from time to time. Cursed, they called it.
Her mother had possessed the ability to make her feel beautiful, even up to the day of her death. Her father had never ceased to make her feel smart and important. “Leidy,” he’d say, using his favorite nickname for her, “anyone can be born beautiful and dumb, but it takes someone special to glow with an inner beauty that comes from kindness and intelligence. Don’t waste your time wishing to trade your brains for beauty. That’s a lousy trade.” If she looked skeptical, he’d always add, “Trust me. I’m the smartest person you know...after your mother, of course.”
Adelaide felt neither smart, nor beautiful at the moment. She felt like a fool. As she gathered her belongings from the floor, she tried to think of signs of her stepmother’s cruelty that she had missed. She knew that her stepmother had never been overly warm towards her, but she hadn’t been overtly hostile either. Adelaide had never understood why her father married Celeste after her mother died.
She was beautiful enough, but Adelaide had always thought Celeste’s smiles were cold and empty of feeling, though Celeste never spoke a single harsh word towards Adelaide or her father. At least, not until today. Adelaide had heard Celeste’s biting words directed towards the servants on occasion though, and was not completely surprised to have them finally directed towards herself. With a determined resignation, Adelaide made her way to her new quarters, and her new role as a servant in her own house.
CHAPTER 2
Prince Julian could not stop thinking about the marked girl he had met a few weeks ago. He hadn’t recognized her immediately in the darkened foyer of the physician’s home. It wasn’t until he saw her birthmark that he realized who she was. He still remembered quite vividly the night he had first met her. He was only eight years old then - the night his mother died.
She had come bursting into the castle, all fierce-faced and full of anger. Her ringlets of curly hair were as bright as the red mark on her face. She had been so full of fire when she made her way through the castle to where her father was attending his mother, the queen. The shock of seeing her pulled him momentarily out of his fear for his mother’s life.
Julian and his older brother, Leon, stood dumbfounded as she stormed her way toward them. “Where is he?” she demanded. “Where’s my father?”
The girl’s brazenness was startling. Julian pointed a finger to the door of his mother’s chambers where the doctor was attending to his mother. He assumed that she was the doctor’s daughter. They had the same bright red hair.
The girl moved to knock on the door. “No!” the princes shouted in unison.
She paused with her fist in the air, a deep scowl on her face. “Our mother,” Leon explained, “is very sick. She has the pox.”
Julian looked at his brother. He knew the words that Leon was thinking but hadn’t yet said. She’s dying. The girl looked from Leon to Julian, and back again. Her soft brown eyes were also just like the doctor’s, a light, warm brown, the color of honey. She lowered her hand as well as her scowl.
“I’m so sorry,” she said in a hoarse whisper, and Julian watched amazed as her temper dampened, and tears slipped down her marked face.
They said nothing after that. Julian and Leon sat outside the door, the girl silently joining them. Eventually, both of their fathers exited the queen’s chambers. The king looked exhausted. The physician wore the same scowl the girl had worn earlier. Julian, Leon, and the girl stood. She clutched Julian’s hand, and he squeezed hers tightly back.
His father stared at the floor, unable to look his sons in the eyes. “Be strong, boys. Be strong for our nation. The queen is gone.” He briefly laid his hands on their shoulders and left. The doctor gave his own daughter a steadied gaze as he searched her tear-streaked face, and then reentered the queen’s chambers.
Leon was the strong one. He was already 12 years old, and becoming a man, so he didn’t cry. Julian did. A wailing sob erupted from his chest as he sunk down to his knees. He felt arms encircle him, and knew they weren’t his brother’s. He could feel the girl sob along with him as he released the pain of losing his beloved mother.
He was so angry. How could this happen to his mother who was so kind and good? Julian’s rage ached to be unleashed. He wanted someone, everyone, to hurt as much as he was hurting. “Get off me!” he screamed.
The girl released him, but he pushed her off him and onto the floor anyway. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me, you dirty, ugly beast!”
He spun away, barely noticing the look of shock on her face as he escaped into the depths of the castle halls.
Julian wasn’t proud of that memory. He had tried to forget that night, though it still haunted his dreams sometimes. Like this morning’s.
Julian laid in his bed, still contemplating if he should get up, or sleep in a bit more. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but he knew that the castle was already abuzz with activity, even if the royal family was still fast asleep. He decided to go ahead and rise, and make his way down to his favorite part of the castle. The kitchen.
The smell of baking bread met him as he entered the room. Already a score of cooks filled the kitchen, bustling about, preparing feasts for the evening’s festivities. “Good morning, your Highness!” one of the cooks shouted, result
ing in a chorus of “Good mornings!” from the rest of the staff.
“What are you doing here, boy?” a gruff voice said near the ovens. “Don’t you know this place is where the women work?” Mistress Gretyl, the head cook said from across the room.
“Well then, if this is where all the women are, why would I want to be anyplace else?” he replied. Gretyl threw back her head, her body shaking as she laughed. The other cooks also smiled, but continued with their preparations.
“Come back for another lesson, did you?” she asked.
“If you have the time. I fear I may be in the way. It’s certainly busy enough in here already.”
“Not at all, boy. Come. Today I will teach you the secret of making the world’s most deliciously flaky croissants.”
“I’m intrigued. What’s your secret?” he asked.
“Butter. Lots of butter.”
“That’s always your secret,” he chided.
“Of course!”
A few hours later, covered in a thin dusting of flour, Julian left the kitchen with a basket of freshly-baked croissants on his arm. His thoughts returned to the dream he’d had the night before. He knew exactly who to share his creation with.
* * * * *
Adelaide had just finished putting away the last of her clothes into her new room when a knock came on the kitchen door.
“Good morning,” Adelaide said as she opened it. “Are you here to teach me how to stop scorching all the pots and pans?”
A girl around Adelaide’s own age smiled at her broadly. “I suppose I am.”
“Well, you have your work cut out for you, just so you know.”
“I’m fairly confident in my ability to teach. And yours to learn,” the girl emphasized.
“I’m glad one of us is.”
Adelaide ushered the girl inside and led her to the kitchen. Merelyn was the young girl’s name, and Adelaide had been correct, they were exactly the same age. Adelaide liked Merelyn immediately. Whenever she spoke, she looked directly into Adelaide’s eyes. Adelaide had grown used to people talking to her feet, or if they were daring, to her shoulder. Rarely did anyone possess the ability to conduct an entire conversation with her while looking her in the eye. Merelyn did.
After two attempts of egg frying, and subsequently, two scorched pans, Merelyn decided that today Adelaide should simply observe. She could try the hands-on approach later. While Merelyn cooked, Adelaide grilled the young girl with questions.
“Why have I not seen you in the village? I used to go out quite a bit with my father, when he made calls to the ill, and I don’t remember seeing you.”
“Well, you may not have seen me, but I have seen you.”
“Really?”
Merelyn nodded. “You’ve actually been in my house before, when my younger brother was sick. Mother tried to heal him, but nothing worked. Finally, someone called on your father, and he came straight away. Whatever he did helped. You were there, too, that day.”
“Odd, I don’t really remember. How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Thirteen.”
“Oh!” The memory of that day came flooding back. Adelaide remembered the house that had been nearly wall-to-wall with children. It really hadn’t been all that long ago.
“Now do you remember?” Merelyn asked.
Adelaide chuckled. “How could I forget? I’ve never seen so many children in one place before. Honestly, with that many people about, how do you keep your sanity?”
“I take odd jobs teaching young girls how to cook,” she replied with a smile.
Merelyn was watching Adelaide try her hand at boiling a pot of water, with limited success, when someone knocked on the front door. Laughing at Adelaide’s less than successful beginning as the manor’s new cook, the two girls answered the door. Merelyn gasped.
Prince Julian was standing on her new friend’s doorstep. Adelaide merely frowned. “Ladies,” he said, greeting them with a deep bow.
Adelaide made a hasty curtsy, while Merelyn took the time to give the prince a proper one. “My Lord,” Adelaide greeted, and said nothing more. She made a point of not inviting him in. Just because he was a prince didn’t mean he was welcome.
Seeing Adelaide’s face, Julian could tell it would be difficult to win her over with just a basket full of croissants, no matter how good they tasted. “Please forgive my forwardness, Miss Adelaide, for calling on you so unexpectedly. I can see that you are quite surprised by my arrival.”
Surprised, or furious? Her scowl had only deepened over the few seconds he’d been standing there. The other girl was standing speechless as well, her mouth hanging open. The prince had been standing outside the door for a good five minutes before he gathered enough courage to knock. Based on the congenial conversation that he could hear from within, he knew both of the girls contained the capacity for speech. Unfortunately, they weren’t demonstrating so now.
The prince cleared his throat, and decided to go through with his plan. Likely, the girl wouldn’t accept his invitation anyway, but he might as well try to make amends. “I’ve come to invite you to the Royal Ball this evening,” he said, deciding the direct approach might be the best.
Adelaide’s jaw dropped. The two girls, though they couldn’t be more different from each other in appearance, looked strikingly similar with their mouths hanging agape.
The prince continued, “Tonight begins a three day feast for my brother’s twenty-first birthday. The Elder Prince has invited families who have been very dutiful in the employ of the king. I wanted to make sure that you knew you were welcome to join us at the castle for the next three evenings.”
He held out an ornately decorated invitation to Adelaide. Though her frown was gone, she didn’t smile. Adelaide looked at Merelyn. Merelyn nodded as if to say Take it. Adelaide sighed, straightened her shoulders, and said, “Thank you, Prince Julian, for your very generous gift, but I must politely decline.”
It was Julian’s turn to be surprised.
“Are you sure, Adelaide?” Merelyn whispered, grabbing Adelaide’s arm.
“I’m quite sure,” she nodded. “Thank you, Your Grace, but I do not think I will be able to attend such a glorious event. I have been very recently thrown into circumstances which are taking my utmost concentration.”
“What circumstances are those?” he asked, realizing as he said the words that he was being intrusive.
For the first time since he had set eyes on the girl, Adelaide smiled. It was a tight smile though, and didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m learning to cook,” she answered. “Good bye, Your Majesty.”
Adelaide shut the door, knowing full well that she was not only showing incredibly poor manners, but teetering on the verge of unlawfulness. One does not shut their door in the face of the king’s son. Adelaide was too angry to care.
“What in the world are you doing?” Merelyn asked. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You not only refused the prince’s very generous gift, and insultingly so, but then you went and slammed the door in his face. Are you mad?”
Adelaide stormed her way back to the kitchen. “How dare he!” she shouted at the nearest pot as she slammed it onto the table. She grabbed a knife and a potato and began slicing off its skin.
“What’s wrong?” Merelyn questioned, eyeing Adelaide’s ever-shrinking potato. By the time Adelaide had peeled off half its skin, it had shrunk to the size of a small rock.
“It’s not enough that he’s insulted me, but now he seeks to make a mockery of me? Unbelievable!”
“What are you talking about, Adelaide? How could he make a mockery of you?”
Adelaide dropped the miniscule potato into the pot and picked up another unfortunate tuber. “What does he think will happen if I show up at a royal ball? It doesn’t matter how fine my clothes are. Even if I did have something suitable to wear, which I don’t, of course, there is nothing that will hide this,” she said, holding the knife dangerously close to her birthmarked face, flushed as r
ed as her hair.
“Oh, Adelaide, surely that’s not what the prince meant.”
“How do you know?” she asked, throwing another butchered potato into the pot.
“Because he looked positively frightened of you,” Merelyn replied. “I don’t think he’d do something so carelessly hurtful. He wouldn’t want to get on your bad side. I mean, look what you’ve done to those poor potatoes, and they didn’t even do anything to you.”
Adelaide stopped slicing another quickly shrinking spud and looked at the two tiny white nuggets lying helplessly in the pot. She sighed. “Alright, perhaps he didn’t mean to be intentionally cruel, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’d be a laughingstock if I showed up at a royal ball.”
“Adelaide, I know I don’t know you very well yet, but after the way you treated the prince, I’m willing to bet that you’re not the type of person to worry about what other people are thinking.”
Adelaide smiled, and wished that were true. “Well, it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Adelaide said with a sigh. “I’m can’t go to the ball without an invitation, and I practically threw the only one I’m likely to get back into the prince’s face.”
Merelyn took up a potato and knife, “Probably not,” she agreed with a smile.
After teaching Adelaide once again how to boil water, and make boiled potatoes for that night’s supper, it was time for Merelyn to return home. “I’ll be back again tomorrow,” she told Adelaide as she reached for the kitchen door.
“I’ll be glad to have you. But come to the front. You’re my friend, and my guest, and I am still a family member here, even if it seems like I’m becoming more and more a servant. In fact, let me escort you to the front door, Lady Merelyn, and see if perhaps another prince is waiting on my doorstep.”
“Oh, certainly. Maybe the Elder Prince is standing outside waiting to ask you to the ball as well, and wondering why you refused to grace him with your presence at his own birthday celebration,” Merelyn joked.
Cursed Beauty (A Fairy Retelling #1) Page 2
