Castle grounds? I lean outside the carriage and there it is, the circular castle with a single tower, only the tower raises all the way up into the sky that is still only big enough to cover the things immediately around me. Light blazes from behind every window.
I step down from the carriage, and as I look back to see one of the horses watching me, they all vanish. Only the castle and I exist now, separated by a grand, seemingly eternal expanse of hedge rows.
Looking to the ground I see that a dirt path will lead me into the hedges and up to the castle door. I set one foot, covered in a silver jeweled shoe, onto the path. After turning two corners it becomes clear that making my way to the castle will not be easy. The hedges form a maze, and while they are low enough to see over, I still cannot make out a designated pathway. I lift up my dress, surprised at how light it is, and begin stepping over the hedges with great ease. Delighted by this ability, I begin leaping until my eagerness takes over and I soar into the sky, taking care to stay high enough to avoid crashing with the hedges, and low enough that I should land easily in front of the castle. I am a bit wobbly, teetering from side to side, and as I fly, the rows of hedges multiply so the castle grows distant again.
Frustrated, I pull myself down out of the sky and onto the ground, landing again amid the hedges.
Then I hear voices.
"Hello, Prince Duncan."
"Hello, Worston."
I walk over the hedges again until the castle door finally comes into view. Two bright flames light the front of the castle and part of the grounds. Looking up, I see the stars, the sky now its normal size and appearance. Not a cloud in sight, the partial moon shines bright above me as well, and the air is perfectly still. I wonder about the driver for a moment. Had he ever really been? Or was he only a creation of my mind? Will I ever see him again?
Footsteps sound on the stone ground surrounding the castle, and a man comes into view. I stand in front of the castle door so I will be in his way. At first I think it's Henry, but upon further inspection I realize his face is to bristly, more like Father's. And his hair is too long. But whoever he is, I hope he can see me anyway. He walks with sure, steady steps up to the door and knocks. Another man answers through a small window, his voice muffled. "Who is it?"
The man standing right next to me, practically right in front of me, yells back. "It's Prince Duncan." His loud voice shakes and rattles me, piercing my ear like an unexpected crack of thunder in the sky.
The door opens. "Prince Duncan, you know you're not supposed to be out so late."
"My apologies."
"Your brother has been asking for you. He would like you to come to council tonight."
"Thank you for the message," the prince says, smiling warmly as he steps inside and down a corridor. I don't remember much about the royal family of Fallund, and briefly wonder how many princes or princesses there might be. It seems already the king and queen of Fallund are more blessed than my own dear parents.
The door slides shut in front of me. I had missed my chance. I place my hand on the door, hoping I will pass through anyway, but to no avail.
More footsteps approach and a man walks right up to the door and shouts, "It's Worston, let me in."
The door opens and I steal my chance, slipping inside simultaneously.
Instantly I am carried away to an upper level of the castle tower. Looking around, I determine that I have made it. A balcony opens up to a foyer below graced by a statue of what I assume is the royal family of Fallund. As I turn around, I realize I am standing in the exact place where I had last conversed with Henry, outside his council room. Clearing my throat, I raise my hand to knock and as I do it falls through the door and I step inside effortlessly.
There he sits, in the exact chair, studying what could even be the same parchments for all I know. Dark half moons below his eyes tell me he's had little sleep lately. I think of how lucky he is, to be able to work late and rise early, or to toss and turn for lack of rest. Then he lay his head in his hands, a deep, heavy sigh escaping from his mouth. What could be troubling him so? Hesitating, I smooth the fabric of my dress. It looks so much brighter than it had when I'd first boarded the carriage in the darkness. And now here I am, having reached my destination and I am too afraid to open my mouth.
I clear my throat, never expecting that such a simple gesture of preparation could cause such a stir. Prince Henry jumps up, forcing his seat back ever so slightly.
"How did you get in here?" he asks. Then those dark hazel eyes narrow in on me. "It's you," he says.
Relief sweeps over me. He remembers! And he can still see me. One final test remains.
"Hello, Prince Henry. It's nice to see you again."
"Nice? I wouldn't describe our last encounter as nice. You disturbed me before an important briefing and made me look like a fool in front of my closest councilman and aides. And you're wearing your nightgown again." He nods at me, raising a finger to point. "If you'd like to have an audience with me, you will have to wear appropriate attire."
My mouth drops open.
Mortified, I look down to see one of the white nightgowns Stella dresses me in. Where is my scarlet dress? My brown kirtle? I reach up to touch my hair, hoping desperately that the braid and bun held fast. Alas, my golden hair reaches down long past my shoulders, probably wind swept from my journey. I look behind me hoping to find a mirror, but there is only the painting of the sea.
"Like I said," the prince begins, picking up a quill and scratching away on the parchment before him. "Proper dress next time please. Oh, and make an appointment. Now if you'll excuse me." His focus has completely switched, from his surprise at first seeing me, to his love for insults, to whatever business he's conducting on that parchment.
But I have come all this way, in a dream mind you, hoping for some human connection. I would have preferred polite conversation, but he can hear me, so I easily look past his negativity.
"What is it you're working on?"
Prince Henry continues to write, never breaking except to dip his quill in ink. His lips move as he writes, as if he carries on a conversation with himself, or perhaps he's merely mouthing the words in whatever correspondence he's working on.
The door opens and in steps a short, thin, elderly man with white hair pulled back in a ponytail. "Your majesty, it is time for the council. The men will be arriving shortly."
"Thank you, Duke." Prince Henry finally puts his quill down and stands up. "Tell Marie to bring plenty of refreshments. I expect the meeting will go on for quite some time."
"Yes, your majesty." The elderly man pulls the door closed, leaving us alone once again.
The prince turns to me. His hair looks a little darker today, perhaps because of the dim lighting. "Look, I need you to leave."
"But I just got here." It took such great effort to find him again, and I have no intention of leaving.
"I don't know what you are, but you are not welcome here. So if you are a ghost or a fairy or some hallucination, I still need you to leave." His eyebrows drawn together, he glares at me. "I'm sorry," he says finally, but I know he isn't. It's only a formality. There isn't a hint of regret in those stern eyes.
"So am I," I reply. "Because I am not leaving. You said before that we knew each other as children? I don't remember."
The door bursts open and a flood of men come through, including the three I recognize from our previous encounter. They are followed by Marie and her tray of delicious looking food—cakes and breads and jams the rich colors of red and purple—and Duke. Standing tall, Duke announces the start of the meeting once all the men are seated. "Is there anything else you will be needing from me?" Duke asks.
"Only Prince Duncan if you can find him," Henry replies. "Thank you, Duke."
He bows his head as he pulls back on the door and exits.
The prince takes in the sight of all the men surrounding him who look back expectantly. He glances at me as though he's unsure of what to do.
&nbs
p; "Don't let me keep you from your important meeting," I say.
The prince clears his throat and quickly looks away from me. "Let's see, I have called you all here tonight..."
I sit down in front of him, right between two serious looking men. I turn to the man on my right and say, "Excuse me, would you have a cigar I could borrow? These meetings always drag on and I like to stay relaxed."
Prince Henry glares at me.
"What is it your majesty?" one of the men asks. It is one of the men from before, the one with the big, pointy nose. "Why have you called us here tonight?"
"I have called you here tonight..."
"How's your family?" I ask the man to my left. "Oh, pardon me, but you have a flake on your nose. Let me get that for you." I reach my tiniest finger and pretend to flick some imaginary speck from his nose.
I glance at the prince, smiling at my victorious attempts to get on his nerves. He glares back at me.
"I have asked all of you to come here tonight because..."
"Excuse me, your candle is dripping wax all over the desk and Prince Henry really hates that," I say to a man across the table and down a ways.
"Enough!" the prince yells.
"Enough of what?" I ask.
Several of the men whisper to each other, but I do not hear what they say.
"Stop this at once." It is softer than his previous outburst, but not less threatening.
"Who is it you're talking to?" the man seated to my right asks. "Have we done something to offend you?"
He doesn't look at me, but I know I am the recipient of his next remarks. "Look, if you would like to wait outside, I would be happy to talk to you after the council meeting."
The men whisper again, almost all of them, covering their mouths and glancing at the prince, their ruler and leader.
"I don't want to wait outside."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm afraid."
"What on earth are you afraid of? Duke is probably the only one right outside that door and he's so loving he won't even step on insects."
"Prince Henry, what is this all about?"
I speak up quickly, so that Henry pays attention to me rather than the man questioning him. "I'm afraid that if I walk out that door, I will lose contact with you." How desperate that must sound! Why would I even matter to him? I brave further explanation. "You're the only one who can hear me. The only one I have to talk to."
He clears his throat once more and shifts in his seat, as though my words have caused him discomfort.
He looks me in the eye, not glaring or condemning, just searching for something. "You may stay. But please let me finish my meeting."
I nod, grateful for the risk he took in speaking to me in front of all these men who respect him and look to him for guidance.
A heavy sigh escapes him once more. "Men, I have called you here tonight to let you know we are at war." He pulls an envelope from his vest pocket and places it on the table. "I'll let you read it yourselves. Conner, please inform Prince Duncan if you see him before I do. I'm sorry but I suddenly feel ill. I am going to try to get some rest. You may stay and evaluate the letter and discuss strategies to your hearts content. We'll meet again early tomorrow." He stands and looks at me once more, motioning for me to follow him.
We exit the room together and travel a short way down the wide corridor in silence. War. A feeling of guilt creeps up inside me, much like the vines in the glasshouse, taking hold and growing larger, spreading throughout me until I almost can't breath.
"I'm sorry," I say.
"Yes, so am I," he says, walking with his hands clasped behind his back. "We have been at peace since before my father's rule. War is not a fair prospect."
"No, not that." I stop to look at him and he follows suit. "I mean, I am sorry about the war, but I'm sorry for the way I acted. I should not have caused you more distress and worry by doing and saying those things."
"Promise not to do it again and all is forgiven."
"I promise."
We begin walking once more.
"So what is it you would like to talk about?" he asks.
"Anything. Everything. What is happening in your kingdom? Cray will not be involved, I hope?"
"I do not think you came here to talk to me about the affairs of my kingdom," he answers.
"No," I admit. "It's just the only pressing thing on my mind now."
"Well, don't trouble yourself. I'm sure it will all work out. And as for Cray, I don't expect they will come to our aid."
"Why is that?"
He opens a door leading out to the garden, a back or side entrance, I'm not sure. The fragrant air catches me and takes me by surprise. It's lavender. I look around and see only hedges. Is it the lavender Stella grows that I smell? I do not want to go back.
Prince Henry has not answered yet.
"Why do you not think Cray will come to your aid? Please answer me."
His hazel eyes that in the dark of night look almost brown stare down at me. "We are no longer allies. Your father blamed my parents for your cursing. We have not had any relations in all these years."
I am mystified by such an idea—Cray and Fallund have always been allies in my memory. I'm also relieved to hear that Cray will not be involved, but the smell of lavender alarms me. I hope desperately that Henry does not mind my company so much, because I don't plan on leaving anytime soon, no matter what potent sweetness invades my nostrils.
1
Sleeping Beauty and the Beast
6
Beast
Enough with disguises and sneaking out through the kitchen, Duncan would walk through the front castle door from now on, no matter what Henry said or who he enlisted to follow him.
Fourteen days. The girl could go to trial in fourteen days. Duncan slipped on his shoes and then took one last look in the tall mirror. Torn between whether to loathe himself for his innate distaste for royalty and hatred for its demands and responsibilities, or to be thankful for the bravery that allowed him to reject what he did not want, Duncan searched his own gaze and stature. It pained him to look in a mirror, to see so much of Henry, his own flesh and blood—his only flesh and blood—and know he could not back down, could never wear the robes or leadership and still keep his own soul. His greatest fear was losing himself in doing what he despised.
"Going somewhere?"
Henry's voice fractured Duncan's silent thoughts.
"No matter, Worston will follow you again. You need at least a little protection. Do not worry for me. There are others who will fulfill your responsibilities."
Duncan turned away from the mirror; seeing both Henry and himself in the looking glass only reminded him how similar they were on the outside, nearly identical if you ignored the length of their hair, and he couldn't stare at those parallels as he declared his individuality, but facing Henry brought little improvement, since that was also like seeing his own reflection. The only difference was Henry's loss of youth. He resembled an aging man now, eyes hollow and tired, brow constantly furled. Still, he eyed his brother with determination. "I do not want to rule. I desire nothing of the kingdom, except maybe a place to sleep. If you wish, I will leave the castle and find employment."
"What on earth do you think you could do outside this castle? You have no skills, nothing to contribute..."
"I know how to work, Henry, whether you've seen it or not. And I'm good with people." He spoke calmly, falling into the place of younger brother, born only minutes after the crowned prince. Duncan thanked the stars for that. Had things been turned around, and Henry come second, they may not be having this conversation. He wondered if that would have changed him somehow, if taking on the responsibilities of ruling a kingdom would have been easier, more natural, if being born first would have made him more willing.
"Then why won't you help the people of this kingdom?"
"Why do you think that sitting on councils is the only thing I have to offer the world?"
Henry start
ed pacing, which Duncan knew meant he was thinking, deliberating.
"Have you learned about the war?" Henry asked, still pacing with his hands clasped behind his back. His voice had faltered only slightly when saying the words and Duncan wanted to know how Henry could be so brave, how his brother could hold it together with such force and power that even with the threat of war his stone face showed no emotion, remained so unaltered.
"It was Duke who told me. I think most of the time he is the only one who can reach me. He knows where I hide when I don't want to be found, and where I go when I need to leave."
"Will you not even sit on a council when we are at war?" He stopped walking about and faced Duncan again.
"I'm not a soldier, nor a general. I know nothing of war, except to stay out of them, and I don't think that philosophy helps much when war is declared on you."
Henry took a few steps forward. Standing a few inches taller than his brother, he looked down into his eyes. "This prisoner you've taken an interest in, is she the reason you're doing all this? If you wanted to marry a peasant, Brother, why didn't you just say so?" The sarcasm cut straight through Duncan's heart. What did Henry know about her or his motives to help her or his reasons for abandoning the royal ways?
"I want to marry a peasant." Suddenly they were nine years old again, and Duncan knew if they kept at it, their communication would only get worse from here. "If you'll excuse me." Duncan headed for the door.
"You can't help her."
Henry's insistence on always getting the last word never ceased to annoy Duncan, who turned once more and simply said, "That doesn't mean I can't try."
"Just like you try so hard to be the prince you know you are."
Escaping Henry's immediate presence and the range of his voice did not mean Duncan could escape the guilt, nor the insult that his brother thought so little of him.
Winding down the tower stairs, Duncan concocted a plan. Since the prisoner was a woman, he decided a woman might be more successful at getting through to her. He made his way to the kitchen where the maids and servants would be having breakfast. Bursting through the door, Duncan was met with a host of surprised faces, complete with open mouths and blushing cheeks. Had they been gossiping? A spread of food lay before them: fried eggs and oranges, sweet rolls and grape juice. A voice in the prince's stomach sounded, rolling like continuous, angry thunder. He ignored it.
Sleeping Beauty and the Beast Page 5
