Though pleased, Duncan couldn't help wondering what the purpose of taming her would be, if she was only to be killed anyway, and shortly. Her time was running out. Thinking of this, Duncan turned to Thomas and whispered, "What is the trial looking like?"
"There are two witnesses," Thomas whispered in return. "But they are related to each other and the court may dismiss at least one testimony for that reason alone. It has happened before, when they believed the two related persons were plotting together. If another unrelated witness comes forward, that will be the end of it."
Duncan hated politics and law. Even that simple explanation had been enough for a life's worth. He turned to the maid. "Marie, how are her spirits? I mean, I can see she looks well, but do you have any idea what is going on inside her head? Or her heart? Has she spoken to you at all?"
Before Marie could formulate a response, an unexpected voice sounded. "Why do you ask your maid how I am feeling?"
"Did I mention she's been talking?" Marie asked, leaning in close and speaking so low Duncan was sure the girl could not hear.
"Thank you, Marie. I will take it from here."
"Would you like me to stay in here?" Thomas asked.
"No. Thank you, Thomas. You may see Marie outside."
Duncan waited until they left before speaking again. She stood tall, although perhaps a little insecure. Still, nothing like the crouched, hunched over figure he'd encountered that first day. Her teeth looked clean as well. The prince glanced to the floor and noticed an empty bowl of stew of some sort, and a plate with a thick, half eaten slice of bread.
Surprised, Duncan couldn't resist asking. "Did you eat stew?"
She smiled, and the prince couldn't remember ever seeing a lovelier sight, or a brighter grin.
"May I come in?" he asked, still feeling a little nervous that Thomas was not back to lock him inside. What if she tried to escape? What if she ran away and never came back? Taking one deep breath, he forced his mind to calm down and think positive thoughts.
"I would like that," she said.
Once inside the bars, an unsettling, awkward feeling emerged. What a strange place to be with such a beautiful young woman. Never before had she seemed more out of place, standing with grace, answering with a soft voice, and Duncan vowed once again to do whatever he could to help her.
After clearing his throat, Duncan asked if she would like him to brush her hair.
"I would like that very much." She walked toward him and sat in the chair that had become a welcome piece of furniture, the only piece of furniture, in her small space.
Gently lifting a section of her dark golden hair, straight and flowing like a waterfall, Duncan continued what had begun with Marie. "So, how are you feeling? What do you think about in this dark prison cell all day?" Hoping he had not pressed too far, or not asked the wrong thing he waited for a response.
"I feel alone. And I think about all the things that have happened in my life. I recall them one by one, over and over. I think of nothing else."
Not sure if it was safe to ask another question, or try for more detail, Duncan waited, sending the bristles deep into her hair and moving them downward only to lift and repeat time and time again. Did she ever tire of this?
"What do you feel? What things do you think about?"
The questions took Duncan off guard. He had only wanted for her to express these things, not to spill open his mind and heart as well. But could he keep these things from her and still continue to earn her trust? Thinking it unwise to keep her waiting, he simply blurted the first things that came to his mind.
"I feel confused. At times I don't even want to be a prince. And I think about a lot of things, but mostly people, the merchants in the rows, the servants in the castle, my dead parents, my brother . . ." Should he say it? "You."
Seemingly unaffected, she sat motionless, all but her long hair, which Duncan continued to lift in his hands and brush through with the soft, thick bristles.
"How did you know I liked my hair to be brushed?"
"I didn't. Not until I tried it."
A loud bell pealed outside. The girl covered her ears, throwing her head sharply downward as the brush yanked out a few strands of hair.
Thomas ran inside. "Prince Duncan, have you heard? We're going to war. Today."
The worry on Thomas's face, followed by the sudden unrest outside the prison and around the corner on the rows, drew his attention away from the girl momentarily. He soon found that to be unwise. She leapt from her chair, ears still covered, an expression of terror on her face.
"You'd better get out of there," Thomas urged.
Not wanting to leave her alone, Duncan lingered, holding up his arms and trying to calm her by telling her that everything was all right. But it was too late. A low rumble came from her mouth, followed by a louder, more threatening yell. The prince escaped quickly, instructing Thomas to lock the door.
A man appearing in the doorway cast a shadow on the floor in front of Duncan.
"We are at war! They are looking for men to join the army to be trained and head out in a week. Prince Henry leaves today, along with the soldiers already trained. Prince Henry himself is going to war!" He ran off, as though he meant to shout the same message into every door along the rows and alleys.
Duncan looked to Thomas.
"It's not all bad news, sir. A war will delay her trial."
It sunk in, deep into Duncan's heart, the information about Henry going to war. Astounded by this, he ran for the door, leaving the girl behind, and his immediate concern for her, forcing his country and his family to the forefront. What could his brother be thinking? He could be killed. Duncan would be left completely alone, with no family left, a country to run on his own. He had to talk some sense into him.
Resenting the sunlight now, which caused sweat to pour from him by the time he reached the castle walls, Duncan stopped, thinking again of the girl. Her trial would be delayed. Formulating a plan, Duncan burst through the front castle doors. Things had been busier than usual lately, but he couldn't believe the sight before him. The castle often seemed nearly empty, with only the occasional interaction with servants, especially if one stayed toward the back of the castle, but people were everywhere, hustling about, a line of them coming from the tower stairs and continuing all the way up. Not commoners, as their father had allowed in his lifetime to wait in line and speak to him one on one, but merchants, aides and council men, dressed in finer clothing than the peasant class.
Duncan grabbed hold of someone's arm who passed him. "Where can I find Prince Henry?"
The man barely stopped, waving Duncan's hold on his arm away and continuing forward. "In the tailor room, being fitted for his armor."
Fitted for armor? So it was true. Henry would leave, go into battle with their country's trained soldiers. What did he know about fighting in a war?
Rushing up the stairs two by two, Prince Duncan found himself face to face with Henry in no time. He shoved the tailor room door open, taking in the sight of his brother standing up on a stool, breastplate hanging from his shoulders as a man measured and adjusted the silver armor around his right arm. A large mirror covered most of the far wall, granting Duncan a view of his own face as well.
"Hello Duncan," said Henry, instantly irritating the younger prince of Fallund. How could he be so calm at a moment like this? So practiced at indifference? "We missed you at the war meeting earlier. Did you get my letter?"
"Yes, I got your letter." Duncan breathed heavily, having been winded by the run from the prison and up the stairs. "And I told you. I am against this war."
Henry turned away, probably as a mock convenience to the tailor who had begun to move to his other arm.
"What do you think you're doing?" Duncan scolded.
"I'm getting ready for war."
"You're doing this on purpose. You mean to die, don't you? And escape your destiny to be king. It's too much pressure for you."
Remaining calm, Henry ans
wered him. "How dare you say those things to me? You, who have done nothing but escape for the last five years?"
"Why, then?"
"To lead my people. To show them there is nothing to be afraid of."
Duncan spun around, turning from his brother in frustration, briefly holding his forehead in his hands before facing him once more. "At least write to Cray then. Ask for their assistance. Ask them to restore the alliance."
"I can't do that. I won't."
"Why not? I demand you tell me."
"Very well then." Henry stepped down from the stool and removed his breastplate. "If you'll excuse us." Henry helped the tailor remove the armor around both arms and waited for him to exit.
After the tailor left the room, Duncan was left to anticipate a response for what felt like minutes.
"Listen to me," Henry said, walking toward his brother until they were close enough that Duncan felt the breath coming from his nostrils. "There is a reason that I cannot ask Cray for help."
"Well, what is it?"
"I am in love with the sleeping princess."
Duncan stared at his brother's face, his determined jaw, his wide cheekbones, his five freckles. "What did you say?"
Releasing a breath of air, as if agitated that he had to say it again, Henry repeated himself, every bit as quietly as before. "I am in love with the sleeping princess."
"In love?" This had been unexpected. Duncan had heard the circulating rumors about Henry talking to himself, seeing ghosts, carrying on conversations with walls and hedges, but he hadn't believed there had been any grounds for such rumors. "In love . . . with the sleeping princess?"
Henry nodded, taking a finger up to his mouth and beginning to bite his nail.
"Henry, for the love of heaven and earth, what has gotten into you? She's asleep. You've never met her."
He lowered his hand and straightened his chest, but still carried a look of uncertainty. What was he so afraid of?
"Duncan, I don't expect you to believe me. But I'm going to tell you anyway. Eglantine, the cursed, sleeping princess of Cray visits me in her dreams. We talk. I can see her . . ."
"You can . . . see her?"
"Yes, and hear her."
Duncan nodded, searching his brain for a solution, wondering if going off to this war was really Henry's biggest problem right now.
"If I ask Cray to come to war with us, then her father will be in danger. King Bartholomew always fights alongside his soldiers."
"Is she the one who gave you this harebrained idea of going to war with the army?"
"No," Henry answered, as serious as Duncan had ever seen him. "I fight for my people. I go to lead them. She has nothing to do with that decision."
"She only prevents you from asking for help?"
At that, Henry shifted his focus, turning away from Duncan and facing toward one of the walls. "Shhh, Eglantine. I can't concentrate with your shouting."
Duncan looked around, half expecting to find someone with how unabashedly Henry had exclaimed his plea for silence.
"Is she here now?"
"So you believe me?"
"No, absolutely not." What an appalling idea, that Duncan would believe such inventions, such hallucinations, such witchcraft, if that's what it was.
Henry's face fell, taking a drastic change in mood. "I understand."
"Do you? Do you really know what's at stake here?"
"Yes, I know what's at stake. And the worst thing that could happen is that I die and leave your sorry, hesitant, irresponsible self to rule this country." Henry's eyes brightened, as if he'd just realized something. "Is that what you're really worried about? That I will die and you will have to take my place as heir to the throne?"
Duncan fisted his hands and clenched his jaw, but forced the air in and out of his nostrils in order to calm down. "You're a fool if you think the only thing I care about is myself." He couldn't be stopped now. He'd made up his mind. "And maybe I hate attending meetings that I think are pointless and fruitless, but I will not let my brother go into war alone."
"What are you talking about?"
"I plan to come with you."
Twisting around in a half circle, Duncan began to leave the room.
"Where are you going?" Henry called after him.
"I have to take care of something. Have the smithy adjust another set of armor for me."
Glancing back at the look of stupor on his brother's face, Duncan also saw something alarming. Henry began carrying on a conversation when there was nobody left in the room. So the rumors were true. Duncan had now witnessed it for himself. Going to war was a necessity, not only to protect his brother from the blows of weapons, but to protect him from his own insanity. If that could be done. Perhaps it was too late already.
Leaving these thoughts behind, Duncan headed for the prison once more, wanting to see the girl and explain that he would not be back to see her for some time.
Outside, Duncan thought how cruel it was that the sun would shine so hot on such a day. Darkness and gloom seemed more fitting for the prospects of war. As he walked, and was reminded of the commotion of earlier, and the bell ringing, he wondered if she had calmed down. Would he be saying goodbye to the beast or the beauty?
Thomas waited inside now, and Duncan didn't blame him for staying out of the sun's incessant heat.
"Is it true, Prince Duncan? Is Prince Henry going to war?"
"Yes, Thomas. It's true."
"I knew it. I think it's brave. What do you think?"
Duncan wanted to laugh, but couldn't quite let it out. "I think it's foolish. But you're right. It is also brave."
"She's been quiet since you left."
Duncan caught sight of her, walking about the cell as if lost.
"May I have a moment with her?"
"As you wish."
Thomas left and Duncan approached the bars, her wandering path remaining unaltered as she paced around and around in a circle.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
Worried her silence meant regression, Duncan dropped his head and ran his fingers through his hair. At least she hadn't torn up her dress, or bitten anybody. Her hair still shined bright in the glowing rays of sun coming through the window.
"I came to tell you something. The kingdom is at war, and I will be going to fight in the army."
When she didn't appear alarmed, or affected whatsoever, Duncan continued. "I'm sure I'll be back in a few weeks, but I wanted to let you know that we may not see each other for a time." His heart beat faster, and a warmth spread through him. He didn't want to leave her. He may even stay if she asked him to. The thought of Henry and the sleeping princess came to mind, but Duncan couldn't understand why since he hadn't believed him. In love with the sleeping princess? Is that why Henry was acting so strange?
With his attention back on the prison girl, Duncan wondered if he could really be in love. Is this what love felt like? Troubled and scared by the thought, Duncan began to back away from her. "I'll miss you," he stated before turning to leave.
As he spun around, he nearly tripped and fell over someone. Bracing himself, and regaining his balance, he expected to see Thomas. Upon closer inspection however, Duncan discovered it was the old woman, the one who lingered around the prison and whom he suspected followed him on occasion, the one who had also entered his dreams.
Her moist, rosy lips moved slowly as she spoke. "If you leave she may not come back."
It sounded like a riddle.
Duncan squinted at her, hoping she would say more, but she turned around and slowly ascended the stairs, disappearing into the blinding glare of the sun.
1
Sleeping Beauty and the Beast
11
Beauty
I am in and out of this war dream, weary from trying to manipulate where my dreams take me. I walk beside Henry's horse, having learned to imitate the act of moving my legs rather than floating or flying. I like being near him, though he is severely tense and does not ta
lk to me much.
He argues with his brother again, and I wonder why he ever agreed to go in the same company with him.
I look over the vast countryside, the young wheat stalks waving in the breeze.
"We'll make camp once we reach the forest," Henry yells to Duncan and the other captains. I can see the forest from where we are, though it is a great distance off. It appears to be nothing more than a black line.
A smell catches my attention: orange blossom. Is Aunt Cornelia visiting me today? Are Mother and Father with her? I focus on Henry, his horse cantering beneath him. I will not leave him.
It takes three hours to reach the forest in our formation, but in my state I am barely aware of the passage of time, only that the sun is nearly down. The men on horses dismount, and begin pulling down their packs and tying up their animals.
Henry pulls away from them, seeking solitude. I watch him bring the rope around a tall tree.
"How are you?" I ask him.
A heavy breath seeps out of his mouth. "They're tired, Eglantine. They're unprepared, their spirits low."
"They follow their leader."
He looks at me for the first time since we left our last camp early this morning. "Do you mean something by that?"
I ignore the accusation, refusing to give in to his attempt to pull me into an argument. Spending the last few days with him, I've learned that is a habit of his. "I mean exactly what I say. They follow their leader . You are tired. You are unprepared, your spirits low."
"I'm not cut out for this."
Duncan comes around a tree, a suspicious look on his face, as if he'd been spying on us, which to him would only mean Henry. I think of how he must really look crazy. He tries to only talk to me in secret, but he's been caught several times so far.
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