Unable to answer, Duncan closed his eyes and felt a bit of bloody drool seeping out of his mouth.
"Don't worry, Brother. We'll have you home soon. A carriage waits just on the other side of the forest."
Duncan did not look forward to being moved again, and somehow the bumping from the walking horse rocked him back to sleep.
* * *
Duncan blinked slowly until his eyes adjusted to the light and he could keep them open all the way. He'd been in this room often as a child, and instantly recognized the ceiling painted like the daytime sky: blue with puffy, white, silver outlined clouds. Smelling an array of herbs and feeling a steam on his face, Duncan looked about.
Close to the door, a woman's face stared back at him. Startled by her presence inside the castle, Duncan jerked to the side, knocking over a tray on the table beside him. When he looked again, she was gone, a fold of her black cloak the last thing to escape before the door closed behind her.
"Hello?" Duncan called. "Can anyone hear me?"
He examined the pain in his side, trying to determine if he could move without causing further damage or passing out again. Pulling back the tan linen sheet, Duncan discovered that a clean bed robe covered his body. The tight wrapping around his middle hugged the pain in, causing a sense of security. It hurt, but not nearly so much as it had when Henry found him. How long had it been?
A woman in maid uniform came through the door, but Duncan didn't recognize her.
"You're awake."
"Yes, thank you." Sitting up ever so slightly and resting on his elbow, Duncan sought to get some answers. "Excuse me, a woman just left here, an older woman. Can you tell me, what was she here for?"
"I've been the only one in today, sire. I've checked on you every half hour."
"No, that's not possible. I saw a woman leave only a moment ago."
A look of confusion came first, then worry. "I'm sorry, Master Duncan. I did not mean to let anybody in."
"Pay no mind." Duncan hadn't meant to alarm her, nor blame her. "Please come in. Please, tell me what day it is. What has happened? Where is my brother?"
Looking even more troubled, the woman began asking her own questions. "Would you like me to tell you what I know or would you rather me get Prince Henry first."
"No, no, I'm sorry. Tell me, what is your name?"
"Marguerite."
"Marguerite? Are you Marie's daughter?"
"Yes, your majesty. How did you know?"
"You picked out the dress. The one for the prison girl. I remember. Your mother is very proud of you."
"Yes, sire." She lingered by the door, as if hesitant to enter. "Would you like me to get Prince Henry?"
Yes, talking to Henry would be better. "That would be much desired. Thank you."
"You're welcome, your majesty." She bowed her head before retreating out the door.
Only a few minutes went by before Henry came in. A broad smile graced his face, but it soon turned to a solemn stare. "I see you're awake. And determined to interrupt another council meeting."
"Really? You were just in a meeting?"
Henry nodded, his face stern.
"My timing really is bad."
Walking toward his brother, Henry's seriousness broke. "Yes, well, it always has been, and I don't expect that to change." He sat on the side of the sick bed, smiling once more. "I'm glad you're awake."
"So am I." Sitting up a little more, Duncan felt a sharp pain cut through his middle. "I think."
"Are you all right?"
"Thanks to you . . . I will be."
"You can thank Eglantine."
"Is she here too?"
"She never leaves. It's becoming quite obnoxious. Okay, okay, I'm sorry."
Duncan could see a change in his brother, a ray of hope or joy shining through his eyes. Had it come because of the end of the war? Or was it the girl?
"What happened, Henry?"
"Do you remember when you told me you hated my idea about going to war?"
"Which one? I hated them all." Trying not to laugh because it hurt too much, Duncan placed his right arm across his middle, determined to hold it still even if a laugh did slip out.
"Well, your plan is sort of what happened anyway. On accident. When we arrived, the Tern had already attacked. Fearing we were attacking from their rear, the barbarians turned on us before we ever had the chance to talk of peace. It was a great slaughter, on all sides. But once we cut through the barbarians and reached the Tern, we called a halt. They believed we had come to their aid and met us with joy. Victory."
"What about all those women and children?"
"Many were spared, and are being given designated land in Fallund territory as part of the peace agreement."
Thoughts of the prison girl came to mind. These were her people. How would she take the news? Or had she been glad to escape them?
"Henry, how long have I been asleep?"
"Not as long as Eglantine." He chuckled at his own joke.
"Will you thank her for me?"
"Why don't you thank her yourself? She's standing right next to me."
Duncan looked to the side of his brother and up a little, not knowing exactly where she would be or how tall she was. "Thank you." Turning his focus again to his brother, Duncan began to plead. "Henry, please. Give me a straight answer. How long have I been asleep? What has happened to the girl?"
A dark look fell upon Henry, a solemnity that Duncan found alarming and unwelcome. "Henry, what has happened?"
"A third witness came forward. Her trial is over. She awaits execution. You've been asleep for a week."
The pain in his side seemed nothing now, not compared to the oppressive ache in his heart. He had failed her.
"There is one more thing you missed while sleeping. A coronation. I am now King Henry."
This was welcome news, but overshadowed by the heaviness layered on top of Duncan's chest. "I want to see her."
"She's in isolation. Not only is that the law, but she's worse than ever, a danger to anyone who comes near."
Duncan glared at his brother, determined to win this battle before it even began. "You're the king. Pull some strings. I want to see her today."
* * *
Duncan and Henry walked along an Eastern Row.
"I don't see how you like wandering around outside the castle so much. It's dusty, and the people are so . . ."
"So what? These are your people, Henry. This is what normal people actually dress and sound and act like. Not one of them has had your privileges. And not one of them deserves your censure, nor your judgment. Besides, you get used to it after a while."
"I'm sorry, Duncan. I didn't mean to upset you." He turned to his other side. "Or you, Eglantine."
Duncan had forgotten that Eglantine was near. She was good for Henry.
Rounding the corner of Northeast Alley, Duncan saw the woman once more, bending over a basket as she picked at the things inside, her long black hair almost touching the ground.
"There she is." Duncan watched her arranging things in her basket until she looked straight at him.
"Who?"
"The woman who was in the sick room today."
Henry pointed. "That woman there? She was in the castle? Well, that seems unlikely."
She began walking toward them, slowly, but definitely directly toward them.
"What?" Henry was talking to Eglantine again. For a brief moment, Duncan thought of how comical it was to see him talking to her. "Are you sure?" He turned to his brother. "She says it's the witch who cursed her."
"Eglantine?"
"Yes."
Could it be? The old woman who followed him was actually a witch? The same witch who had cursed Eglantine all those years ago in the kingdom of Cray. What did she want with him? Hadn't their father seen to the death of all the witches?
"It's all right, Eglantine. She can't see you." Turning to Duncan again he adds, "She's hysterical. She says the witch can always see her."
"She's not
looking at Eglantine. She's looking at me." The old woman continued forward until she stood in front of Duncan.
Her slow voice, her dark hair and tall, slender form, her black cloak, everything about her now seemed more ominous, more threatening. "I told you that if you left she may not come back."
The riddle again. Whom was she referring to?
Slowly she rounded Duncan and began to walk away, bumping him with her basket as she did so.
"See there?" Henry spoke to Eglantine again. "Everything is just fine." Then calling to his brother said, "Duncan, I'm going to stay out here with Eglantine. We may even head back to the castle. Will you be all right?"
"I'm sure I will."
Phillip, one of the prison guards, let the prince come in, and having received word earlier in a letter stamped by the king, showed Duncan to the isolation cell. Passing by the bars of where the girl had stayed previously, where Duncan had first helped to place her, and where he'd brushed her hair and seen her standing in the bright sunshine and simple dress, caused an inexplicable nostalgia. If only she were still in there; the isolation cell meant her fate was sealed. A wooden door led to a narrow hallway which led to another wooden door. "We've been given orders not to open it until execution day. We only feed her through there." He pointed to a slot near the bottom of the door.
A quick internal debate about whether to open it or not was put to rest when a loud slam rattled the door in conjunction with a horrifying scream.
Torn apart even further, Duncan sagged his head. What had he done?
"You may leave me here, Phillip. I'll try to talk with her through the door."
Another slam startled the guard before he turned and left.
Duncan waited a moment, blocked from any idea of what he might say. He leaned against the door just in time to feel it slammed again. The weight thundered beneath his chest, agitating the sore spot on his side.
"Hello?" he called.
A heart wrenching scream tore through the air, echoing loudly and tormenting the prince.
Duncan waited for the screaming to stop. "Hello?"
No slamming against the door, no blood curdling screams came from the other side, but no acknowledgement or civil response came either. "It's me. Prince Duncan. Did I ever tell you I was a prince? No, I don't think I did." The sound of his own voice echoing through the hallway in a one-sided conversation left Duncan feeling like he was the only person in existence. "Please answer me."
Disappointed, but grateful for the current calm, Duncan continued. "I want you to know that I'm sorry for not coming for so long. I missed seeing you . . . and combing your hair. And I'm sorry about . . ." Duncan couldn't think of a way to say it delicately. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help you." Was he really going to give up that easily? Could something else be done?
The door opened and Phillip poked his head inside. "Is everything all right, Prince Duncan?"
"Yes, Phillip. Everything's fine. I'll just finish up and be out in a minute."
After the guard left, Duncan tried to think of what the best thing to say would be, the thing that would be most likely to get her attention. He wasn't ready to say goodbye. "Do you mind if I keep coming to see you?"
He knew she could answer. He knew she was in there, listening to his words. "Will you please find a way to let me know if that is satisfactory to you?" Resting his head against the door, he wanted to beg. "Please? Will you knock once if you never want me to come back, and two times if you would welcome me again?"
The silence cut through the air, louder to Duncan's heart than any bell, no matter how close to the ear it rang.
Then a knock sounded, which at first sent a shock of trepidation through him. Would she stop after one knock?
Then another. Duncan let out a sigh of relief, and allowed a little smile to form on his lips, and a little hope to enter into his soul.
Now he could say it. "Goodbye."
After both speaking and waving a goodbye to Phillip, Duncan went outside, breathing in the cool air. He imagined dusk riding in slowly, as if on a distant carriage, the sun low, the colors dampening.
As he walked, around the corner came the woman again. Determined to say something to her, to get some answers, Duncan approached her.
To his surprise, before he could open his mouth, she spoke first. "She is still in there."
Duncan wondered whom she was referring to. The fact that she had cursed Eglantine, that she sneaked about the corridors and alleys surrounding the castle, that she never seemed to leave, frightened him, and more than anything, he wished she would spill whatever secrets she seemed to be holding fast. "Do you mean the girl in the prison?"
"I am not talking about the beast inside the prison walls. I am talking about the girl inside the beast."
Riddles again. Duncan had never been good at riddles. "Do you know her?"
"I do. And she used to know me."
"Who is she?"
"She is my child, or was, long ago."
"What happened to her?"
"Too many things."
Feeling more urgent now, wanting to get as much information as he could while she answered him freely, Duncan took a small step forward, leaning low to her and asked, "Do you know of Eglantine, the sleeping princess from Cray?"
"The sleeping princess is no concern of mine."
"Are you the witch who cursed her?" Fearful this question might bring adverse reactions, Duncan took a step back, pulling away from her.
"The sleeping princess is no concern of mine."
Squinting, Duncan tried to understand, frustrated that she gave insufficient answers most of the time. He felt certain she kept some secret. The woman began to walk around him. Determining that meant she had finished engaging in conversation, Duncan began a slow, thoughtful walk back to the castle, only to be interrupted almost instantly.
"Would you like to know her name?" The voice had come from close behind, and Duncan jerked around, startled. There she stood again, facing him as before, only their positions had changed.
"Yes. I would like to know her name."
"Ovinia, although she will not recognize it."
The woman—the witch, if that's what she was—turned around and walked down Northeast Alley, her floral dress and cloak sweeping up a cloud of dust as she left. Duncan watched her until she turned onto one of the Northern Rows, and vanished from sight.
1
Sleeping Beauty and the Beast
13
Beauty
Henry sleeps, his breaths small and light, one arm stretched out long underneath his head, the sheets on his bed covering all of his lower body except one knee. I stand near the window, watching the night sky—with the moon low, fist-shaped and bright—and the quiet outside world standing as though it is a statue, or a painting.
As I think of home, and my own bedroom in my own castle far away, a biting homesickness prickles every fiber of my being. I long to see my parents, Aunt Cornelia, the ocean. I imagine it now; closing my eyes I picture the sound of it, the rushing and swaying, the waves running in to greet me only to sink back again. It is the game that we play. Standing in my room, five years old, I run to the window to greet the waves, then step backward in goodbye.
Her dark eyes haunt me, the witch who cursed me all those years ago, walking in daylight and freedom through Fallund, while I am trapped in a world known only to me, a world I cannot even completely share with Henry because I am not actually here.
It is a gloomy night, though the skies are clear and the air is calm and brisk and cool. At least, that is how it feels to me. But is it the air in Fallund that I breathe, or the air in Cray by the seaside? I reach out my hand to touch the window pane, but feel nothing.
I am nothing.
I never used to feel such despair. Sorrow perhaps, and a desperate yearning to see my parents again, but never this despair and hopelessness I feel now. I know it is because of him.
I watch him now, his mouth open, his pillow hugged tightly to h
is chest in one arm, and I understand why I feel such pain. He loves me. And I have grown to love him, but I remain asleep, living a curse that I never deserved. By the time my mother gives birth to a boy, and he has a chance to grow old enough to free any beasts, Henry will be much older. I will be older as well, but it feels as though he will keep moving on and I will not. I wonder if Henry knows all the circumstances of the curse, the requirements of my freedom.
Weary of this dream, I try to catch a glimpse of my garden home, the glasshouse where I sleep. A whisper from Stella, a smell of lavender or lily, any of these would be welcome now. Being asleep while everyone else is awake is a lonely existence, but no more than being awake while everyone else is asleep.
Tonight, Henry and Duncan will host a ball to celebrate the war victory. Henry has begged me to come, but I'm not sure I want to. Watching him dance with women whose hands he can hold, who will be dressed in elegant gowns and bring curl-framed faces, while I stand pretending that I cannot see seems like torture rather than entertainment. I had a taste of this at the coronation, and I hated it. I never want to go through it again.
It is coming, the first glow of light. I watch the sky, the subtle, slow creeping of dawn, easing the world into a new day. Unable to take my eyes off it because I have missed so many sunrises, I do not hear Henry stirring and waking.
When the rounded tip of the sun peeks over the horizon, I turn to find him watching me as he sits on his bed.
"Did you sleep well?"
He rubs his eyes and yawns while nodding his head. I smile at the sight of him, the raw, weakened human being showing instead of the strong and steady king.
"What has got you looking so serious and contemplative?" he asks as his hands grip the bed on either side of him.
I turn away from him, looking once more to the outer world. "I can't see my reflection. Not here in the window, nor in any of the mirrors throughout the castle." He remains silent so I continue. "Sometimes I dream I am standing over myself, and it is as though I am looking down on a statue. I imagine my skin hardening to white stone that will crack and chip away over time, my eyelids never to open. The garden vines climb all around me, suffocating me until I disappear into them, never to return." I turn toward him again, trying to keep the choking sensation in my throat at bay. I force a smile, but a tear slips from my eye. "I can't decide which is worse, the absence of my reflection in your window, or the statue dream."
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