"Eglantine, will you dance with me tonight?"
I scoff at the idea, telling him I'd rather sleep for another hundred years than make him look like such a fool.
He stands and makes his way to me, so close that I would be able to feel his breath on me if I could feel anything at all. "Take heart, Eglantine. All will be well. Will you excuse me while I get ready for the council meeting?"
I keep forgetting to tell him that he holds far too many meetings. I agree and tell him that I'll be waiting in the council chamber.
Rather than go straight there, I stop by the kitchen, aiming to catch the smell of fresh bread. I stop at the door and suck the air forcefully through my nostrils. I try a second time, but it is no use; I smell nothing.
Walking back up the tower stairs, I think of all the good foods I used to eat: ham and potatoes, jam spread over soft, hot bread, chicken soup and roast goose. I know Stella feeds me, or at least tries to force juice down my throat, but eating is one of the things I miss most, the texture of an apple on my lips, its sweet taste on my tongue.
Henry is already in the council chamber. "Did you get lost?" he asks when I enter, looking up from the parchments scattered on the table before him. "I was worried about you."
"I'm just hungry and stopped by the kitchen in the hopes . . ." I stop, thinking how foolish it was.
"I'm sorry, Eglantine. I wish I could give you something."
I shrug my shoulders, fighting back tears.
"Are you all right? Are you still thinking about the witch?"
He had given me so much comfort in the days before since I'd seen her—nearly encountered her—and I remembered his words. "She can't hurt you anymore. The worst is over," he had said.
I struggled to believe him wholly, but I allowed them to comfort me anyway.
Men began to come in now. He grins toothlessly at me, and I nod my understanding. He won't be able to talk to me, not until after the meeting. I find a wall to stand in front of, and begin to agonize over the coming evening.
* * *
Waiting outside Henry's room, I sweat uncontrollably. I know the sweat is real and not imagined because I am sticky with moisture. Hoping Stella does not give me tonic, I try to relax, try not to fidget so obviously. But how can I fool anyone if I cannot even fool myself?
I jump at the sound of his opening door, a rush of emotion pouring through me as I realize it is time to go. He is wearing a white shirt, covered in a sea green jerkin that brightens the color of his eyes, and dark gray velvet breeches tucked into black leather boots.
Frowning at my nightgown, I see his hand rising to touch my face, and for a moment I expect that it will. But deep down I know that his hand cannot touch my face, no matter how much he tries.
"You look beautiful," he says. "As always."
We walk together, down the tower steps as the din of mingling voices reaches my ears. We stop at the bottom step, where he is announced by his faithful servant Duke.
"King Henry, seventeenth king of Fallund, Captain of war."
He whispers to Duke, who afterward returns a strange look.
Then I hear my name, loud for all to hear. "Princess Eglantine of Cray."
Henry moves forward with confidence, but I am preoccupied by the people now staring at him and looking around for a mysterious princess from their neighboring kingdom.
"Pay no mind," he whispers to me.
We walk through the double ballroom doors and the music greets us with joviality as at least a dozen couples already swoop and sway across the floor. Browsing the room for a corner I can tuck away in, I get a glimpse of Duncan, already dancing with a pretty young woman dressed in a dark maroon gown.
"May I have this dance?" Henry asks. I turn to him, surprised that he is already asking someone to dance until I realize he is holding his hand out to me.
"Are you crazy? You will look like a fool."
"I don't care what I look like, or what they think of me. Not as long as you are beside me."
I still think it unwise, and deep down am against it, but I cannot refuse his outstretched hand, not in this room full of people who do not see me reach out to accept it.
He leads me across the floor, twirling in a three-quarter turn, and back the other way in a slow one-two. I stare into his eyes, as he does into mine, incapable of keeping from smiling as he does so skillfully.
"You dance pretty well," he says. "For a lady who floats."
Even with that his lips remain in a steady line, and I wish I could hold my feelings back as well as he does. Perhaps I could if I was putting on a show for those around me. But since I know they are unaware of me in my nightgown, slippers and rumpled hair, I laugh out loud at his joke.
"Your smile could light up this whole room. If only they could see it." He had whispered this close to me, not teasing this time, but unfeigned in the delivery of his words, and I lean in closer to him, wishing I could feel him there.
We dance in continual motion, never stopping or pausing, no matter how the song changes or who we pass. I imagine them watching us, pretend they can see me, and that I wear an elegant silk gown, dark blue like the sea at night—no, light blue, like the sky on a brilliant, sun-sparkled day. They smile and whisper to each other of how lovely we look together, how well we dance, how perfect a match between the king of Fallund and the princess of Cray would be. All the while, Henry keeps his eyes fast on mine, his lips straight, his arms stiff in place as if they actually hold me close to him.
I don't know how many songs we dance through. I have not been counting, but Duncan walks toward us now, a look of determination on his face. He taps Henry on the shoulder, breaking the rhythm I cherish and do not want to let go of.
"Henry, what are you doing?" he asks.
Torn from watching Henry's face, I look around us. The people are smiling as I had imagined, and whispering, but it does not seem admiring. Mocking, perhaps, and definitely in wonderment, but not in admiration. I hear one woman whisper close by. "Who is he dancing with? I had heard he was losing his mind." She sounds pleased to be witnessing the evidence now. I notice for the first time that the music is gone. How long ago did it stop?
Duncan leans close to his brother's ear, and I listen to the words that come out. "Henry, I know you want to dance with Eglantine, but people are watching. You are their king. The room is filled with real ladies, young and old, who seek an opportunity to dance with their king."
The words push and prod at all my insecurities. A sense of shame encompasses me, and I suddenly feel exposed, standing in the middle of this ballroom in my white nightgown. Duncan considers me unreal; somehow this hurts the most, probably because it confirms my earlier fears, that Henry and I together simply will not work.
Henry searches my face, looking concerned. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I understand if you want to leave." At that, he walks away from me, stepping up to the closest available "real" lady in the room and asking her to dance.
Tears flow freely now. Not only can I feel my cheeks getting wet, but I can taste the salt in my mouth. Somehow, I think Duncan will find a way to apologize, to locate my presence in this crowd of people, but he walks away too, as if I didn't even exist.
An unbearable heat fills my chest, a discomfort so foreign I can think of nothing else but to run. As I reach the edge of the ballroom, and pass through the double doors, I hear Henry's voice calling. "Eglantine!" But I know it is better if I leave. Better for him. Far better for me.
Night falls upon me as I run straight through the castle walls: the stillness and darkness hitting all at once as the voices and music stop instantly and I hear nothing but the chirping of crickets and the distant rumble of a carriage. I am in the garden, near the row of hedges where Henry and I used to meet.
It isn't long before he finds me. I turn to see him shoving through the back exit, breathless and a little rumpled—his hair tossed about and the top button of his jerkin undone. "Eglangine." That is all he can say before needing several more br
eaths.
I look away from him and up to the sky as I hug my arms around my shoulders. I think I must really be doing so in my sleep, for I feel the pressure of my hands against both my arms. It is comforting to be held by someone, even if it is only myself.
Henry walks through the grass and sits on the bench near me. I see no use in pretending to sit by him, so I remain where I am, probably floating above the ground, looking up at the bright starry sky.
"Eglantine, I'm sorry. Perhaps this whole thing was a bad idea."
"There's no need to apologize, Henry. You don't owe me anything. I don't expect you to stop living your life for me."
"How can you say that I don't owe you anything? I feel as though I owe you everything." I listen to him without looking, but imagine the expression on his face, his brow furrowed, his lips not only straight, but quivering. "Have you forgotten how you stayed here for me? Because I asked you to? How you came to war, watched over me, my brother, and the entire army? That you led me back to Duncan which probably saved his life? How can you say that I don't owe you anything?"
"I guess I don't see it like that." I hold on tighter, squeezing in, a cold shiver running up my spine.
"How do you see it then? Please, tell me."
Unwilling at first to confide such secrets, the desperate and regretful feelings of my heart, I simply breathe in the night air, trying to ignore the fact that the salty sea comes along with it, a reminder that while my mind is here, my body is elsewhere.
"I see a king who is destined for greatness. One with the grace to earn the respect of his people, and the hard work to ensure the success of his kingdom. And attached to his side, is a tumor, a growth that threatens to bring him down, one that is always in the way, and one that is easily removed."
"Your removal would not be easy, Eglantine, nor welcome."
I turn to him, pleading now. "It would be easy. I could slip back to my home, to my bed where I rest, and you would be free to dance at balls and attend meetings undisturbed."
"What makes you think that would be easy for me? It would be no easier than having my heart removed, and no less damaging. Eglantine, I don't keep you here for your own sake." He bows his head for a moment, then meets my eyes again. "I understand if you do not want to stay here with me, but I need you to know that I want you here."
"What if I never wake up? What if the spell is never broken?"
A loud crashing sound shatters the intimacy of our conversation.
Henry stands up, walking down the garden path toward the end of the castle grounds. I follow him and once we reach the final hedge, we can see around the castle. A cloud of smoke rises from a window on the main floor. As we stare, a fire bursts through, the fierce flames reaching up toward the sky.
"We need to get all those people out of the castle." Henry runs, but I know I am of no use to all those who cannot see me. I know the fire will not affect me; I will not feel the heat, nor will my skin burn. I can access things from the front end.
Henry is already out of sight when I enter the castle wall, near where the window had just burst to pieces. It is in the kitchen, and the flames are busy consuming a row of cupboards, and moving swiftly toward the doorway, threatening the rest of the castle. I plan to wait outside the kitchen for Henry, knowing he will be back once the people are to safety. That way I can let him know what the damage is and help keep him and anyone else away from the fire. The kitchen seems to have been empty, but as I move into the hallway outside, I see the back of her, the old woman from outside the prison, the witch who haunts me. Wondering if she is after me now, if she knows of my presence here and seeks to destroy this new home I have found, I follow her, a bitter and fluid anger pressing from the inside of me, begging to be unleashed.
I watch her round a corner and vanish from sight, and before I can catch up, Henry runs toward me. He is sweaty and breathless again, and Duncan is beside him.
"Eglantine, how bad is it?"
"It was her! The witch who cursed me started the fire!"
I am frantic, struggling to fight the urge to go after her.
"Eglantine, listen to me. She cannot hurt you. I need you to tell me how bad it is."
I nod repeatedly, uncontrollably.
"Henry, we've got to do something. Please forget about Eglantine long enough to put out this fire."
Determined to defy Duncan's lack of faith, and vowing to smack him if I ever meet him in person, I snap out of my hysterics, though I'm still shaking. "It's localized to the kitchen for now. I will keep watch. It was moving fastest toward the ballroom." My voice falters as I speak.
"Thank you, Eglantine."
"I'll keep watching."
Henry and Duncan, now surrounded by a host of men holding buckets filled to the top, set up a line so that water can be brought straight from the well outside in a continuous passage.
I keep watch over the fire until the last ember is splashed out, all the while thinking of her—the witch—not able to understand why she hates me.
1
Sleeping Beauty and the Beast
14
Beast
The aging night waited patiently for the newborn day. Exhausted, Duncan wiped his forehead only to find it grimy with sweat and ash. Cleaning up could wait; he had to find her tonight. He'd left Henry to organize the clean-up of the castle. They planned to work through the night. Duncan's job was to find the old woman, find her and question her.
Rounding the corner of Northeast Alley, Duncan learned that finding her would be the easy part.
"I knew you'd come," she said, a gloating look about her face as she rested her back against the outside prison wall.
"Was it you? Did you start the fire in the castle?"
He saw the admittance in her eyes. "Why?" Duncan was sincerely trying to understand, to get past the riddles and the secrecy and find out what she truly wanted.
The woman stood tall and began spitting accusations. "How can you smile and dance, and entertain ignorant, pampered guests while she is in there, getting closer and closer to her death with every passing day?"
It wasn't difficult for Duncan to admit to himself that he agreed with her. He hated that he'd been at a ball, dancing and pretending while . . . what was her name? Ovinia. Ovinia rotted in a cell, probably hungry and cold, definitely alone. Going to the ball had been more for Henry's sake. He wondered how the rest of the conversation would go, and suddenly his aim was not to blame, not to accuse, not to seek justice for the damage of the fire, but to hear whatever she would tell him.
"Why are you here?"
"To tell you her story."
"Does this have to do with the sleeping princess?"
She moved away from the wall and faced him. "I told you before. The sleeping princess is no concern of mine."
Duncan did not believe any more that Eglantine had nothing to do with the girl in the prison.
"Perhaps she is no concern of yours now, but was she ever? Does Ovinia's story involve the sleeping princess at all."
Her eyes blinked and her mouth twitched before she bowed her head and answered, "Yes. They were born on the same day."
"Is this their only tie?"
"It was until I cursed Eglantine. Now they are tied together through the curse."
"Why did you curse her?"
She began to walk, and Duncan fell into step beside her, the folds of her skirt brushing against his leg from time to time. "Ovinia was my first child . . . my only child. And I loved her dearly."
"What happened?"
"She was taken from me."
Duncan knew the answer to his next question before he asked; his father had spearheaded a movement to remove children from their witchcraft practicing parents. It had gone on long enough that Duncan remembered a few stories from his early childhood. Stolen children, hangings, paranoia and alarm. At one point, his father and mother had been so fearful of being cursed, that they left the kingdom for months. Upon their return, the king seemed to have given up the
fight, and no longer meddled with the offspring of witches. But apparently, the damage had already been done in the case of Ovinia.
"Because you are a witch?"
She nodded, and seemed to pull away a little, as if she still feared what royalty in this country might do to her.
"Why did you curse Eglantine?"
"I fled to Cray, escaping execution, vowing that I would punish the king of Fallund, punish him by cursing his children. I knew, as a mother, that hurting his children was the most effective method of torturing him. When I knew your family was coming to Eglantine's fifth birthday party, I planned to attack. I had practiced cursing for years, giving up my gift of foresight for greater powers. Darker powers."
Duncan was beginning to see, piecing it together. "But we weren't there. Henry and I had come down with a fever, and we had to cancel our plans to visit Cray for the celebration."
"Yes. I didn't know that until after it was too late. When I burst into the dining hall that evening, fierce and determined, I first realized that the royal family of Fallund was not present. And then I looked upon her, that beautiful, healthy little girl, the exact age as my own sweet daughter, happy and loved. I took all my rage and forced it upon her, speaking a curse that I did not realize would be so impossible to break."
"And what happened to Ovinia?"
"After she was taken from me as an infant, Ovinia was placed with a family in the Southern country, a poor family, two brothers—one of which was married—who took her only for the slave she would one day become. The men abused her, often with the woman looking on and doing nothing to protect her, and several years after I had gone to Cray and cursed Eglantine, she left her home by night, and wandered into the land of the barbarians, where she learned their cold and cruel ways, fending for herself. Out of slavery, but into a world of brutality."
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