Bianca, on the other hand, chases love away. She and William are already good friends. Love is the logical next step, isn’t it? Instead of welcoming it, she’s living out some petulant rebellion, misdirected anger at her abuse by that madwoman Valborg. (Grimm forbid we say anything about her father’s role in the whole mess.)
Perhaps the bigger problem is that Bianca is up to her elbows in indebtedness. First, she’s beholden to William for his genuine—albeit clumsy—assistance. It would have been so much more romantic if he’d woken her up with a kiss rather than by dislodging the apple she was choking on when he dropped her coffin. But we all know it almost never happens exactly the way it’s supposed to.
If that debt weren’t enough, she’s busy petitioning the Fairy Council to rescind the ban on that Huntsman who set her free all those years ago. Bianca claims she was his first and last mark; she insists that he couldn’t say no to Queen Valborg, but that he made the right decision in the end.
Then there are the dwarves. They’ve been good friends to Bianca, and she feels she owes them for her safekeeping. She probably doesn’t listen to them, either. They’ve surely encouraged her to give love a chance. Except for the one with the terrible allergies, they’re all coupled up these days—two pairs within the group, one with Goldi, and, since you left, another with Muffet.
My point is that Bianca most likely resents having so many people to please in her life. And all that resentment is just misplaced passion, isn’t it?
She says she doesn’t want to get married, but what could she possibly know about marriage itself? Her father was constantly back and forth between Grimmland and who knows where. Short trips, long trips, trips when he was with Bianca’s mother, trips when he was with Valborg. Her stepmother was not exactly a paradigm of love and communication, either, except with that damned mirror. (If Bianca would only try to read the romance novels I give her, perhaps she’d have a bit more hope.)
Our futures are inevitable, Zell. And yet Bianca is so belligerent about the life she will one day lead. I’ve tried explaining to her that I could have sulked when I woke up, but instead I tried to accept what happened gracefully.
Bianca has her theories on whether the new Pages Figgy gave me were binding, but in truth, it doesn’t matter anymore. They’re complete now, and I’m living my life accordingly. Henry and I might not have been what the other expected when the celebrating was all finished, but I’m still trying to make it work, and Bianca should make an effort, too.
I don’t mean to sound as if I don’t appreciate what Fred did to save me—I wouldn’t be writing you this letter had he not tried to destroy my original Pages. It was the ultimate Romantic Gesture, and he paid the price with his exile.
I wish you all could have known Fred. If you had, you’d know that True Love is real. The first time we ever spoke, I was filled with elation, an energy—not unlike the way you can feel music through the floor. It was like my whole world was suddenly clearer. And I never wanted to return to the way I felt before.
Once you’ve been loved a certain way, it’s hard not to expect to feel the same again. Though now I suspect that love is a different sensation for everyone and every relationship.
So it seems for Henry and me. Here are the things I know we have in common so far:
Likes:
Wine
Roast beef
Dislikes:
Sharing a bed
Sharing a wardrobe
Versions of how we met
A relationship based on wine and roast beef isn’t much to go on. But it is something. The point is, Fred’s intentions were true, but we still lived lives apart. If Figgy’s Pages say Henry is my True Love, then so be it.
I have faith Bianca will come around. If I can just convince her to concentrate on her wedding—on William—perhaps she’ll see herself as I do: a princess worthy of a crown. When Figgy hands her that stack of golden, stamped Pages after her wedding, she’ll change her attitude.
I wish I could count on CeCi’s help, but she was no better after she completed her own Pages. Remember when Figgy handed her the seal of completion and CeCi threw it into the fireplace? I think she was so scared of starting over, she made her new life as close to her old life as possible, even keeping her stepsisters and that terrible Lucinda around.
This cooking obsession of hers isn’t any different. She’s returning to what’s comfortable, despite the fact that it’s not queenly by any stretch of the imagination. Edmund’s parents have been on their farewell tour, preparing to hand over shared rule of Grimmland to Edmund, William, and Henry, for what seems like aeons. When they find out they’re coming home to a daughter-in-law who’s traded her scepter for a slotted spoon, they’re likely to keel over from shock.
You and CeCi can do whatever you want, running hither and thither. But I’m setting a good example by embracing my destiny—it’s supposed to bring me exactly what I want and need. And I’m certain that it will, if I’m patient. It isn’t as if we don’t all have doubts. My love for Henry is a different kind of love than I had with Fred, but roast beef and wine are just the first step. Soon I think we’ll even try sleeping in the same room—well, you know, aside from our scheduled relations.
If I can try, so can Bianca.
Love,
Rory
A Princess Considered
From the Desk of Cecilia Cinder Charming
Crystal Palace
North Road, Grimmland
Dear Zell,
Thank you for the birthday present. I’ll find somewhere to display my new unicorn magnet—though I don’t have much metal in my room. Having something from your gift shop is certainly very exciting. I would have also liked a long letter detailing everything that’s been going on since you got to Oz, but I suppose your days are best left to the imagination.
For example, I imagine that you wake up in the morning and take a walk around the property, feeding the unicorns apples or cubes of sugar as you go. Then, you return to the kitchen, where the staff has prepared breakfast and the sun shines in on the table and highlights the steam from the oatmeal and the eggs. The kids tell you they love you before they leave for the house of the tutor (who must be the wife of your farrier or groom), and Jason gives you a long and passionate kiss before the two of you walk out the door to start your day, hand in hand.
You spend your time greeting your guests and telling them about your mission and your aspirations. Women bring you cake and tea and want to spend time with you because you’re so much fun to talk to. Jason shows the men around the property and they clap him on the back and congratulate him for a job well done. You gather again for dinner, laughing about the day. The moonlight sparkles as you count the stars from the window of the children’s bedroom. You drink a couple of glasses of strawberry wine. And at the end of the day Jason loves you doubly with his hands, his body, in order to see you with his mind, remembering his former blindness.
If any of that is incorrect, please feel free to elaborate.
Rory and Bianca, of course, came to the birthday dinner Edmund threw for me, but they gave me their gifts during a quiet moment in the garden. Rory gifted me the most beautiful apron that she commissioned from Rumple’s.
“For your next culinary adventure,” she said.
I tried hard not to cry, but it seemed so hopeless. The most beautiful apron, green with polka dots and a giant thick bow and ruffles—almost like a dress in itself—and no possibility of ever using it. “It’s so pretty” was all I could choke out. Rory’s face fell from expectation to puzzlement to that horrible, guilt-inducing concern. You know the look.
Before I could start genuine waterworks, Bianca stepped between us and shoved a big envelope into my hand. It was a welcome packet for a yearlong cooking course Outside at Le Cordon Bleu in West Hollywood—not far from where we took the soufflé class. A letter inside said that my sch
ooling had met the admissions requirements, my tuition for the year had been paid, and there was one last test to take before my enrollment was complete. When I’m finished, I’ll have a diploma in the Culinary Arts.
I can’t believe it. I have no idea how I’ll get the last test completed or how I’ll get to and from the classes or how Bianca even managed the application or anything but, Zell, I’m so excited. I’ll figure it all out. With everyone’s help.
With Bianca’s help, at least. I’m not sure Rory is on board with the plan. (She didn’t say much, and her eyes got really big before she started gulping air like a beached carp.) We agreed to keep it a secret—well, excluding you—so don’t say anything to anyone until I figure out how to break the news.
It was good Rory’s apron was so extravagant. Edmund saw me putting it in my dresser after we retired to our chambers.
“What is that?” he asked, uncorking one last bottle of champagne.
“Oh, it’s just a gift from Rory.”
“Is it a dress? It’s very . . . green.”
“Not quite.” His face registered brief confusion.
“You could give me a fashion show,” he said, and winked.
I closed the drawer and turned to him. “Did you have a good time at the party?”
“Of course,” he said. “Did you? I was worried when you disappeared, but then I noticed Thing One and Thing Two were also missing.”
“Stop,” I said, laughing. “You can’t call them that.”
“Forgive me, your highness.” He looked at me intently, waiting for me to meet his eyes. But I was still so overwhelmed.
I gave him a quick smile. “I’m sorry I worried you. We had some, you know, secret girl stuff to attend to.”
“Of course. It’s silly. I know you aren’t skulking around or anything. I guess if I’m honest I just, well. . . Never mind.”
“What? No. Tell me.”
He took a long sip of his champagne. “I don’t want to sound controlling. I’m not. We have friends whose relationships aren’t like ours. The fisherman’s wife is always fencing his worms because she wants him to take a day off. The shoemaker is always ordering gifts for Gretel from Jimmy Choo and passing them off as his own. The point is, other couples keep things from each other. And I don’t want that for us.”
“I don’t want that, either,” I said. I could feel my neck and ears flushing. My gifts were evidence of a crime I hadn’t yet committed, but most certainly meant to.
“I can make soufflé,” I blurted. “It’s hard to do.”
“Of course you can,” he said, putting his arm around me. “You could make a thousand impossible soufflés. But now let’s leave the difficult stuff to someone else.”
Zell, I let him kiss me then. I didn’t try to argue. We’re not speaking the same language right now. Perhaps when I can prove to him, to everyone, that this is more than a hobby to me, they’ll be much more amenable to the idea. Right?
To thank the girls for their gifts, I’m planning on cooking a secret luncheon next week. Do you think you could make it? I know things aren’t great with your mother-in-law, but at least consider it? We could drink strawberry wine and play Mad Libs for old times’ sake?
Love,
CeCi
Important Fucking Correspondence from Snow B. White
Onyx Manor
West Road, Grimmland
Z,
Well, I certainly topped you this year for birthday gift giving. A magnet? Seriously, Zell. I know it might take awhile to build up trade credits in a new town, but what’s going on out there? Your postcards are vague at best, and at worst, insulting. You’ve been a lot of things throughout our friendship, but you’ve never been cheap before.
I should explain about CeCi’s classes. When we were Outside, I asked Head of Soufflés exactly where someone might go to school to become a “real chef.” And she suggested this Cord on Blue joint. Solace won’t let me go Outside on my own, lest I don’t finish my stupid Pages, so I started exchanging letters via Pigeon Post with the Humans at the school. She still has to take a test to finalize her admission—they insist that it be done in person. And we still have to get her those crocodile shoes and some knives and things. Rory already bought her an apron. Oh, and she has that nice magnet you sent that will be, let me think, oh yes, totally fucking useless.
You should have seen CeCi’s face, though. She was so happy. She looked free. For a second there I was almost jealous instead of self-satisfied.
Don’t worry. It didn’t last long.
CeCi has baked soufflés daily ever since we got back. She pays someone in the kitchen to clear off for a couple of hours after breakfast—telling the head cook she doesn’t want anyone to see her eating scones.
For her secret thank-you luncheon, we ate cheese soufflé for a first course and chocolate soufflé for dessert. I’m so looking forward to her starting classes so that perhaps a vegetable might eventually join the mix. I admit, the best accompaniment to lunch would have been your sickeningly sweet face, but I guess not even CeCi’s birthday rates your presence these days. I hope you’re settling in nicely, because your mother-in-law seems to have someone’s ear at Fairy Council and they’re actually considering your banishment. Not Jason or the kids, just you.
Speaking of banishments, I got some good news today about the Huntsman. He’s been allowed probationary access into Grimmland. He can visit during daylight hours, as long as he doesn’t make trouble. If he doesn’t take any more hit contracts this year, he’ll be allowed full access again. I feel victory is near and justice will be accomplished. The dwarves say he was an asshole for taking the job in the first place but I say he still saved my life. Plain and simple. Give the dude a break.
You must be receiving letters from Rory, right? Do you think I gave her too many wedding duties? She’s only on table decorations and music, but she seems more intense than usual. Maybe it’s because Maro, the pea princess, has been hanging around over the past couple of weeks. As pea princesses go, I suppose she’s fine. If Rory didn’t loathe her so much, I might even see if she fits into that third bridesmaid dress I’ve got lying around. Unless you change your mind.
CHANGE YOUR MIND, YOU SELFISH COW.
B
Princess Briar R. Rose
Somnolent Tower Castle
South Road, Grimmland
Rapunzel,
You have to come back this instant. If you come back, then this Maro woman will leave because, well, there won’t be enough chairs. Or teacups, will there? Or cake slices. Or plates.
CeCi invited her to the soufflé luncheon. We’ve only known her a little while, and she hasn’t lived in Grimmland for more than a couple of months. How do we know she can be trusted? If the rest of CeCi’s court finds out about her cooking, there will be hell to pay. Did she tell you she hasn’t even told Edmund yet? This is all going to blow up in our faces. And no one will be able to say I didn’t warn them. No one ever listens to me, though. Rory’s always overreacting, isn’t she? they say. Piffle.
I just have this feeling. Maro told us that the brouhaha about the mattresses was malicious gossip fabricated by the Tattler. Also she wears a pair of irritating wooden shoes everywhere—clop clop clop. She sounds like a two-legged horse. I must sound out of sorts to you, and I’m not trying to be. I suppose I’m simply not ready for a new addition to our social group. I tried to be nice. I tried to ask good questions, but everyone got mad at me.
“Why aren’t you home with your husband?” I asked. Bianca took a big slug of wine and CeCi made a face like I had spit in the salad.
Maro grew flushed around the neck. “You know, we’re still having the bedrooms redone. I swear, it’s like they haven’t redecorated in centuries.”
“So you’ll go back when they’re finished?”
“I’m sure Albert will come fetch me just as soon
as things are ready.” She picked up her fork.
“But surely your court can handle the repairs. Why isn’t he here with you? Won’t he want to have relations?”
Maro stammered. Bianca refilled my glass and said, “You’ll have to excuse our friend. Sometimes, she can’t hold her wine, but she’s entertaining as hell.” I gave Bianca my best stern glare, but she kept sniggering into her port.
“Aren’t you homesick?” I had to figure out why Maro was hedging.
“I suppose so,” she answered, a strange smile on her face. “In a manner of speaking. But I’ve never lived anywhere for long. I guess I’ve just forgotten how to be homesick.”
I probably should have felt sorry for her, but I really did want to know why she wasn’t home keeping her husband company. “But you are going back, right?”
“Rory! Give it a rest.” CeCi swatted me with her napkin.
Maro didn’t answer me. She clopped away to flirt with one of the guards, and helped herself to another soufflé.
I can’t explain why I don’t trust her, but something about her sets me on edge. It’s as if she’s expecting something or maybe avoiding something—that’s a curious way to behave if you have the option to go back home, lumpy bed or not. Henry and I are still working on the particulars of a perfect relationship, but I wouldn’t dream of going to live somewhere else for six months, even if I liked that place very much. And while I can’t believe that Maro would also throw away her perfect ending, Bianca lit right up at discovering another adventuring spirit.
Bianca will be getting plenty of practice flitting about with CeCi and her cooking school nonsense. For someone who barely has enough patience to order off a catering menu, it’s almost unbelievable that Bianca was able to apply herself to anything as undoubtedly complex as school admissions. I’m just waiting for this to fall through and become CeCi’s great disappointment. Even if the classes are legitimate, what happens when someone finds out where they’re going? What if Bianca is only using CeCi’s classes as an excuse to explore Outside? What if something happens to them? What if someone asks me what’s going on? Has everyone gone mad?
Letters to Zell Page 4
