Is He Prince Charming

by Harma-Mae Smit

  Prince Charming

  By Harma-Mae Smit

  Kindle Edition, August 2012

  Copyright 2012 Harma-Mae Smit

  Discover other titles by Harma-Mae Smit at Amazon: Why Polly?, Lookin’ Good and Spring Fever

  Cover design by Dave Van Vliet

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 978-0-9879556-2-3

  Kindle Edition, License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Direct all inquiries to the Amrah Publishing House at amrahpublishinghouse@gmail.com

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: A Royal Ball

  Chapter 2: The Fifth Dance

  Chapter 3: The Fifty-Third Time

  Discover other titles by Harma-Mae Smit:

  About the author:

  Sneak Preview: Why Polly?

  Chapter 1: A Royal Ball

  THE PRINCE STOOD leaning against the doorframe of my room. “This is absurd, Anastasia.”

  I leaned in closer to my mirror, carefully outlining my lips in red.

  “I don’t quite see what is so absurd about it.”

  I could see his reflection in the corner of my mirror, running a hand through his thick chestnut hair. “I can’t believe Father would do this to me. I can’t believe the whole blasted kingdom thinks this is so important.”

  I laughed. “You are heir to the throne, Dmitriv.”

  “But a ball!” He made what could have been an impolite and very un-princely gesture—I’d moved my focus back onto my face. “You know I abhor balls.”

  I just raised an eyebrow and went on filling in my lips.

  “Father’s probably expecting me to fall in love with the first girl I meet,” he went on disgustedly. “The whole Council probably has me married by the end of this week.”

  “Balls have been the setting for many previous royal matches,” I said. I blinked my eyelashes and decided they did not look dark or thick enough yet.

  “Oh, blast it, Anastasia.” He stepped in the room, yanking my door shut behind him with a thwack. “You can quit acting so cool and collected. I’m too young to marry.”

  I turned and looked over at my younger brother. Dmitriv stood there, arms crossed and hair tousled—a true spoiled princeling. His lower lip jutted out in a look of stormy discontent.

  I sighed and returned to my toilette. “I pity the poor girl who has to marry you.”

  “You know I’m too young to marry.” His lower lip jutted out farther.

  “You just don’t want to grow up and be responsible.” I stood up in front of the mirror and added the last touches of powder to my face. A sister did get tired of her brother’s irresponsibility quicker than others, but even the dullest in the country could see my brother had better quickly do more than grow up physically or risk driving the country into ruin as King.

  Ah well, what could be done about that? I squinted into the mirror—I really must ensure my powder was applied evenly. That I had the ability to control.

  “There’s no reason to think this ball was arranged especially because of you. Father knows you could marry yourself off within a day if you even gave it half a try.”

  “He knows I don’t want to.” His arms crossed tighter. “He wants to make me fall in love with someone. He thinks falling in love will convince me.”

  I rolled my eyes. My darling brother had girls falling over him at every step—princesses, rich and titled ladies, daughters of the court—and he certainly didn’t discourage their attentions. The only reason he had to fear marriage was that it required him to choose just one of them.

  “I hope you do fall in love with someone,” I said. “Then you’ll know what those girls feel like when they fall all over you.”

  He made a face. “I don’t like those girls.”

  I patted my hair into place. “If you didn’t like them you’d tell them to go away.”

  He turned away from me. “They only want my riches and my power,” he said.

  “Of course,” I said. “But do you truly think you could never break any of their hearts?”

  “And they giggle,” he put in.

  I stepped back and admired the full-length of my ball gown in the mirror. My whole appearance seemed to me to be in perfect readiness. After readjusting the diamonds at my throat one last time, I went over to my younger brother and took his arm.

  “Well, let’s go down to Father’s ball and find this future wife of yours, if you are so sure that is what will happen.”

  ***

  I rushed across the parquet floor to the desk behind which my father and his highest advisor, the Grand Duke, were seated.

  “Where’s Dmitriv?” was all my father grunted as I approached.

  “At the ball,” I replied. “He just finished escorting me there. But all I wondered was where you were.”

  My father waved a thick, be-ringed hand. “Eh, tell them I’ll be there as soon as I finish some—last-minute preparations.”

  I eyed him suspiciously and edged closer so that I could observe the papers on the tables before the two of them. Perhaps Dmitriv was right. Perhaps Father did plan to marry him off before the end of the night. Certainly Father had not ever before expressed much interest in the planning of balls, and the papers before him did seem to concern the ball’s preparation.

  My father gave his Grand Duke a conspiratorial nudge, making the duke jump. “Your Majesty,” the poor man stuttered, “I am not sure—”

  “Nonsense,” said my father. “Of course it’ll work.”

  “Father,” I said, glancing from one to the other, “Dmitriv believes you’re aiming to get him betrothed tonight.”

  Father slapped a hand on the table. “Believes that, does he? Smart boy.”

  I stared at him. “Are you?”

  “It—it was a plan proposed by certain parties—” put in the Grand Duke.

  “Got to have an heir to the throne, don’t I?” the King roared. “How am I supposed to entrust the kingdom to that boy, with him going on the way he is? Being in love will steady him down some—here we invite all the girls in the kingdom, let him meet a few pretty faces he hasn’t seen before, and the ball will take care of the rest!”

  My dear, stubborn father. He really believed in his own plans. He really believed he could convince his son to change.

  “You must not know Dmitriv that well,” I observed, folding my arms.

  “I told His Majesty again and again—” said the Grand Duke.

  “Well, what is wrong with it?” said the King. “It may have been suggested by an old woman, but that doesn’t mean the plan is as foolish as she was, Gustav!”

  “An old woman?” I said.

  The Grand Duke sighed.

  “Last stormy winter’s eve, in the midst of a gale, an old woman took shelter in the Palace,” he told me. “As it has never been proper to send such people away into the night, even though our town nearby has much more fitting shelter, we let her in. She was amused to hear of our trouble with marrying our crown prince—”

  My father laughed. “‘Spoiled young brat, is he?’ That’s what she said. ‘I’ll tell you how to deal with such as him!’”

  I sighed. “Father, it is highly unlikely that out in that ball tonight there is a young woman, no matter how pretty, who will tempt Dmitriv to give up all his amusement.”

  “I did try to tell Your Majesty,” the Grand Duke said. “I do not think this is going to work. You Majesty’s son is rather what you would call a—”

  “A flirt,” said the King.

  The Grand Duke looked at him. “Why—yes, I suppose.”

  He looked flustered at
having to admit it. My father, on the other hand, only went on shuffling his papers contemptuously.

  “You forget one other thing, Father,” I said. “Dmitriv thinks balls are deadly dull. Can you expect him to fall in love at the equivalent of one of your Council meetings?” I began to move back across the parquet floor. “I shall be at the ball, attending to our guests, if you should decide to join us at last, Father.”

  Father stamped his fist on the table and pushed himself up. His moustache was bristling—he did not often take kindly to my poking holes in his schemes.

  “You forget, dear daughter,” he roared after me, “deadly dull places are best to distract oneself with a love affair! Why else would balls have worked for all these centuries, eh? You’ll see, Anastasia, you’ll see.”

  I just laughed and, shaking my head, went out.

  ***

  My brother was basking in the attentions of his female admirers on one side of the ballroom. Of course.

  The clock chimed eight, the usual hour for the start of a ball, as I moved across the floor. Large numbers of young ladies had flocked to this particular ball—on the suspicion this ball had been set up to find a match for the prince, as likely as not. Sadly this reduced the number of male attendees. I watched the fluttering head-dresses go by and wondered if any of these ladies possessed the ability to capture and keep my brother’s attention.

  There were a few ladies, I noticed, whose glittering finery seemed hardly comfortable, and who moved seemingly without knowledge of courtly etiquette. These, then, must be young ladies who’d taken up my Father’s invitation calling every girl in the kingdom to go to the ball. Perhaps they had never been to a ball in their life. Perhaps they’d even borrowed their finery on the grounds that one couldn’t go to the ball dressed as a peasant, no matter that the King himself had invited them.

  I watched some of these for a moment. Such a breath of fresh air! Such a contrast to the rest of the well-mannered guests—the simpering young ladies and empty-headed flirts. At least their awkward manners were genuinely their own, if out-of-place and boorish.

  Could one of these simple country folk enchant Dmitriv, as the deadly boredom of the evening slowly took effect? I laughed at the thought. A woman who could handle Dmitriv would know her own mind, possess a will of iron, and have enough familiarity with royalty not to be constantly in awe of my brother’s position. Though if I knew such an admirable woman, I might hesitate to introduce her to my brother.

  And I could not actually imagine myself conversing with one of these awkward maidens this evening. Instead, I employed myself with nodding to those ladies who were greeting me.

  “Hello, Lady Natasha.” Goodness—what a dress.

  “Good evening, Lady Eva.” Yes, I supposed you would be looking around for my brother while in the midst of saying hello to me.

  “Why, delightful to see you, Lady Irina.” And we all know you’ve dragged those daughters of yours along in the hopes of getting them married off well.

  I was greeting Lady Olga, with the hope we could start a refreshingly intellectual conversation on the very latest books, since she was more willing to reveal her intelligence than some, when we were jostled by the arrival of large crowds of young ladies behind us. They chattered lightly as they discarded their wraps and streamed into the hall.

  “Such a dull scene,” one lady in a glittering pink dress was saying to her companion as they wandered by. “Even if it is the King’s palace. You’d think the musicians would be a shade more entertaining—did you see those balalaikists at the Stoneberg last week? Still, it’s been simply ages since there was a ball at the palace.”

  “You’d think it’d be the King’s duty to throw one more often,” said her companion. “Or the prince’s.”

  The lady in pink tittered. “Oh, he would throw one every week, but I hear the Grand Duke’s anxieties over the Royal Budget prevents the King from allowing them.”

  “How tiresome,” her friend replied. “If I were the prince, I wouldn’t bother my head about budgets. If I could be queen, I should never think about it.”

  “La, if you should be queen! You are scheming for the prince, you little minx!”

  Her friend tossed her head. “And if I am? Is not every warm-blooded female in this room making her designs on him?”

  “As if you should have a better chance than any of them! But still, we can at least dance with him.”

  “Oh yes, let’s. He’s standing in the far corner right now.”

  And the two of them moved off.

  Lady Olga was no longer anywhere to be seen in the crowds. Only more of the same simpering ladies, all of whom I would shudder to have as a sister-in-law. And, perhaps, the country would shudder to have as a queen—there were worse outcomes than merely an irresponsible prince. My father was going to regret this foolhardy plan yet.

  Ah, but I might as well try to enjoy myself before the worst developed. Where had Lady Olga gone?

  Then my eyes fell on one girl, the only one of all the awkward village maidens in the room to move with any kind of grace, who stared in absolute wonder at all that surrounded her. It was, I believe, that sincere look of amazement that drew my eye to her. No one in our court looks amazed by anything. And she was turned out quite well too, in a blue gown that shimmered like water.

  Her awed gaze suddenly came to rest on someone in the crowd, and she gave a start. Hastily she skirted around the edges of the crowd, till with a rustle she had bumped into me.

  She jumped. “I am sorry, my lady.” Her wide eyes swept over my glittering apparel.

  “It is no matter,” I told her, patting down my skirts. “Hiding from evil stepsisters, I presume?”

  She gasped. “Why, yes,” she said. “How did you know?”

  I lifted my head to look at her. I had spoken in jest, of course, about other fairytale balls such as this one. It was a surprise, then, to find it was not merely a joke after all.

  She continued to edge out of the line of vision of someone in the crowd. I obligingly moved to cover her retreat.

  “Ugly stepsisters?” I asked.

  “Oh! I do not believe anyone would call them ugly,” she said, flushing.

  “I did not realize we were still plagued by such creatures,” I said, with a smile. “ And a stepmother—is there one of those too?”

  The girl flushed even more uncomfortably. “Yes. She is—sorely against my coming tonight. I should not have defied her, but I have.” She added with a note of boldness, “And I shall not feel sorry for coming!”

  Was this girl serious?

  “Oh no, dear, no,” I said. “I surely won’t censure you.” Her lack of pretension excited my curiosity, however, and I was deadly bored. I extended my gloved hand. “Princess Anastasia. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  There was a sharp intake of breath. Her face paled.

  “Are you indeed a princess?” she cried. “Oh, I should not dream to talk to one!” Her eyes took on a dreamy look. “Is it all I have heard? Lovely dresses, and balls, and never having chores...”

  “It is not as glamorous as I am sure you would believe,” I told her dryly.

  “I suppose it is not.” She dropped her eyes. “But when I am at my most tired and miserable I used to dream of—of what it would be like to have pretty gowns, and live in a palace.”

  Then she hesitantly accepted my outstretched hand. “My name is Vasilisa Tremonte.”

  Pretty gowns and a palace—there was still magic in such things for this girl. They were not, for her, markers of status in the endless struggle for prestige. Oh, for such naivety!

  We had drifted from the edge of the crowd to stand by the window. Vasilisa’s dress shone purely in the moonlight.

  I touched a glistening fold of her dress. “That is a very beautiful dress,” I said. Too beautiful for a mere village maiden. I should not have known her as one if her awe had not given her away—true aristocrats were never amazed by anything. “Indeed, where did you get
it?”

  “I—I—” And here she turned a most becoming shade of red, vindicating my feeling I ought to get to the bottom of such coincidences as stepmothers and stepsisters. “Well, actually it was—my fairy godmother.”

  Here I could have moaned.

  “I did not realize they were still in business as well,” I said.

  She stared at me. “Of course they are! It was she who insisted it was my right—my patriotic duty—to attend the ball. After all, it is for all the girls of the land.” She twitched her skirts as if she was still not entirely comfortable with the fact. “I could not feel right coming otherwise.”

  “It is,” I agreed.

  “And so... she said I must come suitably attired.” To my surprise, Vasilisa then sank her head into her hands. “To be entirely truthful, I do not feel good about it. It was against my stepmother’s expressed command.”

  “Not to be suitably attired?” I said.

  “Not to come at all,” she replied.

  I blinked. I did not believe I had yet heard of a girl who regretted being benefited by her fairy godmother.

  “But my fairy godmother made it sound so sensible!” Vasilisa shook her head. “I should not have disobeyed my stepmother.”

  Cautiously, I ventured, “But is she not an evil stepmother?”

  “Oh, indeed you would think that!” she said. “But she isn’t, really, she isn’t. She only has to contend with marrying three girls off, when she hardly has the dowries to properly marry any since my father died. Is it not natural for her to promote the prospects of her own blood before others?”

  “Natural it might be,” was all I could think to say. Her way of assessing her rivals—this was an unusual trait. Unique, even. But not at all beneficial for advancement in life.

  “My stepmother is a gentlewoman,” Vasilisa said. “Despite how she scraped and saved, there is nothing left of our fortune. There are very slim prospects for any of us girls. For my stepmother, this ball is her only hope her daughters shall make a match of quality.”

  “I wish your stepsisters well, then,” I said, thinking wryly it would serve them right if one of them did get saddled with Dmitriv. What an extraordinary story! And how extraordinarily like another story I had often heard!