Is He Prince Charming

by Harma-Mae Smit

  My eyes widened.

  “Well,” I said. “Well, if you realize that, perhaps there is hope for you after all. You do know, though, that the trick is to change it.”

  “I know that now,” he said.

  I paused and thought. “Well, then, come with me.”

  Then I reached out and took him by the arm, and led him down the hall to the terrace where Vasilisa still remained. She looked like a lost bird, standing by the railing, unsure of whether it was time to fly home yet or not.

  I’d thought she was too feminine, too fragile to survive. Too vulnerable and caring. And maybe this would make life hard for her, but it wasn’t only a weakness. To be honest, the strength I’d thought I had hadn’t led me to pleading for the fate of the world to the fairy godmother, while Vasilisa had. Perhaps she hadn’t given up on my brother either.

  “The fairy godmother told her you were a lost cause,” I said, “but only you can prove her wrong. I think Vasilisa’s the type of girl who will at least listen to what you say.”

  Dmitriv nodded and took a deep breath.

  ***

  My brother stood for a long moment by the doorway to the terrace, watching her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said finally.

  Vasilisa whirled around, and stared. I blinked. Neither of us had ever expected such words to appear on his lips.

  She straightened up. It was hard to tell from her face, but she may’ve been crying.

  “Don’t apologize,” she said. “I asked for one, beautiful night to remember, that’s all I asked for before I came to the ball. And it was wonderful. It doesn’t matter, really matter, that what looked so beautiful was nothing more than an elaborate scheme.”

  “I didn’t scheme,” my brother said. He stepped out toward her. “Or maybe I did, a little, but I didn’t mean it—well, I didn’t think what I was doing with you through. I’m saying sorry.”

  My brother still wasn’t very used to this.

  “Just to prove the fairy godmother wrong? That you’re not—all the stuff she said about you?”

  “Well, yeah, I am all that stuff.” He shifted uncomfortably.

  Her shoulders trembled in a way that made me think I had been right, she had been crying before. I realized, then, perhaps I ought to depart for the moment, and retreated further back into the darkness of the hall inside the doorway to the terrace.

  My brother frowned, working her words through in his head. “So for you this was only one night of escape from the grind of your days. That you want nothing more from tonight than that. For you, despite your words about caring for those around you, still the prince and the king and the princess could’ve been anyone in your beautiful illusion, and the real people didn’t matter?”

  She pulled her head down quickly, as if she didn’t want to think about that implication of her words.

  “I didn’t think,” she said, “that I would matter to the real people.”

  He shook his head. “What good does this humility do you if it means you discount the good intent of the people in front of your face?”

  Her head lifted. “The truth seems to be I was sent to teach you a lesson. Not that I mind being used for that, if it helps anyone. But you do not need to dramatically prove you learned it. I didn’t come tonight with some wild dream of squeezing commitment from you, I assure you.”

  He lifted his hands, as if he’d begun to throw them into the air and thought better of it. He settled them on his head instead, running through his hair.

  “I heard you, Vasilisa. You said I should have been afraid of rejection. I didn’t really think of rejection as a possibility. I didn’t realize rejection would—hurt. If I’d thought about that, I might’ve realized I was hurting others.” He took a deep breath. “So I did learn a lesson.”

  He took another breath. “But for me, I didn’t intend this to be just some magical night to remember. When I asked you—I hoped it to be the beginning of something more.”

  Her mouth fell open as she stared at him. “Then you did mean it.”

  He cringed. “What do you think of me? I did.”

  It was her turn to cringe. “I keep assuming I have you all figured out. I cannot believe that I do that.”

  He chuckled. Her shoulders relaxed. The sliver of moonlight between the two of them narrowed, as if neither one of them could help drawing closer.

  “Then will you say yes?”

  She swallowed. “No.”

  “No?”

  “There’s the hearts of the girls devoted to you,” she murmured.

  “See?” he said. He grasped both her hands. “That’s why I need you—I need to be more like this.” He swallowed. “I’ll be gentle and honest with them.”

  “And there’s my dowry,” she replied. “It would bankrupt my stepmother.”

  “I don’t want a dowry,” he replied.

  “And,” she added quietly, “I hardly know you.”

  My brother shut his mouth, unable to deny that.

  There was silence, while both of them realized the other wasn’t moving. Conflicting emotions washed over my brother’s face. He wanted her—but he wanted her to be happy above all. And heaven knows my brother had never felt that before.

  “It’s okay,” he said. Slowly he let go of her hands. “If you’d rather I just leave you alone—”

  “I don’t know you enough to know what I am to you,” she said. “I may be another nice face for you to look at.”

  “There’s more than that between us,” he said. “I knew it when I met you, I knew there was something more. I’ve never felt like that before, but I know it. It doesn’t feel like that to me.”

  She smiled. “Then there’s no rush, is there?”

  He let out a breath. “No, there isn’t any rush.”

  She reached out and took his hand again. “I won’t marry you today. I won’t marry you tomorrow. But perhaps if we get to know each other, you can ask me again”

  His eyes met hers. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded vigorously, and he didn’t have to ask her if she was just saying this because of the power that he had, or wonder if she’d relented because he was a prince, because she wasn’t that kind of girl. His face drew closer to hers under the moonlight—

  I ducked through the nearby doorway and headed down the hall. There are some things about a younger brother that an older sister does not need to know.

  ***

  Dmitriv leaned against the doorway of my room.

  “So what do you think, Anastasia?”

  I reached for one of my make-up pencils. But my hand paused before it was even halfway there. I let it go and turned to face my brother.

  “She’s entirely too good for you,” I said. There was a warm feeling welling up inside my chest. It was entirely unfamiliar.

  He grinned at me. “I know.” Perhaps he did know.

  Then I knew what I was feeling. I was proud of him.

  ###

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  Thanks!

  Harma-Mae Smit

  Discover other titles by Harma-Mae Smit:

  Lookin’ Good

  If even lookin’ good doesn’t get Connor’s attention, what will?

  Spring Fever

  It’s Christmas—so why should Emily be having spring fever? Could it be love?

  Why Polly? Part 1 – Meet the Princess

  Polly meets the Princess of Angaria, and gets roped into one of her schemes.

  About the author:

  Harma-Mae Smit:

  Writer. Seeker of Information. Freelancer. Creator. Storyteller.

  Harma-Mae has written several short ebooks, as well as published her work in The Globe and Mail, the Edmonton Journal, and the Reformed Perspective. She blogs at HarmaMaeSmit.com.

  Connect with the author:

  Harma-Mae blogs regularly at her website: HarmaMaeSmit.com

&n
bsp; At Twitter: twitter.com/harmamae

  Turn the page for a sneak preview of Why Polly? – another exciting fantasy-adventure by Harma-Mae Smit!

  Sneak Preview: Why Polly?

  Chapter 1: Meet the Princess

  I am Polly Summers, long-nosed and light-footed. Long-nosed because my nose is unnaturally long, and light-footed because they say I seem to dance wherever I go. Perhaps if not for this I would not be who I am, for otherwise I’d be exactly like everyone else in the country of Angaria: blond and pale.

  Gretchen says that is why I am not yet married. She says the day a girl like me gets married will be the day magic returns to the royal family—in other words, an event so long expected it has almost ceased to be expected at all. At twenty-one I am a little old to be looking for a husband, which does not bother me, though it bothers Gretchen. She has looked after me ever since my mother died when I was but a baby, though now I mostly look after myself. Gretchen is not getting any younger.

  I have a little stall in the corner of the market where I sell flowers, and that’s how I support myself. The flowers I pick in the morning from outside the town, when the dew is still wet on the grasses and the sun has barely raised its head. My fellow stall-keepers are the only ones who call me by my name, Polly Summers, long-nosed and light-footed. To everyone else I am just the flower girl.

  That was where I was when everything began, selling flowers in the market. I remember being worried because the day looked to be hot and the flowers had started to droop. Or, at least, that was all I was worried about at first, until a bunch of pinch-faced thieves made off with my flowers. What for I shall never know, unless it was to give to their sweethearts. But after that I was, understandably enough, less worried about my flowers drooping than about the thieves making off with the best of my wares. I gave pursuit.

  And so it happened that I ended up nearly trampled under the hooves of the royal stallions as I rushed across the street after the boys who had stolen my flowers.

  “Foolish girl!” cursed the coachman, reining in the horses in the nick of time. “What are you trying to do?”

  “Drat it all,” I muttered, seeing the thieves disappear into the crowd as I picked myself off the ground. Then I turned to the coachman and gave him a smile as apologetic as I could manage under the circumstances.

  “Whatever is the matter?” a bell-like voice called from the interior. A face peeked out. I recognized her—indeed, who in all of Angaria would not? The young princess, and the glory of our realm.

  “Oh!” she said, and our eyes met. I was startled by the expression in hers—it looked extraordinarily like triumph. But when I blinked she was doing nothing more than exclaiming over the slight tear that had appeared in the hem of my dress.

  “How truly distressing,” she went on. “You must be scared out of your wits. Won’t you come up into the carriage and catch your breath?”

  “Oh no, miss,” I said. “Er, Your Highness. I wouldn’t dream of troubling you.”

  “It is no trouble,” she said. “My carriage has nearly run you over, so let me remedy it. My coachman will drop you off where you wish.”

  It was more likely that I had nearly run into her carriage. “I’m afraid it would be a bother,” I said, managing a small curtsy.

  “Do come up,” she said. “It is no bother.”

  And so I found myself ascending into the carriage, and the coachman clucking the horses forward again. The wheels rattled down the cobblestone road.

  The princess was blond, but a glorious blond, not so dull like mine. Her eyes were jewel-blue, and though some said my eyes were the colour of the cornflowers I sold in my stall, I did not think they could ever look as wide and clear as hers.

  She was studying me rather closely. I tried to settle myself into the carriage seat without spreading too much of my common cotton dress on its finery. Springed velvet seats! Of all things.

  “What is it that you call yourself?” the princess asked me as we rode.

  “Polly Summers,” I said. “But, Your Highness—” Outside the scenery was speeding by. Where on earth were we headed now? I had not told the coachman how to get back to where my stall was.

  The princess laughed, lightly and bell-like. “You may call me Paulina. I shall never recall my own name if someone doesn’t call me by it.” She leaned closer. “Polly Summers, I have a proposition to make.”

  “What?” I asked, peering out the window.

  She grasped my shoulder. “Stay at the palace tonight. My father will not let me attend the ball at Winstone house, and I need someone to take my place at the palace. You would be perfect for that.”

  “But—what?” I spluttered. My head whirled around to stare at her. I couldn’t do that! What about Gretchen? What about the flowers at my stall?

  “Father will not look in on me if he believes I am present in my room,” she said. “But he surely would if he thought I was not there.”

  “Oh, but I could never pass for a princess!” I burst out.

  “Do you not think we look alike?” she asked. I shook my head.

  “It is our cheekbones,” she said. “Perhaps my hair is lighter and my nose is shorter, but no one will notice that from a distance.”

  I was doubtful, but who was I to disagree?

  “Nanny can fix you up as she does me,” she went on, “And then Father will believe I stayed in my room like a good little girl all evening. Will you do this for me?”

  I opened my mouth to protest. Her grip tightened on my shoulder.

  “But you must,” she said. I glanced in her eyes and saw steely determination.

  “All right, I suppose...” Anyway, who would turn down spending a night in the palace? Or disobey a princess?

  “Good,” the princess sighed. She leaned back against the seat.

  I was feeling uncomfortable among all the finery inside the carriage, so I remained sitting upright. The wheels clattered over the cobblestones.

  “The palace,” Princess Paulina said to me after a few minutes, as we turned on a circular drive. I had seen it before, of course, but it only looked more grand close up.

  Sunlight reflected brightly off the gold on the twisted domes and the tall, pointed towers. I expected the carriage to stop, but it did not, and turned off the circular drive onto a more enclosed roadway. Of course the Royal Family would not enjoy dismounting in the full view of everyone on a daily basis.

  Though even I was quite surprised at the shabby entrance we eventually did draw up to. Princess Paulina dismounted and motioned me to follow.

  We climbed so many stairs and walked so many hallways I felt frankly dizzy. The tower her room was in was a wing that looked quite derelict. The princess paused before she entered her room.

  “I believe we managed to bring you here unnoticed,” she said. “We will just have to keep you hidden here until tonight.”

  Her nanny turned out to be pottering just inside the door when we went in. I tried to stifle my giggles at the sight of her, for the poor servant looked very much like a little old man, right down to the stubble on her jowls. Immediately the princess and her went into a rushed, whispered conversation. I perched on a stool nearby.

  What was I doing here? Girls like me did not turn up in palaces everyday. I was not too worried at what Gretchen would think, for she had grown used to me being able to take care of myself, but she would expect to hear every little detail about this adventure. I might as well make the most of this.

  Suddenly the princess clapped her hands. “Well? What are we waiting for, then? I have a ball to prepare for!”

  As it turned out, ‘Nanny’ was also her lady’s maid. The princess sat down beside me and proceeded to talk about the ball she was to attend at great length, while the nanny washed her hair, scrubbed her nails, attended to her face, and massaged her shoulders. At first I listened attentively and nodded in all the right places, but she did not stop talking and kept at it for more than three hours. I had gotten extremely bored by then,
and it did not help when there was nothing to do but listen to the princess’s talk. Mostly it centred on a young knight by the name of Trent, but it did not vary much and basically repeatedly listed his flawless physical features and his many achievements. The talk began to irritate me.

  “But what about his personality?” I asked finally. Gretchen had always said that was part of my problem, I put too much stock in a man’s personality. But truly, most of them were as dull as dishwater, and this Young Trent of the princess’s sounded as dull as any other.

  “Personality?” she replied blankly. And she really looked as if she did not know what this was. “What do you mean?”

  “You will have to live with him for the rest of your life, if you marry him,” I pointed out.

  “Marry him?” she said. If anything she looked decidedly more blank. “You only let a man court you for—the advantage you gain from letting him do so. Such advantage is less forthcoming if I let him marry me.”

  My, she was as emotionless as a rock.

  And so I spent my afternoon, irritably letting the princess’s endless words stream over me and worrying about what had happened to my stall. It was probably pillaged by every pinch-faced thief in Angaria by now.

  That almost cheered me up, imagining hundreds of pinch-faced thieves excitedly whispering to each other about the grand free-for-all at my unguarded booth.

  My giggle made the princess stare at me in surprise. Abashed, I looked down. She turned her gaze from me to the clock.

  “My, look at the time!” she exclaimed. “I am sure you haven’t eaten since this morning. Nanny, would you get the kitchen staff to bring up a light meal? And then I shall have to put on my dress.” She looked at me. “And we’ll have to get you looking like a princess.”

  And so I was dressed in a gown of the deepest, most luxurious blue, with a high white collar that rose up to frame my head, while I was served light sandwiches left over from lunchtime. It was the best, most elegant food I’d ever tasted, even better than cake. But then, I was hungry.