The Swan King

by Nina Clare

  ‘His Majesty had no power of objection before,’ her lady-in-waiting said. ‘He was but a child in subjection to his excellent parents until recent sad events.’

  ‘He is still a child,’ said the queen mother. ‘What can he know at a mere eighteen years of age. He needs firm counsel and guidance, but he shuts everyone out.’

  ‘It is very early days. He must be allowed some period of adjustment.’

  ‘He is the king,’ said the queen mother. ‘His life is not his own. He cannot please himself in any matter.’ She gave a sigh. ‘Paul tells me the Cabinet Secretary is due this morning. He must not fail to return to meet him. His father would never keep his ministers waiting. He was so punctual. So well mannered.’ She turned her lace-capped head to look out of the window as though looking for her errant son.

  ‘His late Majesty was excellent in all his duties,’ agreed her lady-in-waiting, frowning over a tangle in her threads. ‘And his son will be likewise, I am sure. It is only His Majesty’s youth, and his sudden accession that makes him a little forgetful of his obligations. It will soon pass.’

  ‘That is just what Pfiffermeister says.’ The queen mother did not sound much assured. ‘But why does he insist on sending everyone away? He should have a full entourage as his father did.’

  ‘He has kept Prince von Thorne. I am sure His Majesty will retain all his attendants when he is in the city. Here he likes to forget the court and ride out and climb mountains as he did as a boy.’

  ‘I had hoped he would grow out of his obsession with the mountains by now. No doubt that’s where he has gone. Up to those old ruins he is so fond of. Too fond of. Such an eccentric boy. Mountains and castles and old stories, that is all his head has ever been full of. It does not bode well.’

  ‘All will be well, my lady. He is young. When His Majesty returns to the city in the autumn, he will take up his duties and carry them magnificently as his father did.’

  ‘You are very good, Mathilde,’ murmured the queen mother. ‘But I have such a foreboding. I cannot shake it off. Now that he is of age he can do as he wills, and I fear he will make irregular choices, for he was always an eccentric child. I never understood him.’

  Elisabeth dared not linger any longer and returned to the little room, taking up the first volume of The Full and Formal Analysis of The Seven Years’ War in an attempt to distract herself. She had returned just in time, for a servant soon appeared, dressed in breeches and a coat of lake blue and gold and asking her to follow him.

  They reached a door with gilt carving and an ornate handle.

  ‘In there, m’lady,’ said the footman, bowing his head. He trooped away, the heels on his shoes clicking on the polished parquet.

  She rapped on the door.

  It flew open. ‘Good morning!’ greeted Prince Paul. She tried to return his smile, but while his was self-assured, hers wobbled as her stomach made a little lurch at the sight of him. By lamplight, on the day she had met him he was so very handsome, but by the full light of day he was dazzling!

  ‘Come in. I trust you have rested well these past days?’ Prince Paul ushered her into a room of panelled walls and rich furnishings and a large desk with neat piles of documents arranged upon it; all was a little dark and heavy, but elegant.

  ‘What is going to happen to me, Your Highness?’ she asked.

  ‘In truth, Fräulein, we do not know what we should do with you.’ He smiled again. ‘You are our mystery lady. But you were found on the king’s land, and the king shall take you under his protection. We shall discover the truth of your identity, and restore you to your family.’

  ‘You are very kind,’ she murmured, feeling suddenly emotional, as though kindness was not something she had known much of. ‘And the king is very kind.’

  ‘His Majesty is coming to greet you,’ said Paul. ‘When he comes, Fräulein, it is customary not to speak unless directly asked a question by him. Nor should you look directly at him unless he requests it.’

  She nodded.

  ‘And one other thing.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Never knock on the door, as you did upon entering.’

  ‘Never knock? I am to walk straight in?’ That seemed improper.

  ‘You must scratch.’

  ‘Scratch?’

  ‘Like this.’ He rapped with his nail on the back of a wooden chair.

  Was he joking?

  ‘The king dislikes any crude noise. All must be refined.’

  ‘Except gun shot,’ she said dryly, then gasped. ‘I remember gunshot! Do I remember rightly?’ She was so overcome by this sudden stab of memory that she had to drop down onto a nearby chair.

  ‘Excellent,’ said the prince warmly. ‘You do remember right. ‘When I came upon you, I was shooting. Not at you, of course, I had no notion of your presence until you cried out, and your horse screamed. It was mere target practice.’

  There was a pause, and she realised she was staring at the prince as he talked, watching his mouth shape his every word. She flushed with embarrassment and dropped her eyes.

  ‘We must give you a name,’ the prince said. ‘I cannot keep calling you Fräulein. The king refers to you as the Swan Maiden.’

  ‘Swan Maiden?’

  ‘On account of your pendant.’

  ‘Oh.’ She put a hand to the carved swan at her neck. It always felt strangely comforting to touch it.

  ‘Perhaps we shall call you Fräulein Schwan?’ He smiled, spreading golden light around him, or so it seemed to her. He could call her whatever he liked. whatever he said was beautiful. She mentally shook herself of such foolish thoughts. What was the matter with her?

  ‘But what to give you for a Christian name?’ he enquired.

  Her eyes fell on the mural on the wall behind him. Something about it gripped her, as though she recognised it. He followed her gaze, turning to look.

  ‘Lohengrin and Princess Elsa,’ he said. He turned back to examine her face, she caught his eye and blushed again. ‘She looks very like you. I think from henceforth we shall call you Fräulein Elsa Schwan, if it does not offend you?’

  She did not immediately reply. She was staring again at the mural. Why did it stir something within her?

  ‘You do not agree? Should it be Princess Elsa, or Countess Schwan?’

  ‘Nothing so grand, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘Fräulein is just fine.’

  ‘Baroness?’ he said, smiling his good humour.

  She blinked. ‘Fräulein is just fine,’ she repeated, but her voice faltered slightly.

  There was a soft noise at the door. Someone was scratching.

  ‘Enter,’ Prince Paul called in his pleasant voice.

  A footman opened it. ‘His Majesty approaches,’ he announced.

  Paul gestured her to stand up, offering her his arm as assistance.

  The king came in.

  Chapter 14

  Swan Maiden

  Despite being warned not to look directly at the king, it was difficult to be in the same room as him and not stare at him.

  He was very tall, as much as six and a half feet, she gauged, and his slender figure caused him to appear taller still. His hair was black and glossy, falling in smooth ripples at each side of his face—and his face! —every girl in the kingdom would give a princely sum for the secret of such milky-white skin.

  And then his eyes—impossibly blue!

  Prince Paul von Thorne stood a little in front of her as though to shield her. What a contrast between the two men: one was all warmth and languid grace, like a sun-basking cat, the other cold and brilliant as a diamond. Her hand moved to her swan pendant as she watched the king moving papers about on the desk; the smooth lines of the swan were becoming a talisman of reassurance.

  The king’s gaze snapped towards her when her fingers drew out the pendant. She dropped her hand to her side, seeming to hear someone’s voice, she knew not whose, telling her to stand tall, shoulders back, head straight, and absolutely no fidgeting with one’s h
ands. A lady never fidgets.

  ‘Good morning, Fräulein,’ greeted the king, seeming to see her for the first time. ‘I trust you are making a good recovery?’

  She rose from her curtsey, and dared to glance at him, but his eyes looked just above her head.

  ‘Good morning, Your Majesty. I am recovering well, thanks to your kindness in providing care for me.’

  ‘Do we know who you are, yet?’ asked the king.

  She shook her head. ‘I cannot recall, Your Majesty.’

  ‘The physician says it could take some time,’ added the prince.

  ‘You will be our guest until you have made a full recuperation,’ said the king.

  She curtsied again as she thanked him.

  He turned back to the large, ornate desk and picked up a sheaf of correspondence.

  ‘I understand the Cabinet Secretary is due this morning, sir,’ said Paul, stepping closer to the desk. ‘The telegram on the top announces his intentions.’

  The king made a gesture of impatience with his hand. ‘I cannot see him this morning. I must ride out. The queen mother vexed me greatly at breakfast. I cannot attend to Pfiffermeister’s demands until I have exercised.’

  ‘Very good, sir. I will send word to the stables to prepare your horse, and may I suggest that arrangements be made for the Cabinet Secretary to be engaged until this afternoon? It is too late to send word to him to come later, for he will be on the road as we speak.’

  The king looked again at the papers, then dropped them on the desk. ‘You may accompany me on my ride, Paul.’

  ‘I am at your service, sir. But the Cabinet Secretary…?’

  The king’s beautifully curved lips pursed in annoyance. ‘So disagreeable.’

  Prince Paul did not reply, but stood patiently.

  ‘Stay with Pfiffermeister, and inform him that on no account is he to call before luncheon again.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’

  ‘And give word that I shall eat breakfast alone from now on.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  The king turned to leave. ‘Good morning, Fräulein. I shall be pleased to introduce to you the queen mother, but it must wait until dinner. I hope you will continue your convalescence in the meantime.’

  She curtsied a third time as the king left the room.

  ‘I had hoped to show you about the grounds this morning, Fräulein Schwan,’ the prince said. ‘But now I find I have a disgruntled Cabinet Secretary to appease instead.’ He pulled a face that made her smile. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ he said. ‘The first smile I have seen from you. And it was worth the wait.’

  Her smile turned to a frown at such flattery, but it was impossible to be truly offended when such warmth accompanied the words.

  ‘Let me escort you to your room, and find a maid to wait upon you and show you the grounds. The physician has prescribed short daily walks for you. Nothing strenuous.’

  He left her at the door of her guest room. She felt a pang of disappointment at his departure. It was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. She berated herself for such foolish thoughts. Anyone would think she’d never been flattered by a handsome young man before.

  No maid appeared, however, and she desperately wanted to be outside. A cloak was hung obligingly in the wardrobe, so she ventured out alone.

  ‘Where may I walk?’ she asked one of the tall footmen who stood at his post in the entrance hall. He looked down at her without moving his head. ‘I wish to take some exercise about the grounds. Are there any areas I may not walk in?’

  ‘Not the Queen’s Bower without the permission of the queen,’ replied the footman in a surprisingly deep voice for one so young. ‘Nor the Prince’s Walk without the permission of the king.’

  ‘And how shall I know where they are?’

  ‘Because you’ll be seen off if you step in them.’

  ‘Most helpful advice.’

  The footman opened the door and she stepped out.

  She wandered about, enjoying the May sunshine, when the clouds permitted it to break through. A birch-lined walk led her to the lake where a procession of royal black swans sailed across their watery kingdom, their blood-red beaks vivid against their black feathers. For a moment she thought of the king, with his glossy black hair, eyes blue as deep water, and lips as red as the beaks of the swans gliding past.

  She followed the direction of the swans, walking leisurely along the bank, beneath the canopy of new leaves on the trees above. The view before her was familiar: the mountains towering up in a protective stance above the turquoise lake and the valley. Perhaps she had been here before? She stood gazing out, hoping that some memory might be prompted, but nothing came.

  A movement interrupted her thoughts, and she turned her head to see a swan moving towards her. Not a black swan, but a white one, an exceedingly large one. Had she forgotten what a white swan looked like, she wondered, for she did not recall them ever being so large? Two pairs of smaller white swans swam a little behind it, a pair either side, as though making an escort.

  As she watched the magnificent creature moving closer, a series of images formed in her mind. They were vivid, yet fluid, like water; if she poked at them with her thoughts they would ripple and blur. The experience was so quick, she had not time to consider how strange it all was, but somehow it was not so strange. It was as though this was something that had happened before.

  The images replayed, and now that she let herself rest into them, they formed meaning, though some images were unclear. She stared at the great swan, and as a shaft of sunlight pierced through a break in the cloud above, the white feathers gleamed like fine porcelain, its beak like red gold, and for a moment she thought she saw a golden crown about its slender neck, but the ray of sun withdrew, and she blinked and the crown vanished.

  The images pressed upon her a third time, with more urgency. The swan was speaking to her, it was strange, and yet it was so. She understood the series of images now; they fell into place like jumbled words falling into a sentence.

  I will give your message. Such as I understand it. She assured the swan, sending it images of her doing so. A sense of something heavy and binding settled upon her. She had agreed to do something, and she would not be released until she fulfilled her word.

  The swan bowed its neck and glided away. Another ray of sun broke through, and where the swan had been there was only golden ripples on the water and the two pairs of white swans sailing by, urging her to make haste and do as she was bid.

  A maid found her still watching the place where the great swan had been.

  ‘Oh, m’lady, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ said the maid. ‘The prince asked me to show you the way round the gardens, but I couldn’t get away from the kitchen straight away, or the biscuits would have burned, for no one else was free to watch them, what with the special lunch to get ready for the important minister, and the queen does like biscuits with her tea.’

  The maid was young, with rosy cheeks and a pleasant face. Elisabeth thought she reminded her of someone.

  ‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

  ‘Know me? I’m Brigit, m’lady.’

  ‘Do you know me, Brigit? Have you ever seen me before?’

  Brigit shook her head. ‘Never seen you before, m’lady. Sorry I couldn’t get away to show you round, but now the prince wants you to come back to the castle for luncheon. Said you was to meet the important minister.’

  Prince Paul strode in, lighting up the hall with his golden hair and smile. He now wore the deep blue uniform of the Bayern army, his golden epaulets drawing attention to his broad shoulders.

  ‘I thought it would be good for you to meet the Cabinet Minister, Fräulein Schwan. He may be able to help in solving the mystery of your identity.’

  ‘I need to speak to the king,’ she said as she walked beside him down the hall. ‘It is very important.’

  ‘Do you remember something?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated. What could she say?
That a great shining swan had given her a message for the king. Now that she was away from the lake, it all seemed rather implausible. Did she imagine it? Had the injury to her head sent her a little mad? It had seemed so real at the time, but now she was unsure. ‘It does not matter,’ she said, feeling confused. ‘I forget now…I’m not sure.’ But even as she spoke, a heavy burden pressed down upon her. She would not get out of keeping her word that easily. She would suffer under this burden until she spoke the message.

  They entered a room of glossy dark wood and deep green furnishings. A fire burned in the shiny grate, despite the mild weather.

  ‘Herr Pfiffermeister is getting on a bit,’ said the prince, nodding at the fire. ‘He needs his comforts.’

  ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

  ‘He will here shortly. He knows the way. We are not terribly formal here at Swanstein, not as we are at the palace.’ He called in the footman outside. ‘Bring forward His Majesty’s chair from against the wall. Place it about that table with a second chair. A cushioned one. Can you find some extra cushions from somewhere? The Cabinet Secretary has been complaining of his back all morning.’

  The room was rearranged, and she stood waiting. The burden was growing stronger, she would know no peace until she had spoken her message.

  ‘Don’t be anxious,’ said the prince, seeing her face, ‘there’s nothing daunting about Pfiffermeister, he’s only irritable at worst.’

  A portly man with a large, scarlet coloured nose and tiny eyes came in.

  ‘Let me sit down, Lieutenant,’ groaned the portly man. ‘My legs are in revolt against the rest of me today.’

  The prince directed him to the seat appropriated for him. The Cabinet Secretary fiddled about with the cushion, arranging it between himself and the back of the chair, panting a little at the exertion.

  ‘Allow me, sir,’ said Paul, moving to adjust the man’s cushion.