Violet Eyes

by Debbie Viguié

  Genevieve glanced back, but Violet waved her on.

  “Hello.”

  Startled, Violet turned. She found herself staring into Richard’s eyes.

  “Hello,” she said, her voice a bit unsteady.

  “I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  “No, it’s all right.”

  “You look amazing,” Richard said.

  Violet smiled. “Thank you for the dress.”

  He shook his head. “I didn’t send it for you, although I wish I had thought of it,” he confessed.

  “If it wasn’t you who sent the dress, then who did?”

  “I honestly don’t know. But if I find out, I’ll be sure to thank them.”

  A beautiful dog with long reddish-gold hair bounded up next to Richard and whined. “Hey, Duke, let me introduce you to the lady Violet.”

  Violet extended her hand, and the dog sniffed it and then licked it. “He’s beautiful,” she said.

  “Thanks,” Richard replied. He paused, then continued, “I’m sorry to hear about your mother’s health. She’s a wonderful woman. Is there anything I can do?”

  Violet felt the smile fade from her lips. “Father Paul is doing the best anyone can. Thank you, but I don’t think anything can be done.”

  Violet searched Richard’s eyes. There were so many things she wanted to say. The hallway became silent as the last of the chattering princesses disappeared from view. They were alone. Violet could tell him exactly how she felt, but somehow being in the castle was so much more awkward than walking around the farm.

  The grand size of the building took her breath away, and she had been almost afraid to look at the tapestries that decorated the walls, feeling as though a stare might ruin the delicate embroideries. At home they had to make things that would last and survive heavy use.

  “I’m not quite sure why I’m here,” Violet blurted out. She had to talk to someone, and she didn’t think Genevieve would understand. At any rate, even if Genevieve might understand, it would mean explaining a lot more than Violet was in the mood to explain at the moment.

  Richard stepped closer, and for a moment Violet forgot to breathe. He put a finger under her chin and tilted her head up toward his face. “There’s a question I asked you that you’ve never answered.”

  He pinned her with his stare, and Violet felt the rest of the world melt away. It was as if only the two of them existed. Softly, he asked, “Is it me?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  Richard smiled and leaned in to Violet. She closed her eyes.

  “Your Highness!”

  Violet jerked, and she opened her eyes just in time to see Richard turn aside, a look of irritation on his face. The servant she had met earlier stood there, his eyebrows arched with vague disapproval. “Your parents wish for you to join them in the throne room.”

  “Thank you, Steward,” Richard nodded. So the man was the steward, the one in charge of running the castle. No wonder he looked at her disapprovingly.

  When Richard turned to excuse himself, he stared at Violet with smoldering eyes. “Pardon me,” he said, bowing. “I’ll see you at the banquet.”

  Violet nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Prince Richard strode toward the throne room after the steward, and after a moment Violet continued on in the direction the other girls had gone and quickly entered the great hall.

  In the banquet hall Violet discovered that Genevieve had saved her a seat toward the head of the table, and she gratefully took it. Violet counted eighteen girls besides herself at the table. There were several others that she took to be parents or older siblings of some of the princesses.

  “Did you come here with anyone in addition to your servants?” Violet asked.

  Genevieve wrinkled her nose. “My cousin—he’s the one over there with the red beard,” she said, inclining her head to the left.

  Violet saw that he was flirting with several ladies in his vicinity. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “So am I,” Genevieve said with a sigh.

  Nearly all of the chairs at the table were filled, and it looked like almost everyone had assembled except for Richard and his parents. Violet was mesmerized by the high ceilings, the length of the table—which would take a good while to walk—and all of the ornate clothing. Even the lower-ranking servants wore finer clothes than Violet had ever owned.

  The table was set with bunches of brightly colored flowers, gold and silver plates, and food she didn’t recognize laid out in large bowls and platters. None of Violet’s dining companions seemed the least amazed or impressed by the setting or the food. She swallowed hard, reminded once more of what an interloper she was in Richard’s world.

  Suddenly there was a collective intake of breath from the guests seated around the table. Violet turned to see what everyone was looking at in the doorway.

  A young woman seemed to float into the room. She had raven black hair and eyes to match. Her skin was so pale Violet had to wonder if she’d ever seen the sun. Her face was proud and her posture rigid. Her magnificent golden dress put all the others, including Violet’s, to shame. She was the most beautiful woman Violet had ever seen. Several of the other princesses groaned quietly in dismay.

  “Who is that?” Violet asked Genevieve.

  “Celeste, the princess of Lore. Everyone thinks she’s the one to beat.”

  “Just because she is pretty? The challenges haven’t even begun,” Violet said.

  A girl to Genevieve’s left shook her head. “Don’t worry. Celeste is sure to win every one of them. When Celeste wants something, she gets it.”

  Violet gritted her teeth. Why was it that the daughter of the devious Lore devils who had caused such turmoil and despair during the Great War looked like an angel? Violet had an abrupt desire to tear the other girl apart with her bare hands. Celeste’s parents had murdered the royal family—my family, Violet reminded herself. She half rose from her chair, her hands clenched, before forcing herself to sit back down. By anyone’s measure engaging in a brawl during dinner at the castle was neither ladylike nor sensitive.

  Celeste found her seat at the other end of the table. “Are you okay?” Genevieve asked.

  “I will be,” Violet said, forcing a smile.

  The steward clapped his hands twice to get everyone’s attention. “Majesties, Highnesses, lords and ladies, I give you King Charles, Queen Martha, and Prince Richard.”

  Everyone rose to their feet as the royal family entered the banquet hall, and Violet followed suit. Richard walked beside his mother. Watching him at a distance, Violet was struck again by how handsome he was. He also seemed so different in this regal setting, as if he were far away in another world. And for an instant she forgot that he was her Richard, the Richard she had nursed back to health, the Richard she had shared a stolen moment with just minutes before, the Richard who had been leaning in to kiss her, again.

  Once Richard and his parents were seated at the head of the table, the rest of the guests seated themselves. Then platters laden with the most exotic food Violet had ever seen, steaming and aromatic, were carried in. The food Violet had assumed was the main course had been only the cold dishes. As she stared at what was set before her, she realized that she was ill prepared to act like a princess, especially since she didn’t even know how to eat like one.

  There was a bowl of what looked to be clear broth set before each girl. Violet started to pick it up in her hands and then paused. Discreetly, she watched Genevieve to see how she would drink it.

  Genevieve reached toward the bowl and put her hands in it. She rinsed them thoroughly before drying them on a cloth set beside her plate. Violet felt herself flushing with embarrassment. She had been about to drink the wash water.

  As the dinner progressed, Violet could hear the happy exclamations of the others as they tried first one dish and then another. All of the food must have been delicious, but Violet was so preoccupied with trying to eat like a lady that she barely tasted a thing.

&nb
sp; She took a bite of beef and nearly choked.

  “Are you okay?” Genevieve asked.

  Violet nodded and then quietly asked, “What is this?”

  “Beef.”

  “I know, but what’s on it?”

  “I don’t know which spices,” Genevieve confessed, “but they are amazing. If this dinner is a sampling of what the cook can prepare, that alone would make moving here worthwhile.”

  Violet glanced toward the head of the table and caught Richard staring at her. She flushed and tried to smile. He raised an eyebrow and she smiled wider, hoping to convince him, and herself, that everything was just fine.

  Finally, to Violet’s relief, there was a lull between dishes, and the king stood up to address his guests.

  “Welcome one and all to Cambria,” he began. “We have called you here because it is time for our son Richard to take a wife. With so many beautiful and worthy princesses we realized that choosing one over the other would be impossible. Therefore we devised this contest. The lady who can pass each challenge will demonstrate herself to be the most delicate, the most refined princess of all and will become our son’s wife, the princess of Cambria.”

  There were many murmurs of approval from around the table. But Violet noticed Richard looked as troubled by the situation as when they had spoken of it on the farm.

  King Charles continued, “The first test is tomorrow. Ladies, I would suggest you adjourn to your rooms immediately after dinner so that you may be well rested. I want to take this opportunity to wish you all luck. May the most sensitive princess win!”

  Violet sat in silence, a feeling of unease growing within her. Meanwhile the girls around her chattered excitedly. Genevieve gave her a cheerful smile, and Violet was hard pressed to return it.

  More food continued to arrive from the kitchen, but Violet’s stomach was clenched too tightly for her to think about eating any more. She glanced up and down the table, wondering if it would be rude to go to her room.

  Did she need to ask the king’s permission to leave? Was she expected to stay until dismissed? Inwardly, Violet groaned in frustration. There were so many things she didn’t know. Her parents had raised her to be honest and hardworking. They knew nothing of courts and kings and etiquette and could never have prepared her for her current situation.

  “Is something wrong?” Genevieve asked.

  “I don’t feel well,” Violet admitted. She didn’t like sharing her discomfort, but she realized Genevieve was the only one who might help her get the answers she needed.

  “Are you sick?” Genevieve asked, leaning away in alarm.

  Violet shook her head. “No, just exhausted. I would like to lie down and get some rest.”

  Genevieve signaled to a servant, who approached. “Could you tell the king that my companion and I are tired and wish to retire for the evening?” Genevieve asked sweetly.

  The man bowed and then hurried to the head of the table, where he spoke to the king. King Charles looked down the table at Genevieve and Violet, smiled at them, and nodded.

  “Let’s go,” Genevieve said, rising.

  “You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” Violet protested.

  “Nonsense, I couldn’t eat another bite. Besides, you heard what King Charles said about getting our rest. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

  As Violet followed Genevieve from the hall, she resolved to watch and copy the other girl’s mannerisms and behavior, since she hadn’t the slightest inkling of how she was supposed to act.

  Approaching the staircase, Violet began to look around her. When she had first arrived, her thoughts had been consumed with her task, and she hadn’t taken a close look at her surroundings. Without guests streaming down it, the empty staircase was wide enough that Violet could lie down flat on a stair and still leave enough room for people to walk up on either side of her. The dark wood seemed to glow in the light from all the candles and torches that adorned it.

  At the top of the staircase Violet saw three long corridors, in addition to the one that led to her room, dimly lit by candlelight. She stood for a moment, peering down each of them and breathlessly wondering which one led to Richard’s bedroom.

  Genevieve cleared her throat to politely get Violet’s attention and started walking toward their room. Violet dropped her eyes to the stone floor and hurried down the hall after her.

  Back in their room Genevieve collapsed in the chair she had been sitting in earlier. “So what did you think of our competition?” she asked.

  Violet immediately thought of Celeste, and she felt anger rushing through her. It wasn’t right that she was there competing. Competing as if nothing had happened, as if her family hadn’t slaughtered Cambria’s royal family. No, not just the royal family, Violet reminded herself. My family.

  “Is something wrong?” Genevieve asked, concerned.

  Violet shook her head and glanced down at her hands. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her fingernails were cutting into her palms. She forced her muscles to relax, and she did her best to put Celeste from her thoughts. After all, it was the girl’s parents who were to blame for the past, not the girl herself.

  Violet took a deep breath and thought about the other princesses she had met at the table. “They all looked very beautiful and seemed quite pleasant.”

  Genevieve stared at her for a moment and then giggled. “They’re princesses. Of course they were.”

  “So, I guess all princesses are beautiful?”

  Genevieve giggled harder. “No.”

  Violet stared at her, confused. “But you just said—”

  “You commented that they all looked beautiful. That’s true, but it doesn’t mean they are. With skilled help even the plainest person can be beautiful.”

  “Really?” Violet asked, her eyes widening at the thought.

  “Really. Although, clearly, that’s something you’ve never had to worry about.”

  “Where I come from, how I looked was not important,” Violet said.

  “We should all be so lucky,” Genevieve said.

  “I think you’re teasing,” Violet said.

  Genevieve shook her head. “Do you remember the girl sitting across from you?”

  “Yes?”

  “She had a wart on her chin.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. And the girl across from me—”

  “You mean the one with the brilliant white teeth?”

  “I mean the one with the brilliant fake white teeth.”

  Violet gasped.

  “The girl with the red hair that was so perfect it almost didn’t seem real—wig.”

  Violet sat down on her bed and began to laugh until tears streamed down her face. It felt good to laugh. There had been so much darkness, so much sorrow lately, that finding something to laugh about was a relief. “Okay, what about Celeste? What’s she hiding?” Violet finally gasped.

  Genevieve’s smile faded. “A cold, mean heart.”

  Violet stopped laughing. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I can read people. It is something of a gift. Her physical beauty is genuine enough, but her spirit is another matter.”

  Violet shuddered. Celeste was the daughter of people who had had an entire family killed in their sleep. To expect her to be a warm, caring person would be to expect an apple tree to produce oranges.

  “We probably should get some sleep,” Genevieve said.

  “Yes,” Violet said, realizing for the first time how exhausted she was.

  She turned to look at her bed and wondered for a moment if she would even be able to sleep in it. It was incredibly soft, much more so than what she was used to. It stood several inches higher from the ground than hers as well and was piled with furs and blankets.

  Undressing quickly, Violet slipped between the sheets. It was softer than lying in a field of spring grass. She thought about Richard sleeping in her tiny, hard bed at home and marveled that he had been able to get any rest.

 
; In the quiet of the dark room Violet’s thoughts turned to home, and she found it hard to believe that she had left there only hours before. Outside, the storm still lashed against the castle, the rain drumming on the windowpanes. Violet wondered how her mother was feeling and felt tears slip out from under her closed eyelids.

  An hour later Violet was still awake, wishing she could fall asleep. Sorrow for her mother had been replaced with a feeling of restlessness in her strange surroundings. Violet could hear Genevieve snoring, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. If the king or queen happened to walk by the room, Genevieve would find herself disqualified before the competition had even begun.

  But Violet stopped grinning when she heard the sound of soft footfalls. She held her breath, wondering for one wild moment if King Charles and Queen Martha were really checking to see who might be snoring in their sleep. Her trepidation gave way to curiosity as she realized that it didn’t sound like the shuffling of a human’s step.

  A wet nose touched her hand. Violet sat up with a start and saw Richard’s dog standing next to her bed. He held something in his mouth. She stretched out her hand and he dropped a roll of parchment into it. “Good, Duke,” Violet whispered, scratching him behind his ears.

  Duke leaned into her hand for a moment. Then he turned and left the room. Genevieve was still snoring, so Violet decided to risk lighting the candle on the table by her bed. The flame flared brightly to life, and she shielded it with her hand as she glanced toward the other girl’s bed. Genevieve continued to snore.

  Violet carefully unrolled the parchment. The letter had been written in a strong, sure hand. Violet, if you hope to pass the test tomorrow, do as I instruct. Richard had done as he promised. Violet breathed a sigh of relief before reading on.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Richard couldn’t sleep, and dawn found him pacing in front of his parents’ chambers. At last his mother opened the door, saw him standing there, and held it wide for him to enter. His father was also up and sitting at a table, quill in hand. Prince Richard walked in, closed the door, and said, “If Violet is the true princess of Cambria, then she should be restored to the throne.”