Violet couldn’t help but smile at Genevieve’s enthusiasm. An hour later the smile had turned into a grimace as Genevieve put the finishing touches on her hair. “Ouch,” Violet said.
“Sorry. Your hair was really tangled,” Genevieve said. “Not anymore, though. I think you’ll like it.”
She handed Violet a looking glass. “It’s amazing,” Violet said in awe. Half her hair was piled high atop her head, and the rest of it cascaded down in waves.
“I’m glad you like it,” Genevieve said, pride in her voice.
There was a knock at the door, and once again the steward appeared. “Ladies, there will be a ball tonight following dinner.”
Genevieve squealed in excitement, and the man backed out of the room.
“Perfect, your hair is already done.”
“Do you want me to hold your maids at bay so you can fix your own?” Violet asked, standing up to stretch her legs.
“Could you? That would be wonderful!”
Violet reached the doorway just in time to intercept the maids. “Her Highness does not require your services,” Violet told them.
“We’re here to take care of her and to make sure she shines,” the one in charge said, her jaw set stubbornly.
Violet smiled serenely and straightened her posture. She was at least three inches taller, and she took advantage of the height difference. “The princess needs no help shining. When she has need of your services, she will call for you.”
The maid looked like she was about to argue with her. “Please make them go away,” she heard Genevieve whisper.
Violet took a deep breath. “You will go now or suffer my wrath.” She put as much authority into her voice as possible. She was a princess, and even if she wasn’t, they didn’t know that. The maids might be used to pushing Genevieve around, confident that they had her parents’ backing. But if they were smart, they would know better than to defy a princess they were not responsible for readying.
It worked. Grudgingly, all three women dropped their eyes and took several steps back. “She will send for you when she has need of you,” Violet said. “You may go now.”
The three maids turned and walked down the hall. Violet watched them until they were out of sight and then sagged against the door frame.
“You were magnificent!” Genevieve said. “Thank you ever so much.”
“You’re welcome. If you don’t look your best tonight, though, I’m sure the tall one is going to have my head.”
While Genevieve began to work on her hair, Violet investigated the armoire which held the clothes that had been sent for her. There were half a dozen dresses ranging from a simple blue dress to a stunning black one that looked fit for a queen.
“Do we wear different dresses to the ball than to dinner?” Violet asked.
“That depends entirely on our choosing. Most of the girls will probably change between dinner and the ball. I would just as soon only have to change once.”
“Me too.”
“So let’s wear the dresses we want to wear to the ball and pledge to each other that we won’t spill food on them.”
“Done,” Violet said with a smile. “I think I’ve found the perfect dress.” She pulled out a lavender gown that was the same color as her eyes.
“Perfect,” the other girl breathed.
Violet picked at her food, too nervous to eat. She noticed that around her most of the others were doing the same. Genevieve and a girl with silvery white hair seemed to be the only ones with an appetite.
Violet kept stealing glances at Richard. He didn’t seem to be eating either and seemed uncomfortable. Was it possible that even he didn’t know the results? Or did he perhaps know that she had failed?
At last the king called them all to attention. Violet could feel fear and excitement filling the room.
“As you know, the first test was given today. Seventeen of you passed.”
Violet’s jaw dropped. Genevieve was right. The princesses who embroidered could tell the difference, whereas her work-hardened hands could not. In dismay she wondered about the three who had failed and was sure that she was one of them.
“Julianna, Rowena, and Esther, you are free to go, or to stay, if you like, to enjoy the festivities.”
The three young women rose from the table, curtsied, and left the room.
Violet sat very still. She had passed the first test, and she was still in the competition! Part of her, though, felt horrible that she had only passed because Richard and Duke had helped her. But if she had been raised as a princess, she would probably have been able to tell the difference.
“Congratulations,” Genevieve whispered.
“Thanks. You too.”
Violet glanced up to the head of the table and saw Richard smiling at her, a look of relief on his face. So he hadn’t known in advance who had passed either.
Violet surveyed the rest of the competition. Relief and excitement were the predominating emotions on people’s faces. Everyone who had been too nervous to touch her food at dinner now ate the dessert set before her voraciously.
Dinner came to a close, and all of the guests left the table, having been informed that the ball would commence in an hour. Most of the girls headed for their rooms. Violet and Genevieve decided to pass the time outside instead. The night was serene, the sky was clear, and thousands of stars shone brightly.
They strolled through the garden. Even though it was nighttime, many torches were lit along the pathway, and Violet marveled at everything around her. There were statues that towered over her, fountains that fed tiny ponds, and an endless variety of flowers. Everything was beautiful, and it took Violet’s breath away. Genevieve noticed.
“You act like you’ve never seen a garden before.”
“I’ve seen plenty of fields of wildflowers and crops, but none that were for decoration instead of food.”
Genevieve gave her a strange look, but before she could say anything, they spied a girl sitting alone on one of the benches. She had golden hair that fell in rings to her shoulders. She was weeping.
“Who is that?” Violet asked in a whisper. She knew it wasn’t one of the three girls who had failed the test.
“That’s Goldie. I feel sorry for her.”
“Why?” Violet asked.
“Her parents died a couple of years ago. She’s set to become queen when she turns eighteen. Her uncle is currently acting as regent.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t trust him. He’s a foul man, and I would be surprised if she lives to see that birthday.”
“That’s terrible!” Violet gasped, her heart going out to the other girl.
“I think she suspects so too. That’s one of the reasons she’s so eager to marry Prince Richard. Her uncle wouldn’t dare try anything then.”
“But wouldn’t she and Richard rule both kingdoms then?” Violet asked.
Genevieve shrugged. “They’d rule hers until his parents die. Then, who knows? Maybe a lost heir of Cambria will appear. You know, there have been rumors that a baby escaped the massacre here.”
“So I’ve heard,” Violet said, hastily averting her eyes.
“You know, you’ve never said which kingdom you’re from,” Genevieve said suddenly.
“From this one,” Violet said, taking a deep breath.
Genevieve put a hand on Violet’s arm, and Violet turned to face her.
“You? You’re the lost heir of Cambria?”
“I don’t know what I am,” Violet confessed. “Until two days ago I was just a farm girl. Then my parents told me that a woman had entrusted me to their safekeeping when I was an infant and that they thought that I could be the princess.”
“This is incredible!” Genevieve said, pulling her away from Goldie for a little privacy. “This means that you are the rightful queen of Cambria.”
Violet shook her head. “That’s not what I want.”
“Then what do you want?”
“Richa
rd,” she said with a sigh.
“That I can’t help you with,” Genevieve said.
Violet looked over her shoulder. “Do you think we should go talk to Goldie?”
Genevieve shook her head. “I think she wants to be alone.”
“Maybe that’s just because she feels alone.”
Genevieve sighed. “You have a point.”
Together they retraced their steps and approached Goldie. The other girl looked up, startled, at their approach.
Violet and Genevieve sat down on either side of her. “Is there something wrong?” Violet asked.
Goldie nodded. “You’ve seen my tears. It’s no use lying about them.”
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Violet asked.
“Yes.”
Violet was surprised, but she reached out and took Goldie’s hand. “What is it?”
“Promise me that if one of you wins this challenge, you will help me in my coming struggle with my uncle.”
“I do not know how I can help, but I will certainly try,” Violet promised.
“As will I,” Genevieve said.
“Thank you,” Goldie said, squeezing Violet’s hand, then stood abruptly and wiped away her tears. “Come now. We have a ball to attend.”
The three walked along the garden pathway toward the castle. Violet heard a noise behind her and turned in time to glimpse a woman disappearing around a hedge. Violet thought she might follow the woman to see who it was, but she decided against it. She had not said anything of which she was ashamed.
Inside the castle the table in the great hall had been cleared away to make room for dancing, and several musicians were tuning their instruments. A number of young noblemen gathered in the elegant space, and Violet was relieved. She had envisioned each princess trying to dance with Richard while everyone else just stood and watched. With more people dancing, Violet hoped she would be able to disguise the fact that she couldn’t dance.
None of the other princesses were present yet, and the steward bustled up to the three of them and directed them to wait in another room.
As Violet took a seat in the drawing room as the steward had instructed, she asked the other girls, “Why do we have to wait here?”
“So that they can properly introduce us,” Goldie said.
A few minutes later more of the competitors joined them. They sat and talked together, laughing and comparing stories about their home lives. It was fascinating to listen to, and Violet felt even more that theirs were lives she would never understand. They all seemed to sparkle in ball gowns, each more spectacular than the next. Celeste was the last to arrive, and her black dress, which was shot through with silver threads, was breathtaking.
At last the steward returned, and all seventeen of them followed him to the entrance of the ballroom. Violet strained to see into the room. And when she finally glimpsed Richard, wearing his crown, his blue tunic emblazoned with gold, her heart skipped a beat.
“Majesties, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present the princesses,” the steward announced.
The room quieted, and all eyes turned toward them. “Princess Celeste of Lore,” he said in a booming, authoritative voice, and Celeste sailed into the room, curtsied, and then walked slowly down the length of the room before turning at the end.
He called nine other girls Violet didn’t know, who mimicked what Celeste had done.
“Princess Genevieve of Antiqua.”
Genevieve walked in, curtsied, and joined the others at the far end.
“Princess Goldie of Northland.”
Goldie floated into the room and Violet marveled at her poise. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she would never have believed the princess had been sobbing just a few minutes before.
One by one the others entered, until only Violet was left waiting in the drawing room. She stepped forward, and the steward announced, “Princess Violet.”
Violet did her best to curtsy gracefully and glide to the far end of the room without tripping over herself. She noted the omission of a kingdom following her name, and she knew the others had too. The question of her lineage hung in the air around her and made her uncomfortable. Still, she couldn’t have expected the steward would announce her as Princess Violet of Cambria. She knew she should just be grateful he had called her a princess at all.
A moment later the king and queen moved toward the center of the room. They were magnificent together, moving with a grace and ease that Violet could never hope to achieve. The musicians began to play. King Charles and Queen Martha danced, spinning together around and around on the floor until Violet felt dizzy just watching them.
The dance ended, and then the king and queen invited others to join them as the music started for a new dance. Violet took a step back toward the wall as a wave of young men descended upon the group of princesses.
“What’s wrong?” Genevieve asked.
“I don’t know how to dance,” Violet said.
“That’s okay; neither do I,” a smiling man said, offering her his hand. “I am Roland, count of Argess.”
“Violet,” she responded. She took his hand, and he led her onto the dance floor. She lost track of how many times she stepped on his foot, but she was quick to notice that he was very kind and a much better dancer than he had let on. He just kept smiling and talking, never starting or making a comment that she was tripping all over him.
The next two men Violet danced with weren’t as gracious, grimacing every time she stepped on one of their feet, but they didn’t say a word about it either.
“You are going to leave some of them intact for the rest of us, aren’t you?” Genevieve joked as they both sat out a dance.
“I don’t know. Depends on whether or not they get the warning and stay away.”
“Just do us all a favor and wait to dance with Richard until the rest of us have had a turn,” Genevieve said.
Violet looked at her suspiciously, and Genevieve just shrugged. “It isn’t every day a girl gets to dance with a prince, even if she is a princess.”
“Who is that girl?” Violet asked, pointing to the one dancing with Richard. She had skin so pale it almost seemed to glow, and her lovely face was crowned by silver white hair.
“That’s Arianna; she’s from Aster. They say her mother is a mermaid,” Genevieve added conspiratorially.
Violet couldn’t help but laugh. “A mermaid, really?”
“That’s what I’ve heard,” Genevieve said. “I can’t tell you if it’s true or not. That’s not even the strangest part.”
“Okay, what?” Violet asked.
“I hear Arianna’s in love with a prince who’s descended from werewolves.”
“You’re making that up!” Violet accused.
“No, I swear it’s true. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.”
“If she’s in love with another man, then why is she here?” Violet asked, choosing for the moment not to dwell on the werewolf part.
“What are any of us doing here?” Genevieve asked. “Maybe her parents forced her to join the competition to strengthen her kingdom’s alliances, or maybe Arianna is trying to make her werewolf jealous.”
“Isn’t anyone here for love?” Violet said under her breath.
“Only you.”
Violet startled. “How do you know that?”
Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Please, it is so obvious. Everyone knows you love him.”
“Then why don’t they all leave?” she asked bitterly.
Genevieve patted Violet on the shoulder. “Like I said, some of us aren’t here by choice. Even still, though, Richard is an excellent catch. He’s strong, kind, and handsome. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t love him, but I’m sure I could learn to love him. Anyone could. Now smile—your prince is headed this way.”
As Prince Richard approached, he held out his hand to Violet. She took it and followed him onto the dance floor. “I don’t know how to dance,” she admitted.
“That�
��s okay—just move with me,” he said, one hand holding hers and the other on her waist.
She looked down at his feet. “No,” he said.
She looked up at him. “What?”
“Don’t look at our feet; look right here, in my eyes,” he said.
“But how will I know which way to move?” she protested.
Richard’s hand tightened around her waist, and his fingers pressed into her back until she stepped closer to him. “You’ll just know,” he whispered into her ear.
Violet gazed deep into his eyes, and when he began to move, she moved with him. She didn’t know if it was the subtle pressure changes in his fingers, or the movements of his eyes, but somehow Violet knew just which way to move while she was dancing with Richard. They started slowly and then began to pick up speed until they were twirling around the room.
Violet kept her eyes locked on Richard’s, afraid that if she looked away, the moment would end, and the magic would be lost.
“You have bewitched me,” he whispered.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m the one under your spell.”
“Then I hope it lasts forever,” he said.
“Forever,” she breathed.
The music stopped, and after a moment so did they. “I’ll send Duke to visit you again once I know what the next challenge is,” he leaned close to murmur.
“I wish you would send yourself instead,” she breathed.
“One day I just might.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You can’t be serious,” Richard said, staring at his mother.
“Quite serious,” she replied.
“The next test is to see who feels intense pain over the loss of a single pulled hair?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” she said.
Richard sat down and passed a hand over his weary face. He was still wearing his finery from the ball, and his feet were sore from having danced continuously for hours. He just wanted to send a message to Violet and then get some sleep. “Seriously, what are you and Father doing?” he asked.
“Exactly what we said we would do. We’re looking for a young woman of great sensitivity.”
“But it’s so absurd. I mean, would you feel intense pain over the loss of a single hair?”
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