Apparently I was only an hour old when I received my first brotherly poke. Now a poke may not seem like much to you but I’m told I didn’t appreciate it then (after all I’d just been through a very traumatic experience) and I still don’t appreciate it now.
My brothers weren’t intentionally cruel but they just could not understand that their endless pinches, pokes and slaps truly hurt me. They would leave my arms, legs and sides throbbing for hours. I had accepted early on that I was more physically sensitive than others and that my pain threshold was very low but my brothers couldn’t seem to accept it.
I quickly learnt that outsmarting them was my only hope of living pain free. That or keeping them too entertained to think of harassing me. That’s what got me started on story-telling. I figured if Scheherazade could keep her head attached to her shoulders with her stories, I could at least keep myself free from poking.
Stories were the constant under-current of village life and I discovered at a young age that I had a knack for giving old stories a new twist. And even for coming up with new ones altogether. If I carefully chose the stories I invented for my brothers, who can blame me? And if the stories tended towards the ‘young man is polite to unlikely person who turns out to be a godmother and goes on to help him marry a rich and beautiful princess’ type then all the better. My stories were more likely to involve a hedgehog princess than a frog prince but they still ended in true love and happily ever after as all good stories should. And if the hedgehog fell in love with a simple woodcutter after observing how lovingly he treated his mother and sisters, who could blame me?
My parents approved of my story telling because they approved of anything that kept us sitting still in a house that wasn’t big enough for the rough and tumble of four large boys. Winter nights could be very long and while they may have secretly agreed that I needed a little toughening up – after all, woodcutting is hardly a trade for weaklings – they very quickly lost patience with my brothers’ preferred methods.
Thinking of those warm winter evenings and imagining my family sitting around the fire threw my current miserable situation into stark relief.
That’s it Alyssa! I thought sternly. No more messing around trying to find the camp. The woods are crisscrossed with roads. Pick a direction and start walking, once you find a road you only have to follow it and eventually you’ll find some sort of shelter.
By now more and more drops were making it through the canopy so I started moving at a sort of shuffling jog, trying to cover as much ground as possible while not ending up flat on my face in the dark.
It was hard to tell how much time had passed but I thought it must have been nearly an hour and I still hadn’t found a road. Luckily the ground was fairly flat – I had pretty good stamina as long I wasn’t going uphill. I had also stayed pretty warm for the first half of my walk thanks to my movement and my warm cloak. The cloak had been a farewell gift from my mother and was the most beautiful thing I had ever owned. It had been a wedding gift, put away in a cupboard as too fine for everyday use. It was much better quality than any of my other clothes.
But the rain was now crashing through the trees and I was thoroughly drenched, shivering violently and with an ache in my eyes and head from the constant strain of trying to see through the darkness.
I had been talking fairly sternly to myself the whole way but was still feeling uncomfortably close to desperation when I finally saw the light. It was just a flicker and was swallowed up by the trees almost immediately but I changed direction to veer towards it anyway. ‘Any port in a storm’ they say and this was rapidly becoming a very bad storm. The wind was picking up and I could hear branches creaking in the most ominous manner possible. The thought of a branch, or even a tree, falling and pinning me underneath it - leaving me trapped and in pain for endless hours – made me swallow back a sob and start to move faster.
After only a minute I saw the light again and this time it steadied, beckoning me forward. Now that I could see somewhat I began to run and I saw that the trees ended just ahead of me. I had soon run out from under the leaves and was crossing a large garden, the rain almost blinding me with its force. I focused on my feet, to avoid slipping and falling, but cast one quick glance upwards to see what I was running towards. It was a stone building, far larger than any I had seen before, but it was hard to make out any details through the rain.
Sheltered as I had been in my village, I still knew there was only one building this could be. The royal winter castle. Normally I wouldn’t have dreamt of approaching it but now I didn’t even hesitate as I ran towards the large wooden front doors. When I reached them I lifted the heavy bronze door knocker and gave several hard knocks against the door. Unfortunately these perfectly coincided with one of the loudest, longest cracks of thunder yet. As soon as the thunder faded away, I lifted the knocker and rapped again, even more enthusiastically.
I tried to listen for the sounds of footsteps inside but the rain was coming down too hard and I no longer had even the minimal protection of the trees. I huddled right up against the door, trying to shield myself with the tiny overhang. This turned out to be another bad idea when the door was at last wrenched open, causing me to stumble forward into the entryway. I would have fallen if the footman who opened the door hadn’t caught me.
For a second all I could take in was the blissful warmth. Then I looked around and observed a large stone entryway. The only light was coming from the lantern being held by the footman so I couldn’t see the whole space. As the footman closed the door behind me, I observed a cold stone floor and impressive stairs that broke off half way up the flight to curve in opposite directions. A red carpet ran up the middle of the stairs and probably along the gallery at the top of them. I thought I saw a flicker of movement in the gallery and strained my eyes, trying to make out some more welcoming person than the footman who was now staring at me in silent surprise. But the movement was gone and I was distracted by the realisation that it wasn’t as warm inside as I had first supposed. I began to shiver rather violently.
“Who are you?” The footman had finally found his voice and asked the question with equal amounts of surprise and disgust in his voice. I instinctively stiffened. My parents had always impressed on me the importance of being polite and if courtesy was taught in a woodcutter’s cottage, I would definitely expect it to be taught in a castle. I determined to show him a polite way to address a complete stranger.
“My name is Alyssa. I’m so sorry to have disturbed you. I was separated from my group and caught in the storm. I must beg a place to shelter for the night.” He seemed mildly impressed by my manner and I congratulated myself on having given him such a gentle and much needed lesson in manners.
“I guess I’d better get Dorkins,” he said, his eyes lingering on the embroidered border of my cloak. This statement made no sense whatsoever to me but at least it was said in a friendlier tone.
“That would be appreciated, thank you,” I replied, still determined to be polite. But when the footman promptly turned around and began to walk away I felt some stirrings of alarm. I took a couple of steps to follow him but he quickly turned back around.
“You stay here,” he said. “You can’t go tracking that all through the house.” He pointed at the pile of water where I’d been standing.
“But… you can’t leave me here,” I gasped, my eyes focused on his lantern.
“Oh, right,” he said and turned to fumble around in an alcove next to the door. When he swung back towards me he was holding a lit candle in a bronze candleholder. He held the candle out to me and I gratefully accepted it.
This time when he turned to leave I stayed in place, still shivering and hoping he would return quickly, preferably with a warm blanket. I looked around the entryway again, trying to distract myself from the cold. There were tapestries on the walls and it looked like there was a large fireplace in the wall to my left, next to the door that the footman had disappeared through. But I couldn’t make out th
e details of anything, it was much too dark with only a candle.
Again my attention was pulled up towards the gallery but this time with a noise. I wondered again if there could be someone up there but the light of the candle was much too weak for me to see anything. I was just debating whether or not I should call out to my potential company when I heard a louder sound of movement from my left. Before I had time to do anything other than turn around, a tall, middle aged and solemn looking man came through the doorway and moved towards me.
He was also carrying a lantern and was being trailed by the footman who now looked rather sheepish. The tall man gave me a swift glance up and down, taking in my bedraggled state and then, to my surprise, gave a slight bow and spoke.
“I am Dorkins, their majesties’ butler. I apologise for your reception – we weren’t expecting you.” He paused here as if he was waiting for me to say something so I said,
“Thank you. I don’t want to be any trouble, I simply need some hospitality for the night.”
“Of course,” he said. “If you will follow me. I’ve already sent the housekeeper ahead to prepare the room.”
“Thank you,” I said again, this time with more feeling.
I expected him to turn back towards that doorway to the left but he began to walk towards the stairs. I followed him and the footman would have followed me if Dorkins hadn’t gestured for him to go back the way they had come. Once he had disappeared from sight Dorkins seemed to unbend a little and even smiled graciously at me. Some of my nervous energy began to dissipate and my feet started to drag a little. I was so very cold and tired.
When we reached the break in the stairs, Dorkins led me up the left branch and then down the left gallery. As we walked, he said,
“My apologies for the footman. Naturally he is not in their majesties’ confidence and cannot be expected to handle anything out of the ordinary.”
I didn’t reply to this as I couldn’t think of a single thing to say. What did being in their majesties’ confidence have to do with anything? His words reminded me that it was winter and the royal family must therefore be in residence at the castle. I began to wonder if I had committed some huge social solecism by coming to the front door.
Luckily Dorkins didn’t seem to expect a response but stopped and opened one of the doors lining the gallery to our right. He gave another bow and gestured for me to precede him into the room. I did so and was surprised to hear the door click shut behind me. I whipped around but Dorkins was gone and I was only facing a closed wooden door. I slowly turned back around to face the room and now I began to feel very confused and a bit apprehensive.
The room was large and sumptuously furnished. Across from the door was a row of windows but they were hidden behind thick red velvet curtains. Next to the windows was a set of armchairs, also covered in red velvet and to my right was a small desk and chair made out of pine. In the far corner, to my left was a fire that had clearly just been lit but was already beginning to glow cheerfully. I barely had time to register the narrow four poster bed, on a slight dais also to my left, before my feet were moving unconsciously towards the fire.
When I reached the fire, I heard a noise behind me and once again whipped around. This time I saw a young girl, around my own age emerging from a doorway I hadn’t noticed in the wall next to the desk. She smiled nervously when she saw me and dipped a small curtsey. Then she hurried towards me, already talking.
“Why miss, you must be freezing, wet through like that. You’ll catch your death!” As she spoke, she took the candle from my hand and placed it on a small table next to the bed. Then she took off my wet cloak. This she allowed to fall into a wet pile on the floor and next she began to undo my dress. I only half noticed what she was doing, much too distracted by the warmth coming from the fire. The whole time she kept up a distracted monologue about the storm outside and the state of my clothes and hair and before I knew what had happened she’d completely stripped me down and was asking me to lift my arms so she could put a long, dry nightgown over my head.
When I obeyed, I found myself enveloped in the softest, most beautiful material I’d ever felt. It was pure white but had elaborate embroidery around the neckline, wrists and hem. I wondered why anyone would put so much effort into a garment that was only worn to bed. And then I began to feel uneasy again. This was not a room or a nightgown for a woodcutter’s daughter. It was something more suited to a princess.
“I think there’s been a mistake,” I said to the girl helping me and she froze, her arms full of my wet clothes which she was gathering up from the floor.
“Oh no,” she said quickly, “there couldn’t be. Mr Dorkins never makes mistakes.” I now noticed the curiosity in her gaze and began to feel even more uncomfortable.
“This room, this gown, it’s much too nice. Do all the guests here get treated the same?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” she breathed, her eyes shining. “Their majesties are famous for their hospitality.
“Oh, well…” I trailed off uncertainly.
“You just hop straight into bed,” she told me. “I’ve put a warming pan between your sheets so it will be nice and toasty for you.” This comment drew my attention towards the bed and the idea of climbing in, between the toasty sheets, began to override my lingering concerns. I took a step towards it and the girl smiled.
“That’s right, just climb up and don’t worry about a thing until morning. I’ll set your clothes out to dry and bring them back first thing.” She turned around at that and left the room through the door I had entered, leaving me to climb up onto the bed on my own.
This turned out to be a surprisingly difficult feat as there seemed to be at least two mattresses on top of the bed. But I managed to clamber rather inelegantly up and pulled back the blankets, slipping between the sheets. I was overwhelmed by the warmth of the bed and the tingling relief of my feet now that they were relieved of my weight. I blew out the candle and prepared to fall instantly asleep.
Unfortunately, before I had time to get more than drowsy, my initial comfort wore off. Although the pillow was the perfect density and the sheets seemed to be made from the same soft material as my nightgown, the mattress had an uncomfortable lump in the middle of my back. I rolled over onto my side but the bed was so narrow, I could still feel it. I sighed in frustration. I was sure a normal person would have just ignored it, as tired as I was, and gone straight to sleep. But I’d never been able to cope with physical discomfort. I knew the pain would distract me too much for sleep. I figured it must be a spring that had broken through the covering of the top mattress. I considered getting up, stripping the bed, pulling off the top mattress and putting the sheets onto the bottom mattress. But I doubted I’d have the strength to pull off the top mattress and I had no idea how to call back the girl who had been helping me. The idea of attempting to relight my candle from the fire and then wandering around the cold, dark castle was so unappetising I didn’t even contemplate it. Instead I twisted around and curled my body into a C shape. If I did that, I could just fit my body between the spring and the edge of the bed without rolling off. With the digging pain gone I was asleep within seconds.
Chapter 2
This time when I woke up, I stayed awake. I woke up because I had rolled over in my sleep and was once again lying on the spring. I quickly shifted back into my curled position but unlike all the other times, I wasn’t able to drop back to sleep. Enough light was coming in around the edges of the curtains to tell me it was well and truly day time and I was now well rested enough that sleep couldn’t overcome the stiffness I was feeling. My back and neck were protesting my unnatural sleeping position and my legs were aching from my run through the woods last night. I tried to stretch myself out straight and nearly rolled off the bed. I quickly rolled back into the centre of the mattress and lay on the spring, grimacing as I did so.
“What are you doing?” said a young-sounding and rather beautiful voice. I flinched and quickly scanned the room, tryin
g to find its owner. It definitely wasn’t the girl from the night before.
While I looked around, the voice spoke again. “Who are you?” As she finished speaking I finally spotted her and realised it wasn’t a ‘her’ but a ‘them’. Two identical girls who looked as beautiful as they sounded were sitting on the floor and gazing up at me. When they saw that I was fully awake, one of them got up and went over to the heavy velvet curtains and pulled them open. The room flooded with light and I groaned and covered my eyes.
When I cautiously inched them open I saw that she had returned to the floor and I was once again being regarded by four large eyes. Very blue eyes above perfect straight noses and beneath perfectly curled bright golden hair. The girls were identical and so beautiful they had to be –
“This is the Princess Room,” the one on the left said. “Are you a princess?” I almost groaned again and all the uncertainty from the night before came flooding back. I was certain now that the lofty Dorkins had made a mistake despite the maid’s belief in his infallibility. Why would he have put me in the ‘Princess Room’ otherwise?
“I’m Alyssa,” I said, “and I’m not a princess. I just lost my way in the storm last night and the butler gave me this room to sleep in.”
“Well, if Dorkins put you in here you must be a princess,” said the girl on the right. “Only visiting princesses get this room.”
Oh, great. Who knew what sort of trouble I’d be in now. But I definitely hadn’t said I was a princess! This was definitely not my fault.
The Princess Companion: A Retelling of The Princess and the Pea (The Four Kingdoms Book 1) Page 2