But it turned out the king was practiced at putting people at their ease. The observer in me noted his techniques and wondered if I could emulate them, even as the rest of me fell under his spell. By the third evening he joined us I was completely relaxed and easily immersed myself in the debate – grateful now for my hours of study.
But as flattering and stimulating as these conversations were, I still preferred the nights when the queen came. She came less frequently than the king, and never on the same nights as him, but when she did come the library would echo with our laughter. I already knew she was skilled at conversation but I hadn’t guessed at her hidden gift for humour. She entertained us with stories of her youth and of court. She drew skillful, amusing sketches of the people who made up her world while always maintaining an underlying kindness. Her anecdotes might gently mock but only in the case of her stepmother and stepsisters did she truly ridicule. And I couldn’t judge her for that – the whole kingdom knew the stories of their self-absorbed cruelty.
These lamp lit evenings were the only times I could truly think of her as just Ella. With only the three of us she seemed to let go of her role as queen and even as mother. In the pool of light and warmth we were just three people, whiling away a winter’s evening.
Max loved hearing humorous stories about his father, especially, and laughed heartily at his propensity to misplace important documents. “Always at the worst possible moment,” the queen assured us and launched into an anecdote about the first trade agreement the young King Henry had attempted to negotiate.
I suspected the occasion had been less humorous at the time but since the king had managed to salvage the situation I felt free to join in the laughter.
“He could never forgive me for roasting him in front of the ambassador,” said Ella. “So at my next birthday he hinted that he was getting me a beautiful pearl bracelet. But when I opened the jewellery box, there was only a key inside. He said that since I was such a superior organiser he was handing over the key to his desk. I’m pretty sure he meant it as a joke but I kept it and he’s never lost an important document again. Not with me organising his study! Men!”
She rolled her eyes at me and we both laughed at Max’s expense.
Both Max and I were spurred on to relate our own humorous tales and I suspect the queen learned a lot more in those evenings about her son’s youthful activities than she had previously been aware.
But even more than the nights with the queen, I preferred the nights when Max and I were alone. I never thought too deeply about the reason for this, never analysed my greedy desire to be the sole focus of his attentive gaze. Dimly I knew that danger lay there so I turned my focus resolutely away and simply enjoyed myself.
Chapter 12
Slowly the weather began to warm up and the twins and I were able to spend an increasing amount of time outside. Luckily my dread of clear days had faded. Lily and Sophie were as tireless and mischievous as ever but we usually had company for our garden excursions now.
“They really like you, you know,” said Max after the girls had finally exhausted him and wandered away for other entertainment.
I smiled. “They like you more,” I said.
“Well, I’m fresh meat,” he replied easily.
“I’m surprised you come to visit us,” I teased, “I thought they plagued the life out of you.”
“They do,” he replied with a grin, “but they’re still my sisters. And they’ve actually gotten a lot less annoying since you arrived.”
I flushed with pleasure, glad that someone else had noticed the effort that the girls were making.
“Well, I appreciate your visits,” I said, “the girls seem much less inclined to make a break for freedom while you’re here.”
“Glad to be of service,” he said, his eyes smiling warmly at me.
“Lily! Sophie!” I suddenly called out. “Don’t go any further!”
The two girls looked around guiltily and turned away from the forest.
“You were saying?” laughed Max.
“I said, less inclined, not completely disinclined,” I defended myself, also laughing.
The girls wandered into the rose garden so I took a seat where I could keep an eye on them while I chatted with Max. My mind wandered through our usual conversation topics but for once we were both content to simply sit in companionable silence.
I had already explained to Max that my afternoons were strictly study free and he seemed perfectly happy with this, instead talking on and on about Felix and Nate and their adventures together. When he ran out of stories, he would ask me question after question about my childhood and life in a forest village. He seemed strangely fascinated by my older brothers.
I was equally fascinated by life in a palace. Gradually my confusion over the gulf between the behaviour of the king and queen and the behaviour of Lily and Sophie fell away. Max never spoke badly of either of his parents but I could read between the lines. This winter was no aberration. The queen had never taken an active role in raising her daughters. Outside of meals they barely saw her. I could tell this saddened and confused Max. She seemed a much more constant presence in the stories of his own childhood.
I tracked the girls with my eyes, unable to fathom the rules of whatever game they were now occupied with.
“They hardly speak when it’s just the two of them,” I said after a long silence. “It’s like they’re so in tune they don’t have to say anything out loud.”
Max nodded agreement. “They’ve always been like that,” he said. “It comes from being twins, I guess. They hardly talked at all when they were small but they don’t have that problem around other people anymore. It’s only when they’re by themselves that they fall back into their old silence.”
“It must be nice to be so perfectly in tune with another person,” I said. “But I feel sorry for them sometimes.”
Max turned to me in surprise. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Because they’re princesses,” I explained. “It would be alright if they’d only been born to a merchant or an innkeeper or even a woodcutter.”
“Most girls envy them for being princesses,” said Max.
“Yes it’s fine for them now, but what about when they get older?” I asked. “Everyone knows princesses are expected to make marriage alliances. Not only will they have no choice in their husbands but they’ll almost certainly be separated. It will make it all so much worse for them.”
Beside me Max was silent, no longer looking at me but gazing across the garden at his sisters. I wondered if I had offended him.
“I don’t mean anything against your parents,” I said. “It’s just the way of the world. But the more I read about alliances and diplomacy between kingdoms, the more I feel sorry for all the princesses. Personally I’ve always been grateful to be a girl, but if I had been born a royal I think I would wish myself a boy.”
Still Max was silent and I stared at him in concern, trying to read the strange expression on his face. After a long pause, he spoke.
“Maybe you should feel sorry for the princes, too,” he said, unexpectedly. “After all, the princesses aren’t alone in those marriage alliances. The princes they marry have no more choice than their brides.”
“I suppose that’s true,” I said. “I hadn’t looked at it that way.” I thought about it for a moment. “I still think the princes have it better off, though, at least they don’t have to leave their family and friends and kingdom.”
“Well that depends,” said Max, “sometimes younger sons will go to live in the kingdom of their bride. Especially if that kingdom has only princesses.”
“That’s true again,” I said. “And after all, maybe I’m taking too melancholy a view. Perhaps you’ll be able to find another pair of royal twins for them to marry. Or perhaps they won’t need to make a political marriage at all. From the sound of things, the king is already planning one alliance. Perhaps it will be enough.”
“Yes,” said M
ax, his tone unusually brooding, his eyes following his sisters as they played in the garden, “perhaps it will.”
That was the last time we saw Max in the garden that week. Each day that he failed to appear I wondered again if my conversation had offended him and whether I should ask him about it. But he still came to the library every evening and, when he did, he seemed so much like his usual self that I shrugged it off. I didn’t want to be demanding. And he must have been neglecting his usual afternoon activities to spend so much time with us.
The next week he joined us again and life resumed its usual rhythm, except the weather was now improving each day. Soon it hardly felt like winter at all.
As the weather got warmer the servants got busier, packing all the things that were going back to Arcadie and preparing all the rest for storage. An astonishing number of carriages and carts were wheeled out of the carriage house and cleaned. But I quickly realised they would all be needed. Mathilde assured me there was nothing unusual in the number of belongings being transported between the castle and the palace but I found it hard to believe. We argued, laughingly, for a full five minutes on the necessity of carting all the royal mattresses back and forth. Finally I conceded, only commenting wryly that they would be better off leaving the mattress from the Princess Room behind.
“It was shockingly uncomfortable,” I told her. “There was a loose spring in the worst possible spot.”
“I don’t believe you,” Mathilde laughed at me, “no royal spring would dare pop out of place!”
I attempted to whack her but she danced out of reach and I laughed with her, glad that she was smiling and laughing again.
The royals were shielded from the preparations as much as possible but I felt a growing sense of sadness as all the trappings of my happy winter were slowly removed. From the twins’ chatter it was clear that they were expecting me to return to the Summer Palace with them. I felt increasingly inclined to do so, swayed by their expectation. But I was still torn. Would it be worse to remain with the royal family as a servant, outside their circle, or to be removed from them entirely? It was hard to think of either option without feeling depressed so I encouraged the twins to spend as much time outside as possible. Nothing was being removed from the garden, instead it grew more beautiful each day, so it was easier to thrust the thought of Arcadie from my mind when I was out of the castle.
The day before our departure arrived and I still hadn’t made up my mind. Instead I took the girls outside, determined to enjoy myself for one last day. I told myself I would have plenty of time to make up my mind on the journey to the capital.
It was the warmest day we had had so far. The birds were singing madly, as if to make up for lost time, and green was springing up everywhere I looked. It wouldn’t officially be spring until tomorrow but apparently the world hadn’t got that missive. Out here it was already spring.
The twins were playing in the maze, their interest in it revitalised by our imminent departure. I was taking advantage of the weather and was lying on my back in the grass. My head was pillowed on Max’s jacket and he was sitting beside me, pulling apart blades of grass. He already had a small pile of shredded greenery beside him. We were mostly silent, soaking up the rays of the sun, only chatting idly when some thought occurred to us.
“I just had a thought,” I said, rather dreamily because I was half asleep. “The night I arrived, the queen had had the Princess Room prepared for visitors. But we haven’t had any royal visitors all winter.”
“I guess she got a bit overexcited. Probably thinking of this summer.” There was unexpected resentment in his voice.
“What’s happening this summer,” I asked.
“Haven’t you heard?” he replied, “apparently it’s time I was getting married and producing heirs.”
“Married?” I sat up abruptly, no longer sleepy.
“Once we get back to the Summer Palace we’ll be having a stream of royal visitors. Foreign princesses to be courted and feted. And they won’t stop coming until I pick one.”
I stared at him in shock but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. We both sat in silence as he shredded two more blades of grass.
“I should be getting back,” he said, eventually, rising to his feet. “There’s still lots to do before we leave tomorrow.”
I couldn’t think of any packing the prince was expected to do, but then I could hardly think at all. When I didn’t move, he shrugged and started back towards the castle alone. I stared at his retreating back and wondered when the birds had stopped singing.
You hear people talk of a summer idyll but mine had been a winter one. And now I was suddenly confronted with the brutal honesty of my own feelings. And my own foolishness. Only now could I see how far I had let myself fall. I tried to picture a whole day during which I didn’t see Max, didn’t speak to him. I could see only bleak emptiness. I berated myself silently. How stupid I had been in this secluded castle, to let myself forget that this was not real life.
I felt a crack in the middle of my heart. It inched further and further along with each step Max took away from me. I could have sworn my blood was seeping out, running down my body and soaking into the ground.
Soon he would disappear into the castle and the crack would finish its journey, ripping my heart apart. I wondered, with detachment, if I would die when that happened. Could you survive if your heart was in pieces, all your blood drained away?
“Alyssa? Alyssa?”
I could hear two young voices calling me and I turned my eyes away from his retreating back and clamped down on my heart, holding it together. I reminded myself that it wasn’t really broken; I wouldn’t let it break. All my blood was where it was supposed to be, pumping through my veins. I was stronger than this and two girls needed me.
Or at least they needed me for a few more days. Because I was certain of one thing. There was no way I was staying at the Summer Palace to watch Max fall in love with a beautiful foreign princess.
Part 2 - The Visiting Princesses
The Traitor
The open wagon bounced along the forest path, making fast progress at the expense of comfort. The single passenger bounced miserably against the floor of the cart, unable to brace himself because his hands and feet were bound with thick leather.
The soldiers who rode on either side of the cart ignored him, focusing on the surrounding forest and the path ahead. The prisoner grunted in pain as the cart lurched over a deep pothole and thought longingly of his warm bed back at the Winter Castle. He silently cursed the prince. He had been so close to the large bag of gold that would have secured a life of ease and comfort.
He was angrily contemplating his lost riches when the first arrow found its mark. The soldier toppled off his horse and the other soldiers spurred their horses in alarm, circling in closer to the wagon and looking wildly into the surrounding trees. Claud looked up briefly and, realising what was happening, pressed himself full length against the floor of the cart. He was no fighter and while he mentally urged on the attackers, he had no desire to catch a stray arrow.
The cart lurched strangely and then sped up, Claud guessed that the driver had been hit. After only a few seconds of the sickening new pace, the cart swerved wildly and came to an abrupt stop, throwing him against the side of the wagon. Cautiously Claud lifted his head up.
The cart was resting against a tree and the two horses were long gone. The body of the driver was hanging off the edge of the front seat, held in place by one of the feet which had caught against something in the foot well. Feeling nauseous, he turned his head to see the fight, which was now taking place behind the wagon.
The bodies of several guards and two horses had fallen in the road but the remaining guards were fighting hard against a larger contingent of men dressed in black leather and armed with swords, crossbows and pistols. The attacking force were driving the soldiers back down the path, away from the cart.
Claud barely had time to assimilate all of this before the cart was ro
cked again by a black-clad man who climbed over the edge and pulled Claud to his feet. Looking up at his face, Claud felt a rush of relief. It was his employer.
The newcomer cut the cords binding Claud and gestured for him to climb out of the cart. Stumbling from the stiffness in his legs and feet, Claud ran into the forest, his rescuer following close behind him. When a horse appeared and Claud was ordered to mount up he shook his head in refusal.
“I can’t ride,” he said, panting from exertion. “And my legs are too stiff – they’ve been bound and jolted in that cart for hours.”
“Fine,” barked his rescuer, vaulting onto the back of a chestnut gelding. He reached out a hand, “you can ride with me.” Relieved Claud took the proffered hand and allowed himself to be hauled onto the horse’s back. Once they were both in place, the other man pulled out a horn and sounded a long, low blast.
The already distant sound of fighting broke off but Claud and his rescuer didn’t wait for the other attackers. Instead they set off immediately into the forest, wheeling between the trees. Claud hung on grimly and hoped the journey wouldn’t be long.
He was disappointed. After fifteen minutes they paused in a large clearing but they didn’t dismount. As soon as the rest of the black-clad men joined them they were off again, plunging through the forest. Claud’s rescuer was silent, refusing to answer questions and finally Claud stopped asking them.
The ride through the forest felt like a nightmare to him, his relief at being rescued giving way to the pain spreading through his body. When they finally stopped, he fell more than dismounted, taking several stumbling steps away from the horse.
They were in another clearing and Claud looked around in confusion. There was no sign of a wagon or carriage, or even a path.
“Why have we stopped?” He meant to sound strong and assertive but the words came out tired.
The Princess Companion: A Retelling of The Princess and the Pea (The Four Kingdoms Book 1) Page 11