“Well, good night then,” Cristian said as we stopped in front of the door to the kitchens. We’d hardly spoken on the way back, but I didn’t worry we’d wasted the time. The silences we shared when together were nearly as comfortable as our teasing and conversation.
“Thank you, again, for getting all that wheat.” I smiled up at him.
“It was nothing." For a moment he looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind.
“Have a good night’s sleep,” he said, our joke between us, as we knew each was retiring to less-than-favorable accommodations.
“You, too. Don’t let some horse nibble your hair during the night.”
He raised a hand in farewell as he left. I pushed open the door and went inside. The fire was almost out— no surprise— and a bundle was piled beside the hearth. Curious, I went to it and found a thick blanket and soft feather pillow. On top was a small piece of parchment with elegant letters sprawled across the middle.
Sweet Dreams—
Cristian
Hugging the pillow to my chest, I closed my eyes and smiled. I didn’t need dreams. Life seemed suddenly very sweet— all by itself.
“Lovely of you to stop by,” I said sarcastically to Mason as he lugged the pails of milk toward the table. “I thought you’d forgotten we were friends now.”
“You’re always too busy, off picking apples with your other friends.” He spoke the last two words so bitterly, and wore such a look of disdain on his face, that I wanted to laugh and reach down to hug him at the same time.
Instead I handed him a braided loaf from the table. “Here. You may have a whole one. I made extra today.”
Mason took it reluctantly. “Probably only ‘cause you hoped they’d stop by.”
“Guilty,” I confessed. “But I’d hoped to see you, too. You tell better stories. And tomorrow I’ll be gone by this time, so I was wondering if I might get the milk earlier.”
“Where you goin’?” Mason mumbled through a bite of bread.
“To deliver all those apples we’ve picked to the starving people in the city.” I bent down close to him. “But that’s our secret— all right?”
“Sure.” He gave me another sour look. “I suppose the prince is going with you.”
“No.” My brow furrowed. “Why would you think such a thing? I came in using my own devices, and I’ll get back out the same way.” Or so I really hoped. “You needn’t fret. I’m going to be very careful about the whole thing." I untied my apron and hung it on the hook near the broom. Passing the fireplace— and the pillow and blanket stacked nearby— I couldn’t help but smile. Thanks to Cristian, I’d slept better last night than I had in a very long time.
Mason tore off another chunk of bread. “Well, you’re always with him.”
“You mean Cristian?” I took baskets from a high shelf, then returned to the table and began filling them with the braided loaves.
“That’s Prince Cristian, but maybe he don’t expect you to call him that. I seen you with him in the orchard and here. You like him better’n me now.”
I froze, a loaf of bread in each hand. Ignoring Mason’s hurt, accusatory expression, I focused on the first of his sentence. “Cristian is not a prince.”
“Sure. And I get this milk from the rooster.” Mason thumped the side of the pail.
I moved closer, leaning over the table to stare at him. “Be serious. Cristian isn’t a prince. He works at the stables.”
Mason shook his head, his mop of hair flying back and forth. “He causes ruckus at the stables. He and his friend are always up to no good— makin’ more work for the rest of us. Though leastwise that’s stopped a bit since he’s been hangin’ ‘round the orchard with you.”
“But—”
“I gotta go. I got no end of tasks to do lately.” Mason walked to the door. “Thanks for the bread.”
I ran to him, catching his arm before he could leave. “This isn’t funny. If Cristian was a prince, he certainly wouldn’t be spending so much time picking apples with me.”
Mason shook his head again. “Girls,” he said, disgusted. “You don’t know nothing. ‘Course he’d be hangin’ round you. You’re kind and funny and— pretty. And it 'pears I wasn’t the only one who noticed.” With that, he shrugged off my arm and left the kitchen.
I stood there a moment, watching him go before I closed the door and barred it. I didn’t want any other visitors just now— maybe ever, if what Mason had told me was true.
Returning to the table, I began gathering the bread and throwing it in the baskets. A prince? For some reason I’d had it in my mind that Princess Cecilia was an only child. But why shouldn’t she have siblings? Cecilia and Cristian. Maybe their parents had a thing for starting names with the letter C the way my parents liked to end names with the letter A. If it was true, I wondered if there were more brothers and sisters running around. Maybe a Courtney or Camille.
Though the focus had certainly been on Cecilia and her impending wedding, it made perfect sense that she would also have a brother or two.
With a sinking heart and no little amount of mortification, I thought of all the things about my family, myself, that I’d shared with Cristian. I remembered the way he’d listened— half-fascinated, half-amused— to my tales of farm life. I didn’t for one minute buy Mason’s explanation of why Cristian had wanted to spend time with me, but I could see that perhaps I’d proven an interesting distraction in the everyday life of a prince.
Glancing toward the hearth, I was tempted to hurl the pillow and blanket into the fire. How pathetic I must seem to him. With shame, I looked down at my dress— near rag status from being worn and washed constantly. I remembered the way I’d thought it odd that Cristian didn’t seem to know any of the names of the other servants. I suddenly understood why.
His refined speech… his nice clothes… even his ability to get wagons and food for our mission— all because what Mason had told me must be true.
And the responsibilities his father was pressing on him— no wonder they were at odds. His father would likely be furious about Cristian’s friendship with a servant, with me.
I sank down on one of the stools and stared into the flames of the fire.
Cristian is a prince.
From my spot high in the apple tree, I could see Cristian approaching, whistling as he walked, acting as if he hadn’t a care in the world. It was near our usual meeting time, and I’d half-hoped he wouldn’t come. Though now that he had, I picked up one of several apples from my lap and prepared to launch it. Having had the day to think about his deception, I’d arrived at a state somewhere between despair and fury. Cristian was the second man— Gemine being the first— to have fooled me about his true character, and this time I was in a position to let him know how I felt about it.
Cristian stopped a dozen feet from my tree, facing away from me. I took aim and let fly with an extra large apple. When it struck true, he yelped and grabbed the back of his head. By the time he’d turned around, I’d thrown a second. This one he saw just before it grazed the side of his face.
“Adrielle!” he shouted up at me. “That isn’t funny. Those hurt. You throw as hard as you run.”
“And your lies are as smooth as your manners and dress,” I retorted as tears pricked the back of my eyes. No, I thought, dismayed. No tears. But seeing Cristian standing there brought my initial sorrow to the surface. True enough, I was angry with him, but greater than that was the loss I’d felt, realizing we were from such different worlds. Worlds that, sooner or later, would have to part.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, glancing down at his clothing, as if that was where the problem lay.
Boys, I thought. Pulling back my arm, I threw another apple as hard as I could. This one he dodged completely.
“Have you gone mad?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m mad!” I shouted. “I’m furious because you lied to me. You— you prince!”
Cristian’s mouth opened
briefly, but no words came out. Finally he shrugged then held his hands up as if in surrender. “Who told you?”
“Does it matter?” I was not about to risk getting Mason in trouble. With the kind of power Cristian had, I needed to be much more careful about what I said than I had been previously. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Why did you let me think you were a servant at the stables?”
“You assumed that,” Cristian said. “And I did try telling you the truth. Only—”
“Only my tales of poverty were so amusing you decided to wait a little longer?”
“No.” Cristian walked nearer to the tree and stared up at me. With reluctance, I met his gaze.
“I enjoy your company, Adrielle. And I feared I’d lose it if you knew my true identity.”
“You might have given me the chance to decide.”
“I should have,” he agreed. “Though I can see already that I was right. You feel differently about me now.” His voice had an edge to it. He turned and started walking away.
“Wait,” I cried, wondering what had just happened. How dare he act upset with me when he was the one who lied.
I stood quickly, and the remaining apples spilled from my lap, bouncing off tree branches and falling haphazardly to the ground. I jumped down after them and ran to stand in front of Cristian, blocking his path. “You cannot be angry.” I stomped my foot in the dirt. “You’re not the one who bared your soul these past weeks. I told you things about my family that I’ve never told anyone. I’ve paraded around in this ragged dress. You even saw where I sleep each night, all the while letting me believe your circumstances were the same.”
“And had I not, would we still have become friends?” Cristian demanded. “Would you have told me those things, would you have asked for my help? Would you have treated me the same— or avoided me as if I had some contagious disease?”
“I—”
“Don’t answer,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes.” He moved around me and started walking again.
Though I knew I was in the right and dearly wanted to win this battle, I felt my anger starting to dissipate. “I thought we were equals, and now…”
“Now I could have you thrown in the dungeon for chucking apples at me.”
I whirled around to face him. “You wouldn’t.”
“Or…” Cristian paused. “I could have you beaten with the very spoon you struck me with that first day we met.”
Boldly I stepped up beside him and looked at his face, trying to determine if he was serious. He met my gaze, his expression thoughtful.
“Or, I could make it so that once you leave the castle grounds tomorrow, you are not permitted back again.”
I sucked in my breath sharply then tried to swallow my sudden unease. Not at all liking this new, authoritative Cristian, I remembered all too well the way Gemine and the other gypsies had exercised their power.
“But it wouldn’t much matter what I decided to do to you.” Cristian gave an over-dramatic sigh. “Because you’d outrun me before I could catch you.” He winked as a slow grin spread across his face.
“Oh!” He’s teasing. I’m furious, and he thinks it a joke.
He burst out laughing. “Ah, Adrielle. You really do think of me as some kind of ogre now.”
What I thought was that he was extremely lucky I hadn’t any other fruit within reach.
“Please don’t hate me,” he said earnestly, misinterpreting my silence as agreement. “I’m still your friend. Just because I have a title doesn’t make me any different inside. And you’ve only to put up with me for a little longer anyway,” he added, as if that might change my mind.
“What do you mean?” Still angry with him, I folded my arms across my chest. “Are the king and queen sending you off to finishing school somewhere?”
“That I should be so fortunate to travel— anywhere.” He looked off into the distance. “What I meant is that there are only a few weeks left until the wedding. After that…” His voice trailed off, and he dropped his gaze, but not before I’d glimpsed him looking, for all the world, as sad as I felt.
“After the wedding…” I prompted, my voice quieter.
He shrugged and mumbled something about Henrie being right. “I didn’t mean for things to— for us to— I wanted to have a friend, to have some fun before I married.”
It took a second for his words to register. I gasped. “Married?”
“Yes.” Cristian raised his head, giving me a curious look. “I thought you knew. I’m betrothed to the princess. I’m marrying Cecilia.”
If I’d had a dozen pillows and the softest of feather beds— or even an entire chamber to myself— I wouldn’t have slept that night. As it was, the one pillow I had— a gift from Cristian— served only to catch my many tears that fell throughout the long hours of darkness.
My heart and soul felt bleak, and try though I might, I was unable to shake the sense of loss that had settled over me since his announcement.
I’m marrying Cecilia... betrothed to the princess… marrying Cecilia. Cecilia, who did not have a brother after all, but a fiancé named Cristian. I had not known until the moment he’d told me, and our conversation hadn’t ended well. I’d thought I was upset before, but that Cristian had also failed to mention his impending marriage knocked the breath from me, crushing what spirit I’d had left. It had been all I could do to stagger and then run away from him, tears coursing down my cheeks.
Sometime around midnight, judging by the moon when I went out to use the privy, I gave up all attempt at rest. I’d planned to rise early, to make the bread for the day so we could leave on time for our trip, and I got an even earlier start now and began measuring flour into a bowl. There would be no trip— not for me, anyway. Cristian and Henrie could go by themselves. I wanted nothing to do with either of them now.
“You know that isn’t entirely true,” a sing-song voice whispered in my ear.
So real was the voice that I jumped, spilling a good portion of flour on the floor. Or maybe I should go and never come back, I thought, considering the fact that I was now imagining voices on an almost daily basis.
“This place is no good for me,” I said aloud, rationalizing that talking to myself was no worse than hearing people who weren’t here talking to me.
“Now don’t go getting any rash ideas, Adrielle,” a voice that sounded very much like Merry Anne’s scolded. A second later I felt a tickle of air at my cheek. A second after that, I heard a noise at the door and watched, frightened, as the latch jiggled then lifted. The door swung open before I’d had time to grab even a spoon with which to defend myself.
Merry Anne breezed in, a smile on her face and her cheeks pink and rosy, matching the gown she wore. She shut and latched the door behind her, then turned to me.
“Hello, Adrielle.”
This was the last straw. “Hello? That’s all you’ve got to say when I’ve been searching for you for weeks? I risked my life chasing outlaws to get your pearls back. I escaped a band of gypsies. I walked all the way here and was nearly run through by the guards at the gate, all while trying to follow— and find— you.”
Merry Anne’s smile grew brighter, and she clasped her hands together. “And you did so beautifully, dear. I’ve never been so proud.”
Ignoring her obvious joy, I reached into my dress and pulled out the string with the remaining two pearls. “Here. You can take this back now. One is missing because I accidentally used it— getting away from the gypsies,” I added.
“Oh, and so clever of you to figure out the bracelet’s magic on your own. Clever, and quick.” She did a little jig around the table but made no move to take the pearls.
But now that she was here, I had no intentions of letting her go without the trinket and without giving me a good explanation about what was going on and where she’d last seen my sister.
“Take it,” I said, thrusting the pearls across the table.
“Oh no, dear. It’s yours. You must keep it
for your protection.” Merry Anne pulled a knitting needle from her pocket and hooked the bracelet on one end. She raised it until it was level with my chest. I watched in awe as the string of pearls floated in the air toward me. It bumped my skin then slid down inside my dress, where it had been.
“You know the magic of its charm now. You need only wish for something— and state it clearly aloud— and that wish will be granted.”
“Any wish?” I’d wondered about that since the first pearl had helped me escape, but I hadn’t been brave enough or curious enough to test my theory.
“Not quite,” Merry Anne said. “Like any magical device, the bracelet has limits.”
“Such as?” I felt myself holding my breath, suddenly anxious to hear her answer. Was it possible? Might I be able to—
“You cannot wish anyone back from the dead.” She spoke softly. “Stephen and Gretta— your parents— cannot return to life.”
“Oh.” The breath I’d been holding eased out in a heavy sigh, and tears rushed to my eyes. Though this time I hadn’t been crying for my parents, it seemed that sadness was never far from the surface. Devoid of the secret hope I’d been harboring, and knowing I’d lost Cristian as well, I felt more alone than ever.
Merry Anne’s eyebrows rose as she stared at me. “Nor can you use the pearls to wish someone dead.”
Obviously she’d picked up on my fleeting, though murderous thought about Cristian.
“I don’t see that the pearls are much good then,” I said sarcastically, trying to keep my tears and overwrought emotions at bay.
“Someday you may feel differently,” Merry Anne said. “You have but two wishes left. Don’t use them foolishly. Remember that in addition to their abilities to grant wishes, the pearls will grow warm to warn you of imminent danger. But you must act as soon as you feel their warning. If black magic is used against you, the pearls are not strong enough to counteract such a curse.”
I found myself only half-listening. Cursed seemed to sum up my whole existence. “Pity the pearls don’t warn against someone pretending to be something they aren’t.” Unable to stop the tears leaking from my eyes, I closed them and pressed my hand to the bodice of my dress, feeling the bracelet beneath the fabric. Knowing it was still there was oddly comforting. This enchantment is all I have. How I wished Papa could have seen it.
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