“Or . . .” I started to say as I rubbed the back of my neck and stalled, scanning my brain for an idea.
But, as it turned out, for once I didn’t need one.
From behind Mauvrey a seagull suddenly bolted up from the stairwell toward the dome of the observatory. He was dark in shade (aside from his bright, golden eyes) and his abrupt appearance startled Mauvrey just as much as it did me and Marie. The only difference was that my nemesis’s surprise was greatly extended when the seagull swooped back around and dive-bombed in her direction.
“ARGH!” Mauvrey screeched.
She swatted at the seagull with one hand and tried to protect her head with the other. But it was no use; the bird would not leave her alone. He pecked at her hair, her arms, her dress—eventually causing her to flee back down the stairs shrieking as she attempted to escape its torment.
Now that I really didn’t see coming.
Marie shot me a shocked expression. “Did you do that?”
I snorted. “Please. I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
We both took advantage of this stroke of luck and proceeded on our way. Soon after (thanks to the directory’s guidance), we arrived at the set of grand doors we’d been pursuing.
I began to go for their thick, brass handles, but Marie grabbed my arm before I could reach them. “Crisa, I am not sure I can go back in there.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
Marie plopped down on a bronze bench nearby and let out a weary sigh. “My shoes, they are broken. And just look at my dress; it is bustled in the front so you can completely see my bare feet. You know the rules of female protagonist gatherings—no skirt, no shoes, no service. Lady Agnue will put me on princess probation and kick me out of the ball on sight. That is, if the other princesses do not turn on me and toss me out themselves first.”
“Marie, I think you’re being a bit overdramatic. The other princesses aren’t going to throw you out because you don’t look the part.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Well, I’m a princess and I don’t care.”
“Yes, but you are not a good princess, Crisa.”
I stopped for a second, surprised by the bluntness of her statement. I was a tad insulted and slightly taken aback but mostly, I felt sad because a part of me realized that she might’ve been right. Whether she was or not though, no sooner did the comment escape her lips did remorse and realization streak across Marie’s face.
“Oh, Crisa! I am so sorry! I did not mean that. I was not thinking. I am—”
“Marie,” I said, cutting her off. “It’s fine. Really. I’m over it.”
I forced a smile and gestured for her to hand me the ruined heels. Her face was still rosy with embarrassment from being so candid, so her eyes darted away from mine. Nevertheless, she obliged and gave me the damaged footwear.
At first I considered breaking off the second shoe’s heel and fashioning a makeshift pair of flats. Although upon further inspection I understood that there would’ve been no way to even out the broken heels and prevent a twisted ankle. Maybe if we had been in one of the other hallways I could’ve used a sword from one of the suits of armor to file it down. But there were no suits of armor in this hall; just more of those stupid, coral-themed art sculptures.
Then I had a thought. Before Marie could object I sat beside her, lifted the massive skirt of my dress, untied my fancy, heeled boots, and then set them on her lap. “There,” I said. “One pair of heels. At least technically anyways.”
“What, what about you?” Marie stammered.
“I’ve got other boots in my suitcase upstairs. Don’t worry about it.”
“No, I mean, what about you right now. If you give these to me then it will be you who does not have shoes for the rest of the ball.”
“Oh, please. My mother once danced on glass. I’m sure I can handle a few hours in bare feet.” I shrugged.
She stared at me, still processing. “Crisa, are you sure?”
“Marie, take them. My dress is long enough to cover my feet so Lady Agnue will never be the wiser. And if any of the other princesses give me trouble, well, I’ll see if that seagull’s still flying around here somewhere and get him to pay them a visit.”
Marie put the boots down and paused for a moment. Then she gave me a huge hug that I didn’t think such a fragile-looking girl was capable of.
Never underestimate the infinite power of a good pair of boots, I guess.
I let Marie re-enter the ball a few minutes ahead of me so that we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves by sneaking back in together.
As a result, I found myself alone again and absentmindedly fiddling with the thank you present she’d just gifted to me. Marie had felt so guilty about taking my boots that she’d insisted upon my taking a small token of her gratitude in return. That token had been a pearl bracelet she’d been wearing. It was a bit too fancy and delicate for my taste, but it was lovely, and it was nice of her to offer.
Truth be told though, as I toyed with the accessory my mind wasn’t so much reflecting on the sheen of its pearls as it was on what Marie had said:
“But you are not a good princess, Crisa.”
Marie was sweet, and harmless, and my friend. I knew she hadn’t meant to hurt my feelings and was probably going to be beating herself up about it for the rest of the night. Even so, that didn’t change the fact that her comment had struck a chord. I found myself still trying to shake off the feelings of self-doubt it had caused as I re-entered the ballroom several minutes later.
I supposed it was silly for me to be upset about the remark. I mean, sure I was not a good princess in the traditional sense. I couldn’t sing or dance well, or curtsy unsarcastically. Princes repelled me. Balls bored me. My hands were covered in calluses from sword fighting. And my candor was frank, brass, and without restraint.
But does that really mean that I am not a good princess at all?
I sincerely hoped it didn’t. Contrary to what some of my rebellious protests might have indicated, as I’d told Lady Agnue at the start of the semester, I was not opposed to being a princess. I was simply against the idea that it was the only thing I could be. I was fighting to be something more, not necessarily something else.
But, at the end of the day I was as unsure whether or not that obstinate fighting would make a difference in my chances of becoming something more—of becoming a true hero—as I was about whether having the title, birth right, and a decade-and-a-half of breeding made me a true princess.
According to my headmistress, Mauvrey, Marie, and the rest of the world, it seemed there was a pretty good chance that it didn’t.
“Something wrong?” SJ asked as I rejoined her and Blue.
I swallowed the internal conflict for another day and shrugged. “No more than usual.” Then I saw Daniel making his way over to us with Jason and I grimaced. “On second thought . . .”
Daniel and Jason snaked their way through the crowded ballroom. As they approached, I had to admit that they both looked fairly dapper this evening. That is, Jason did at least. Daniel, well, he was Daniel. So I really couldn’t say the same about him without adding an eye roll or some other hint of snark.
We all exchanged hellos when the boys reached us. Everyone except Daniel and I of course. The two of us just exchanged nods of acknowledgement.
“You look . . . nice, Knight,” he added afterwards.
“Um, thank you,” I said suspiciously.
I presumed that he couldn’t say anything nice about me without adding his own brand of snark either. However, when he didn’t add any more commentary, I cautiously garnered that he was being for real. As such, I forced myself to choke out the necessary—not totally untrue—reply.
“You look nice too, I guess,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly.
I avoided Daniel’s uncomfortable gaze then and turned in the direction of the dance floor. In doing so I spotted something—or rather someone—more unp
leasant. Chance. He was barely twenty feet away and headed straight toward me, no doubt intent on asking me to dance.
Oh, heck no.
I really was not in the mood to humor his ego a second time tonight.
He was getting closer.
My eyes widened and in panic I averted my gaze from Chance to the nearest available human person who might’ve trumped his company.
“Daniel,” I heard myself say before common sense could stop it. “Ask me to dance.”
He smirked. “What?”
“Just shut up and ask me to dance.” I glanced behind him and saw Chance picking up speed. “Now, please.”
Daniel turned to see what was freaking me out so badly. When he saw Chance, he struggled to conceal his laughter. “Ah, got it. Fine then,” he said as he proceeded to bow overdramatically. “Crisanta Knight, will you do me the honor of this dance?”
My friends snickered. But I nodded quickly, grabbed Daniel’s hand, and pulled him onto the dance floor—shooting the frustrated prince a triumphant grin.
Ha! Not today punk!
“So I guess I’m not your least favorite person in the realm,” Daniel said as we began to move to the rhythm of the music.
“No,” I responded flatly. “But you’re a solid third.”
He turned me.
“Dang, coming in third sucks,” he countered. “I guess I’ll have to step it up then. Now you’ve got me curious though. If that tool’s number one, who’s number two?”
“Do you know who Mauvrey Weatherall is?” I asked.
He rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows who Mauvrey Weatherall is. Whether they want to or not.”
“Very true.” I nodded in agreement as I box-stepped backwards. “Well, anyways, I really didn’t feel like spending more time with Mr. Prince Alarming over there. So, well, I guess, um . . . uh. . .”
Daniel smirked at my flusteredness. “Are you trying to thank me?” he asked.
“Thank you?”
“Yeah, for saving you back there.”
I felt like a small blood vessel burst in my brain at the insulting words.
“Let’s not make a habit of it,” I grumbled.
“Agreed,” Daniel responded, not noticing the fury I was holding back.
“Why did you ask me to dance anyway?” he wondered aloud as we swayed. “I mean, why didn’t you just ask Jason?”
Dang, that’s a good point. Why didn’t I just ask Jason?
I tilted my head, confused by the lack of logic in my own choice.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I replied. “What can I say, Daniel. I guess I freaked and now I’m stuck with you.”
At that point, I noticed Blue and Jason (having decided to dance with one another, it seemed) starting to twirl over to us. They moved well together, and Blue actually appeared happy, which was confusing on more counts than one. To begin with, there was her whole natural dislike of the formal dancing thing. That aside, I still didn’t see how she could be so calm around Jason when she knew she was being forcibly shackled to him for the rest of her life.
“Hey guys,” Jason said as he and Blue glided up next to us.
“Just thought we’d give you a heads up, Crisa,” Blue piped in. “SJ offered to dance with Chance to help you out. Now you don’t have to worry about him cutting in when your ten minutes are up.”
“Really? Oh, that’s awesome! I’ll have to thank her later.”
“That’s what she said,” Blue responded with a wink. “Well, see you guys later.”
With that, the two danced away in perfect synchronicity.
Daniel and I managed to dance together without fighting for a few minutes. Of course, we weren’t saying anything to one another at all so that was probably why the peace lasted so long.
Surprisingly, our toe-stomping percentage had also significantly decreased since our last ballroom pairing. I thanked goodness for that, because if it hadn’t, the bare feet I was concealing beneath my dress would’ve seriously gotten injured.
Cordial new relations aside, we avoided eye contact as much as possible. It was just too awkward otherwise.
My sightline lingered on the ballroom floor instead. Although, in doing so something caught the light and turned my attention back to Daniel. It was the same golden pocket watch I’d seen on him the first time we’d met. I tried to get a better look at it, but found myself unable to as it was dominantly concealed within the innards of his pants pocket.
The idea occurred to me to simply ask him about the watch, but inevitably I thought better of the notion. Holding a conversation with one another without insults flying about was not one of our shared skills. So talking to him at all—let alone asking him about something private, like this watch—was probably just an all around bad call.
Unfortunately, it seemed Daniel had not made this connection yet, as he chose to interrupt our momentary peace with his own attempt at small talk.
“So . . .” he began benignly enough. “Are you going to the tournament tomorrow?”
“By going, do you mean watching?” I asked automatically. “You know that us ‘damsels’ are forbidden from actually participating.”
He rolled his eyes again. “Oh, here we go. I should’ve known that you were the type.”
My hand clenched in his. “Type of what?” I asked.
“The type of overly self-righteous girl that turns century-old traditions into civil rights issues.”
“Oh, please,” I scoffed. “You make chauvinism sound so noble. Guys not allowing girls to participate in some sport is just another stupid way they have of trying to keep us in our place. And it makes no sense. We can be just as fast and just as strong as you are.”
Now it was Daniel’s turn to scoff. “Yeah, okay.” He glanced away from me and I saw the corners of his mouth turn upwards.
“Don’t give me that smirk; I’m serious,” I snapped.
“I’m sure you are,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re realistic. You’ve got gumption, Knight. And you’re a half-decent sword fighter; I’ll give you that. But you and your dainty classmates wouldn’t last five minutes in a Twenty-Three Skidd tournament with a bunch of actual heroes. Girls can be fast and strong, but amongst each another, not in comparison to guys who have spent their whole lives training to be as fast and strong as physically possible.”
“You’re a jerk, Daniel,” I said plainly. “And you’re wrong.”
“And you’re delusional, Knight,” he responded. “And you’ll never get the chance to prove me wrong.”
I abruptly stopped dancing and glared at him dead on. “You know what, Daniel? Truce off.” I started to storm away then, but turned back to add one final comment. “And I will get the chance to prove you wrong.”
I successfully managed to make a break for the back exit of the ballroom without any of the castle or regular school staff catching me.
I knew it was extremely unwise to forgo the most major of school rules—ditching a dance partner and leaving a ball without permission. And, frankly, if Lady Agnue had caught me, I seriously would have been toast.
But Daniel had been the last straw. I was used to dealing with the condescending snide of people like our headmistress and Mauvrey, who’d known me for years. Daniel, however, had barely known me a month; yet he talked to me as if he already knew me inside out.
Such overfamiliarity really pushed my buttons, especially since I didn’t understand how he did it, or how to push his back.
Ergo, ditching this dance was well worth the risk if it meant getting away from him baiting me with more such provocation, or any other stereotypical, princess-belittling nonsense that would fill me with rage like his most recent comments had.
I was so angry at that point that part of me just wanted to punch the wall, or him, or anything really. Although since he wasn’t here, and slamming my fist into the wall would’ve just added physical injury to the list of things already upsetting me this evening, I conceded to leaning against it for a seco
nd—closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath.
And exhale . . .
Sigh.
All right. That’s a little better, I guess.
Some level of calmness having returned to my mindset, I was now able to properly take in my new surroundings. The back door I’d slipped through had let out into a spacious, pale yellow corridor that led to the men’s restroom. Anger no longer impeding my clarity, I began to notice the pictures of the royal family decorating the area. They lined the walkway in parallel lines and tempted my interest sufficiently.
I began to slowly wander past them, studying each one in turn. The first was of the king and queen on their wedding day. The celebratory scene of matrimonial bliss was set on a pier that stretched into the sea and was surrounded by hundreds of gleeful Mer-people who watched the spectacle expectantly.
From there the pictures continued to follow the timeline of the royal family’s life. And it was through these pictures that I saw Princess Ashlyn grow from a newborn into a pretty eighteen-year-old with curly, chestnut hair and the big, kind eyes of a well-loved Labrador Retriever. After looking closely at her image, I could see her as someone who seemed genuinely lovely of spirit. Maybe even a person who I could have been friends with in a different world.
I neared the end of the hallway.
The second to last picture in the series had all four members of the royal family present. The whole scene seemed as perfect as possible—united, content, and full of warmth. But then I came to the final image in the series, and it was obvious that the family’s happily-ever-after had been shattered in the time between the two portraits.
Ashlyn was not in this one, so it must have been from this last year after she’d disappeared. The king and queen’s faces had lost all the color and laughter that had characterized them in previous pictures. And, unlike the others, this one did not have the sea in the background. Instead the family stood lifeless in a stiff, dimly lit throne room that made me depressed just looking at it.
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