“Your Majesties, by your leave we will grace your daughter with gifts, the first of which will be a symbol of the others, enchanted by the light to grow and change with her, its beauty increasing as she does.” She raised her hand high, the colored sunlight striking off a solid gold bracelet. Simple, pure lines of gold, with subtle contouring, spoke of elegant wealth.
In the glittering light the bracelet glowed, reflecting beams of light to rival the streams pouring from the stained glass. Wrapped securely in her confining blankets, the baby blinked large blue eyes, struggling to focus on the glittery thing. When one of the women—for the babe knew them to be female, though not her mother—gently freed her arm and placed a tiny fist against the gold bracelet, the baby’s fingers curled reflexively around it.
Smiling at this sign of obedient precociousness, the witch in blue, the quietest of the three, took up her part of the ceremony.
“We three will grant you blessings. Features befitting a princess, as this bracelet of gold is a symbol of your royalty, so will you become a symbol of royalty to the people.
“The first gift is that of beauty.” The blue-garbed witch leaned low and pressed a lavender-scented kiss to the babe’s brow. For a moment, the wide blue eyes deepened to purple and then the babe let out a fitful cry.
On the throne the queen twitched forward, hearing fear and pain in her babe’s cries. The king placed a restraining hand against her forearm, and with a quick glance at her husband the queen settled back, only the tight twists of her fingers showing her discomfort.
“The second gift is that of grace.” A second lavender kiss was pressed to the child’s brow and her small cries escalated to a high whimper. The queen bowed her head, staring at her clenched hands.
Finally the child was returned to the arms of the yellow-skirted woman. Murmuring to the fretful baby, she waited until the baby quieted, then raised her voice, placing her hand atop the golden bracelet still clenched in the child’s fist.
“The final gift is that of obedience, so you may always remember your place and carry the gifts of grace and beauty while being mindful of the will of your sovereign.” The witch smiled at the king, who gave her a regal smirk in response.
A thin sheen of pale gold enveloped the child, while a chorus of oohs and ahhs rose from the crowd. Utterly disgusted at the display, the black witch curled her lip; repugnance and pity welled in her heart for the baby.
As the light grew to its zenith, the spell—for as much as those three might call this a gift, it was in truth a spell—sank into the baby’s skin and the fitful whimpers blossomed into a frightened baby’s endless wail.
On the throne the queen jerked, but stilled when the king’s hand fell against her shoulder once more. Pitiful woman, the dark witch thought. Had the child been hers nothing on this earth would have stopped her.
The yellow witch leaned down and whispered, “Hush.”
The babe stilled, the small round face going smooth, eyes large and blue and passive, no longer alight with curiosity.
The black witch could bear to watch this no longer.
“Majesties, I too would like to bestow a gift upon your child.” Horrified stares had no effect on her; she suffered through derision and fearful regard more times that she could count.
“A gift…my lady?” The king’s voice dripped with veiled scorn. How he hated that he could not cut her, could not have his knights hunt her down and burn her. She was too powerful, the most powerful, and so was tolerated.
“A gift, and one of great value.” Skirts rustling, she pressed close to the other witches, scooping up the baby and letting her rosewood scent settle over them, watching in petty pleasure as their noses wrinkled in disgust.
Backing away, she looked down at the babe, stroking one plump little cheek as she murmured words to dampen the spell. There was no way to break it, for there was strength and old magic, a power she could not duplicate, in their trifecta, but she could change it, distort it enough that the child might have a chance.
She tugged the bracelet, plain cumbersome thing that it was, from the child’s grasp, clucking as she did so, a watery grin and a spit bubble her reward. Charmed despite herself, the witch gathered her skills, more determined than before, to right some of what they had done to the child.
Imitating the dark witch’s movement, she lifted the bracelet. From beneath her sleeve a twisting column of smoke, snakelike, wove up her arm, circling the bracelet. She pulled her hand away and it hung in midair, supported by an ever-twisting band of smoke. The crowd shrank back, fearful of her magic.
“Your beauty and grace are yours to keep, though neither will bring what others think they do. Your bracelet of gold, to which those gifts are bound, is now tempered. By blood its spell is broken, and by the briar rose it is remembered.” Light flared around the bracelet, and on its inner surfaces a twisting pattern of thorn-studded roses appeared. “And now for my gift.”
With great deliberation, she plucked the bracelet from the air and offered it back to the baby, who was the only one not trembling in fear. Instead she began sucking intently on the precious gold, the tiny slurping noises audible only to the dark witch.
“My gift to you is something more precious than grace or beauty, more real than obedience. My gift to you is an awakening of the heart.”
With a long hard glance at the king, queen, and three witches, she lifted the child, pressing blood-red lips to the small downy head. There she whispered the words, the truth of her spell kept between them.
“Be not who they want you to be, but who you are.”
Chapter 2
“Aurora, offer the prince a goblet of wine.”
“Prince Phillip, would you care for another goblet of wine?” Like the dutiful daughter she was known to be, Princess Aurora responded instantly to her father’s command.
Seated beside her, Prince Phillip rolled his eyes. The girl would not see him do it. Indeed, in the entire time he’d know her, from their betrothal when he was four and she one, the girl had never looked him in the eye.
The quiet thing rarely ever looked up. She kept her chin tilted demurely down, her eyes lowered. There was no doubt that she was lovely, her face a perfect oval, tinted pink at cheek and lips, and her long lashes, darker than the pure gold of her hair, were all that he knew of her eyes.
Once a year his father dragged Phillip on a week-long journey to the castle of the neighboring kingdom. The marriage had been arranged to further political gains on both sides. His father’s kingdom possessed a fine and well trained army, and they often came to the aid of this kingdom, for though rich in growing things, they had no strong military. The marriage would cement the informal protection arrangement.
At fourteen Phillip had a budding interest in girls, and he was already dreading marriage to the boring blonde seated next to him.
She never spoke unless asked a direct question. Never looked up. She was about as lively as the straw-stuffed dummies he used for target practice.
“No, thank you, Princess, I would not care for any more wine.” His slightly mocking tone earned him a stern glare from his father. Phillip repeated his eye roll and his father grimaced at him.
Aurora had extended her hand, reaching for the jug, but now she slowly drew it back in, and the gold bangle on her wrist, too large for her skinny arm, flashed in the light.
Everyone knew the story of the bracelet, that it was a gift of three witches, a beautiful symbol of the blessings the princess would bring. It was only in the dark of night that tales of a black witch, who’d cursed the bracelet, were told.
Phillip thought the girl would be infinitely more interesting if she were cursed.
“Phillip, why don’t you take the princess for a walk? The king and I have a few business matters to discuss, and they are best if not discussed in front of a lady of the princess’s refinement.”
Aurora’s father managed to both preen at the compliment and look stern. “Really, is that a good idea?”
Phillip widened his eyes at his father. He didn’t want to take her for a walk. Why couldn’t they just send her away? He wanted to hear the discussion. Besides, his father always spoke of business in front of his mother. Often Mother’s words were the deciding factor.
“If you insist,” the king said. “Aurora, behave yourself with the prince.”
The girl’s chin dipped even farther.
With a disgusted sigh he did not bother to hide, Phillip stood, grabbed the back of her chair and jerked it out.
“Phillip!”
“Sorry, Father, sometimes I don’t know my own strength. Princess, would you care to accompany me on a walk?”
Placing her hand in his outstretched one, Aurora rose. “Yes, Prince Phillip, it would be my delight.”
Dropping her hand—there were simply some things he wouldn’t do—he started walking, hoping she was behind him.
She was walking to his side, just slightly behind him. As they exited the great hall two older women, both wearing ugly blue veils, moved to follow them.
“Great, just great,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry, Prince Phillip, I did not hear you.”
“Nothing, Princess. I simply remarked on how fine your father’s castle is.”
“Thank you for your interest, Prince Phillip. Would you care for an architectural tour?”
“You know much about the architecture, Princess?”
“Not I, but I would be delighted to arrange for and accompany you on one, if that is your desire.”
“No, thank you, Princess; a walk outside should be fine.”
They exited the castle through the family’s private door, small but more heavily adorned than the great front doors. Phillip took a deep breath, feeling contentment flow through him. He loved the outdoors, loved to run through the woods, ride his stallion over fields, and practice archery in the massive training arena his father had built in the lower bailey.
“It is a beautiful day, is it not, Princess?”
“It is.”
They walked on, through the small graveled courtyards and down a manicured path. He preferred wild nature, not this manicured perfection, but if he had to walk with the girl, outside was better than in.
Soon her small controlled steps began to irk him. Speeding up the pace, he was mildly surprised when her gait lengthened. Casting his gaze askance, he was struck by how smoothly she moved. The shorter steps made her seem tentative and awkward, but the long strides made her more graceful.
They’d reached the end of the formal gardens, where manicured shrubs fell away into wild grasses and flowers. Phillip started off the path and with only a slight hesitation Aurora followed him. The ladies in waiting stopped on the path, leaving them to traverse the uneven ground alone.
Beside him Aurora lifted her skirts, ever so slightly, and continued to keep pace with him.
“Are you always so quiet?”
“What would you like to speak on, Prince Phillip?”
“You may call me simply Phillip.”
“My father wishes me to call you Prince Phillip.”
“Well, I wish for you to call me Phillip.” She stopped and he could see her fingers twisting nervously in her skirts. “Never mind.” He kept walking, rolling his eyes.
Soon the maids were smudges of blue behind them. Phillip was surprised she had not asked him to turn back. Then again, she never seemed to ask for anything.
With a fourteen-year-old boy’s tactlessness, he finally broke and asked, “Do you always do what you are told?”
“I do my best to be pleasing at all times.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“Obedience is pleasing, and is a sign of diligence and good character.”
“Don’t you ever want to do things, or say things, just because you want to?”
“My wants are secondary. I am a princess and as such I am held to a higher standard. My behavior must be above reproach.”
Muttering, “Glad I’m not a princess,” Phillip turned back, Aurora mimicking the movement. “So you really don’t ever just do things you want?”
“What I want is to be pleasing.”
“Then call me Phillip.”
“Yes…Phillip.”
“That wasn’t so hard.”
“I am glad it pleased you.”
“Ugh, never mind. What if you hadn’t wanted to go on a walk with me?”
“Why would I not want to? You are my betrothed and as such I greatly value any time spent in your company.”
Phillip shook his head. The girl was ridiculous. She sounded like a nursemaid he’d had who liked to lecture, but she had been an old wrinkled lady (and one who quickly left when he filled her bed with tadpoles). The prim tone sounded preposterous coming from the lips of the young girl.
In silence, they made their way back toward the path. Out of the corner of his eye, Phillip saw something pink. Jogging a few steps, he pushed aside the grass and saw a small rose bush. It was thorny and wild, the stalk brown, but with a single lush rose blooming from it.
Pulling a jeweled dagger from his belt, Phillip sawed through the stalk, plucking the rose. As boring as he might find her, she was his betrothed, and he was, after all, a prince.
Carefully lifting the pink blossom, he offered it to her. “Beware the thorns.”
She took it, cradling it loosely until her fingers could find a bit of stem without barbs.
She carefully twisted the blossom, looking at it from every angle before lifting it to her nose. “Thank you, Phillip.”
“You’re welcome, Aurora.”
He saw the pink in her cheeks blossom, but still she would not look up.
They started back to the path, the maids smiling at the oh-so-appropriate show of courtly love. When they reached the castle doors, a messenger was waiting.
“Prince Phillip, your father bids you return to the great hall. Princess Aurora, you may go to your rooms.”
She dipped a curtsy to Phillip and nodded at the messenger before turning and making her way to her room, leaving her betrothed staring gloomily after her.
* * * *
Alone in her chamber Aurora let the maids undress her, stripping her court garments and redressing her in plain pink muslin.
“Is there anything else you need, Princess?”
“Might you bring me a vase of water, Maria?”
“Of course Princess, and might I say, Princess, Prince Phillip will be a very handsome man one day. You are very lucky.”
“Indeed, the king and queen honor me greatly by entrusting me with the duty of marriage to so noble a prince.”
When the maids left, Aurora hesitantly lifted the blossom to her nose once again. She was not sure how much enthusiasm or excitement was seemly, for she had never received a gift before.
Had she allowed herself to think about her own wishes, she would have wished for a better idea of what he looked like. Keeping one’s eyes demurely lowered often led to an incomplete picture of what people looked like. But her tutors told her that was a good trait in a princess, for it taught her humility and to never judge another person by their looks.
Maria returned, setting a thin vase of water on the table before her, and then retreating.
Aurora carefully lifted the blossom and started to slip it into the vase. Some of the thorns were too long for the narrow neck of the vase. Frowning, Aurora began pushing at them, attempting to break them off.
Her thumb, pressed against the edge of the thickest thorn, slipped, the sharp barb sliding deep into her flesh.
Starting in horror at the embedded thorn and welling blood, she did not notice the silver smoke seeping from her bracelet.
By blood its spell is broken, by the briar rose it is remembered.
Aurora blink, then slowly looked up, and for the fir
st time in eleven years, she saw.
Chapter 3
Seven years later
“Let go of me, you great smelly oafs!”
Two burly guards, their faces impassive from years of practice, dragged a struggling, tousled young woman before the king. Dressed in plain brown and white, a skirt and vest of mud-colored cloth worn over an off-the-shoulder loose blouse, and with a long sweep of honey gold hair falling down her back, the woman looked like a beautiful peasant girl.
“I said let go! That is a royal order!”
“I’m sorry, Princess, your father has ordered us to return you.”
“No!”
Grasping her firmly by the upper arms, the soldiers continued dragging her through the castle.
When they entered the great hall, Aurora tossed her head, golden hair flying. Standing straight, she walked sedately between the guards, no longer struggling. In a thick silence, she strode the length of the great hall, headed toward the dual throne at the far end.
The queen’s throne was empty. These “episodes” were distressing for her.
“Your Majesty.” The guards released her arms, and Aurora sketched a mocking bow.
“Aurora. I grow weary of this disobedience.” The king, head high, crown heavy on his brow, stared at her from his perch on the throne.
“I grow weary of your rules and notions of duty, your constant confinement.”
“You will be a queen someday. How will you rule unless you learn?”
“I would venture to say, Your Majesty, that I know more about the people than you.”
“Enough of your insolence.”
“Did you know that a sickness in one of the far villages killed many of the elderly?”
“That is not my concern. I have governors and overlords who are to watch over the people. Besides, to sicken and die is the nature of the peasants.”
“Your noble and generous nature is amazing to behold.”
“Do not forget that you are mine to do with as I will,” the king threatened.
Bad Case of Loving You Page 16