He was distinctly aware of the moment he ceased to be the center of the world. It was a warm spring day and the servant who was helping him with his shoes had dashed out of the room after another servant peeked in to give them the news. A new baby girl.
His legs still extended off the bed, one untied shoe dangling off forlornly. He fumbled with the laces for a moment, then stopped, disgusted. It was Hans's job to help him with his shoes. He was hardly old enough to be tying them himself. He knew because his father had said so when Hans complained.
But he was old enough not to cry. Father had said that, too, when he broke his toy sword. Mother was more sympathetic, but even in front of her he did his best to be a man. Usually he did very well.
He lasted about ten minutes before tears started to prick at his eyes. Hans had gone away and left him and he didn't even have his shoes on. Probably they'd all gone away to see if he would cry, and he was failing the test, and Father would look at him disapprovingly and say, No, there must another little boy to give this castle to when he grows up.
How dare Hans go away and leave him with thoughts like this? If he cried it would be all Hans's fault, not his.
But he wouldn't cry! He set his lip and tried to think of other, happier things. His own horse, a real sword, lessons—all the things you had to have to be a real grown-up man. And they were all coming to him, if only he could prove to Father he deserved them. That meant no crying, even if everyone had gone away and left him without his shoes on because they had to see the stupid new baby.
He flopped onto his back in a very un-lordlike fashion and gazed at the ceiling, lower lip trembling. It was a plain stone ceiling, but the stones were unevenly sized, and sometimes he amused himself by trying to count them, or by making shapes out of them like constellations. By the time he'd found a dragon the thickness had gone from his throat and he was starting to feel better. A baby couldn't find a dragon in the ceiling. A baby didn't even know what a dragon was.
Hans burst back in just as he was wondering whether a baby knew what a ceiling was.
"Master Stoffel, here you are! Come with me."
"Tie my shoes on first."
Hans sighed, but he obeyed. Stoffel made sure to kick his feet around and make it especially difficult.
"Your new sister wants to meet you," Hans explained, leading him down the hall. Stoffel stuck his tongue out at Hans behind his back. He wasn't stupid. A baby couldn't want to meet him. It was Mother and Father who wanted him to see the baby.
The baby was asleep by the time they got there.
"Come back later," said Father. "We don't want to wake her." What he meant was, We don't want you to wake her, Stoffel. Everyone knows you don't know how to be quiet. Well, he did. And no one ever cared if he wanted to keep sleeping in the morning.
It was several days before he was again led down the corridor to Mother and Father's room. During that time he conceived a healthy dislike for the new arrival. Everyone was rushing around to do things for it: preparing announcements to send to the other nobles, making special meals for Mother so she would nurse better—she refused a wet nurse this time around—and most of all talking about how wonderful it was.
"She's so good-tempered," they marveled. "She hardly cries at all. And such lovely blue eyes!"
"They may change, you know," said the cook. "Her father has green eyes." Stoffel checked the mirror later, but his eyes were still blue.
He wasn't allowed to see Mother at all; she couldn't leave her room. Father spent most of his time in there too, and the servants were all busy, so there was no one to play with him or find him his toys as he moved through the castle scattering them through the rooms.
He didn't like this new baby one bit.
"Young master, your trousers are on backwards," was the first thing Hans said to him.
"I had to dress myself," he said, trying to accuse Hans with his voice the way Father did when he didn't want to name names.
Hans smiled. "Well, practice makes perfect. You're old enough to do some things for yourself now that you're a brother."
He definitely hated this new baby.
But Mother and Father were Requesting His Presence, so he had to go and visit it. After he had turned his trousers the right way round they set off again down the hall.
Mother was lying in bed, looking weak but happy. He climbed up on the bed and kissed her hello.
"Master Stoffel, you mustn't climb on the bed," Hans said anxiously.
"Oh, let him," his father said. "It's a special occasion." So the baby was good for something after all. "Now, Stoffel, come here and meet your little sister."
Father lifted something out of a giant crib that was by the window. Stoffel hoped he might drop it out, but he didn't.
"We're calling her Cecilie," Mother said.
"Come here, Stoffel." He went. It was never good to disobey Father.
The baby was small and red. It did have blue eyes, the same shade as his own. It also had a full head of fine blond hair, which surprised him; he'd thought babies were born bald.
Father stooped a little so Stoffel and the baby were face to face. He thought it was undignified for a man like Father to stoop, but he held his tongue.
The baby smiled at him. Forgetting his dislike for a moment, he reached out to poke it, and it grabbed his finger with a firm grip, just like a real person.
"You see?" Father said. "They're getting along already."
"We are not," Stoffel insisted, pulling his hand back. To prove it he made a face. The baby laughed happily.
"Her first laugh!" Mother exclaimed from the bed.
"You have a way with her, Stoffel," said Father, smiling, and he couldn't help feeling a little proud. "Why don't you try holding her?"
"Be careful," Mother warned.
"Oh, he's twenty-six," Father said. "He can manage it." Stoffel didn't particularly want to manage it, but he held his arms out awkwardly and Father carefully lowered the baby into them.
Hans knelt beside him. "Be careful, young master."
"I know," said Stoffel, trying to pull the baby away.
But the sudden movement must have upset her stomach, for she spit up, somehow managing to do it all over Hans's front.
"Oh, dear," said Father, trying to hide a smile, while Hans merely looked dumbfounded.
Stoffel laughed. The baby giggled, her sickness immediately forgotten.
"'Cecilie'," he said, trying the name out. "Come with me, Celi. Let's go visit Mother."