14 . 7 . 11
Hello all! Thank you for dropping by my story. This one has a bit of an explanation behind it, as I wrote it for the ACA Forum's recent Ficathon. (Check it out! There's a link to the Introductions thread on my bio page.) It was written for Delia Anole in response to a prompt she supplied. I hope you enjoy it, Delia! And everyone else, of course. I'd love to hear your thoughts; all you have to do is press the little button at the bottom of the page…!
"I want to have a party!"
This cry is not an uncommon one amongst whining children, but a casual listener would have been set back upon hearing it delivered by the voice of a teenage girl on the verge of womanhood. Even stranger, the reply:
"Amethyst, you know that would not be safe."
But this is the dialogue that occurred in a corridor of the Folalli castle one spring afternoon. The date was March the 12th; less than a fortnight before the princess' 16th birthday. Incidentally, it was the Princess Amethyst who wished a party to commemorate this event, and her mother, Queen Opal, who was so adamant against the idea.
"Do you think someone is going to bring a spindle to a ball, mother?" Amethyst cried. "You are completely paranoid! Even more paranoid than Micah, who is constantly breathing down my neck. Ahem!"
"My apologies, your majesty."
That guard had, admittedly, been standing rather too close to the princess, but he was merely zealous in his task of protecting the Crown Princess at all costs. The mention of the spindle particularly put him on edge, so he had inched closer. Given the strange story of her christening, he cannot much be blamed for his worry. (He also had just been promoted to the Princess' Personal Guard, which he had been aspiring to since he had gotten his promotion to the Castle Sub-Guard League a year previous. His buoyancy was almost dangerous.)
The queen gave Micah a weary look, and the man cringed slightly, his excitement deflated. She sighed and put a hand to her forehead.
"Don't do that," Amethyst said, pointing her finger warningly. "Don't act like I'm giving you a headache. Worrying about everything all the time is what's giving you a headache, and that's your own fault."
"I don't worry about everything," Queen Opal protested.
"Just me," Amethyst finished, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows, as if goading her mother to deny it.
Opal did not deign to reply, choosing to instead adjust the clip in her hair which was in desperate need of attention.
"Mother, nothing is going to happen to me," Amethyst said quietly.
She glanced quickly down the corridor to be sure no one would overhear her. She forgot about Micah, however, and as the man was an accomplished gossip and well within earshot, she needn't have bothered. Every servant in the palace would know of their conversation before nightfall.
"You don't know that," Opal argued fiercely, but she kept her voice low as well.
"And if it does," Amethyst continued without missing a beat, "it won't happen at the party if we throw it the week before my birthday."
The queen bit her lip uncertainly, and Amethyst seized the moment of indecision.
"Mother," Amethyst said, in a voice dangerously close to a whine. "I'll have Micah with me the whole time."
She reached over her shoulder and knocked on the man's shiny chestplate; even the queen's crippling look hadn't deterred his enthusiasm for long, and he had regained his former position directly behind the princess.
"I'll even invite Tyrillius," Amethyst threw in as a last resort, hoping the romantic part of her mother would outweigh the anxious part this time.
Queen Opal's face lit up, and Amethyst had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at her mother's sudden delight. It was the Queen's grand idea that Amethyst would marry Prince Tyrillius when she turned 18, and she usually insisted that Amethyst invite him to every party or gathering she threw, despite the fact that Syndoc — where Prince Tyrillius lived — was almost a two day carriage ride from Folall.
The only other event that the Queen clung to with as much tenacity as this imaginary wedding, though in the opposite way, was the source of her most recent anxiety: her daughter's impending curse. Everyone knew of the curse, but no one spoke of it — hoping, perhaps, that by neglecting to mention it, the curse might get its feelings hurt and slink off without doing any damage.
This was an absurd idea, of course, as curses have no sentience and, thus, no feelings. But one would be hard-pressed to argue this with the well-meaning peasants of Folall.
In any regard, the curse was even more often in the thoughts of the Folalli people, especially the queen, as the princess' 16th birthday — the day the curse would befall her — approached.
"Well, I'll talk to your father about it," Queen Opal finally said. "If he thinks it's a good idea, we'll see what we can do."
Amethyst sighed, but didn't press the issue further. She had been hoping to convince her mother to supply a favorable answer without consulting with her father, but given her mother's current state of agitation, she decided to consider that much a victory.
"Now, go back to your lessons," Queen Opal said, walking past her daughter to continue toward the gardens: where she had been heading before she was intercepted. "I'm sure your geography tutor is expecting you."
"Yes, mother," Amethyst replied dutifully, curtsying at her mother's back before flouncing off down the hall. The tall guard kept pace with her evenly, though he nearly trod on her train a few times.
The conversation between Queen Opal and King Desmond went unnoticed by the Princess Amethyst, but this was merely because her chambers were on the opposite side of the castle from her parents'. The servants were very aware of the conversation and might, if pressed, be able to recite the more amusing bits that pierced the oak-paneled walls and doors.
Despite its volume, however, the outcome was favorable to Amethyst's request (Opal was not pleased) and so the Royal Event Coordinator was dispatched to Amethyst's chamber at 8 o'clock sharp the following morning.
"Your majesty, Princess Amethyst." The voice called urgently through the door and into Amethyst's drowsy ears, but she did not fully awaken until the man began rapping insistently.
"I'm very sorry to wake you," the man's voice continued as Amethyst groaned and rolled out of her bed and dragged herself to the door; she didn't much care for mornings.
"A thousand apologies, your majesty, but—"
The door opened then — Amethyst was raking a hairbrush through her messy auburn hair and yawning, a thick robe draped across her shoulders unevenly. The man was slightly taken aback at her dishevelment; he had somehow expected to see the princess as he normally saw her at meals and in the hallways, even though he had been informed that she would most probably be still sleeping. He, like many other servants, was under the subconscious belief that their monarchs were always appropriately dressed and prepared for every situation, and he wasn't sure what to do now that this belief had been proven wrong.
Thankfully, the man was saved from having to take the first action when Amethyst spoke, her words slurred by a yawn.
"Holy sword and sceptre," she said tiredly. "Who are you, and what do you want at this ungodly hour?"
"I'm terribly sorry to disturb you," the man repeated, trying to gather his sensibilities as he did so and dropping into a quick bow. "I'm Earl Brandworthy: the Royal Event Coordinator. Her royal highness informed me that there is to be a ball held in honor of your 16th birthday in twelve days' time."
"There is?" Amethyst screeched, jumping and hugging the Coordinator fiercely while her hairbrush clattered unnoticed to the floor.
"Th—that doesn't leave us much time to plan," the man stuttered uncomfortably as Amethyst crushed all the air from his lungs.
"This will be the best party ever!" she shouted, heedless of his skeptical tone and other general discomfort.
With a final squeeze, however, she did let him go. He straightened his clothes accordingly and avoided her eyes; he was blushing slightly, but she didn't notice.
"Give me thirty minutes to get properly dressed, and we can begin planning," Amethyst said, smiling madly and bouncing on her toes. She cupped her hands around her mouth then and shouted down the corridor. "Renee! Renee! Where is that maid? She's never around when I want her. RENEE!"
"I'll find her, your highness," the man said, bowing again.
"Thank you," Amethyst replied, flashing him a bright smile. "Thirty minutes!"
The door slammed in his face, leaving him blinking and still trying to totally process the rather sporadic conversation that had just occurred. He took a step backward, turning to leave the hallway, and promptly tripped over the forgotten hairbrush Amethyst had dropped in her excitement. Slightly clumsy, the man almost fell completely over, but he managed to catch himself just in time. He knelt and scooped up the brush, then turned to the Princess' door and hesitated.
Having never been in a situation quite like this one, Earl Brandworthy was positively uncertain of the proper course of action. Should he knock on the door and return it to the princess himself, or would it suffice to leave it on the floor outside of her door and allow the maid, Renee, to grab it on her way in.
He looked down the hall vainly, in hopes that Renee would be scurrying toward the princess' chambers already, but there was no one there.
"She will probably need this," he muttered to himself.
It might have been a justification, but it was a valid point. He shook his head, looked up at the ceiling, then stepped forward and knocked on the princess' door once more.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to knock, Renee, just come—"
Amethyst threw the door open and froze mid-sentence when she saw the Royal Event Coordinator once more instead of her personal maid.
He quickly looked away and took several steps back, blushing hotly.
"I'm—I'm so sorry! I just—the—" he stammered, holding the hairbrush out helplessly as an explanation.
Amethyst blinked, then came to the realization that she was standing in front of a man in just her chemise and blushed crimson, closing the door most of the way.
"No harm done, Sir Brandworthy," Amethyst said, her voice a bit shaky from embarrassment and taking the hairbrush. "Um, yes. I'll see you in a half-hour," she finished awkwardly, then quickly shut the door.
"I'm not an earl," he whispered in reply, after he regained the use of his tongue; but the door was already closed and Amethyst couldn't hear him. "It's just my name."
"What's that, sir?"
He jumped at the female voice behind him and turned around quickly. A young woman, around Amethyst's own age, stood before him dressed in the uniform of a personal maid.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Renee?"
"That's me," the teenager said with a curtsy. "Was her highness calling for me?"
"Yes," Earl said, shaking his head to get his mind working again. "She's, ah, in a bit of a rush."
"Well, I'd better get to it then," Renee said, curtsying to Earl again and smiling politely.
He bowed in response, and Renee knocked lightly on Amethyst's door before turning the knob and slipping into the room.
So, that was the first chapter. Thoughts? Those who may be more familiar with my writing may have noticed that this is a slightly different style. Any opinions on that?
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