This is a re-write, I'll be updating chapters as I go. Please be patient with me. Also I'm considering maybe possibly writing a preface, bc, as you know if you read the original, there's some business in a carriage before the family arrives at French court. It's not majorly important, it just sort of helps with the development of a few characters. Anywho, thanks for hanging out. Stay golden.
"Caroline, do be careful. We can't have a bruised princess," my mother dictates. It's been quite snowy in France as of late, and snow brings ice. Straightening my cloak, I watch my carriage-mates pour out one-by-one. Mother first, succeeded by my ladies in order of their peerage: Alice, Marie, then Jeanne. Finally, my turn comes. I'm so clumsy, there's no way this will end well. I take a final deep breathe, and step out.
As is to be expected, my world begins to turn. I close my eyes and clench my fists, praying that my hood may save me from the worst of the damage when my head meets the brick.
After what seems like ages, I realize that I have stopped moving. There are large, warm hands centered on the small of my back. Thank God for guards, I suppose. I open my eyes.
"Princess, are you alright?" he asks. Louis Conde is most certainly not a guard, but he is the one who saved me. It takes a moment to gather that I am in the arms of a Prince with more power than I, and I quickly straighten myself.
"Prince Conde, I do apologize. I hope you'll forgive my clumsiness," I curtsy. Several feet away, my mother is hiding her embarrassment behind the hood of her coat, swatting as my ladies giggle. Conde opens his mouth, as if to pardon me, but is interrupted by my father's gruff voice.
"Yes, Prince Conde. She does apologize," Conde stiffens, "and you'll forgive my daughter's lack of stability." He shoots me a glare.
"Of course, Majesty," Conde stares at the ground, as if he were a dog and my father were his master. This strikes me, because our island nation wouldn't stand a chance against his, especially considering Louis's noble friends. "I'm afraid I'll have to dismiss myself. The King has requested my presence."
"Well, your King can wait. This King," referring to himself, "has a job for you. How I have missed you and your father. Somebody escort them to their quarters," my father snaps, only taking his eyes off of Conde for a moment, and we're suddenly being pushed toward the castle doors.
Finally, after a million steps and a maze of walls, we come to a wide hallway. The walls are lined with portraits of forgotten leaders. Between each set of portraits lies an intricate wood-panel door with metal ornaments. It's easy to tell that the chandeliers (three, running down the center of the ceiling) haven't been lit in ages. We've quite literally been shoved into an unused corner of the palace. We are a burden to be ignored.
"Majesty," a guard gestures toward my mother, "you and your husband will be at the end of the hall on the left; Princess, you'll take the next one. Ladies, your rooms are on the right, in no specific order. The Princes will be on left in these first two rooms." By the time he finishes, my mother is already slamming her door in the usual dramatic fashion. My brothers follow suit, albeit much more politely. I dismiss my ladies (though Marie stays and makes small talk with the guard) and walk to my door; nearly twice my height and with an extravagant ornamental tree on the outside. I place my palm on the handle, and push it open.
The dusty room, which was clearly forgotten in the last renovation, is unsurprisingly compact. The first thing I notice is the balcony and the windows on the far wall. They could stand to have a cloth taken to them, but the bay-shaped chapel windows allow for just the right amount of light. In the center of the beveled diamond windows is a similar-looking door. Just outside sits a concrete balcony, overlooking the forest, the stables, and, distantly, a village.
At the left side of the room is a small vanity area, next to which my several trunks are stacked. The shelving system that runs behind the vanity and along the wall is entirely empty, aside from three untitled books on the top shelf. The opposite wall is home to a very disproportionate king-sized bed, upon which a pile of old blankets and furs is lain. There is also a smaller door by the bed, which I discover holds a makeshift dressing room.
"Princess?" a small voice calls through the door.
"Come in!" I shout back. I turn to see a small, red-headed girl in a servant uniform, struggling to hold a burlap package and a gold-colored hat box. "Who are you?" I ask, not intending to sound rude.
"My name is Isabelle, Princess," she curtsies. I walk toward her to help with the bundle, and she flinches.
"I promise not to hurt you, Isabelle."
"I believe you, Princess," she smiles, quick to change the subject, "Your mother sent these."
"My mother. Of course," I mumble, noticing the developing red mark on Isabelle's face. She walks toward my bed and sets down the parcels.
"If you'll have a seat, Princess, I can do your hair," she gestures toward the vanity.
"Please, call me Caroline," I request, making my way toward the seat.
Over the next hour or so, Isabelle tries several braids on my hair while she fills me in on the castle affairs. She eventually settles for a basic French braid, which leads to several bad puns. After the juvenile laughter, Isabelle unlaces me and asks me to undress while she pulls out my dress for the ball.
The gown stuns me. The floor-length skirt is in the same baby pink shade as the bodice, with just a small amount of added body. The torso is lined in curving bones. It showcases hand-sewn gems above the belt and down the lace sleeves. Isabelle brings me a pair of flat, skin-colored shoes and directs me back to my chair, where she reveals what was in the box.
Even more beautiful than the gown, my grandmother's tiara now sits atop my head. The sharp gold design is made softer by the pearls implanted every few centimeters. The combs sit invisibly in my hair, and the shape does not interfere with my pun-filled hair style.
"You've seen this before?" Isabelle asks.
"Yes. It belonged to my grandmother, she left it to me when she died."
Our silence returns, as Isabelle reddens my lips and pats my cheeks, running pearl earrings to match the tiara through my lobes. We hear a knock at the door.
"Princess, your escort has arrived." I nod to Isabelle and thank her, before I link arms with the castle guard. He guides me silently down the winding staircases. The violin music getting louder and louder as we get closer to the bottom is my only proof that we are, in fact, making any progress. Much to my surprise, I am met by Conde's smiling face at the end of the stairs. The guard bows and excuses himself.
"Caroline," Conde bows, extending his hand. I curtsy to him and gently place my fingers in his palm, "Now, why would a king who hates me, ask me to escort his most beautiful daughter to the ball?"
"I'm in his only daughter," I giggle, before turning serious, "Did he really ask you?"
"Remember when he said he 'had a job' for me? This was the job, though I don't really see anything fun as work," I blush. It's been 10 years since we've seen each other and already he's playing me.
"If I remember correctly, you were quite the shotty dancer when we were young," I tease.
"That's because you were ten years old, Linny," I shudder at the nickname, "You thought all dancing was bad."
"No, you were just terrible," I jokingly retort, as we begin to twirl. Moments later, we are drawn from our trance by the blowing of a trumpet. Louis and I turn to see both of our fathers standing in front of the thrones, center of attention. My father smirks as Louis's appears to have broken a sweat. They make direct eye contact with us. My father begins.
"Citizens of France. Visitors from Navarre. My own countrymen. Today, we come together to celebrate a glorious event. As many of you know, the King of Navarre owes me quite the debt," never one to skip the point of a conversation, my father gestures toward King Charles, "Also as many of you know," this time, he gestures toward the three people from the Île de Ré actually in attendance who are standing together (my mother and brothers), I am a gracious King," he stops abruptly, waiting for Charles to continue for him.
"The King of the Île de Ré has...graciously...agreed to pardon me from my debt," he looks pleadingly at my father, and receives no mercy, "In exchange for the forgiveness of my arrears, we have...arranged-"
"A marriage!" my father bursts, "Don't be coy, Charles. You know, in the beginning, I had planned on my daughter marrying King Charles himself!" I begin to shake, as Louis steps away from me, "Fortunately, my lovely, lovely wife helped me see. I couldn't marry off our only daughter to a man older than me! So I've settled for the next best man: Charles's son, Prince Louis of Conde." The guests begin to clap. "Congratulations to the happy couple!"
The music starts again, and the people return to their merriment. I can feel my face flushing and tears fighting to break free. I turn to Louis.
"Louis, I-"
"We'll speak later. Excuse me," he says, before exiting the ballroom and leaving me alone in the center.
