Author's Note: I have completely re-written this chapter, I hope you'll like it. I also inserted yet another new bit vital to the story in Chapter Two, so please read that for your complete comprehension of this one. More edits may follow, as usual, so what you see may not be the final result.

Chapter Four: The Gypsy and the Butterfly

The court orchestra was playing one of the music master's new compositions, a gaudy little dance in 6/8 time. Lively enough, the dancers were panting as they tried to keep up, but with so many ornaments that there was hardly a note without some trill or frill on it. They practically never varied the dynamics, the music was continuously loud, and as flat as a mountain terrace.

I had tried to listen to it but it was no easier than listening to a blacksmith hammering at a piece of iron. My thoughts constantly wandered away. I thought of my little speech, which was so amazingly tedious I wondered what had gotten into me, and a few other things besides.

At last, the final perfect cadence sounded, and the orchestra stood up. The music master beamed at the room, and bowed low – unfortunately, so low that his long grey wig slipped right off his head.

I suppressed a snicker. The girl who was sitting next to me, one of my classmates from Interkingdom College, clapped loudly. "Wasn't that brilliant!" She whispered.

I blinked at her in surprise. "You liked it?"

"Yes, of course I did! – Bravo, bravo!"

The music master, whose wig had returned to its original position, smiled obligingly at the applause, nodding his head as if to agree that he really deserved it.

Eventually the clapping dimmed, and everyone started talking. The orchestra had shuffled off the platform, and even the lingering music master had reluctantly slid away. Now there was a fair-haired young man on stage, tuning his violoncello.

He smiled pleasantly at the audience, and started to play a Bach cello suite.

I had never heard Bach played so beautifully before. He put so much energy into it, so much thrilling passion. I was quite put off when my companion remarked sniffingly at the end of the performance, "That was rather dull."

I stared at her for a few moments, and then finally said, "I thought it had all the colours of the rainbow."

"Really? You amaze me," she replied, clapping with an air of indifference.

"Adelheid," I said sorrowfully, "every once in a while somebody does something outstanding. And it seems to me that it is only those people who you regard with contempt and disdain!"

"Well Bach really is out of fashion now."

"The Devil take the fashion! What is the fashion to me?" I exclaimed, my temper rising.

The opulence that radiated from all sides, the idle comments, and the ghastly, mind-numbing gossip were all beginning to give me a headache. Princess Adelheid was just about to take offence in her own petty way when a very uncanny-looking figure appeared at the main entrance.

A servant came onto the platform and whispered something in my father's ear. Upon hearing it, he clapped his hands with a delighted expression on his face. Though he was not what you would call a man with great authority, after a few – a good few –fleeting seconds, the whole room was silent.

"My dear friends," he said in his good-natured way, "I am happy – very happy – to say that…the ent'rtainment has arrived! And at long last, too! D'ye see that woman by the door? In the black gypsy dress?" There was a murmuring from the crowd as various people pointed to the figure. "Well it's her! She's our fortune-teller for the night!" An excited buzzing broke out from the crowd. People stepped aside to make a clear path for the gypsy woman. She went up to the platform, standing next to my father. She was tall, with a somewhat squarish build, and had huge golden earrings dangling from her ears. A red scarf held her snaky mass of black hair in place.

There was a general hustling up the platform steps. Soon a large crowd of people was gathered around her in a very bad attempt at a queue. I joined it, and after a good while, I was finally waiting for her to finish telling the girl in front of me her fortune.

I overheard her say, "…and you will marry a crown prince, oh yes. You will have a very happy life with him. You will have three children. They will all be beautiful, both inside and outside."

"I'm very glad to hear it. But madam, you've only told me good things about what will happen to me. Couldn't you predict something bad as well, so that I'm prepared when it comes?"

"You are such a good person that you will have very little unhappiness in your life. Nonetheless, it is possible to deduct…" She paused, as if in deep thought. "…That you will be separated from the one you love – and don't look at me like that, I know who he is – for a long period of months…before you marry him."

"Marry him!"

"Yes. He is deeply in love with you."

"Who is he, then?"

"He is Prince Redmond."

The swan princess – for she was the girl – gave a little start. The gypsy woman gave a cackle, and a wink of her eye, and then, in her croaky voice, said, "Next!" She gave the princess a friendly little pat on the back that was frighteningly close to being a push, and then turned to me. "Give me your hand," she said somewhat brusquely. I obeyed. As she examined my palm I was at liberty to look at her.

From a distance she looked as if she were something of a fighter woman with two black eyes; but on closer examination, I saw that it was only a thick layer of mascara on her lashes. Her skin was of a brownish complexion; and I must say no great share of beauty had been alotted to her. The distasteful amount of dark red lipstick on her lips made them look monstrously thick. All in all, she had the look of a witch, or a wild woman. Good thing I knew she was nothing of the sort.

"You're a difficult one," she said, tracing the lines of my palm.

"I have been so told," I said cheerfully.

She looked up at me, narrowing her eyes. "Don't get smart with me, girl."

"I never get smart. I'm far too unstylish."

She rolled her eyes. "It is written here…that you have a good sense of humour, so good it's almost bad…a good heart, you just have to use it…a good mind, you just have to develop it…and finally, a good eye, though you can't see a church by daylight."

"Very funny."

Her eyes twinkled behind the mascara. "As to your future, there is very little of it written here. You will have a few political intrigues…your life will not always be as full of happiness as it is now…you will go on a long journey…but enough. Have you any particular questions regarding your future?"

"Hmmm…" I grinned. "What will my husband's hair colour be?"

"Brown. Definitely. Dark brown."

"What colour eyes?"

"Brown."

Thank heavens Prince James' hair was black, and his eyes were…but I hadn't even had the time to see what his eyes were.

"Will we be happy together?"

"Yes, though you will go through many trials."

"What sort of trials?"

"I cannot say."

"On a different subject, what book should I read next?"

"Shakespeare's Twelfth Night."

"I love that play. But I don't like reading plays…in fact, I don't really like reading anything."

"I know you don't. You prefer the great outdoors, long rambles in the wild, sword fights, chess, and watching plays…yes, and acting in them…to a good book."

"I must confess I've never read a good book."

"High time to start." She lowered her voice. "It seems that your fate will revolve around a certain…yes, I do believe…a certain butterfly."

"Oh really?"

"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Have you any more questions?"

"Well…will I marry before the year is out?"

"No."

"Thank heavens. Will I meet my husband on a Wednesday?"

"My sources say no."

"Should I have another fruit flan?"

"Yes, definitely!"

I grinned. "I thought so."

"Go to it, then. Anyhow…next please?"

I walked away, chuckling to myself. She was as witty a gypsy woman as ever I saw. Not that I had ever seen one before.

I looked back at her. I was surprised to see Tara advancing rapidly towards my father. She looked angry and discomposed, which was unusual, even for her, and as she whispered something in my father's ear he didn't look too happy about it.

"'Pon my word!" He exclaimed aloud. "And are you sure it's true?"

"Of course I am!"

"Gypsy," said my father, looking nervous as he beckoned her to come to him, "is it true that the fortunes you fortell are mere tales? With no truth or substance in them?"

The gypsy woman bit her lip. "Only so true…Your Majesty…as I am unable to tell you what you had for breakfast this morning."

"You could do that?"

She nodded. "You had custard and raspberries, first course, apricot danish, second course, and you drank water."

The King looked astonished. "Great heavens! So I did!"

"And I can answer any question put to me from any person in the crowd, as well."

Many shouted out, "Me, me, pick me!" but, pointing her finger with her eyes closed, she instead landed on a person dressed in a Puss in Boots costume.

Prince James ascended the platform.

"Prince James Jerold Jemereld," she said in recognition, making an awkward sort of curtsey.

The prince considered for a moment, and then asked, with a challenging look, "What is my favourite pastime?"

"Reading," said the gypsy promptly, "and after that horse-riding and fencing. You also enjoy writing poetry and collecting fine pieces of art, mainly portraits and still life."

James looked awed. "It's true," he declared eventually. "Another question."

"At your service, Your Poverty-Stricken Highness!"

The prince frowned. "My finances do not need public disclosure – they are all in good shape." An approving murmur surfaced from the crowd.

"I merely meant Your Highness' taste for clothes sometimes might suggest a lack of money."

Even under his mask I could sense his eyes were narrowing, as if he wanted to see right through her. (Though I must admit I cannot see the optical advantage of it.) She boldly returned the stare, as if challenging him to ask a question she could not answer.

"How many siblings do I have?"

She cackled, shaking her head. "It is common knowledge, my dear boy, that you have one sibling - a twin sister, Princess Narcis Etherella Lillithia Larissa. What is not commonly known is that her nickname is Nell."

Prince James looked absolutely furious. "If you're so clever –"

"Yes?"

"Tell me: what is my sister's favourite…Shakespeare play?"

"Twelfth Night."

"Ha! It's Much Ado about Nothing!"

"I'm afraid I must disagree with you there. It is not Much Ado about Nothing, though it is still of course much ado about very little; it was Much Ado about Nothing, but only lately she has shifted towards Twelfth Night. But as you like it; it was once Much Ado about Nothing."

"Are you from Emereldom?"

"He's resorting to personal questions!" She cried, laughing. "What could be easier. But I'm afraid I must prick your bubble – I am not from Emereldom."

"Where then, may I ask?"

She smiled gleefully. "Have you ever heard of a sleepy little kingdom called…Allellia?"

A strange expression flashed over Prince James' face. He took a step back.

She grinned triumphantly, displaying her nice, white teeth which contrasted dramatically with her dark lips. "But I'm afraid it is time for me to go now," she said, "thank you very much for such an amusing time, but I really must go ." And with that, she picked up her skirt, scurried down the steps, and hurried over to the door.

"The amusement is on our side, truly," called my father with a genial smile. She turned back to cast a look over the ballroom, and on catching sight of me, made a face. The doors swung open, and she made her exit.

I grinned. But just then a seething voice whispered something in my ear: "Just wait until I get you back for that!"

I turned, my eyebrows raised. It was Tara, who was quite fuming.

"What do you mean," I laughed.

"You know very well what I mean!"

"No, you are mistaken, I really don't."

"You tricked me!"

"Yes, and more than once, too."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

I smiled a winning smile. "If you don't know, you don't know."

Her nostrils flared up, and she glared at me. I stared back. It seemed we were having a staring competition. My eyes were just beginning to water when a familiar voice said, "Tara, Esmerelda – what were you conversing about so ardently just now? I caught sight of you from a distance and I thought – ah, they must be having another discussion. What was the subject that so animated you both?" Redmond, who had pushed his way through the crowd towards us, was looking his very best in his sparkling silver tailcoats.

Tara had arranged her mouth into a very realistic smile, though as she glanced at me her eyes yet darted fire.

"The weather," she said in a voice of cold fury.

My brother raised his eyebrows. "How extremely interesting."

I disguised my laugh with a half-choke, half-cough.

Tara did a nasty little fake laugh. "I'm afraid I must be getting on; my dancing partner is waiting for me."

As soon as she was out of earshot I asked Redmond, "What was that about?"

"You mean…"

I nodded, grinning.

"Very simple, really. I told her that her soul was as dirty as the smoke issuing from a chimney –"

"You didn't!"

"And that, furthermore, her fate was as black as the crust of a burnt apple pie."

"You're joking me!" I laughed.

He grinned devilishly. "I'm not."

"But to be serious…" I tried to stop smiling but I couldn't, I burst out laughing all over again. "…how did you know all that stuff about Prince James?"

"Don't you know? We to go to I.C. together." I.C. stood for Interkingdom College, which, in this case, was short for the Interkingdom College for Young Men of High Birth.

"You never told me that!"

"You never asked. Anyhow, I think I'll go and ransack another plate of pecan pie – will you come?"

"Sounds agreeable to me!"

So off we went to the buffet tables. Notwithstanding the fact that it was long past dinner, they were still overflowing with all sorts of delicacies: piles and piles of cream rolls; a carpet of fruit flans; assorted cakes – chocolate, raspberry, caramel; mouth-watering jam drops; crispy cocoa-filled tubes; and, of course, the scrumptious pecan pie. The plate we took was the only one left, though there had been four of them to start with.

After munching on the pie for a few moments, I caught sight of Prince James, who, alarmingly, was coming in our direction. I shoved the plate into Redmond's hands, and flew off like a frightened bird.

Left alone with the plate, Redmond fixed his eyes on the last slice of pie.

I stopped running only when I was well inside the dark gallery. I found the portrait I wanted to see instinctively, almost without needing to use my eyes. I looked searchingly at my mother's moonlit face. She smiled down at me; her green eyes were laughing. Her long, beautiful, auburn hair flowed down past her shoulders in charming little ringlets.

"Oh, Mother," I whispered, blinking hard to keep the tears away. "If only you were here."

She seemed to give me a mildly reproachful look.

"I know," I said, lowering my head, "I should be grateful. I live in a palace, while others my age are working hard on farms; I wear silk dresses while others wear tatters. But what are palaces, what are silks when you have no mother?" I drew a heavy sigh.

That beautiful sympathy I held so dear came right from her eyes to my heart.

"But I'll try, Mother," I said earnestly, "I really will try. I'll be a good girl, I'll try not to be too boisterous, I'll be kind, and thoughtful, and won't mind wearing dresses, and…" I drifted off.

"You've forgotten something," she seemed to remind me.

"What?" I mouthed.

She continued on with her comforting smile. "Try to remember…"

"Oh! The brooch!" I exclaimed aloud. She had always said that on my sixteenth birthday I could pin it on for the first time. "I'll do it right now!" I said gratefully.

A few minutes later I was in my room. By the yellow candlelight I found the jewelry box. I fished the silver key out of my pocket. I gave it a turn, and the lock clicked open. I lifted the lid. The smile I wore distorted into a look of horror.

The brooch was gone.