Chapter Seven: The Rising Son

Another week flew by, and Lissa could not have enjoyed it more. The days were spent outside more and more frequently, as the deadline for the tapestry became more imminent and the two other princesses became more and more hysterical, until the nerves of anyone who stayed in their presence became more taut than the shimmering threads of their looms.

And with each day that passed and the more time Lissa and Irving spent together, the deeper their friendship became, until Lissa marveled at how she had ever managed to survive before, so unhappy and utterly friendless.

As for Irving, he was becoming rapidly aware of a warm regard blossoming for his frog princess, whose quick wit, kind nature, and patience he admired fervently. What Lissa did not know was that Irving would slip out into the palace library at night to see what he could find about enchanted frogs. Much to his disappointment, he found nothing useful, and after almost a month of digging through dusty old tomes and trying to draw something out of Lissa, and failing in both regards, he despaired once more that Lissa was, in fact, only a frog, even if she could magic. As nice as their chats were, he often longed for the warmth a fellow human body might provide next to his own on cold nights. Amphibians were difficult to embrace properly…

Of course, Lissa knew otherwise, but she certainly could not yet tell him this! No, the only one in the palace who knew the truth about the frog princess was a handsome young servant whom nobody really recognized, but at least he seemed to know what he was doing. Nobody realized that each night, this young servant would sneak into the bedchamber of the frog princess. And even if they did, they would never ask questions about such strange assignations.

Each night, Lissa greeted him joyfully, and they would sit together for hours at a time, while she gave him a potion that would act as substitute for the sleep he was missing. Though she chided herself for her selfishness in not allowing Michael to get any proper sleep, she comforted herself with the thought that at least he was not exhausted after each sleepless night.

Thus, on the night before the presentation of the tapestries, Lissa and Michael sat together in her little boudoir, chuckling merrily as the latter tried to describe the chaos that had taken place when Isabeaux's lady-in-waiting had accidentally tripped and torn a hole right in the center of Isabeaux's completed tapestry.

Lissa could scarcely catch her breath for laughter as Michael imitated the high-strung princess's shrieks and the distressed lady-in-waiting's anxious cluckings.

"So," Michael finally said, after they were done laughing, "Can I see your tapestry?"

Lissa smiled at him and explained that Irving had had it since the beginning of the month, when she had given it to him.

"I don't see why you did it, Lissa," Michael replied, after a pause, during which the crease in his forehead that Lissa had noticed for the first time the week before became more pronounced.

"Because all the princesses had to do it," she told him, not quite understanding what he meant.

"No," Michael explained, "I mean, why you married yourself off to the first prince who came along. It's so unlike you. And don't tell me you had no choice in the matter, either," he added, anticipating her answer.

Lissa heaved a sigh, understanding what he was saying. While she might just as easily have hopped away and not gotten married, she had in fact stayed for the wedding, and endured herself to be married to a complete stranger.

"Michael," Lissa began, biting at her fingernails as she had a habit of doing when she was uncomfortable, "I had to do it."

"I thought I told you—" he was about to say, when she cut him off.

"No! You don't understand. You… You left because you could no longer endure Father's insults, yes?" she demanded of him.

"Well, that and the fact that he turned me into an ant, but yes," Michael replied, suddenly wondering whether this was a topic he should not have brought up.

"Well, I left too, Michael. I couldn't stand being the worthless servant anymore. And while I understand your flight, I sometimes think you were a coward to run and leave me behind. Leaving me to him! A slave envies even a whipping boy like you, Brother!" After this last sentence, she burst into tears, and buried her face in the skirts of her dress, her body shaking with sobs.

"Oh, Heavens, Lissa, don't cry!" Michael told her, very sorry that he had ever said anything on the subject, suddenly aware of how deep her wounds ran and how strong the defenses she had built up. He had never wondered how she had felt being the one to care for the family, since he had been wound up in his own misery and self-pity.

"I'm sorry," she answered him, withdrawing from his arms, which he had wrapped around her. "I didn't mean to insult you." Suddenly, the Lissa from before had returned, as if Michael's command had stopped the tears in their tracks.

"I never realized that—" Michael began, but Lissa cut him off once more.

"I know," she said quietly. "Nobody noticed me much before, and they still don't." Suddenly, there was a gleam in her eyes, as she stared at a spot far beyond the walls of the room, seeing something that Michael could not. "But they will soon."

With these ominous words, she sent Michael off to his own chambers for some proper rest, while she herself settled into the bed for an hour or two, to prepare her for what was sure to be the excitement of the next day.

Michael withdrew, but not before looking back with regret at his younger sister, whose blonde hair formed a shimmering halo on her pillow, and whose cheeks were still marked by the tracks of that sudden thunderstorm that had burst from her without warning and disappeared just as quickly.

"Good night, Lissa," he whispered, leaving.

She said nothing, but kept her gaze fixed on the canopy over her bed, staring at it with the intensity of somebody deep in thought.

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Lissa had wrapped herself in the frog skin long before the sun rose that night. She did not want to risk a nervous Irving blowing into the door and seeing her. Of course, she was wrong to assume this for two reasons. First of all, he had no reason to be nervous. No matter what her sisters-in-law might have created, her own tapestry would be unrivaled. And second, Irving had developed certain manners that he had lacked before, and he would never now dare to enter her room without knocking first, out of respect for her.

And so, several hours after the sun had risen, Lissa heard a knock on her door. As she called out, "Come in!", the door opened and Irving walked in, wearing a very smart tunic and looking much tidier than usual, with his hair cut shorter and brushed carefully. He walked with a certain pride that had only developed in the past few weeks spent with Lissa.

"You said I should make an effort with my father," he told her, interpreting her silence as astonishment at his change in appearance. "So I got a haircut. What do you think?"

Lissa was silent, however, not because she was shocked by the change, but because she suddenly saw in Irving something that nobody had ever before seen in him, including herself: a prince of the purest blood, with a bright future ahead of him. This change from foolish youngest son to noble prince had not been an instant transformation, and it was not yet complete, but still Lissa was astonished. She had not even noticed in the past month just how Irving had changed during the time they had spent together.

Of course, she had also changed. She had been able to eat anything she wanted, conjuring up fabulous dinners for herself in the night. Her own pride had been supported, and she also walked with that look of nobility and grace that is only earned after a great deal of suffering is replaced with joy. Even her vanity mirror could not show her the full extent of this change.

"Hey, Lissa?" he asked, still waiting for an answer, and checking to see that she was fine. "Lissa, you may be able to read minds, but I can't. What do you think?"

She shook herself a bit, then replied, stammering, "Fine, you look fine…"

"Thanks, I think," Irving said, not sure whether 'fine' indicated that he was not doing enough. "Shall we go down to breakfast? Father wants to see the tapestries after that."

"Of course," Lissa replied, regaining her composure somewhat. "We'll go down now."

Irving took her in his hand with a smile and placed her gently in his pocket, then strolled down towards breakfast with a bright smile. Everyone who saw him was astonished at the change that had been wrought in such a short time.

Change in ourselves is least detected by those with whom we spend the most time. Thus, it had taken a haircut for Lissa to see the transformation that had been before her every day for a month, bit by bit. But nobody else in the castle had bothered to pay much attention to Prince Irving that month, and he had done his best to avoid detection. Today, however, he came down to breakfast looking bright and happy, a feeling that nobody else in the hall seemed to share on that day.

The King, his brothers, and the courtiers stared at the youngest prince with wide-open mouths, wondering what had happened to cause this marvelous change. Where before he had been sulky and prone to sarcastic humor, he was now merrily discussing the weather with his neighbor at the table and every once in a while making quips about the state of the roads.

It was a very nice breakfast, but only Irving and the servants knew it. The former because he had scarfed down two plates full of meats, cheeses, and rolls; the latter because they had eaten all the leftovers that had been abandoned, uneaten, by the astonished courtiers.

After breakfast, the King declared that all of his sons were to meet him in the main hall with their wives, and their wives were to bring their tapestries. Finally, he invited the courtiers to join him. King Dorian said all of this with a shaky tone, trying to recover from the shock of seeing Irving so confident and happy. What had happened? Had the frog croaked? He drew his hand across his sweating brow, hoping that his schemes for embarrassing his own child would not backfire on him. Besides, what kind of tapestry could a frog have made? It was a frog!

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Irving ran up to his room and seized the packet of fabric that had been lying, carefully folded, in his cabinet, for a month. He tore down to the main hall, eager to see the effect that this magnificent article would produce, especially pleased by his reception at breakfast that day.

"I wish you could have seen them, Lissa," he said giddily, as he walked quickly down another set of stairs and went through a corridor that was decorated with tapestries from years before. The greatest of them looked like the handiwork of a blind man compared to Lissa's masterpiece.

"I didn't need to," she said calmly. "I'm glad that you're happy."

"Oh, Lissa, I wish I could hug you properly!" he exclaimed.

"Let's give him the tapestry first, and work out those knotty details later," she replied dryly.

Irving grinned down at his pocket and hurried onwards. He stepped into the main hall through a side door and saw his brothers with their wives. Next to each couple there stood a large rack that supported a large tapestry. A third rack, much smaller than the other two, stood empty and waiting for Irving's contribution.

"Father," Irving said, frowning at the empty rack. "My wife's tapestry can't possibly fit this!"

The court, remembering, at these words, Prince Irving's ridiculous situation, started tittering softly, dispersing some of the tension that had lingered since breakfast.

"Go on, laugh," Irving muttered under his breath, loud enough only for Lissa to hear. She marveled at the challenge in his tone.

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King Dorian was having a terrible day. First, his good-for-nothing son showed up looking respectable, for the first time in his life. And he not only looked the part, but also seemed to be acting appropriately.

He had completely eschewed breakfast from shock and was now dealing with the consequences. He hated it when his stomach grumbled, since it made him feel much less regal. Kings were not supposed to suffer from such horrid afflictions as hunger.

Now, he was staring at the tapestries made by his two daughters-in-law, and wondering whether they were absolute oafs. Every woman knew how to do needlepoint, and even the simplest one could have gotten a simple pattern right. Isabeaux's tapestry was a repeated pattern of blue flowers on a yellow background, stitched painfully and quite crookedly. Daniel had his arm through the crook of her arm, but kept looking at the frightful tapestry with a grimace.

As for Amelia's! It was not even a tapestry, and it certainly wasn't fit for hanging on a wall. Perhaps it might do as a rug in the kitchen, but apart from that, the horrid concoction looked like brown, green, and yellow threads had thrown themselves together and then found each other's company unbearable and had decided to separate, but not before becoming completely entangled. Eric's grimaces were even more pronounced, and he did not even bother to feign affection or gratitude. Amelia was pouting.

As King Dorian saw his idiot son come through the door, carrying a square of something shimmering, he wondered where on earth Ving had managed to get hold of something. Perhaps some maid had obtained it for him? Yet he felt a certain sense of dread as he looked at the small square of cloth.

When Irving complained about the size of the rack, which was only half a meter in height, King Dorian felt his spirits to be somewhat refreshed once more. The shimmering square in Irving's arms did not threaten so much as it made his idiot son look foolish for even trying.

"Where can we possibly find something even smaller?" King Dorian said with a laugh, encouraging everyone else to join in the fun of mocking the idiot prince.

"Did I say it needed to be smaller?" Irving suddenly said, with an innocent air. "No, no, it needs to be much larger! Though perhaps something like that can't be found…" He paused and looked around the hall. Then, pointing to the wall behind himself, he handed the square of fabric to a servant and told him to hang it on the wall.

"Give it up, boy," King Dorian said, as a tremor of fear ran through him once again. What was he up to? If this tapestry was even passable, he would be obliged to name the frog princess as the winner, since Amelia's and Isabeaux's were terrible. But how could it possibly…?

The king's thoughts were interrupted by a collective gasp from the court. The tapestry had been unraveled and it hung on the wall, gleaming and winking as the colorful threads caught the morning light streaming in through the windows.

"How is this possible?" King Dorian murmured, as Eric and Daniel both wailed out about how this was unfair and how Ving was clearly a cheat.

"Declare her the winner," Ving demanded, producing the frog from his pocket. "She did this."

The word 'witchcraft' bounced through the room. Yet every eye was on the incredible tapestry, which was breathtakingly beautiful. Even Irving stared at it for a minute, since he had only seen it laid out on the floor, not hung up properly on a wall.

"Frog, did you do this?" King Dorian demanded, feeling somewhat foolish. Still, who else could have produced such a beautiful thing?

"Yes, Your Majesty," the frog replied with perfect manners and a lilting voice. The crowd drew back, startled. "And my name is Vasilissa, in case you were wondering…"

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope to update this more regularly in the future, as I now have a clear idea of what is going on… Please leave me a few words or pass the story along to your friends. I hope you enjoy it!

-Titania