Chapter Fourteen
A Sense of Belonging
*~.....~*
The iron gate to my palace stood before me. I remembered it being quite a bit larger and more demeaning, but I suppose it would seem that way to a fifteen year old boy of average height and then a four inch frog. My journey here was smooth enough, yet I didn't think it would take near as long as it did. I had to stay at a shabby, little tavern in a very small neighboring village last night, even though I rode all of the night before when I last saw Lia. I miscalculated exactly how many leagues I could cover in a day, not to mention how unbelievably sore my rear would be after only hours of riding. It had been too long since I was last in a saddle, and I definitely wasn't accustomed to an entire day and a half of riding in one yet.
Another reason, or reasons rather, for my prolonged journey would probably be because I made two different, unplanned detours along the way. Lia had shown me which direction I should head, but I somehow got myself lost to which I had to ask directions from some farmers. They each gave me strange looks – no doubt about my odd clothes – yet they held their tongues, as I'm sure they knew the consequences for speaking above their station. My clothes may have been odd, but they still gave an inclination that my status was higher than their own. I could tell that they were unsure how to address me and finally settled on 'my lord', which I let pass. I didn't want to announce my return before my parents saw me first. I had a special entrance planned for them.
Of course, my journey wouldn't have been nearly so long if I had only cut through the forest, as Lia's summer palace wasn't even half of a day's ride from my kingdom if I had. This is why, when I was a frog, it only took me the better part of the day to reach the grounds to Lia's palace. But I learned my lesson. I don't know if I'll ever enter the forest again. Well, okay, maybe to gloat to the witch that her curse didn't work out how she planned, especially when I show up human and all. . . And yet, I wouldn't want to make her angry with me again, so maybe that wasn't such a good idea.
Two guards at the gate barred my passage, yet the older guard's eyes were large as he gazed at me. I raised an eyebrow in question for his strange behavior, which made him realize what he must look like and bowed his head to 'cough'. When he met my eyes again, his expression was once again controlled.
"State your name and business for entering the castle, sir," he said in a gruff voice.
"I come from the palace in the neighboring country Ciri, and I bring a message for the King and Queen," I said, pulling out the crest of Lia's parents and hoping it would distract them from not giving them my name. I berated myself for not coming up with one during my journey; I certainly had the time.
The older guard took the crest for examination. "Very well, sir. We'll take the message off your hands and you can return to Ciri."
"I'm sorry, but the message was given to me orally and it cannot be heard by anyone but the King and Queen," I said smoothly. They looked at me with unsure eyes. "You can search my things to make sure I'm not carrying anything dangerous, if you like," I offered, and then flashed them a reassuring smile. The younger guard actually returned the smile, sort of, and briefly searched through the one, lonely saddlebag on Caspian. He then nodded to the older guard, whom finally let me pass. I'll have to tell Father to give them a raise for being so thorough with unfamiliar guests. . . . Heh. A raise. It's funny what five years as a frog and being in love will do to a man. Five years ago I probably would have been irritated with the guards for making me wait to get into my own residence, and then most likely have Father punish them in some way. Yech. What a horrible little thing I was. No wonder I wasn't much liked.
When we reached the door, I dismounted Caspian (surprisingly without breaking anything, as my legs were quite unsteady from riding for so long) and tied his reins to a post specially there for that purpose. In Caspian's saddlebag I pulled out a tin of corn flour and a handkerchief that held a small block of charcoal that I bought in the village I stayed in last night. I wet the flour with the water from a canteen Lia let me borrow and put it in my dark hair to lighten it up a bit. With the charcoal, I rubbed it on my chin and over my top lip, checking my reflection every couple of minutes in the glossy underside of the tin lid. I figured a disguise will be best for what I have planned for my parents. I don't want them to recognize me while I'm acting to be someone else. They may not have seen me in five years, but I still do possess some of the features I had when I was fifteen.
After I applied the last bit of charcoal I needed to complete my disguise and slicked back my hair so the wet flour didn't look too weird, I gave my appearance one last look over and was amazed with what some flour and charcoal could help me accomplish. My dark hair was almost a brown color and I now had a mustache and goatee. There was just one problem: my eyes might still give me away. . . Hmm, I'll just have to keep them lowered when speaking with my parents, which I suppose my false lower station might require I do so, anyway.
I finally walked up to the door and knocked, feeling quite anxious about my parent's reactions for my return and excited to see everyone. But mostly, I was anxious. What will they say? Will they even acknowledge me as their son? And if they do accept my return, will Alex, the current crown prince, be upset with me? I couldn't help but think these taxing questions as I waited to be let into my own castle.
The heavy redwood door swung open, revealing the familiar, yet not too familiar entryway. It was completely redecorated. Bright paintings replaced the older, more familiar ones I remembered, the ones I grew up knowing. The crystal chandelier was different, noticeably bigger, more extravagant, and I believe had three new colors shading the crystals. Not to mention the shiny suit of golden armor against the east wall with a flamboyant red plume sticking out a foot and a half from the helmet. All of this was no doubt some new fashion my mother was stating. I must admit that I should have been expecting my home to be different from when I remembered it. She always made sure our castle had all the new styles, as it "gave the ideal design for everyone else's décor", or so she would say. Some things never change.
"Good day, sir," said a voice in a familiar and pleasing tone. I focused my attention on our butler, Laraby, who was about my height with a very welcoming face and a white haired, almost balding, head. He was gazing at me without any recognition, so I hoped my disguise would fool my parents as well.
"Enjoying her majesty's impeccable taste?" he asked.
Impeccable? Really? It looked like a bunch of random things thrown together. I struggled to keep a straight face. "Yes, it certainly is something."
"Yes," he agreed. "Her majesty takes great pride in her work. I seem to find the result rather fascinating."
"And the armor gives it just the right touch," I added. He eyed me skeptically.
"What is the reason of your visit, sir?" he asked in a slightly regarded tone. His eyes then trailed over my out-of-date clothes, to which he raised an eyebrow. He must think I have no fashion sense whatsoever because of these ridiculous garments. Ah, oh well. I'm not here for a fashion show.
"I have a message for the king and queen, from Ciri."
"Are they expecting you, sir?"
"Ah, no. No they aren't."
"I'm sorry, sir. Appointments must be made at least two days in advance for the king and queen to see anyone."
What?! Is he kidding me? When was this rule established? I looked into his unwavering eyes, searching for a reason to call him on his bluff, as I was sure that's what it was, but his stone-still face didn't falter. I gave up trying to stare him down, as I wasn't getting very far with it anyway. I decided to try a different tactic.
"Look, I'm a messenger. I have to deliver the message, get a response, and return to Ciri as soon as possible. I don't have the money to stay in an inn, and I certainly don't have time to remain in the city for two days, waiting for an appointment."
"An appointment?" said a voice behind the butler. He turned and my eyes fell on a girl around twelve or thirteen walking towards us. She brushed one long, dark curl from her questioning face, and glanced in my direction. My dark eyes met her warm blue ones, and suddenly I knew who it was – my littlest sister, Antonia. I dipped my chin in acknowledgement and hastily averted my gaze. If anyone could see through my cover by my eyes, I was positive Antonia would.
"Your highness," Laraby said in a nervous tone and bowed. I mimicked the bow halfheartedly, feeling awkward bowing to one of my siblings. They usually bowed or curtsied to me (being the Crown Prince and all) and only on special occasions, such as formal dinners when other royalty were present.
Laraby, I noticed, seemed to recover quickly from the young princess's surprise visit, as his next sentence was quite smooth. "What a pleasant surprise. You usually keep to the gardens on beautiful mornings such as this."
"Yes, usually," she replied, grasping the book I just realized she was holding with both her hands. "Yet my book put me in a rather hungry mood on this particular morning, though breakfast wasn't too long ago. I was just on my way to persuade Cook to give me a small bite before the midday meal when I heard something about … appointments?" Laraby shifted his weight. She gave a small smile and said in a playful voice, "When did messengers ever need appointments, Laraby?"
"Oh, well, I," he began. "I only had the best intentions, I assure you, your highness."
Really? And what possible reason could you give? I asked him quite disbelievingly – in my mind, of course. I didn't want to anger him; then I'd never be able to see my parents. Laraby held grudges longer than anyone I knew. I'm sure he was still mad at my blaming him for the cracked vase in the entryway when I was seven (my parents believed anything I told them at that age). He had to pay for its repair with money from his own pocket as punishment. It took him three months to pay it off, but he did so without complaint. Instead, he began to make excuses for not letting me through; either the maids had just mopped and he didn't want me to dirty the floor, or the weather wasn't fit for the Crown Prince to be allowed to go outside. So I avoided the entryway for five whole months, which actually forced me to use the servant's door on occasion. Even years afterwards he gave me a hard time coming through the front door. . . Hmm, maybe he did recognize me after all.
Laraby explained his actions in a low, somber voice, "I knew that tomorrow is the anniversary of our young prince's disappearance and didn't think the king and queen would want to see anyone who might be around his age," he glanced over at me, "until after the day had passed. I only created the idea of an appointment to make it seem more believable for my reason of turning him away."
His answer completely threw me off guard. The anniversary of my disappearance was tomorrow? What a strange coincidence I would return on the day before I left, only to hopefully announce my return tomorrow. Furthermore, why on earth would anyone be concerned about my parent's regard for my "disappearance" when they were the ones responsible? . . . Well, I suppose they had to tell my siblings and the countries something besides 'we ran him off'.
Then I noticed Antonia looking down at her fidgeting hands, her dark curls hiding her face. When she finally returned her gaze to Laraby, she gave him a halfhearted smile and said, "That was very sweet of you, Laraby. I'm sure the king and queen will be moved as I was when I tell them."
"That isn't necessary, your highness. It was nothing."
"Nonsense, Laraby. You are far too modest for your own good. However, messengers from other countries mustn't be delayed, as their messages may be greatly important."
"Yes, your highness," he replied, bowing.
I flashed a gracious smile in her direction, which she returned with a small smile of her own and began to turn away from us. But then she stopped, mid-turn, and spun back around to stare at me with immense concentration, and for some strange reason, I couldn't look away from those hurting, yet hopeful eyes.
After probably about a minute or so, she gracefully cleared her throat. The small noise broke the silence and, in turn, my gaze. I swiftly lowered my eyes.
"What is your name, sir?" she asked.
Blast! She's caught me. My plan's done for now. I knew she would figure it out. And if she figured it out this easily, then it isn't that good of a disguise to begin with. . . Okay. Deep breath. I need to get a hold of myself. She hasn't exactly said anything; she just wants my name. But what name do I give?
"Your name, sir?" she persisted.
"Right. I apologize, your highness. My name is lord Maxwell, and I came from Ciri," I replied, giving her a slight bow. I didn't like lying to her, but it wasn't a complete lie, really. Maxwell is one of my many middle names, and the first one I thought of that wasn't my first name.
"And you are a messenger, lord Maxwell?" she asked, eyeing my clothes skeptically.
"Not exactly, your highness. I am a lowly lord who just has a message from Ciri to give." Okay, that time I was mostly lying. Blast! She needs to stop asking me questions!
"You can't be too lowly to afford such fine leather boots," she said.
"They were given to me, your highness. I did not buy them."
"Oh," she said, disappointed. Then, after a pause, "I'm sorry to keep you, lord Maxwell. It's only… you … remind me of someone."
"I do, your highness?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the floor by her feet. I'm still too much like myself, apparently. She'll guess who I really am in no time if she keeps this up. Perhaps I'll try an accent with my parents. Too bad Ciri's is too close to ours. It would have made it easier to think of one to mimic.
"Mm." I glanced up to see her head lowered. She reached up a hand to her face – hidden by her curls – and swept it across her cheek. Tears? . . . For me? My heart swelled in my chest. I couldn't believe she still cared for me even after all the times I treated her so unkindly. She then gave her head a slight shake as though she was trying to rid her mind of her current thoughts. I shifted my eyes down once more. Her next words were in a more cheerful tone. "Well, I suppose I'll let you get on with your message, lord Maxwell." She turned to leave.
I wanted to stop her, ask her if she was going to be okay, or even come forth and tell her who I actually was, but all I could bring myself to say before she left was, "Thank you, your highness." I felt so inadequate watching as the last of her skirts disappeared around the corner.
When I finally turned back to Laraby, I couldn't help but feel absolutely confused at what he was doing. He stood by the east wall in front of the suit of armor with his hand engulfed in the open face of the helmet. Then suddenly, a bell-like ringing sounded throughout the entryway, and it was then that I realized: the suit of armor was also the service bell. Where in the Twelve Countries did my mother find that?
Quick footsteps were soon heard and a moment later, a pageboy appeared in the doorway of the northwest corridor. He was quite a bit younger than I was, I'd say around Antonia's age, and had coffee-colored hair and bright green eyes.
"Lord Maxwell, this is Devon; he'll take you to the throne room." The boy gave me a small nod and turned back in the direction he came, only looking back once to see if I was following him.
As we walked through the halls of my castle, I noticed most of the pictures from my childhood were replaced with others. The only hall that was untouched was where my parents hung our family portraits. The last one was still the one with my fifteen year old self. Had they not sat for a portrait since my absence? How strange. Mother was always insistent with keeping our portraits recent.
Another strange occurrence was the silence of the pageboy. They usually tried to talk as much as they could before the person they were guiding would tell them to hold their tongues. I suppose they felt more important conversing with people of higher status. Once we were down the third corridor, however, he began to speak.
"How was your journey, sir?" he asked politely. I forgot that they usually try to wait until they were out of earshot of Laraby. He frowns upon the pageboys trying to make conversation with their charges, and he had insanely good hearing.
"It went well. Thank you," I said, trying out my new accent on him. He didn't seem to suspect that it wasn't my true accent and only nodded.
"How long have you been a messenger?"
"Not very long at all, and actually, I'm not exactly a messenger. I just have a message to deliver."
"Oh. Well, I've been a pageboy for three whole years now," he stated proudly. "I started when I barely turned twelve. It's a fairly good job, I think. I'm paid well for a boy my age, and every little bit helps for where I send my earnings."
"And where is that, might I ask?"
"To my mother, brothers and baby sister," he said simply, like it was the most obvious answer.
"Oh, well I hope everything works out for you, then," I said, making a mental note to increase the boy's salary. It was common to hear among the less fortunate of fathers leaving several children behind, so the young boys are forced to work to provide for their families. Maybe I'll make Devon my personal servant. They are paid almost three times the salary of a pageboy.
"Thank you, sir."
When we finally arrived to the guarded double doors to my parent's throne room, I couldn't help but feel quite nervous. My heart was beating so fast I thought it might beat right out of my chest! And I was glad the two guards were the ones to open the door; my hands were so sweaty, they would have slipped off the handles.
Devon gathered himself up as tall as he could stretch and stated, "This is lord Maxwell from Ciri, and he has a message for the king and queen."
The guards' eyes swept over every inch of me, making me feel very exposed. I almost thought that they could see right through me! It was very uncomfortable, to say the least. Once they were satisfied, they each took a handle and let Devon and I pass through.
There they were; the two people somewhat responsible for my current state. I was surprised with how much my parents still looked the same as when I left. Perhaps Father had a touch more gray in his hair and an extra line or two in his face, but Mother was still beautiful, as though time didn't really pass for her as for everyone else. I was also surprised at my feelings towards them. I would have thought that the sight of them would have brought back my old feelings of betrayal and anger, yet all I felt was excited and a little eager to see how my plan will turn out. Mostly I wanted to see their reactions for what I was about to tell them.
Devon stepped ahead of me. "Lord Maxwell of Ciri requests an audience with your majesties," he announced, bowing. He then left the room while the guards closed the door after him.
My parents' gaze shifted to me. I swept into a very low and graceful bow that I was taught and made to perfect when I was little when in audience with my parents. They seemed very impressed with the gesture, and I even caught my mother giving me a small smile.
"Your majesties," I began in my falsely accented voice. "Forgive my intrusion. I realize the matter of which I am to speak is very delicate, but –" I then paused dramatically. "I have news of your son Philip, the previous Crown Prince of Rischen."
Many emotions passed upon their faces, but then Father's finally settled on anger (surprise, surprise) and Mother's seemed hopeful. Father was the first to speak.
"How dare you present yourself in all your state to speak lies about our son!"
"Jerold, please," Mother said sternly and placed a hand on his forearm. "He hasn't told us anything yet." She turned back to me. "What have you to say, young lord?"
"Your son is alive an—"
"What poppycock!" Father said, cutting me off. "Our son is dead. We all know it!"
"Dead to you, perhaps," I said with a little too much emotion and almost forgot to use my accent. I took a deep breath to calm myself down. "But no. He's alive and well."
I was too busy trying not to glare at my father as we stared each other down – apparently my promise to myself of not keeping eye contact with my parents went out the window when it came to him – and so I flinched slightly when my mother made a kind of small choking sound. My gaze shifted to her, and it was then that I noticed she was crying. Her eyes glowed from the relief and joy that shone through them.
"Where is he?" she whispered, though her voice still carried through the huge room. "Is he close by? Why didn't he come himself?"
"Yes," Father said disbelievingly. "Why didn't he come himself? How do we even know you speak the truth? This could be some horrible trick to–"
"Jerold, really," Mother said. "Let him speak."
I thought quickly, gathering the pieces of conversation I prepared for when I again saw my parents.
"I am a friend of Prince Philip," I began, "and he relayed to me the day he came to his parents for help in his situation." Their expressions mixed with a bit of guilt as I spoke. "He said that you didn't suggest or attempt to do anything except hide him away 'for the good of the country'. And so he left, feeling hurt and disowned."
"We were much too harsh on him that day," my mother began. Her voice quivered in places throughout her telling and tears streaked her face. She didn't even bother to dry them. "The shock of my little boy being a frog was too much for me to bear at the time. I felt awful for letting him leave after what he went through. He needed his mother to make everything all right again, and I . . . I could barely look at him." My heart gave out to her. I stepped forward, wanting to comfort her, place a hand on her shoulder, hug her – anything to have her stop crying. But after that one step, I halted. I couldn't ruin my cover so quickly. I still needed to know what my father thought of the whole ordeal. I looked at the two to see if they noticed my gesture. They didn't. Father was too concerned with my mother, and she had her face buried in my father's handkerchief.
Father turned to me. "How were we to do anything to change him back? We didn't even know what could be done."
"I believe he made suggestions," I replied, noticing my anger beginning to build as soon as my father spoke. He always could make my temper rise without much encouragement. Father shifted his gaze, and I continued. "He asked you to bring back the witch, but you were afraid she might do something more, which, I suppose, was understandable. And you very well couldn't ask any other being of magic, because everyone knows that they can't undo another's spell. Yet when he suggested for you to hold a ball and invite every princess in the Twelve Countries to try and break his enchantment, you immediately denied his suggestion for fear of what everyone would think of you. No other reason showed itself but your selfish decision of how you would be viewed in the eyes of others! You were only asked to give a ball for your son, to help him become human again. But you said no, and then sent him on his way."
"Who are you to speak to royalty in such a manner?!" my father thundered, rising from his throne. I held his stare with defiance. He then lowered his head and spoke in a softer tone. "You haven't any idea what his mother and I have gone through these past five years, living with the thought that our son ran from us. Us. His own parents. Never knowing if he was alive or how he was getting along, not one word reached our ears. And we were to blame! You haven't any idea how that feels."
"He was alone for those five years," I retorted, not realizing that I'd lost my accent. "Afraid to come back, afraid to move forward with his life; he was only fifteen! He shouldn't have been thrown into the world to live by himself, and especially not in his newly enchanted form. He needed someone to help him through it; to give him more choices with how to deal with his situation. He needed his parents! And what did you do? You tossed him aside like some common pest. Your own son!"
"Enough!" Father barked. He glared at me for a while, but exhaustion seemed to overtake him and he collapsed in his throne, burying his face in his hands. I glanced over at my mother; her tears seemed endless, yet she never made a sound. Her lips quivered slightly, too, as though they were struggling not to show certain emotions.
Minutes passed in silence. Once I calmed down, I wanted to apologize for my shouting. I didn't realize how much I oppressed over the years, only to have it explode out of my mouth without any regard for their feelings. Now, there was a small part of me that couldn't care less about how they felt about what I had said, but that was the small fifteen year old who was rejected by his parents just for looking different. I could see that they really did feel awful and guilty for turning me away, and my yelling at them was only making things worse. I came here to make amends, not deepen the hole.
I took a deep breath and sighed. "I apologize for the manner in which I have been speaking to your majesties," I said in the thick accent I adopted, giving them another graceful bow. "I should not have raised my voice to higher beings than myself, and I am grateful you haven't called for the guards to take me away yet," I joked. My mother gave me a faint smile.
"Perhaps we both could have been more civil," my father said. It was the closest to an apology as I could get from my father. I took it.
It was then I realized that my mother was quiet for quite some time. Usually when she 's silent, she has something on her mind and lets my father and their visitors speak while she observed. I wondered if she was guessing who I was. When she finally spoke, she asked in a gentle voice, "Will you give Philip our apology?"
The rest of the anger in my father's face vanished with one look at my mother. He turned his attention to me. "And could you tell him that he is welcome at home, in any form, whenever he chooses to come back," said Father.
After that statement, there way no way I could pretend being 'lord Maxwell' any longer. I have to tell them who I am – I just hope they aren't too angry with me for deceiving them.
"What if I was to tell you that he found his princess to break his enchantment and is standing before you now?" I said smoothly and without my accent. My father only stared, shocked and confused. My mother, however, flashed a beautiful, happy smile and rose from her throne to stand before me. Her eyes were shining. She combed her fingers through my floury hair and tousled it a bit, which made some of the flour fall and revealed patches of my dark hair. Then, with the handkerchief in her hand, she wiped part of my jaw line where the charcoal covered my face.
"I knew it was you," she whispered.
"You aren't angry with me for deceiving you?"
"I know why you did," she said. "You wanted to hear for yourself that we would accept you, no matter what form your body took."
"When did you know it was me?" I asked.
"No one ever speaks to your father in such a manner, or stands so defiantly before him, except for me and my dear Philip. Once I had my suspicions, the rest was easy to piece together. Your accent also slipped a couple of times while you were speaking." I smiled. "Would it be too much if I gave you a hug?" she asked.
My eyes burned as I tried not to shed any tears. I shook my head. "No," I managed to choke out. I couldn't believe I was close to crying. Only my mother would get me to have this sort of reaction. She wrapped her arms around me and I returned the embrace.
When she pulled away, she brushed some of my hair out of my face in a tender, motherly fashion. "I'm so glad you're safe. These past five years have been similar to torture knowing you were out there alone. All I could think about was how you looked at me that day, for reassurance that I wouldn't let you down; that I would talk your father into doing something to help you. And I turned my back." Tears welled in her eyes again, and my father put a hand on her shoulder. The movement almost startled me, as I didn't even realize he was so close to me all of the sudden, but I quickly masked my surprise.
"We never meant for you to leave the castle, son," my father said. "When we found out, we had our most trusted guards search for you everywhere in the country, never dreaming you'd venture farther than your home. But they always came up empty-handed. Your mother wouldn't come out of her chambers for months, and I kept to my study. We blamed each other and ourselves. We should have been more supportive. We're… we are truly sorry, my son," he said remorsefully.
Wow. I'm almost speechless. A real apology from my father? He never apologizes to anyone! Mostly because he always believes he's right. And they really seem like they missed me; they were even acting like loving parents.
"I always thought you didn't care about me as much as everyone else in the family. You always showed more kindness to my brothers and even my sisters than with me."
"Oh, Philip," my mother said gently. "You were an angry, fifteen year old boy. You thought anyone who defied you or told you what to do hated you."
My father nodded and continued, "You wanted the world to see you as some sort of high being, parading around the castle in your surly moods and terrorizing anyone who stood in your way. You went through five tutors in two years!"
"But I suppose it is partly your father's and my fault," my mother cut in. "We spoiled you more than the others when you were younger with you being the only boy from four children. When your brothers were born, it seemed you felt as though you weren't important to us anymore. That's when your moods began."
I took in everything they were saying to me and looked back over my childhood. It was then that I realized they were absolutely right. I remembered getting away with anything and everything when I was younger and even receiving more than my share of presents. When my brothers were born, I saw my parents spending more time with them than with me, and so I began to purposely get myself into trouble just so they would pay attention to me, to always have me on their mind of why I was acting out. My brothers were babies! Of course they needed more attention than my bratty teenage self!
"I'm sorry I was such an arrogant, selfish child," I said. "Looking back I never realized how much of a terror I became."
"Well, it's all in the past now," Father replied, waving aside my apology. "You must tell us your story at your celebration tonight."
"My celebration?"
"Of course, dear," Mother said, taking my arm and leading me to the door. "Your sisters will all have to come and your brothers. The people will know of their Crown Prince's return tomorrow. Tonight is only family. Now go on upstairs to the primary guest quarters and get ready. I'll have a maid come supply you with new clothes and then we'll have you fitted for your new wardrobe immediately afterward, along with the tidying of your old room. Doors!"
The doors opened upon her shout, as the guards were accustomed to her orders. I walked by myself to the primary guest quarters, named such for their always being prepared for unexpected guests, and took the first one on the right, as directed by my mother.
Once inside, I undressed and climbed into the steaming bath water – which I didn't question being there ready for me, as my mother had her ways of making sure things were done precisely when she wanted them to be done.
After scrubbing all the flour out of my hair and rubbing all the charcoal off my face, I returned to the bedroom to indeed find some clothes in my size upon the bed. I didn't even hear the maid come in.
Downstairs in the Dining Hall where I was led by Devon, who was ecstatic to learn he had been conversing with the missing Crown Prince, I met with the rest of my family. My eyes swept the room, taking in my sisters and the two strange men who accompanied them. It seemed as though Michelle and Corinne had already been married off, so their husbands were here as well. I couldn't find Antonia anywhere, though. She must not have come down yet. Then I saw my brothers, or rather, they saw me first.
"Oh, Philip!" cried Thomas. "Thank goodness you're here!"
Alexander nodded his head enthusiastically and said, "We don't know anything—"
"About running a kingdom—" cut in Thomas.
"And to have all of our people looking up to us—" continued Alex.
"Or giving advice to those who ask—"
"When we're only eleven years old—"
"Is a really scary thought!" they said together. I smiled, feeling relieved that they weren't upset for my taking back my rightful place to the throne.
"All right, first of all, anyone crowning you a king at eleven has some serious issues," I said. "And second, Alex was the next Crown Prince, so really, Thomas, you wouldn't have had to do anything in regards to running the kingdom."
"Have you really been gone that long, Philip?" he asked.
"Of course Thomas would have been by me with every decision and issue we would have come across," said Alexander.
"And where would your queen fit into all of this, Alex? Or your wife, Thomas?" I asked them. They both gave me disgusted looks.
"Girls? Gross!" they both said.
"You'll think differently about girls soon, believe me," I replied. Then I thought about what they said of why they were glad I was back.
"So hold on a minute, let me get this straight," I said. "The only reason you two are glad to see me is so you wouldn't have the responsibility of the kingdom over your heads?"
They exchanged nervous glances. "Not entirely," Alexander said.
"Yeah, we missed you, too."
"You were a really cool looking frog."
"You only missed me as a frog?" I asked. They traded glances again.
"Well, don't take this the wrong way, Philip, but—"
"Your brotherly affection needed a serious transformation."
"Yeah," I agreed. "I guess I deserve that."
They looked at me, both with one eyebrow raised, yet opposite sides, as though they mirrored each other.
"You have changed, Philip," they both said.
"Can you two possibly stop doing that? The whole saying the same thing at the same time and finishing each other's sentences – twin thing is creeping me out a little," I said with a slight shudder.
The boys grinned at each other and then said in unison, "We get that a lot."
"And yet you persist."
"Aw, come on, Philip. Lighten up," Alex said.
"Yes. We're at a celebration in your honor," said Thomas. "The least you can do is take our jesting lightly."
"Yeah. We don't mean anything by it." They gave me identical wide grins.
"Tell me, how was my absence credited to the people?" I asked, curious as to what my parents said to cover up the time I was a frog.
"Mother and Father said that you were out walking in Dancaut Forest, even though you weren't supposed to have been, and you never came back. Until now."
"And to you and our sisters? What did they say?"
"They just said you went missing, and now you've returned, surprisingly unscathed." Thomas gave me a pointed look, which I chose to ignore. He wouldn't have it. "Will you tell us your story, Philip?" he asked, eagerly.
"Oh yes! I bet it was very adventurous," exclaimed Alex.
Just then, the one person I've been hoping to speak to again entered the room.
"Perhaps later," I replied, distracted. I caught her gaze and her eyes narrowed – not exactly the reunion I wanted. "Will you two excuse me," I said to my brothers. Without even waiting for a reply, I made my way to my youngest sister.
"Good evening, Antonia," I said in a careful tone when I reached her. She stood with her arms crossed, foot tapping, and her eyes still narrowed. "I, uh … well," I felt myself begin to squirm under her piercing gaze. "I'm … mm." It was then when she began to smile.
"Wow, Philip. I never thought I'd see the day when you would be afraid of your baby sister," she teased.
"I'm not afraid," I retaliated, gaining confidence as her grin broadened. Yeah, that was a lie. I was afraid; afraid she was going to either yell at me furiously, or punch me. I was betting on the latter. But now that I knew that she wasn't really mad, I needed an excuse for my 'fear'. "I'm just, uh, a little apprehensive for your reaction from discovering lord Maxwell was really me." This was mostly true.
"Mm hm," she said, not believing me in the slightest. She smiled. "You know, I had a strong suspicion 'lord Maxwell' was you."
"I thought you did."
She nodded. "I didn't want to believe it, though."
She probably couldn't bear the thought of having me live here again. Somehow I'm going to have to make up my past behavior to her.
"I didn't want to be too hopeful to have you back, only to have my emotions crushed again if he wasn't you. You were my best friend, you know."
This staggered me. "I was? How could I have been? I was always so rude to you."
"Oh in the end you were a bit more snippy, but you always found time for me."
"I didn't find time. You always had Mother and Father force me to play with you."
"True," she replied, grinning. "But you didn't have to be so obliging in everything I made you play with, and you always thought of the best games."
It was true I thought of other games to play when I was made to spend time with her, but I always made sure the game was to my liking, not having any care whatsoever whether she was having fun. Yet, as I reanalyzed my emotions from those times, I realized that we both really did have loads of fun, whether I wanted to admit it or not. Perhaps I wasn't as rude to her as I thought and was only telling myself so to ease my thoughts for my wicked reputation that I worked so hard to uphold.
"Well, nevertheless, I apologize for anything I did to upset you," I replied.
"Don't worry about the past so much, Philip. Come, let's celebrate your return," she said, taking my hand and leading me to get reacquainted with our sisters and meet their husbands.
Michelle's was the Crown Prince of Mysk, which was a northern country bordering the Lyndor Sea. Corinne's was a duke of a great fortune from our country Rischen. They were both betrothed, but only Michelle seemed to be genuinely happy with her husband. It was really too bad for Corinne. I would have liked to have seen both of my sisters happy.
They were happy to see me, at least. However, it was only after about an hour of my genial behavior. They realized that I'd grown out of my angry stage, and we were all laughs and smiles afterward.
As the evening progressed, Father and Mother joined our little party, and I shared my tale of my "adventure", as Alexander liked to call it, with the family I never thought I'd ever want to see again. I was glad I returned. For the first time in a really long time, I felt as though I actually belonged here with my family.