AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, I've had yet another change of mind and will finish the story (again) myself. I realised it was a bit unfair to ask readers to write someone else's fanfic. Therefore...here goes!

This is my favourite chapter of the whole book. Because it's the last.



Chapter Twenty-Eight: All is Resolved

"Er...Your Highness?" The voice, emerging from the blur, was familiar...cockney, even. "Your Highness!" Repeated, and more insistent, it was like a dull nudge in the darkness.

I rolled over and groaned. "Your Highness!" prodded the voice.

"I'm not Your Highness any more..." I mumbled, my voice thick with sleep. "...There was a revolution, you see...The Masked Men..."

"Esmerelda!" And suddenly I remembered where I had heard that cockney accent before. It was Annette - Annette, our servant. She hadn't left us! How noble, how kind of her! I smiled, still not opening my eyes.

"Lovely of you, Annette..." I murmured, rolling over. "Really lovely..."

"Princess, if you do not wake up this instant," said the voice crossly, "I shall go and tell your stepmother."

I had a stepmother?

And this time with a real storminess: "LUNCH is getting COLD!"

I opened my eyes with a start. I was...it was incredible...no, it couldn't be. I was in my own room in Starcastle Palace. Annette was dressed in uniform, bending over my bed with fumes coming out of her nostrils.

"What happened?" I wondered drowsily. "The last thing I remember, the Palace was going up in flames...Jimmy was rescuing me..."

"Hmph!" snorted Annette.

"There was a revolution," I repeated, "a revolution that came after poor Lidia's death."

"A revolution?" Annette crossed herself hastily. "My God, what a wicked idea! And don't look at me like that, child, you've been having some far-fetched thing of a dream. You obviously had something to drink last night! Sleeping in like this..."

"What? What was last night? Honestly, Annette, I don't remember..."

"Last night was your sixteenth-birthday ball, of course!" said Annette, as it was the most obvious thing in the whole wide world.

I sprang up, hitting my head on the bedpost. "My sixteenth birthday?!"

"You really must have been engaged in underage drinking practices," said Annette, tut-tutting away.

"Not unless there was something in the pecan pie," I said, smiling dazedly. My sixteenth birthday ball! Last night! And all that...all that a dream!

"Alright," said Annette, clapping her hands, "are you coming down to lunch, or aren't you?"

"Yes Annette. Yes Annette, I'm coming," I said, clambering out of bed. I felt concussed, as if a whole castle had tumbled down onto my head.

She paused in the doorway, as if there were something on her mind. "Before I forget," she said, still frowning slightly, "one of your brooches was under the bed. Mariah found it. I put it in your jewelry box with the others." My jaw dropped. "Will that be all, Your Highness?" she said, with tired courtesy.

"Um...yes, Annette, you may go." I still stared at her rather disbelievingly. "No wait - Annette..."

"Yes, Princess?" Her face betrayed something like tired civility. But I was too happy to mind.

"The dream I had last night was a whole, wonderful year. And...it was the craziest, most enlightening one of my life."

She put on her best neutral expression. "Yes, Your Highness." And with an almost inaudible sigh, she shut the door, so I could change in privacy.

For a few moments I sat on the bed, staring out the window with a mind almost as blank as her face had been. And then I laughed. I laughed so loudly they must have heard me outside, and for so long that I was surprised I didn't have a seizure. "Oh, Your Majesties," I said, in my best imitation of cockney - startling some birds outside - "I have a feeling Princess Esmerelda has gone mad."

And, with tears in my eyes, I hobbled over to the wardrobe to choose a petticoat and a dress.


"My word!" said Redmond, when I appeared at the lunch table. Even Father looked shocked.

"Esmerelda me child..." he began, his small eyes becoming large. He never finished that sentence.

Stepmama, on the other hand, positively beamed at me. "You know, Esmerelda, for once you actually look pretty!"

I smiled back sweetly. "Thank you," I said, gracefully sitting down beside my brother. "Ah, ciabatta with lemon d'anglaise, c'est magnifique!"

"Elf...what...what in the name of the Devil has happened to you?"

"An edifying night's sleep," I responded, my lips curling into a catty smile.

"The Deuce!"

"Redmond," said Stepmama tiredly, "don't swear at the luncheon table."

"Sorry. But it's unnatural. She used to be...well...she's just so..."

"Different?" Stepmama immediately began to imitate my smile. "Oh but Redmond, your sister has grown up! She is no longer a child. She is a young woman!"

"Young harlot," said Redmond through the corner of his mouth.

I could understand their shock: I was wearing makeup. And a wig. And a frilly pink dress. A strange silence reigned over the table. It was only after we had finished the main course that it was broken. "Eh-ehem." The Prime Minister was standing over the King. He was smiling. It was the sort of smile evil sorcerers wear in fairy-tales when they are sure of victory.

"Hmmm?" Father blinked like an owl in daylight. The Prime Minister passed him a roll of parchment. After unravelling it and turning it the right way round, the King of Starcastle proceeded to read aloud. "We are pleased to announce we have apprehended and caught the thief of the silver butterfly brooch belonging to Princess Esmerelda, which went missing last night."

"The thief, or the brooch?" I whispered to Redmond, grinning.

"Shh," said Redmond, sounding a trifle annoyed. It was obvious that he was paying close attention. And besides, with his impeccable grammar he must have known it was unquestionably the brooch, as the thief would have been a "who".

"Who was it?" said my brother.

"This thief goes by the name of Jimmy Meralds, and has been thrown into the palace dungeon. The trial will be at twelve o'clock on this day, and it is expected he will be..." - Father winced slightly - "hanged."

The Prime Minister's smile expanded. Redmond sank his forehead into his hands. Stepmama popped a cherry into her mouth.

"Very good, Your Majesty," said the Prime Minister, taking the parchment, bowing, and leaving us to finish our lunch.

"Yeh don't think there's any way we could...lighten the sentence...a little?" said Father, who sounded more than a little uncomfortable.

"I don't see how, Father," I said, nonchalantly, helping myself to dessert. "If it is proven that he really stole the brooch, there is no loophole, so to speak, except the noose."

Redmond stared at me as if I had turned into Medusa.

"Quite, quite," said Stepmama. "Justice is justice."

"Yes...I suppose..." said Father, not sounding convinced. "But surely...is it really such a bad thing, what he did? I mean, if it had been murder...one could almost understand...but..."

"Father!" I said, as if I was surprised at him. "How can you say such a thing? That brooch means an awful lot to me!"

"Yes...yes, child, I suppose you're right..." He squirmed a little over his blueberry pudding.

Redmond looked like a pent-up volcano. "Capital punishment is a monstrous thing!" he finally burst out. "It's a heinous crime in itself! I am surprised at you, Esmerelda, for your indifference!"

I put a spoonful of sugar in my coffee and stirred it, smiling affectedly. "Really, Redmond, first swearing, and now talking like a revolutionary! It is too much!"

"Exactly!" enthused Stepmama. "Much too much! I don't know what has gotten into you, Redmond. Your sister talks so wisely...I am inclined to think she has blossomed overnight!"

Redmond actually glared at me.

I finished my dessert in silence. And then, as I got up from the table, I said: "By the bye, the brooch in question was found by one of the servants under my bed this morning. Ingenious place for Meralds to hide it, don't you think?"

Stepmama blinked, as though she did not fully comprehend. "You mean - "

"I mean nothing," I said. "And now, if you will all excuse me..."

With a swish of my dress I left the room. I was half-way down the corridor when I heard someone running behind me. I turned: it was Redmond. I kept on walking.

"Elf," said Redmond, a little breathless.

"My name is Esmerelda Elfreda Eloise, young man," I said, as severely as I could. But I found it hard to maintain my straight face.

Redmond looked a little put off. "There's something...that is...I've been meaning to..."

"Apologise for your behaviour?"

"No," he replied, bluntly. "I've been meaning to tell you about the boys in the woods. And - especially - about Jimmy."

"What, that they're all princes passing for commoners, and that you were deceiving me all these years?"

Redmond's mouth hung open for a moment. "How - how on earth do you - ?"

"I thought I said. I had a very educational dream last night." I smiled. "Maybe the gypsy magicked the pecan pie in some way."

"And Jimmy?"

"Prince James Jerold Jemereld of Emereldom."

"Blimey," he muttered.

"He proposed last night," I said.

"He did?" Redmond seemed blown over.

"And I rejected him."

"Oh."

There was a pause. "Au revoir, sir prince," I said, bustling forwards. But Redmond caught me by the arm.

"I'm sorry," he said desperately. "We're all sorry."

"Sorry for what? For making a fool of me? For trusting me as much as you might trust Stepmama, or the Prime Minister, or reporters from the Interkingdom Herald? Really, I can't see what you're sorry about."

"We would have told you ages ago - things just didn't - work out."

"Well, Prince Redmond, in the future I hope you will make things 'work out'. You might consider me to be a human being with feelings for once! And while you're at it, you might realise that I'm intelligent enough to keep a secret!"

"But - "

"I am very disappointed in you. Very disappointed in you all. And now goodbye." Impatiently, I yanked myself out of his clasp.

"Where are you going?" he called after me helplessly.

"That's none of your business!"


When I got to the dungeons, I asked the prison keeper for his keys – politely, but authoritatively. He made no protest. I asked where I would find a Jimmy Meralds, and he told me, "Cell No. 5, Your Highness."

The stairs down to the prison cells were slippery, and covered in moss and lichen. I tried not to flinch when I saw a family of rats going in the opposite direction. The place had an atmosphere of secret suppression that attracted me as much as it repelled me. Dank, dirty granite formed the passage-way and the various arches. There were many exits I could have taken, to the left and to the right, but the prison-keeper had told me No. 5 was right at the bottom. So down I went, not paying heed to the bats or the other, nefarious creatures that made their home in the underground. It was a place of eternal night, and I was grateful for the orange-flamed torch I had been given. It was a powerful antidote to darkness.

Finally I stood in front of the iron bars of the prison cell. Slumped against a wall inside was a young man who looked every bit as grimy as his surroundings. But, it must be said, much handsomer.

"Psst," I said. He looked up. I did not know how to read the expression in his eyes, whether it was hope or fear or surprise. In any case, that look sent a shiver down my spine.

"E-esmerelda," he stuttered. "Is it really you?" He had gotten up, was now clutching the bars in his browned hands. I did not answer, but deftly opened the cell door with the key marked "No. 5". What an organised system we have here, I thought: logical, most logical.

We stood face to face. I saw he was trembling slightly. "I'm awfully sorry about all this, Elf," he said, in a low voice, one suffused in melancholy music. "I'm sorry about your brooch, I didn't take it – I swear. The guards found me shuffling about the garden, and arrested me without the slightest shred of evidence. I'm sure Red will stand up for me in court, and the others too – I don't expect you to, of course, you are the offended party – and – and…"

It took me a great effort not to show how I was feeling, not to let the melting that was going on inside me take over my face…but he was not looking at me anyway. He had directed his eyes at the floor, at the straw-strewn, cobbled floor.

For a moment the only sound that penetrated the dusty air was the sound of our two hearts beating. And then I spoke. "Last night, you asked me a question. I was not prepared for this question, for a number of reasons; so I answered in the negative." By now he was gazing at me, earnestly, with those dark eyes of his – soulfully, loyally, like a dog that has stood by you your whole life. His slow smile was so beautiful it was almost excrutiating. "But now that I can – so to speak – see…the whole picture…" My voice wavered. And he saved me the trouble of continuing. He sealed my lips with a kiss. I cannot describe the feeling of that kiss; words fail me. But it was the most sublime moment I have ever experienced.

We left the cell door wide open. Several grey mice passed us on our way to light and liberty. We bounded up the mossy steps hand in hand. I returned the keys to the prison guard when we got to the top. Strangely enough, he did not offer a word of protest over my freeing of the inmate of No. 5. He stared at us with eyes as wide as saucers.


The preparations for the wedding took a whole month; and then, after all, his mother decided we mustn't get married until I was eighteen, so the gamekeeper and his daughters, and all the poorer folk in our two kingdoms, received a bounty of food and drink – not to mention a certain ten-storey chocolate cake divided up into tiny square pieces. I didn't mind. I was patient: it did not matter whether we were married or not, for every moment together was a miracle. As neither of us yearned after an engagement ball, our proposed union was instead announced in all the papers, accompanied by a large painting of us both by the renowned Master von Amsterdam. This was to become one of his most famous works, and it was moved to a permanent exhibition in the Emereldom National Art Gallery to much public and critical acclaim.

Only Stepmama did not like it. "Esmerelda…" she said when she saw it, squeezing her powder puff with a slightly sour expression, "I am not convinced this painting is really appropriate. No, I am not convinced at all."

"But Stepmama," I said, laughing, "surely you cannot find fault with it! After all, I am smiling."

"Mmm, well that is exactly my point." She twisted a piece of lace around her pinky finger. "The fault I see with it is that you are both smiling rather too much. The painting loses its dignity. It becomes too picturesque, too carefree, too happily-ever-after. No, Esmerelda, I do not like it all."

And, much to Stepmama's disapproval, our lives have possessed all the qualities she ascribed to the painting ever since.