Scarlet
By: RaspberryGirl
Scarlet's mouth fell open. The Prince! She'd only thought he was some lesser lord, but...to think! He was the Prince! Scarlet tried to keep her face blank, her pride winning against her common sense. "You're—"
"Prince Coren!" Martha fell down on her knees, trembling. "Your Highness! Forgive us for being so rude! We didn't know, we never suspected—"
The Prince waved Martha's words away in a dismissive manner. He looked at Scarlet peculiarly as if wondering why she wasn't down on the floor with Martha, groveling.
Stubbornly, Scarlet put her hands on her hips. "I don't care who you are. And since I've already said you and your men are welcome here, I will not go back on my word." She pursed her lips. "No matter how tempting it is."
"Scarlet!" Martha looked appalled. "Show more respect to your Prince!" The plump woman turned to Coren. "Please, Your Highness, if there's anything you'd like, just let me know." The young man gave an accepting nod, and Martha stood up, flustered. "I'm sorry Your Highness had to stand so long in those wet clothes. I'll fetch some dry garments right away." Martha turned to Scarlet. "Take Josephine upstairs and change."
Just as Scarlet nodded, the door opened and a man with red-brown hair entered the house. A cloak slick with rainwater was thrown about his shoulders, and a cloth bundle was tucked under his arm. The man raised his eyebrows as he noticed the two strange faces among the three familiar ones.
"And who may you be?" the man inquired, wiping at his mustache and beard.
"Master Ivan!" Martha hurried to take the man's wet cloak. "Master Ivan"—Martha gestured to the Prince—"this is His Highness, the heir of Terrallis, Prince Coren." Martha turned to the Prince. "And this, Your Highness, is Master Ivan, St. Jordan's tailor, the owner of this house."
"He's my father," Scarlet interrupted. "And this"—Scarlet linked arms with Josephine—"is my mother."
Coren's face twisted in astonishment and Scarlet felt a strange sense of satisfaction. Smiling smugly, the girl spun around and left the entrance hall before Ivan could question her on the soggy state of her clothing.
Once upstairs, Scarlet helped her mother change first. After she was done, Scarlet took off her own garments and pulled on a maroon-colored kirtle and a white tunic. Twisting her hair back into a long braid, the girl headed downstairs.
Catching drift of conversing voices, Scarlet stepped quietly into the parlor to find her father, the Prince, his servant, and many of the townsmen gathered by the unlit hearth. The Prince had changed into plainer clothes.Candlelight played over his honey-colored hair and golden eyes, making him handsomer than ever. He couldn't have been more than seventeen years old—only a year older than Scarlet. But as Prince Coren made little effort to stifle a yawn as one of the townsmen spoke eagerly to him about shoemaking, Scarlet fought down a surge of annoyance.
Ivan, however, didn't seem to mind Coren at all. He sat comfortably in his armchair, inspecting the quality of the spools of thread and buttons he'd brought back in the bundle. Once in a while, he'd comment on something, but most of the time, he let others do the talking.
Josephine sat on the floor by Ivan, playing with wilting flowers and singing about a maiden and her unrequited love. Coren kept casting her nervous looks.
"Scarlet." The girl turned to find Martha beckoning to her from the kitchen. "Help me with the food, will you?"
Scarlet obeyed, stirring a pot of stew as Martha added celery, carrots, and various spices. "What are they talking about that's making the Prince look so bored?" the girl asked.
Martha chuckled. "Business and crops. And daughters."
"Daughters?"
"The Prince comes to town, so of course all the merchants and farmers will be speaking well of their daughters."
"I see." A sudden thought occurred to Scarlet. "And Father, too?"
Martha smiled. "No."
"Good."
"Oh, I almost forgot." Martha paused in her cooking, turning to face Scarlet with a perplexed expression. "What do you mean by always running off in the middle of your chores? The mending still needs to be finished."
Scarlet sighed.
Martha put a hand to her hip. "You will finish the task tomorrow, no arguments, no exceptions, is that clear? And if you run off one more time during your chores to see Peter, your father will hear about it." Martha paused. "That is where you've been going, I presume?"
Scarlet fidgeted.
"You can always visit Peter after you've done your duties," Martha said firmly. Wiping her hands on her apron, she handed the girl a small spoon. "Scarlet, be a dear and sample the stew for me. How does it taste?"
The girl did so. "It's delicious."
"Excellent." Satisfied, Martha busied herself with the new task of chopping cabbage. "By the way, Scarlet, the whole town already knows of the Prince's arrival. Everyone wants to meet him. That's why we'll be eating at the common house tonight. Along with the rest of St. Jordan."
Skeptically, Scarlet eyed the array of dishes Martha was preparing. "And the town expects us to provide all the food?"
"Heavens, no!" Martha exclaimed. "No, tonight's event is more like a town potluck."
"A potluck." Scarlet's tone was sarcastic. Her eyes flitted to the Prince who now seemed to be half-asleep. "I'm sure 'His Highness' will be very impressed."
Martha frowned and was about to reply when a high-pitched squeal interrupted her.
"Elise!" The voices in the sitting room momentarily fell silent—and Scarlet was sure she saw the Prince jerk in his seat—as Josephine suddenly jumped up and ran through the group of men towards her daughter. "Elise, is that you? Elise!" Reaching Scarlet, Josephine grabbed the girl's arm. "Elise, where have you been? I haven't seen you all day!" Josephine held up one of her dying flowers to Scarlet's hair admiringly. "You won't believe who I saw on that hill with Peter today."
"Who, Mother?" Scarlet didn't even bother to correct Josephine this time; it would've only confused her mother who always thought her firstborn child was still alive.
"Scarlet!" Josephine burst out happily.
The girl felt her cheeks redden. "How—how interesting." She tried to appear indifferent as if this was just a part of Josephine's fancied babbling.
"Oh, Elise!" sighed Josephine, taking Scarlet's hands in hers. "Wouldn't it be wonderful if they got married?"
"If who got married?"
Scarlet started, letting out a squeak of surprise. Josephine put her arms protectively around her daughter and scolded, "Now look at what you've done, Peter. Don't startle Elise like that." Josephine turned back to Scarlet, smoothing strands of the girl's hair. "Now that I think about it, you've never told me who you like, Elise. Do tell Mother some time."
Scarlet nodded, feeling her ears beginning to burn. Dreamily, Josephine waltzed out of the kitchen and disappeared down a hallway of the house.
Taking a deep breath, Scarlet turned and faced Peter.
"What was she talking about?" he asked.
"Nothing," Scarlet mumbled. She stared up at him, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Peter was five years older than Scarlet and more than a head taller. Most of the time, his ebony hair was wind-swept and unkempt. He wasn't flawlessly handsome, but behind those smoky gray eyes he seemed to hold a wonderful secret.
"You came," said Scarlet softly. To some, Peter's cheekbones may have been too sharp, his chin too broad; but to Scarlet, he was perfect.
"You invited me," Peter replied with a grin. He glanced at the assembly gathered in the parlor. "Perhaps I've come at a bad time?"
"No!" Scarlet shook her head fervently. "No, not at all."
Peter surveyed the guests. He stared at the Prince, who, at the moment, wore an expression that said, Once I return to the castle, remind me to send guards to burn this town down. "Who is that?"
"Someone very unpleasant."
"Scarlet!" Martha gave the girl a reprimanding look. "What in heaven's name is the matter with you?" The housekeeper turned to the young man apologetically. "Ignore her, Peter. For some reason she seems to be in an extremely disagreeable mood today. And as for who that young man is, he's the Prince." Peter's eyes widened, and Martha smiled proudly. "Prince Coren."
"Like I said," Scarlet put in, "he's someone you don't want to meet."
Peter gave a small laugh, but Martha looked offended. "Scarlet, that's quite enough out of you!" She handed the girl a tray of breadsticks. "Make yourself useful and help me move some of the dishes to the common house. Help her if you'd like, Peter."
Scarlet made a face, but waited as Peter scooped up a bowl of salted eggs before stepping outside and setting off.
The rain had ceased, and everything had become shiny and slippery. One main road slithered through St. Jordan, branching off into smaller alleys and eventually leading to the town square. Bordering a part of the square was the common house: a long, rectangular, public building where town feasts and festivities were usually held. Scarlet could already see townsfolk hurrying to and from the building, their hands full of dishes and their faces flushed with excitement.
"So," said Peter, "that's what the commotion's all about. The Prince has come to St. Jordan."
"Hardly something to get ecstatic over," Scarlet remarked. She entered the common house with the shepherd.
"Peter?"
Scarlet stiffened at the sound of that voice. To her right, a young woman had been arranging flowers in tall vases, but she'd stopped when she saw Scarlet and Peter. The young woman gave a small, hesitant smile. "Scarlet."
"Rosalind!" Scarlet couldn't help but notice the joy in Peter's voice as he said her name. Seeming to forget all else, Peter started towards the young woman.
Scarlet bit her lip. Peter was smiling at Rosalind. A gnawing pain was starting to grow in Scarlet's chest. She stared at the flower-seller, trying to keep her dislike from showing on her face. True, Rosalind was pretty; she had wavy curls like gold silk and lips like the blush of a pink rose, but Scarlet was sure Peter had never been the sort who judged by looks.
Scarlet watched them enviously, feeling abandoned.
"How are you, Peter?" Rosalind flashed a dazzling smile. "Have you been well?"
"Very well," Peter replied, his eyes locked on hers.
Perhaps it's my age, Scarlet thought. Rosalind was two years older than Scarlet, and as the girl watched Peter and Rosalind, she felt like a child dabbling in an adult's game.
Meanwhile, Rosalind had broken from Peter's gaze and had returned to arranging her flowers.
"Here." Gently, Peter picked out a red rose from Rosalind's pile of blossoms and offered it to her.
"Thank you." Rosalind accepted the flower. A flicker of emotion, too fast to read, passed over her face before she turned and said, "Scarlet, have you also been well?"
There was no answer.
Author's Note: I know, I know. This chapter was a little slow, but I was aiming for some character and setting depth.