Sorry about the wait for this chapter, it got started, then stopped, then started etc. you get the idea, it also is longer than i planned which unfortunatly for you guys, means you have to wait until the next chapter to find out what happens. evil laugh Thanks to TrudiRose for her excellent beta-ing and advice, and a big shout-out to BelleEve (cos I want her to update every ten seconds), and Snowday (the same), and a nod toLumBabsFan (Bring Back Peter!)
Chapter Seven: Dawn and Dresses
It was dawn. Reddish-amber streaks of light felt their way tentatively along the ground, vanquishing the remaining darkness of night. Hedgerows glistened with early-morning dew. It had been another unusually warm night. The slowest of the nocturnal animals across the land scurried quickly back into their burrows and hiding places. For a few moments, all was still. It was that uncertain moment between sleep and wakefulness—the transitional period shortly after the sun began to show itself; a glowing orb on the horizon. As it rose, its beams poked lazily into bedrooms and chambers, causing a thousand murmurs and groans as its light hit closed eyelids. Some rolled over in a desperate attempt to steal a few more minutes of precious slumber. Others squinted, shuddered then arose like the undead until refreshing drops of water could awake them fully.
Some, like Cogsworth for example, had already been conscious for well over an hour. He was now conducting his early morning wake-up calls in the servants' quarters, which mainly consisted of him banging loudly on doors and cheerfully bellowing 'Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!' through keyholes.
Morning was Cogsworth's favourite time of day. A few hours of blissful organisation and structured cleaning schedules before the inevitable chaos of castle life took over. He hummed as he hammered extra loudly on the last door—Lumiere's door, incidentally—and then went off to prepare for the morning's activities.
High above him, in the royal chambers situated in the West Wing of the castle, someone else was awake, though she needn't be for another few hours. Raisse sat up on her bed in her finest cotton-and-lace night-gown, her blankets discarded during the heat of the night. A single ray of sunlight played upon her face, picking out the contours of her features. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. She woke up early most mornings as if she were too impatient to wait for the rest of her family. Her ladies had not come to her chamber to help her dress for a few years now—she insisted on dressing alone, as she was quite capable of doing it herself, thank you very much. This was a mutually beneficial arrangement as her ladies were more than happy to have a few hours to themselves in the morning. Cogsworth sneered at this but left it well alone, as it was a women's matter.
Raisse stretched in that way that feels so good after sleeping and got out of bed, almost tripping on the bundle of sheets she'd thrown on the floor. She felt the softness of the delicately embroidered rug between her toes as she padded over to her dressing-table to wash. The cool water, which always miraculously appeared at some point during the night, felt soothing yet refreshing on her skin. She felt the mugginess of sleep leave and her eyes focus. As she dried her face on impossibly soft towelling, they focused on her reflection in the mirror. She was a pretty girl, with her mother's almond-shaped eyes and her father's honey-coloured hair. She knew she was pretty—she had been told it almost every day of her life—but she hated the word. Lace was pretty. Flowers were pretty. She was certain she was similar to neither. She secretly longed to be describes as beautiful. Beautiful was a much more pleasing adjective the delicate simplicity of 'pretty'. It seemed stronger somehow and more complete. Paris in the winter, when the Seine sparkled with ice, was beautiful. The tapestry that hung the entire length of the eastern corridor and depicted the legend of King Arthur, embroidered exquisitely in every colour of thread imaginable, was beautiful. Her mother was beautiful.
Raisse had long ago mastered the art of lacing her corset herself. She was fortunate that her shoulders and wrists were flexible. True, it wasn't nearly as tight as it would have been had she assistance, but she preferred it that way. It was less restrictive and she could breathe freely. When she attended balls and high-society gatherings, it made her wince to witness girls her own age laced up so tightly that their faces were unnaturally pale and wan, and they looked constantly on the verge of fainting. They waved their fans so fast that they made their painstakingly pinned-up hair fly all about their faces like it had a mind of its own.
Raisse scowled. She may not be as physically constrained as the other girls but she was still kept on a tight invisible leash. She was her parent's only child, despite many years of her parents trying for another son or daughter, and therefore their most prized possession. She had been showered with gifts and praises since the day she was born, and she was in no doubt of her family's, and indeed the kingdom's, adoration for her. Her coat-of-arms bore the motto 'Rose of France'-she was the living symbol of her parent's union, the embodiment of their love and the future of France, yet she could not help but feel suffocated sometimes. When she sat bored in the stuffy room used for her studies, and Cogsworth was droning on about the history of the kingdom..("It is important that a princess know her country!")…her eyes would drift to the window. Sometimes she could see the village like a picture-book scene below her—the room was in the topmost tower of the castle—and the people going about their day-to-day lives. The children finishing school—proper school—for the day and laughing as they chased each other down the street. Young lovers embracing on the cobblestones. A group of young women, about her age, sitting by the fountain and arranging each others hair.
She often wondered what it would be like to be there among the commoners, but she knew she would never fit in. She had no idea how to act around them. Every time she had been outside the castle walls, she had been in a coach, unable to interact with anyone except her attendants, but she had seen them lining the streets to see the royal family, gawping and pointing at the majestic coach and proud horses. She'd always felt an enormous sense of pride on those occasions but now, as she thought about it, she was little more than a caged animal; a spectacle for people to view and then forget about.
Now, with her undergarments on, and growing gradually more alert with every minute, Raisse turned to her wardrobes. She had far too many dresses. They hung in colourful rows within ebony walls that were monogrammed with her initials in swirling cherry wood, like all the items of furniture in her bedchambers. All lovingly designed and carved by her grandfather, Maurice, when she was born. With so much leisure time, he had discovered woodworking as a hobby.
She flicked idly through all her dresses, not really looking at any of them as none caught her eye. She was about to use her tried-and-tested method of closing her eyes and picking one at random when she suddenly remembered the new dress her parents had brought back from their recent trip to some country she couldn't remember. She'd better wear that. It lay on a table, carefully folded and wrapped in linen. On closer inspection, she saw that it was blue. That was a refreshing change; she didn't actually think she had any dressed in blue, as unlikely as it sounded. She had it on in barely a minute, her nimble fingers fastening the buttons quickly and then smoothing down the skirts. She was puzzled to find her heart beating just a little bit faster than normal. Something about the dress—the fabric, the colour, the style—made her feel strangely excited, as though she was on the brink of discovering something amazing. She felt suddenly as though as it had always been a part of her; a missing layer of her body. It made her skin tingle, and she hadn't even properly seen it yet. It was bewitching.
Trembling, but with no idea why, Raisse turned to her full-length dress mirror and felt heat flush her cheeks with pleasure. The dress was a perfect fit, emphasising her good points and playing down her flaws. It was not sequinned nor jewelled, yet it seemed to shimmer with an other-worldly glow. She turned and twirled, gasping as she realised it looked truly magnificent from every angle. Dare she say it? Did she look…beautiful?
She practically danced back to her dressing-table and started to comb her long golden tresses. Her hair was naturally wavy—a fact that normally made her scowl and hide it by sweeping it up with various pins and ribbons. She reached for a pin and found herself changing her mind. No…it just wouldn't look right with the dress. The dress deserved more than that. She would leave it loose so it flowed down her back; a delicate cascade of soft curls, with just a few pins at the front to keep it out of her eyes. She did this and admired it in the mirror. The look was complete. Raisse couldn't help feeling, in her dream-like state, that there was some secret significance to it all. Today would be a day like no other, she could tell. She shivered with anticipation.
Chip.
She could not account for the way his name darted into her mind so suddenly, but it was accompanied by a real sense of longing for her companion. She wanted—no, needed—to see him. She hadn't seen him for almost a fortnight. It had been surprisingly easy to avoid him, like practically every other one of the castle's inhabitants. She could hardly remember why she had decided not to see him in the first place, and she certainly hadn't intended it to be for so long, but what angered her, what prolonged his estrangement, was the fact that he had made no attempt to talk to her himself. It was almost as if he was not bothered by it, Of course, Chip never seemed to care much about anything anyway, but Raisse could not help feeling hurt that he had not come running after her, demanding she talk to him. After all, he was her only friend, if she could even call him that. Did that mean nothing to him?
Enough was enough. She would find him that instant and then revel as she witnessed his delight in her presence and his admiration for her new dress.
She smiled and went to find him, because she knew exactly where he would be.
Chip brushed Ambrosius' coat carefully and methodically from left to right, feeling the smooth grain of the brush beneath his fingers and marvelling how the short yellowy-brown hairs gleamed into one as he brushed them. Sometimes it seemed so shiny, he fancied he could almost see his reflection, especially when a ray of sunshine pushed through the gap in between the wooden slats of the stables and fell on Ambrosius, turning his already light coat almost golden. If there was a reflection, it was over very quickly and Chip was glad of this as he knew how awful he looked this particular morning. He'd had the dream again last night, only this time it was even more vivid and real. So much so that, when he'd broken free of it and sat up in bed, his skin teeming with cold drops of sweat, he'd been surprised to find he was still alive and had pinched himself all over to ascertain that he was, in fact, real and breathing still, if a little heavier than usual. He hadn't slept from that moment on—he didn't dare. Instead, he had lain awake thinking about anything and everything there was to think about in order that his brain be too active to slip out of consciousness again.
He had succeeded in that endeavour until just before sunrise when he'd leapt out of bed in a manner that was far too energetic for someone as tired as he, dressed himself hurriedly in yesterday's discarded shirt and trousers, and raced outside to feel the warm damp glow of the early-morning sun on his face. Ever since then, he'd been in the stables grooming the horses for the day ahead. There was to be a hunting trip for the King and the more senior members of the household later that day followed by a coach ride to the nearest kingdom to continue negotiations and discussions regarding possible husbands for the princess, something Raisse was well aware of but never spoke about.
Raisse.
Chip hadn't seen her for a few weeks and secretly he was glad of it. He needed to stay away from her for a while and his plan to frustrate her into one of her haughty alienating moods had worked perfectly, if a little too well. He knew how much she wanted him to open up to her and he'd used this to make her angry with him, but he couldn't forget the look on her face she'd tried to hide when she'd jumped up to resume her studying. There was the desired anger, but accompanying it seemed to be fear, and he knew Raisse was not easily scared. It was a little unsettling.
He tried to look on the bright side. As long as he didn't see her, his vision could not come true and that was fine by him. There was another reason he was avoiding her but he'd pushed it to the back of his mind deliberately. He had to deal with more pressing problems first (although he had no idea how) so he brushed Ambrosius with dark-shadowed eyes and messier-than-usual hair and tried not to think about it, although it occupied his mind nonetheless.
He had almost finished with Ambrosius and was removing the hairs from the brush when Raisse appeared at the doorway. She startled him so much that he dropped the brush and then promptly tripped over it.
"Damn it, Raisse! Weren't you taught not to sneak up on…"
His words died in his throat and dried to form a lump in need of swallowing. He felt what little colour he had drain from his face and his heart beat loudly and forebodingly in his chest.
Her hair was loose. That was the first thing he noticed. Then he saw the dress he thought she did not own. She was the very image of the first vision he had had, the one that had never stopped haunting him. She spoke, and her voice seemed distant as he felt himself go dizzy and light-headed. He sat down on a nearby stool, staring straight ahead and trying to regain some control.
"Good day, Chip. I came to see how you were. What are you staring at? (giggle) Oh, do you like it? Isn't it beautiful? And my hair...yes, I know it's different but I fancied a change. What do you think? (pause) Are you alright?"
Her question was met with silence.
"Chip?"
Silence.
"Chip, you're scaring me!"
With great effort, Chip stood up, trying to appear as normal as he could. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm her. He held on to the wall for support.
"I'm fine. Really. I had no breakfast and the heat must have gotten to me. Plus, you made me jump. You really shouldn't sneak up on people like that."
He tried to laugh, but it sounded just a little hysterical so he stopped and hoped she hadn't noticed.
"Are you sure you're alright? You don't look well."
He coughed a little too loudly, as though he was trying to clear his brain rather than his throat, and bent to pick up his brush.
"I'm fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. How are you? What...what are you doing here, Raisse?"
Her face reddened a little.
"I came to see how you were, because I…I hadn't seen you for a while, and I was wondering if you were ok. Also, I thought I might accompany you on your ride for a change. Prepare Puck for me please."
"I don't think it's such a good idea," said Chip, as his mind whirred with possibilities and inevitabilities.
"Why not?" Her tone was more challenging than inquisitive.
"Don't you have lessons this morning? You know how irate Cogsworth will get if you are late."
"Cogsworth is preparing for the hunting trip. I have nothing to do."
"Still, I don't think the King and Queen would be too happy about you riding with me."
"Why not?"
Chip could only pretend he hadn't heard her as he fiddled with a bridle. His gift for inventive excuses and convincing lies had apparently temporarily left him.
"Why don't you want me to go riding with you, Chip?" said Raisse, softly yet aggressively.
She had folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, which Chip knew meant she was about to go into what he called 'princess mode.' He didn't answer again as he desperately tried to think of reasons for her not to go. Any other time, he would have been more than happy to have her with him, sharing the one thing that gave him pleasure, but he knew that if he spent time with her today, he had little chance of preventing what was going to happen.
"Chip, I order you to take me riding."
There was the 'princess mode' There was usually no denying her what she wanted when she used her status against him. Luckily, she didn't do it often.
Chip thought hard. In his vision, they were on foot. They weren't riding horses. They were running. Maybe it, whatever it was, wasn't meant to happen until later on when he had more time to prepare for it. Still, he'd have to keep his wits about him. He took a deep breath, knowing that his next words would trigger a chain of events he had feared for sixteen years.
"Yes, your highness."