Sometimes, I write the worst writing I've ever done, and in a fit of frustration, I stuff it to the darkest corner of My Documents where it stays for a month. And sometimes, when I finally dig it up again, it's not anywhere near the monstrosity I'd built it up to be, and I am able to finish it without totally rewriting the whole thing.
Ahem. Sorry for the delayed update. The true story is that I am quite out of my depth with this romance thing—I don't write a lot of it, and these first few chapters seem to have been nothing but. I had a lot of trouble with this next chapter, but I am resolving to keep the updates coming, so hopefully you can bear with me through the exposition! The fun stuff starts soon, I promise. For now, more cutesy Chella fluff.
Thank you so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows! I hope you continue to enjoy what I throw at you. :)
My household went into raptures when I told them about the next evening's plans. Bertha wanted to sew me a new gown, and when Mandy pointed out that it would be impossible to purchase materials and design and craft one in a single short day, Bertha insisted on altering one of Mother's to make it, as she put it, "more appropriate." She selected a velvety blue thing and locked herself in her sewing room for the rest of the afternoon, calling me in occasionally to take a measurement or pin something against my waist.
"I'll be living there, soon," I said as I helped Mandy make lunch. "What's the point in fussing over a simple dinner?"
"No point," said Mandy, "no point at all. Nancy!" The maid had just walked past the door. Her head and shoulders reappeared. "Run to the market and see if they've any of those bath salts from Jenn, there's a girl. The lavender kind. No—the jasmine. No, the—oh—get both." Nancy nodded and hurried back the way she'd come. "The servants are excited, that's all," said Mandy. "You've never been to a royal banquet before."
"It isn't a banquet," I said. "It's dinner with Char's family. It just happens that his family includes the king and queen."
"Yes, yes, precisely, love," said Mandy. She frowned at my hair, windswept from the walk, and took an end between her floured fingers. "I wonder if you could use a trim. Short hair is becoming the fashion, nowadays."
"I like my hair," I said firmly.
After lunch, I spent a pleasant afternoon walking the halls of the manor, reminding myself of its nooks and crannies. It was all familiar, yet there was a distance to it I hadn't expected. My own room felt different to me. The pattern on my bedspread looked faded. My dolls in their basket seemed childish. Had I grown so much in a single year?
I ran a hand along the dresser. Everything had been dusty when I awoke that morning, but Nancy must have been in, for the dresser was spotless, and the window was open to relieve the musty smell of an unused house. The air was frigid and smelled like the outdoors. Not like my room.
I leaned on the windowsill as I had done a thousand times and looked out over our grounds. The grass was stiff with frost, the trees and shrubs all barren, the pond frozen over. It would be lovely in the spring, but now, devoid of birds and wildlife, it seemed hard and lonely.
I shut the window and went to my bed, where I received a pleasant surprise. On the floor before my night stand was the fairy rug Mandy and I had hidden from Father all those months ago. We'd rolled it carefully under a loose floorboard in a broom closet. I'd nearly forgotten about it, but Mandy or Nancy must have recovered it while I was out.
I knelt beside it and fingered the tassels as I studied the design. After a few still moments, the images came to life, and I smiled, watching the little hunt. I wondered what would happen to it when I moved to the castle. Would it come with me, or would it stay here with . . . ?
I started. Stay here with whom, exactly? What would happen to the manor? Did Father intend to keep it? I didn't blame him wanting to keep his distance from Mum Olga, but then, he had his travels to achieve that. What use could he have with a second home? Surely he would see only its monetary value and sell it, as soon as I was gone, to the highest bidder.
I was surprised by how much the thought pained me, but it did. I thought wildly that I could buy it from Father myself after I married. But I would have even less use than he for a second home.
I heard Bertha calling me to take another measurement. I shook my head. Whatever happened to the manor, it was in the future. I had the present to enjoy it, and I would find a way to handle whatever might come next.
Dinner with Mandy was one of the best I could remember ever having. She wouldn't let me lift a finger to help, so I told her stories and watched as she wove her spell of smells and flavors. She served five courses of all my favorite ingredients, ending with an impossibly delicate custard and rich Ayorthaian coffee. She even procured a dusty bottle of dessert wine, at which I raised my eyebrows.
"Seems your father has his hiding places, too," she said, grinning as she poured.
Bertha made me try on the gown first thing in the morning. I thought it looked magnificent, but she took it hastily back to rework the bodice. Free of her pins for a while, I spent much of the day with Apple. It began to snow early in the afternoon, and it was amusing to watch him bat in puzzlement at the white flakes that floated around him.
When I returned, there was a message from Char. He would send a carriage for me at seven o'clock. I found myself feeling suddenly nervous as the evening drew close. I was having dinner at the castle. With the royal family. Alone. My finishing school training would finally be put to the test. As Mandy and I made shortbread, I tried to recall my lessons about silverware, how to walk, even how to converse. It had been so long, I knew there were many rules I'd forgotten, and without the curse to tug at me when I faltered, I would have no reminder.
Butterflies didn't begin to describe it.
Mandy settled on the jasmine bath salts. After I washed, Bertha brought in the gown. It was perfect, frosty blue and soft as a fawn's coat, and even Bertha seemed satisfied. She tucked my hair into a net of pearls and fastened a small white flower to one side.
"You look lovely," Mandy told me as I turned before the mirror. "A winter princess."
My reflection wrinkled its nose. "Not a princess," I said. I was surprised by the resolve in my voice—I hadn't given it much thought before, but now that it was brought up, I realized that becoming a princess was absolutely the last thing I wanted. It was difficult to say why, but Mandy didn't press the issue.
Nathan appeared at the door. "The prince is downstairs, my lady."
"Wait," said Mandy. She cast about my room, finding what she was looking for on my night stand. She lifted Mother's necklace over my head, smiling at the effect. "I told you you'd grow into it," she said. She kissed me, then shooed me into the corridor.
Char stood alone in the hall, hands clasped behind his back, examining the décor, sparser now than it once had been. He looked up when I emerged at the top of the stairs, and he grinned.
How his smile could set me at ease. I descended the staircase as elegantly as any lady, intending to sweep him an exaggerated curtsy when I reached him. Elegance was easier when it was in jest.
He intercepted me on the bottom step, however. He lifted me easily, spun me once all the way around, and set me down again.
"You look beautiful," he informed me.
"It's an elaborate illusion," I said.
"I doubt that." He nodded to Nathan, who bowed graciously, and smiled at the maids gathered upstairs. Then he offered me his arm. "Shall we?"
The castle looked the same as it had when I'd last seen it, and yet it looked different. At the balls, every front window had been lined with burning candles, as well as a hundred braziers along the entryway. The whole thing had glowed as if by magic. Now, only the entrance was lit, and only half the braziers, at that. It was subdued, but no less enchanting.
This was where Char lived. Where I would soon be living. My nerves flared up again.
The carriage had pulled away, and Char was watching me expectantly. He held out a hand. "Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," I said, and I took a deep breath to reassure myself. "Only a little nervous."
"You have no reason to be," said Char. "Come."
I took his hand, and he guided me up the palace steps. I had entered a different way at the balls—this must be the main entrance. The door Char brought me through opened into a front hall at least three times the size of Dame Olga's. A magnificent chandelier hung from a high-arching ceiling, and candelabras sparkled along the walls. A plush carpet covered the smooth marble floor, and a broad staircase with gilt banisters led to the second story, splitting to the left and right toward the top.
Servants and courtiers passed through, glancing at me curiously, but leaving the prince to his business. I thought of my own nosy staff and wondered whether their gawking yesterday had made him uncomfortable.
We were greeted by a manservant standing just inside the door. Perhaps he hadn't moved since Char left to fetch me. He bowed. "Highness," he said. "Welcome home."
"Brandon, this is Lady Ella," said Char.
Brandon bowed to me, and I curtsied. "You are welcome, my lady." As he took my shawl, he said, "The king and queen are in the Garnet Parlor. Shall I announce you?"
"Tell them we'll be in shortly," said Char. "I want to show Ella around, first."
"As you wish."
Of course I'd known the castle to be enormous, but the knowledge did little to sway the mounting sense of grandeur I felt as we traversed its endless corridors. Char didn't bring me everywhere—if he had, we might never have made it to dinner. He showed me the banquet hall, where they could entertain a hundred guests at a time, and the much smaller, private dining room, where we would be eating. It was abustle with servants lighting candles and laying out silver and crystal on a single long table.
We visited the throne room, vast and empty now that the day's business was concluded. We peeked into the council chamber, three studies where the young princes had their lessons, and two drawing rooms Char introduced as the "Emerald Room" and the "Ivory Room," for reasons apparent from the furnishings. He wanted to show me the armory and the knights' barracks, the kitchens, the dungeons, the courtyards, and the West Tower, but when he glanced at the ornate clock on the mantel in the Ivory Room, he acceded with a sigh that we would have time for all that later. He wanted to meet his parents before we convened for dinner, and there was one room in particular he wanted to show me. He wouldn't say what it was.
As we walked, we were met by the occasional castle-goer. Everyone nodded, bowed, or curtsied as we passed. I started by curtsying to everyone in response, but Char merely nodded, if he reacted at all. I followed his lead but was hesitant to do away with acknowledgements altogether, settling on a deep nod.
"Are there always so many people around?" I asked.
He looked surprised by my question. Then he grinned. "More, usually," he said. "During the day, at least."
"Do they all live in the castle?"
"The knights live in the barracks with the squires and pages," he said. "Most of the advisers live in their own manors, but Sir Edmund and Sir Albert have suites in the East Wing, with their families. They all have free roam of the castle, more or less, except our private rooms, of course. The rest of the advisers are around during the day, as well as the tutors, and you'll see more of the squires and pages, as well. The first level is open to anyone, really, until sunset. Usually nobles or foreign emissaries with some request or another."
I absorbed this. "It must be overwhelming."
"Sometimes," he agreed. "Hearing petitions isn't so bad—at least you can deal with one at a time. The advisers are worse. They're persistent. Sir Algernon can track you down from across the castle, and they come to you with everything, no matter how insignificant." He stopped himself and looked suddenly around, as if expecting a chiding council member to poke his head out from a doorway. Then he smiled sheepishly. "Forgive me. They are hardworking men doing what their job requires of them. They have it no easier than I."
We stopped at a tall, slender double door. I didn't tell Char, loath to ruin the surprise, but I knew where we were. It was the library. Father told me once that the doors to the royal library had been specially carved by a company of elves with Agulen at their head. They were easily the most priceless of his works.
I knew the doors instantly. Long slabs of heavy oak carved with mythical creatures and storybook characters. Char made to open them, but I stopped him so I could study the woodwork.
Here were Hansel and Gretel, dropping breadcrumbs in the undergrowth behind them. Elsewhere in their carved forest, a hunter crouched with his ax, spying on a small hut. I could see the face of Red Riding Hood's wolf in impeccable detail through the tiny window. The forest floor fell away, and there were mermaids splashing in a sea inhabited by narwhals and lithe water snakes. Snow White and Sleeping Beauty lay head-to-head at the door handles, their eyes closed in eternal slumber. Above them, dragons, phoenixes, griffins, and harpies soared through the air, some with riders, some pulling magic carriages.
I could barely see to the top of the doors, but at one hinge, I saw a tower window with a head peeking out, and Rapunzel's long hair spilling along the full length of the door to pool in a small pile at the floor. Along the other door, Jack climbed an equally tall beanstalk, from his house on a hill all the way up to the clouds. I marveled that wooden clouds could seem so airy and delicate, but in true Agulen fashion, they looked as though a breath would blow them away.
The stories weren't all familiar. I could have stood there for a day, picking out the characters I knew and meeting the ones I didn't.
Char was kneeling by the great sea. "This was always my favorite," he said. He pointed at a ship on the water. "Pirates," he said. "A full crew. You can count at least fifty men. I used to sit and stare at it until it seemed to come to life."
I thought of Agulen's wolf sculpture, and I understood what he meant.
"It's beautiful," I said.
Char got to his feet. "The true treasure is inside."
He took hold of Sleeping Beauty's forearm, one of the handles, and pushed open the door. It took him some effort, and the old hinges sighed with strain as they yielded to him.
Light spilled out into the dimly lit corridor. Some servant must have been apprised of the plan, because the room was full of lit candles and devoid of people. I gave little attention to the candles, however.
The library occupied a tower—the broad South Tower, I would come to learn. Two stories high the room stretched, and on up past the rafters and into the slope of the pointed, far-off ceiling.
And—oh, the books! If a free spot existed, I was hard-pressed to find it. Every kind of book packed endless shelves so tightly they were like to burst. Story books, history books, books of strategy, books in every language, encyclopedias, dictionaries. There were books I knew by heart and books I'd never seen before. Books gleaming in perfect gilt bindings, and books whose titles had faded from cracked leather covers. They were in every size, shape, and color, and they followed the walls forever upward.
A stair wound halfway around the tower, gentle and gradual, leading to a second-tier catwalk and a door back to the castle.
A massive window claimed the south side of the wall. I had difficulty making out the design by candlelight, but I could tell the colors, pale green, lilac, and gold. I imagined the room would be magnificent in the early morning.
The best part was the centerpiece. A low marble wall circled a plot of lush grass, into which were dug the mighty roots of a very tall, very alive corkscrew tree. Its smooth, pale bark wound upward and split into branches far above my head, spreading a flat canopy of round green leaves. Pillows and soft chairs gathered in the grass around its base. I could easily lose myself here for the lifetime it would take to read all those books.
I noticed Char watching me, eyes sparkling with anticipation. "Do you like it?"
How could I not? "It's wonderful," I said. I could find no further words to describe my feeling, so I added, "It's truly . . . truly wonderful."
I was overwhelmed with the urge to stay and explore the treasure trove, but too soon, Char was pulling me away. Dinner was to be served promptly at eight. We had ten minutes to meet the king and queen.
I resolved to return at my first opportunity to study its contents. I wanted to find all my favorite stories, and after that, to discover new ones. Reading in Elfian or Gnomic would help me study the languages, as well, and I longed to be as well-versed in every language as I was in Ayorthaian.
We came to a parlor, and the attending squire slipped inside to announce us. Char sent me a reassuring smile and squeezed my hand—and I remembered suddenly that I still hadn't told him about the letter.
It was a small confession, really. It pained me whenever I thought how much hurt it must have caused him, but he knew about the curse—my explanation would be simple. I felt certain he would forgive me.
Still, I wanted to tell him—while were alone. Hattie was a conniving, jealous narcissist, but as long as Char thought she'd written that letter, I thought he would have a rather more harsh impression of her than was strictly fair. As I had told him the other day, I didn't know what I wanted done with my step-family—it would be enough if I never had to see them again.
But I didn't know how much of that was truly my decision. Suppose Char wanted to have them tried? There was no evidence of any crime they might have committed—except the letter in Hattie's name. If anything they'd done had been against the law, intentionally deceiving the crown prince had to be at the top of the list. And while Char might respect my wish against having Hattie detained, would the king and queen feel the same way, if they found out?
I'd have to explain before Char gave his parents a false account. I wished fervently that I had done so already. The letter had of course followed from Char's initial proposal to me. He'd never told his father about it, and so I had no desire to bring it up before him. It was probably safe to assume Char wouldn't mention it, either, but he still might express that Hattie had done something to grievously injure him. It would be best to clear the air as soon as I possibly could. I should have done so already.
The door to the parlor swung open again, and the squire, beaming, bowed us inside. I gripped Char's arm with both hands—perhaps a little too tightly—and did my best to still my nerves as we entered the Garnet Parlor.
