“Careful,” Sara warned, coming up from behind. We slowly approached the bird, trying not to make any sudden moves. About two feet away, I realized the bird had not hurt its leg — it had a note tied around it! It was holding out its leg so I could take it. The bird bent its neck down to sample a blueberry and I took that moment to slip the scroll out from under the thin leather band that bound it. I unraveled the thin parchment. “It is about the Prince!” I exclaimed.
“Out loud, please,” Sara demanded.
“‘Princess Rose and Lady Sara, the Prince is under house watch and could not come as promised last night. He feels terrible about it, and shall rectify the situation tonight. Please look for him before the midnight hour. Blessings, the falconer, friend of the Prince.’”
I read it over and over until Sara finally cleared her throat. I looked up, blushing.
“Shall we send a reply?” she asked. “The bird is still here.”
“Excellent idea.” I hurried over to the easel and picked out my thinnest brush. I turned to my palette and dipped the brush into some blue pigment. With my hand poised over the back of the scroll, I suddenly stopped. I had never written a note to a young man before. What was I to say? The bird flapped its wings impatiently.
I wrote: I shall count the hours. Yours truly, Princess Rose. Then I gently waved the paper in the air for a few moments so it would dry before I rolled it back up. I affixed it to the waiting leg, and as soon as I tightened the leather knot, the bird flew straight up and away.
“What was your reply?” Sara asked.
I told her and she looked aghast. “Yours truly?” she said. “That sounds so formal!”
I lifted my chin defiantly. “That is how Mama used to sign her letters.”
“Yes,” Sara said, “when she was writing to a friend, or ordering more clothes. Not when she was writing to her one true love.”
I pretended to be absorbed in my painting. I couldn’t very well sign it With love, Rose. After all, I had known him for a day. True, my heart did quicken whenever I thought of him. And I had felt comfortable with him very quickly. But I had never known love for a young man before. How was I to recognize it now? Without taking my eyes off the flower I was painting, I said, “In my defense, I DID say I was counting the hours until his visit. Surely that was bold enough?”
“True,” Sara acknowledged. “That was in the right spirit. Fine, I shan’t mention yours truly again.”
“Yes, you will.”
Sara shrugged and smiled in that mischievous way of hers. “You are probably right.”
That night as darkness fell, Sara and I went into the library to wait. We huddled together on the couch under the warmest blanket we could find, still not daring to light a big fire. I tried to keep myself awake by recalling the Prince’s features one by one. His long, regal nose. His warm brown eyes. His hair the color of sunflower oil. I was just about to dwell on his broad shoulders when Sara grabbed my arm and we both sat bolt upright. Shouting! Someone was shouting outside. More than one someone. My heart pounded in my chest. One voice cried out above the others, “Open the door! Open the door!”
I could not move.
I watched out my window as one star after another filled the night sky. When I was younger I used to believe that the night sky was a black curtain with pinholes stuck in it that let the tiny rays of sunshine through. But Jonathan had studied astronomy and said that I was wrong, although he could not tell me what the tiny lights were. Tonight I knew exactly what they meant — that I would be seeing Rose soon.
I blew out my oil lamps and climbed into bed noisily, so the guards posted outside my door would be sure to hear. Under my nightclothes I was fully dressed. After what seemed like hours, I finally heard the bell gonging in the tower, indicating someone had cause for alarm. The guards began arguing. I could not make out their words through the thick wooden door, but I assumed they were deciding whether to go or not. I quickly began snoring as loudly as I could, tossing in a moan every now and then, like I was having a nightmare. This must have convinced them, because moments later I heard their boots stomping away down the hall.
I counted to ten, tossed my blanket off, and ran out the door. I kept to the shadows, creeping along the hall and down the stairs. I dared not cross the Great Hall, because I knew Father would gather his men there. Instead, I crossed the foyer and exited through the door the dung cleaner uses to clear the privy. I held my nose until I was through the small tunnel and out into the night.
Filling my lungs with the crisp, fresh air, I took off at a run, not looking behind me. Had I done so, I would have seen the group making its way to the aviary and I would have waited another minute. As it was, a shout rang out. I had been spotted! I still had the advantage. They did not know the woods and would have to stick to the paths. I did not know if they thought I was the falcon thief or simply myself, the escaped Prince, but that did not matter. They were in hot pursuit.
I hopped over fallen logs and ducked under tree branches, grateful that the leaves were not crunchy underfoot. I could still hear the guards shouting and calling out behind me, although they had fallen farther back. I forged ahead through the woods and broke into a straight run once I hit the lawn. By the time I reached the gardens, I knew there was not a second to waste. I saw a faint light in the library and called out for Rose to open the door. She must not have heard me. I had almost reached the castle when I saw her face through the window … and then it disappeared.
A second later, the door flew open.
The Prince bolted the door behind him and leaned against it, breathless. “Are you two all right?” he asked between gasps.
I nodded. “I would ask the same of you. What is happening?”
“It’s a long story,” he said. “We need to hide first. But where?”
I knew just the place. “Come with me,” I said, grabbing the blanket from the couch. The Prince grabbed one oil lamp, and Sara the other. I led the two of them down the cold stairs to the wine cellar.
“Ah,” said Sara, “your old hiding place.”
“You knew about it?”
She nodded. “Everyone knew about it.”
Of course they did.
“I’ve only been down here a handful of times,” the Prince mused from behind me. “I mean, down to our own wine cellar, of course.”
“Why so infrequently?” I asked, winding through the racks of wine and barrels of ale.
“My family does not do much entertaining. We have little need of a full larder such as this.”
From the rear, Sara said, “But I thought all kings and queens entertained. Rose’s mother loved to.”
“Queen Melinda,” the Prince said.
I stopped short, and they almost bumped into me. “You know of my mother?”
He nodded. “Queen Melinda was our kingdom’s most beloved queen. My mother is well-liked, too, but everyone has heard of the generosity and goodness of Queen Melinda.”
Tears pricked at the back of my eyes and my heart filled with pride. We kept walking. “So why do your parents not entertain?” I asked, forcing myself to remember that this was my life now, here, in the present.
“Mother is not, ah, shall we say, always great with new people.”
“Is she shy?” I asked.
“No,” he said after a pause. “Not shy, exactly.”
I would have pressed further, but we had reached my nook.
“This is perfect,” the Prince said when he saw it. “Even if the castle guards get in the house, they would never spot us down here.”
We crawled into the nook and spread the blanket around us. It was actually quite cozy. The Prince took my hand and my heart started racing. “Now, Prince,” I said, hoping he could not hear the quiver in my voice, “do tell us who is chasing you and what kept you last night.”
So he told us about his parents putting the guards on him, and the falconer’s plan, and about being chased here. And then he got to the part about the fairy and her cry
ptic message.
“Fairies!” Sara exclaimed. “Why do they have to be so mysterious?”
“At least you had better luck than we did,” I told the Prince. “The fairy would not even come to us.”
“I cannot take any credit. She came unbidden, although I was very glad to see her. I was hoping you would know what she meant.”
I repeated her words to be sure I had them correct.
“‘Until both worlds unite
in welcome harmony,
past and present as one
shall not grow to be.’”
The Prince nodded.
“That is a pretty sorry rhyme, if you ask me,” Sara muttered.
“Both worlds unite,” I repeated. “Both worlds unite. Papa always told me to consider the simplest option first. So in this case, both worlds probably mean your world and mine, past and present.” I smiled, pleased with my deductive reasoning. The fairies didn’t give me that gift of intelligence for nothing.
The Prince nodded and said, “But our two worlds did unite. We’re united now.”
My smile faltered. He was right, of course. We fell silent and thought hard on what else the words could mean.
A loud noise interrupted our contemplation. We all stiffened. I tightened my grip on the Prince’s hand. He whispered, “Do not worry. I bolted the door. They cannot get down here without a battering ram, and I doubt it will come to that.”
I nodded, still clenching his hand. Then it suddenly hit me. What were we afraid of? We had done nothing wrong. I was about to give voice to this, when suddenly the Prince said, “What are we doing? We are hiding from my own guards? We did nothing wrong. We just want to be together!”
“I agree!” I said, feeling a rush of affection for him. “Hey!” I said, jumping to my feet and almost hitting my head on the shelf above us. “I know what the fairy meant!”
The others got to their feet, too. “Do tell,” they said.
“Our families are a part of who we are, right?”
They nodded, the Prince a little hesitantly.
I continued, “So our worlds have not united until your parents have welcomed me with harmony! Then my past and your present shall be one, and I shall be free to join you in your castle!”
The Prince’s face drained of its color.
Oh, no! I had obviously spoken too freely. “Um, unless you do not want me to join you in your castle?”
“Er, I’m just going to check out that ale barrel on the other side of the room,” Sara said, quickly scuttling away.
“No, no,” the Prince said, taking my hands in his. “I want that more than anything. It is just that … that …”
“What is it?” I asked, relieved I had not overstepped. “You can tell me anything.”
He shook his head miserably. “I do not know if I can tell you this. You might not want to be with me, and I could not bear that.”
I wanted to tell him he was being as cryptic as the fairy!
The voices overhead suddenly became louder. “Son, we know you are down there.”
“It’s my father!” the Prince whispered.
“Son, please let us in. Your mother and I are very worried. What is this place? How could it possibly be what it looks like? Please, we need to talk.”
“He sounds quite reasonable,” I whispered.
“He is,” the Prince said. “It’s my mother I am worried about.”
“You may not have noticed this,” I said, smoothing down my skirts, “but I can be quite charming. I am sure your mother will like me, and I her.”
The knocking was getting more forceful.
“You do not understand,” the Prince said, clearly anguished. “My mother will not let you in our castle.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Why on earth not?”
He sank to his knees. “Because you are so beautiful.”
Well, that was nice to hear. But it did not make the least bit of sense. “Sorry?” I said. “What was that again?”
He would not meet my eyes. “My mother has banned all things of beauty from the castle. She has a bit of ogre blood in her and cannot stand to be around beautiful objects or people.”
Now that I was not expecting to hear. “Your mother is an … an ogre?”
“Only slightly,” the Prince said miserably. “Most of the time she is a normal, if slightly odd, woman. But on the second and fourth Thursdays of every month, her ogre blood surges and she … she …” He buried his head in his hands and I had to kneel next to him to hear the words. “She has to feed.”
“Feed?” I repeated. “Feed on what?”
“Anything that is close at hand,” he said. “Goats, cows. People. I wanted to keep you from all this. I have lived with it my whole life, but you should not have to. I will understand if you never want to see me again.”
I put my hands under his chin and lifted his head. “You and I are in this together,” I said firmly. “We will figure out a way to make this work.”
The corners of his lips lifted. He lightly traced the side of my face with his finger. I knew at that second that I truly did love him. He leaned in and kissed me. Our third kiss. (True, I was half-asleep for the first one, but I still count it.)
“If only you were not so fantastically beautiful,” he whispered in my ear.
“Oh, that is easy,” I said. “Watch.” I bent down and ran my hands along the soot and dust on the cold stone floor. Then I wiped the dirt all over my face. I leaned over and took a pair of shears that hung on the wall and haphazardly chopped at my hair until it was all different lengths. When I was done, he was gaping at me, his jaw practically hitting his chest.
“I cannot believe you just did that for me.”
“I did it for us,” I told him. No need to add that by tomorrow I would be beautiful again, hair fully restored, thanks to the fairy’s “blessing.” I would just have to keep up the routine daily.
He took my hand firmly and we headed toward the stairs. The knocking had stopped, but we knew they were still up there. When Sara saw us heading toward her, she stopped pretending to examine the ale barrel and joined us. When the light from her lamp hit me, she stopped short. “I leave you for ten minutes and this is what happens?” she exclaims. “Have you gone mad?!”
I laughed. “I am not mad! Do not worry. There is no time for a real explanation. I have to pretend to be ugly so the Prince’s mother will like me.”
“What?” she asked, looking back and forth between me and the Prince.
“I shall explain later,” I promised as we climbed the dank stairs. “But you might want to smear a little dirt on your own cheeks, just in case.”
“This better be good,” Sara muttered, sweeping some dust from the wall with her fingertips. “Or you are in big trouble.”
I unbolted the door and together we stepped into the hallway, blinking against the glowing dawn. Before us stood my parents, a mixture of concern and bewilderment on their faces. They did not look angry, though, and I could see none of the guards. Mother was leaning against the wall, fanning her pale face with her hand. All the bright colors in this castle must have been overwhelming to her.
“You must be the Prince’s parents,” Rose said, curtsying to them both in turn. “I am Princess Rose. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
They both shook their heads but peered at her with curiosity. I kept my grip on Rose’s hand and said, “Princess Rose is the daughter of King Bertram and Queen Melinda.”
“But they lived a hundred years ago!” Mother exclaimed. “I seem to recall they had a daughter, but she disappeared.”
I nodded. “This is she. Rose was put under a curse and was asleep for a hundred years, hidden right here in this castle. Right on our own property.”
“Astonishing,” Father said.
“The prophecy said the right person would awaken me,” Rose explained. “The Prince, your son, was that person.”
“And this castle?” Father said. “It is identical to ours in every way!”<
br />
“The fairy’s magic,” I said. “When Rose fell asleep, the whole castle went to sleep with her. The fairy duplicated the castle and Rose’s parents lived out the rest of their reign there. Then Great-grandfather took over the kingdom, and our family has lived there ever since.”
“I am sorry I doubted your word,” Father said, clasping me on the shoulder. “I had heard my grandfather tell tales of a hidden girl, but I thought they were only tales. I shan’t doubt you again.”
“Thank you, Father. I know you thought you were doing what was best for me.”
Mother stepped forward. I watched her take in Rose’s ragged hair and her dirty face. She lifted Rose’s hand — the one I wasn’t gripping — and examined her fingernails. They had dirt under them. A wide smile began to make its way across her face. “Welcome, dear,” she said, kissing Rose on both cheeks. Turning to me, she said, “You have chosen well, my son.”
I beamed. Father stepped forward and kissed Rose on the cheek as well. Then he whispered in my ear, “She is the girl in the painting in our library, yes?”
I nodded, glancing at Mother to make sure she wasn’t listening.
He winked and echoed Mother’s words. “You have chosen well, my son.”
I wanted to sweep Rose into my arms, but before we had a chance, the walls seemed to sway a bit. I felt for a brief second the same dizziness that accompanied Percival’s blow in the forest. The tapestries billowed out, and we all reached for them to steady ourselves.
“What was that?” I asked, alarmed.
“Look at the tapestries,” Father said, the awe evident in his voice. “They have faded. They look like ours now.”
It was true! All the bright colors had faded away. At the same moment we all turned our heads to the sounds of voices filling the air around us. The cooks in the kitchen, the squires in the fields, the maids arguing over whose turn it was to sweep out the pantry.
“Um,” Rose said, looking around, “I don’t think we’re in my castle anymore.”
“How can this be?” Mother asked, the color returning to her cheeks.
I turned to Rose and grinned. “This means the fairy has lifted the wall! You are in my home now.” The joy I felt having her here filled me to bursting.