Princess Freckles

1. Lady's Tea

"Chammielle! Chammielle!"

The early afternoon sun was so lovely, the breeze light and refreshing, and the birdsong had been so musical it was inspiring her to write a sonata about afternoons in the rose garden. Was. Now such visions were interrupted by the thundering steps of three seventeen year old girls hurrying towards her with their skirts gathered.

"Slow down, if mother saw you three now she'd scold you that a lady never runs."

The three blondes with their clear purple blue eyes pouted at her and the flush in their faces gave them a creamy pink blush. It really wasn't fair that they were so pretty. Like elegant dolls from Franca.

"Nevermind that! His highness, Prince William IV, he's coming for tea this afternoon!"

She closed her notebook at that and slid her favorite quill into her hair behind her ear.

"Oh, I'll make myself scarce then..."

Three pairs of gloved hands gripped her arm then and she felt herself being forcefully escorted back to the house.

"Nonsense! It's the Prince!" Ianthe chimed in with her bell like voice, her violet eyes shimmering.

"His herald came by just now and announced that every eligible lady of the House of Kuchen must attend his visit!" Exclaimed Aster, her beauty mark at the corner of her left eye setting her apart from her sisters.

"Right, but I am by all accounts a bastard no matter what the three of you think. I can't possibly be dragged into this."

"Don't be silly. You were named along with us. Our father didn't exclude you in his annual reports all these years, you silly woman!" Chryssia patted her arm, still pulling.

She would meet the prince. Looking as she did?

Chammielle glanced down at the arm her sisters were holding and glared at the ugly brown spots smattered all over every inch of skin that had ever even heard of the sun. Why had her mother been a baker's daughter with ginger in her genetic recipe? What had her father seen in the woman she didn't even remember?

Ianthe caught her eye and she smoothed her face. Her half sisters meant well, but their perfection grated against her badly freckled skin. She slipped her arm from their dainty fingers.

"I am coming with you quite placidly. There's no need to make a show of force, ladies."

The four of them marched into the old stone mansion together, skirts upheld gracefully so as not to trip on the stairs. The early spring day would have to wait for Chammielle to return with book and quill. And then again for the sounds of her fingers on the piano keys wafting out the window to mingle with the buzz of the garden.

"There you are. The Prince is on his way as we speak and will be here within two hours, my dears. We must have you looking your best and--what is in your hair?"

Chammielle slipped her hand into her mass of wild red brown curls and retrieved the quill. A demure smile begging forgiveness for her faux pas.

"My apologies. I was writing when I received word."

The tall woman with the ample bosom and long neck couldn't help but look down on her. At almost twenty, Chammielle was taller than her sisters, but they would surpass her in the next few years. She was lean but not curvatious or conventionally beautiful. And her breasts it seemed would never reach such... magnitude. Of any kind.

"It's alright, just don't let the Prince see it. I've already picked out your dress, Chammielle, and Daisy will be helping you change. There's no time for a bath I'm afraid, but she'll do something with that hair of yours."