A Questionable Quest

Chapter 4... in which I learn the truth and do some eavesdropping

I also wasn't quite in the mood to face my parents -- or Prince Edvick -- for a good few hours at least. So, instead of making my way towards the ringing and down to the dining room, I wandered. I had no destination in mind. My feet moved through the well-lit halls like a brainless... a brainless something with all the time in the world.

Every time I passed by a window, I paused and looked out. It was always too dark to see anything but the candle lit lamps in the many courtyards around the palace, but I wasn't looking to see anyways. I was just thinking.

I thought about everything under the sun. Pirates, dragons, cake, roses, balls, dancing, dancing with a nine-year-old, being engaged to a nine-year-old, my fairy godmother telling my parents to engage me to a nine-year-old.

Hrrackg.

Why had she done that? What had I ever done to deserve the worst possible fairy godmother ever? Dorissa must hate me. That was the only explanation, the only reason why she would tell my parents my true happiness was in Portsmount, Portsburring... engaged to a nine-year-old.

And if my true happiness was in Portsburring, why couldn't it have been with the other Prince? He'd been handsome enough, in a princely sort of way. And he was only a year older than me! Why couldn't I have been engaged to him?

Weren't we trying to avoid an arranged engagement of any kind? my brain whispered.

Right.

Right. Nothing had changed, really. The only thing that's different, I reminded myself, is my determination to avoid engagement at all costs.

The older prince's face shot through my mind.

I shook my head, and he disappeared. At. All. Costs.

But how?

My parents were quite convinced that fairy godmothers were never wrong. They'd listened to Tiffany, Harietta, and June's fairy godmothers, and now all three of my sisters were happily married.

Then again, their fairy godmothers had been competent.

Mine was... for a lack of better description, she'd once drunkenly set my bedspread on fire when I called her for help in teaching me magic. Fortunately, Mordrin was a much better tutor.

After who-knew-how-long, my feet came to a stop outside a heavy wooden door.

I paused, and cocked my head. If my (possibly horribly unprecise) calculations were correct, I was on the first floor of the south wing of the palace. Or the third floor, east wing.

... or maybe the west wing?

Next time you're in a foreign palace, I mentally noted, pay attention to where you're going.

I bit my lip, and pushed against the wooden door.

And pushed.

Aaaaaaand pushed.

Why were all the doors in this palace so heavy?

It took nearly five minutes, my entire body weight, and all manners of unladylike grunting, but finally (finally) I managed to get the door open a crack.

I stuck my ear to the hole. Silence.

More grunting and pushing ensued, until the crack had grown large enough for me to slip through. I'd long since traded my heavy travelling skirts for a pair of light, flowing pants (that looked like a dress if I kept my feet close enough together, and my mother had yet to notice the difference). The fabric swished softly against my legs as I moved into the dim-lit room.