“How selfish of you, Gabriella. All my planning, all those diplomatic negotiations, the entire expense of that party could have been wasted because of your silly little tantrum!" King Dady jabbed his large forefinger into his large desk with each word.
"How is the French Ambassador supposed to give a report to his King about the future leadership of this kingdom and the advantage of having his daughter marry your brother if Claudio is off coddling your outburst the whole night? What is he supposed to think about the noble blood we carry when my own daughter refuses to interact with anyone and is caught skulking alone in the bushes more than once?"
Gabriella listened without moving while he waxed eloquent with rhetorical questions.
King Daddy continued, "It hardly inspires confidence in our mental soundness, especially considering your Grandmama Queen Bernice and the condition she had. Furthermore, how on earth are we supposed to get you married?”
King Daddy’s dark whiskers with their first signs of gray were immaculately groomed as always. In contrast, his face was red again and spittle dotted the parchment papers open in front of him on his desk. He’d been working himself into this lecture for the last 15 minutes, or that was as closely as she could calculate by the movement of the sunlight streaming in from the window as it crawled across the floor of his chamber. His tall, lean Minister of Diplomatic Relations hovered a few feet away with a scroll folded in his hands, nodding at everything King Daddy said.
Gabriella looked down at her hands. By all accounts, they were the prettiest hands in the kingdom, and as far as she could tell, it was because she’d never done a useful thing with them.
“This sort of behavior has to stop, young lady!” King Daddy continued, changing things up by actually brandishing his finger at her this time. “It’s high time that you stop embarrassing this family and start acting according to the rules of decorum.
“The Queen Mama and I have done everything we can think of. We’ve hired tutors in Latin, Greek, French, and even that barbaric English language. We paid that prancing ninny to teach you to dance with grace. You can embroider, sing, and paint. Yet, as we empty the royal coffers to educate you, you have yet to show any superiority of mind, any extraordinary manners, or even basic civility. For all your superior birth, you are an utter failure as a young woman as long as you continue to offend in conversation and manner.” He paused before delivering his final jab, “Sometimes I wonder if you’re even our daughter.”
She could feel her eyes prickling at the edges and her view of the golden embroidery on her emerald gown began to look watery.
He continued, “We have one last chance to make a good impression on the French ambassador, and if you make another display such as the one last night, so help me, I’ll build a tower in Germany and have you locked up for the rest of your life. Do you hear me?”
This time, he clearly expected a response. “Yes, Daddy,” she muttered.
“Go do something useful like re-reading Il Cortegiano until the banquet is ready. Maybe you’ll be capable of captivating matters by then.” He looked back down at the parchment on his desk and picked up his quill.
Princess Gabrielle knew she was dismissed. She walked as demurely as she could through the towering wooden door back into the coolness of the hall. A single tear began to trickle down her cheek, which she quickly dabbed away with her lacy handkerchief.
She could hear the Minister of Diplomatic Relations congratulating King Daddy on things well said. As she stalked down the corridor, after she was out of sight, she fantasized about all the things she’d like to do to wipe the smirk off his face.
For a long while, as she wandered the tapestry-lined halls, those fantasies kept her preoccupied. She eventually found herself in the flower gardens, as she usually did in moods like this.
Lush lawns stretched out before her. Gravel paths meandered through the elaborately colored flowerbeds. Roses in tumbling fountains seemed to beckon to her, announcing safety. Hyacinths and daffodils gently waved in the cooling breeze while the lavender bobbed at her.
Gabriella reached out to touch the blossoms as she passed. As always, touching them reminded her of the story told of the woman touching Christ’s robe. The poison seeped out through her fingers and the flowers absorbed it, protected by their purity and perfection. Sometimes she imagined that they understood what they were relieving her of, the burdens she felt lifted, and like Christ, knew she was changed. As long as she hovered in the garden, she felt the change.
Tucked in the back of the garden in a forgotten corner, was the pond. Gabriella was drawn to it as always, pausing only briefly at the majestic fountain at the center and the broad clearing that had hosted the ball only the night before. The only remaining evidence of the previous evening’s events was the crushed flowers drooping along the perimeter of the area.
In a small corner of her brain, she could understand why her father had just spoken to her. He wanted a daughter who felt at home in a gathering that would crush both flowers and political agendas with the same ease, a daughter whose beauty and manners were equally captivating. Any other kind of daughter would be quite useless. Again, she looked down at her pretty, flawless little hands.
In another small corner of her brain, she still felt angry.
She kept walking, reaching those hands out for anything that could provide a healing touch. Slowly, she approached the pond. The water lilies floated, both marring the reflection of the perfectly still water and concealing what lay in the depths below.
Even as a child, fascinated by the pond, she would poke sticks under the water, stabbing at the ground, connecting with something solid and real that lay hidden and dark. She had never stepped even a toe into the water. Her nursemaids had fluttered and worried as she’d played with the sticks in the water, but their anxieties had been unnecessary. Though fascinating, the mysteries under the surface were sobering and frightening during the age of fearlessness.
From the opposite corner of the pond, the Frog watched her drawing near. Unpleasant memories of princesses past stormed through his thoughts. He had so little time, but felt paralyzed in his hiding place among the reeds.
Nothing in all these years had worked. Nothing. The pressure of the moment made his heart skip. He hadn’t anticipated that she’d return so soon. He didn’t have a new plan. In previous attempts with previous princesses, he’d burned through plan A, past plan Z and was sure that at this point he was on his third trip through the alphabet.
Heart beating fast, his unsightly, bulging neck was also throbbing with his heart. However many plans had failed to date, this current one was not panning out well. So far, it consisted of sitting quietly and watching the breeze tickle her auburn curls, which were hidden under some sort of headdress. He never was good at paying attention to that stuff. His sister used to---his sister. His breath caught in his throat.
“Focus!” he told himself. He supposed his distractibility came from having such a small brain. This was another item to take up with the witch.
She stood there at the edge of the pond looking down into the water. Thick reeds and lilies floated gracefully on the surface. Slowly, she lowered herself to perch on a rock and a hand absently reached toward the emerald ring she wore on her right hand, twisting it around and around. The expression on her face shifted continually, like the sands of the Sahara, blown about in her gusting thoughts.
Puzzled, the frog remained motionless in his hiding place.
Quite suddenly, and without warning, her female companions of the previous evening burst out of the bushes nearby. Startled, the frog jumped into the foggy water to escape.
“Oh, your Highness! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
Gabriella jumped up from her seat. She couldn’t tell which one had been speaking, but she supposed it didn’t matter anyway. She felt her wall of resentment rising.
Gabriella mustered a look of contempt and swept past them. She knew they would follow. They always did.
As she walked back toward the castle, she felt her misery begin to seep in once again. Even the flowers had limits to what they could do, nor could all her stomping beat out her anger and shame. So much for basic civility, let alone the extraordinary manners she was supposed to be displaying.
Once back in her chambers, she sat on her velvet stool and waited while each of the ladies deliberated over which gown she should wear.
“This one will bring out your bright blue eyes, your Highness,” one said.
Another said, “This one will accentuate your creamy complexion.”
The third, or maybe it was the first again, said, “This one will look lovely with your long, curls. You have such rare, beautiful hair.”
Gabriella looked at them with a blank expression. Sometimes she couldn’t remember whether it were Monday or Thursday because the days melted together in a bleary khaki paste. They did this every time. She was sorely tempted to choose the plain black dress at the back of her closet like she had during the spring Festival of Colors. Her ladies had almost fainted. However, her recent encounter from King Daddy was still fresh on her mind. She swallowed hard.
“I’ll take the blue silk one.”
“Oh, what a great choice, your Highness,” said one of them. She seemed to be genuinely smiling. “You will be absolutely radiant in this. I love the banquets and all the pageants. I’ve even heard there will be a new kind of dancing called Ballet. I’ve been so excited that today has seemed as slow moving as a rose blooming.”
Gabriella’s eyes widened. She’d never heard such an outburst from a servant. One of the other ladies furrowed her brow in the direction of the one speaking and the third one made a gesture with her hand that caused the first to immediately close her mouth and blush a deep crimson. Any other comments as they carefully dressed, adorned, arranged, and perfumed Gabriella were restricted to praise for her. The first lady seemed to say very little for a while.
Finally, as their preparations neared a close, one of them said, “My, you look like such a beautiful princess.”
“At least I look like one,” she thought to herself. Her crown felt heavy and her jewels weighted her shoulders as she glided down toward the banquet hall with her ladies. She saw Claudio standing just outside the imposing carved mahogany double doors. He looked very energetic, excited.
“Ah, I’ve been waiting for you.” He smiled. “I hope Dad wasn’t too stern with you.”
“His behavior was exactly what I’ve come to expect.” Gabriella tried to return the smile.
“He really does love you, you know. It’s just that international relations are really tenuous right now. He wouldn’t have done that if he wasn’t worried.”
“If that’s love, then the name for how he treats you is idol worship. Did he lecture you at all or just give you the raised eyebrow and start talking about politics again?”
Claudio reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s different with me. You know that. I’m not supposed to be all refined like you are.”
Gabriella thought about pulling her hand away. She felt several replies in her throat, tasting like bile and pitch as they made their way to her lips.
“Gabby, I have some big news to tell you. I—”
The sound of footsteps behind her curbed both of their tongues. King Daddy’s footsteps were unmistakable, especially when paired with Queen Mom’s delicate stepping as they were now.
“Claudio! Gabriella! You look wonderful!” Queen Mom called softly as they approached.
King Daddy surveyed the two of them, pausing the longest on Gabriella. She carefully made her outward demeanor as demure as possible. Gabriella seemed to pass inspection.
“Good evening, Claudio,” King Daddy smiled. He nodded in Gabriella’s direction before stepping with Queen Momma to take their place at the head of the Royal procession. Claudio took Gabriella’s arm, her outstretched hand resting on his hand; the way King Daddy supported Queen Momma’s.
Standing directly behind Queen Momma, Gabrielle was intoxicated by her light, flowery perfume. The jewels on her crown glistened, and the beadwork on her brocade gown seemed an extension of Queen Momma herself. Even the way she held her head was regal and graceful. For King Daddy, Queen Momma was the standard of perfection.
Gabriella sighed.
She heard the page announcing their arrival and the scrape of benches moving backward on the banquet hall’s stone floor as people got to their feet. The trumpets began playing their usual pompous melody and the large double doors in front of King Daddy opened.
King Daddy had outdone himself. There were candles along all the walls, the massive coat of arms hung behind the banquet table, polished and gleaming. In the fireplace, there was a roaring fire to chase away the chill of the early autumn evening. The dancing golden light gave a cheerful glow to the roasted peacocks, leg of lamb, mountains of sugared plums, and goblets awaiting the guests.
It looked like King Daddy planned on using some of his best wine as well. Gabriella could just make out the label on the wine bottles in the servants’ hands. Claudio had told her about this wine once as children, on a day where he had pulled her around the royal wine cellars telling her stories.
When King Daddy was still just the Crown Prince, he had been sent to settle a territory dispute at the head of an army. This was before everyone started hiring mercenaries as warriors and the royal family still held their place as the head of the army. They had gone into Tuscany and beat them thoroughly. Prince Daddy had proudly brought back the best wines from the cellars of the Tuscan prince.
She couldn’t remember why Claudio had told her that story, except that he used to tell her stories often back then. He could always get her to stop crying after one of Momma’s brief visits to the royal nursery or when she was bored. He knew some of the most fantastic stories. Sometimes, on rainy afternoons when she wanted to throw rocks at her ladies in waiting, she could still recall some of them and they had the same calming effect on her.
After all these years, King Daddy had only used this wine on two other occasions: His wedding day to Queen Mamma and the day that Crown Prince Claudio Marcellus was born. She wondered briefly what marked this occasion as special enough to warrant King Daddy’s prize wine. It was just a birthday party to impress some silly French ambassador who thought too much of himself and his silk cravat, the latest style brought from Croatia. He preened that cravat incessantly and the longer Gabriella was around him, the more she wanted to cut it to shreds.
King Daddy and Queen Momma descended the stairs into the spacious room as the guests stood quietly around the long dining table. Every head in the banquet hall was turned toward them and Gabriella tried not to picture the way her red hair stuck out among the golden blondes of her family, tried not to move as awkwardly as she felt in her heavy gown and corset, tried to mimic Queen Momma’s regal air. He heart began beating even more quickly and she felt herself begin to tremble.
She could feel Claudio’s arm under her own, steady and strong. He was on the cusp of manhood, still part boy and not all man. That transition to manhood was what this banquet was about, but tonight he carried himself without a trace of boyhood. She suddenly felt lost. Who was this standing next to her? She couldn’t remember when he had lost that youthful gawkiness, when that tow-headed, freckle-faced playmate had finished his transition.
She looked over at her perfect, beautiful, poised ladies-in-waiting who’d been allowed to enter without pomp. She could see a smirk on the face of the one furthest to her right.
Gabriella briefly glanced at her brother, her perfect, golden brother. His flaxen curls fell so naturally around his face he looked cherubic in his blossoming manhood. The dimple on his right cheek stood out in the torchlight as he aimed his gleaming smile at the party below. He looked so confident.
“Of course he looks confident,” she thought to herself. She tried to remember a time when he’d ever been reprimanded. When caught climbing in the orchards together, her father had laughed and winked at Claudio before telling him to stay out of harm’s way. In contrast, she had been sent to bed with a pauper’s dinner as a reminder that such behavior was appropriate only for beggars and scum, not a girl of noble blood. As she’d lain in bed that night, her stomach had groaned with hunger while her ears had continued to burn with the abrasiveness of her father’s language.
As these thoughts continued, she could feel the seething anger filling her from her stomach and tingling into her fingers and toes. It was almost a comfort to feel the anger eat away at her dread as she stepped from the last stair. The sense of power loaned her dignity as Claudio led her to her seat and she slowly sat down.
Once the guests were seated and talking loudly with one another, she started to look around a little more. To her left was Queen Momma, followed by King Daddy and then Claudio. It looked like the French Ambassador was on Claudio’s left. The break in their usual seating arrangement must have been King Daddy’s idea. This was perfect for Claudio and the King.
She looked to the right. There were a few palace dogs sniffing hopefully at the table. The man to her right was trying to shoo one away from his plate. He was a small, olive-complected man with beady eyes and a sharp nose.
“Get out of here, you mercenary leech!” He swung his hand at the dog, catching it on the nose. The dog yelped and scampered off.
Gabriella’s jaw dropped. She had no time to make a comment, however, because King Daddy began his welcome speech just then.
“Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen!” He had a goblet in his right hand, which he used as he gestured toward the crowd. “Welcome to our final celebration. Just as this feast marks the final day of Prince Claudio’s boyhood, it also marks the last day of our festival. May the joy we feel today follow him throughout his adulthood.”
The crowd erupted into a cheer. Many wore smiles; others merely clapped their hands. King Daddy looked as though he were announcing the ascension of Christ as he continued. “I would also like to announce that with Prince Claudio’s first steps into manhood, he will be taking his first steps as a warrior. He will leave at the head of our army in two days to crush once and for all the pretensions of our unruly neighbors!”
Gabriella felt as though someone had kicked at a knife lodged between her ribs. She felt a numbness suck the life out of her anger as she looked over at her beloved brother and only confidante. King Daddy had pulled him to his feet and was slapping Claudio’s back roughly as the room erupted with men’s shouting. Claudio was grinning, raising his fist into the air and shaking it at the crowd. It seemed to Gabriella that he purposely did not turn to his right to look in her eyes.
Glistening swords were raised in the air as each of the men in the room shouted their approval. The cacophony rattled against her wooden heart. Next to her, Queen Momma was politely clapping and Gabriella stiffly followed suit.
The room slowly quieted down until a man’s voice shouted from the corner, “A toast to our brave Crown Prince!” Everyone raised their goblets in the air. Gabriella’s slowly followed.
“To the brave Crown Prince!”
Though the wine was sweet, it tasted brackish as it trickled into Gabriella’s mouth. Through the many chorusing toasts that followed, she listened as from the other end of a long tunnel, their small voices tinning in her ears
At some point, the feast commenced. Musicians were brought in to serenade them and jugglers did tricks as they wandered the hall. Someone put food on Gabriella’s plate and she dutifully picked up her fork. It all tasted like dust.
The man to her right was eating ravenously, making smacking noises and breathing loudly. If Gabriella had cared to look over at him, she would have seen bits of food dribbling down his chin between bites.
After several courses had been served, the little man turned to her, “You know, Princess, it’s all worth it for the end result. Even if your brother dies, it will be in a good cause.”
Gabriella turned quickly to look at him. “And what good cause is that if our kingdom loses its future ruler?”
He answered, even while food spilled around between his teeth and lolled over his tongue. “The unification of Italy. The five states have been territorial, battling factions long enough. We must fight together if we want to be strong.”
“And what does my brother have to do with that?”
The man passed a napkin over his mouth. “If your brother can teach your neighbors a lesson as your father did to the Republic of Florence, then there will be three states unified under a single leader instead of the warring factions.”
“And if my brother dies?”
“Well, it was worth a shot anyway.”
Gabrielle was speechless.
“This is an excellent vegetable.”
“Excuse me?” She asked.
“Vegetable. It’s an excellent vegetable. I believe it’s been recently imported from the new colonies, the West Indies, I believe. This is called squash, if I’m not mistaken. It’s quite like your father to have them at this banquet. He likes to show off.”
This seemed hardly the time to discuss produce.
The beady-eyed man continued to masticate his dinner.
“Who are you?” She finally asked.
“Oh, yes. We have not been introduced. I believe you were in the bushes somewhere when I was announced at the ball last night. Niccolo Machiavelli, Florentine Diplomatic Ambassador at your service.”
“So tell me, Seniore Machiavelli, why would my father wager the Crown Prince of his kingdom in such a risky move?”
“Your father isn’t thinking at all about unifying Italy. He just wants to claim some territory and bolster his power with an advantageous marriage with France. He’s really not all that far-sighted, for being such a powerful man.”
“And what is your say in all of this?”
“Well, as I want the unification of Italy, when I had my chance to give him some advice, I made sure it looked especially advantageous to squelch the warmongering neighbors. Naturally.”
“My father knows this, doesn’t he?”
“What your father knows and chooses to acknowledge are two separate things. He knows many things and still chooses to underestimate them. You, for example, are quite intelligent, but I am much mistaken if he’s ever given you a task other than looking pretty and acting subservient.”
Gabriella flinched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve been watching you. You’re quite an impressive little girl—well, almost a woman now, judging by your physical development.”
She shrank back in her chair, very conscious of her low neckline.
“Your father thinks you’re a disappointment even though you’ve mastered the English language. Those barbarous people with their barbarously inconsistent language will one day be a super power and anyone who can ally themselves with them will be at an advantage. Yes, you have distinct political possibilities.”
“My possibilities lie only in an advantageous marriage.”
“You don’t really believe that.”
“I—” Actually, she wasn’t sure.
“Just remember, my dear, that as long as Italy can emerge as a unified republic and expel all these foreign pigs,” he gestured with his fork toward the French Ambassador, who was again arranging his cravat, “anything we have to do to make that happen will be worth it.”
“Not anything. You could hardly say that being as brutal and immoral as they have been would raise us to that unified nation you dream of.”
“But that is where you are wrong. The ends always justify the means, my sweet.” He looked over at King Daddy and Prince Claudio. “Always.” He turned back to his squash and began anew the smacking noises.
Gabriella began to feel something gnawing underneath her numbness. She turned toward Queen Momma to see if she’d been listening. The Queen was consuming her squash with the same even peaceful expression that one might enjoy a theatrical production.
Princess Gabriella swallowed any food in miniscule bites for the rest of the evening. She felt she was swallowing sawdust.
Niccolo showed absolute unconcern, speaking only to bid her goodnight as the banquet ended and the party moved to the ballroom for the ballet production. He had consumed enough of the food for a small family.