The light of the tallow nub burns pale and orange, but it is enough. I don't expect anyone shall see my story but it will be written. It must. I am not a ninny. I know how this story shall be told.
How the bitter, plain face of the princess will grow ever fairer as this tale is passed down from generation to generation. How my dusky beauty will be buried beneath the hardened mask of a calculating shrew. And yes, I am beautiful, for the prince told me so. Not with words, but with the light in his eyes, the way he looped his fingers through mine on that first afternoon. What a disappointment our romance was destined to be.
Oh hush Falada, you stuffy old nag! At least I saw your pure blood spilled before I go to my fate.
Fie, that I wish when they lopped off that proud horse's head, they'd cut out her tongue as well. I have torn my skirt and draped the cloth over the bars of my prison, so that I don't have to look at that equine fiend, staring down her long nose at me. I can hear her all the same. I can't write and cover my ears at the same time.
"A hangman's fate is too good for thee.
A barrel of nails, soon you shall see."
And so I shall. But not before morning. There is time. This charcoal stick is awkward and blackens my fingers, but it will do. So I begin my tale.
My mother is complicit in this as much as me, although I do not blame her for it. I have no regrets and she would have none of me. Oh Mama, how I wish my side of the story would reach your ears before the foul, twisted filth of the winners — the highborn are always the winners — burn your ears with their scourge and lies. You know me though. I keep faith that you will read between the lines and know the truth.
But yes. My mother. It was just the two of us for so long. My father — a woodsman — died when I had barely left the breast. A tree fell the wrong way, snuffing out his life with a snap. Mama says he was a good man. Not a man of deep thoughts — that was Mama's domain — but a good man.
Mama was of the river folk. Dark, proud and beautiful people with straight backs and fierce dark eyes. It was common for them to pack up their small pouches of belongings and go wandering. That was what my mother did. Wandered into the woods and almost into the jaws of a pack of wild dogs. It was my father who saved her.
After my father died, Mama taught me all the skills of the river folk. How to fish, wash clothes and channel the river magic. The river runs powerful and free and its magic is the same. A mortal cannot keep the river magic — it won't be kept — but if you approach it the correct way, the river magic will work with you, for a time.
Our magic made us special. That was what Mama always said.
"The highborns think because their skin is white, they are better than you. They are not. In your blood runs centuries of magic and untold knowledge. Never forget that."
I never did.
So it happened that one day not long into my eleventh year, Mama and I were walking back from town when a coach rolled up beside us.
A girl of about my age, leaned out of her seat and shouted, "Look Papa. There she is. The pretty dark one. I want her to be my lady-in-waiting."
Apparently, the princess had been at the market as well. Accompanied by her papa, she was looking amongst the gentry for her first lady-in-waiting.
"The other girls were so ordinary. But this one is special." She leaned across her father to address Mama directly and said: "Name your price for your child, dear woman. My papa, the King, shall fix you up."
Mama opened her mouth to explain that I wasn't for sale, when the King hushed her. "You do not say no to a princess or her king. I shall pay double what I was willing to pay in the marketplace."
"You cannot put a price on a mother's love," Mama said, looking just left of the King's gaze. Even she did not dare look him in the eye.
"Stubborn wretch!" The King said, hurling a purse of gold at Mama's breast. "Bonetread?"
A large man, who was bent double in the coach, stepped out and stretched to his full height. He was a giant. I was terrified. Ten although I was, I'm ashamed to admit I scooted under my mother's skirts and clutched onto her. Begging not to let them take me away.
What happened in the next few moments still haunts me in my dreams to this day. The giant reached under my Mama's skirts and pulled me free. I bit and kicked and scratched, but to no avail. The giant laughed as he held me at arm's length.
The King laughed as well. "Are you sure you want this one, Annabelle? We may have to have her claws removed first."
As the coach rolled away with me in it, I struggled with the giant, unable to leap into the underbrush as I desperately wanted to. My last view of my Mama, was of her sinking to the ground, dust billowing around her skirt, tears flowing in dark lines down her tawny cheeks. I never saw her again; and now I know I never will.
The years went by and I made peace with my fate. My mistress was haughty but not unkind. We were as close as such a mismatched partnership could make. It wasn't her fault really. From the day she was born, Annabelle was led to believe that she was better than I. That in spite of her wintery eyelashes and brows, her eyes the same pale blue of a cloudy day, she was superior to me in all things. In learning, in wits, in beauty.
But since I was expected to attend court, my lady's lessons were my lessons too. I listened carefully while the dance teacher trod us through the steps of the Basse dance. By the time I was seventeen, I spoke all seven dialects of the realm and neighbouring provinces. As I was required to read and respond to Annabelle's correspondence, my penmanship was of the highest standard.
On those rare days, where Annabelle would spend the day with her mother in her rooms, the stablehands would fix me a horse and I would ride out on the dales. More than once I strayed to the edge of the King's land, feeling the pull toward home; back to my own Mama. I would have gone too, but common sense always took hold. They would find me. And when they did, it would be Mama who was punished, not me.
The only horse I didn't ride was Falada. No one was to ride Falada but Annabelle. She was a beauty; almost seventeen hands, muscles rippling under her broad chest. Her coat, dark as cacao, gleamed like the sun on a lake; and her nostrils were wide and flared, as if she could run to the end of the earth. Oh! I desperately wanted to ride her. When I visited the stables, as the man saddled my horse, I would gaze longingly at Falada. Her reply was to whinny and paw at the earth.
"Poor girl," I clucked at her, as she stamped and blew her nostrils at me. "You want me to ride you, don't you? Astride — not sidesaddle and prim — the way a horse was made to be ridden. You just want to run free."
Actually, that wasn't what she wanted at all; but I didn't know that then.
If not for Falada, events would never have unfolded as they did.
The day Annabelle turned seventeen, the King sent for her. There was tension brewing with the nearby kingdom of Ghivault. Annabelle was called upon to improve relations, by marrying the crown prince.
She took the news with dignity. It came as no surprise to her. After all, she had been bred for this purpose. Her older brother, Rinald, would inherit the throne and take a bride for his queen. It was the way of things, the way they had always been.
Only I knew of the disappointment and sorrow she felt.
Annabelle was already in love with an earl of the court, Jaspar Clewes. Back in her rooms, she cried bitterly at the unfairness of it all. I tried to comfort her but she shoved me away. Our relationship changed that day.
She had been raised well — never to question the decision-making of the King or her mother the Queen. But what respect did she owe the coloured daughter of a country woodsman? The differences were only minor at first. She would speak to me more sharply when I was tying her hair. She might criticise my clumsiness if the words in her correspondence were not perfectly looped and even.
As our departure date drew near, her temper grew more vicious. Annabelle would rail and shout at me for things beyond my control, such as the porridge being too sweet (I tasted it, it was the same as the cook had been making for seven years); or for not ensuring her rooms were in immaculate condition (the maids came twice a day as they had always done).
The day before we were due to ride, Annabelle threw a filled chamberpot at me, ordering me to clean up her mess. I stood there, my hair dripping with filth, and stared at her. This had never been my task to do. When I returned with the clean chamberpot, having spent some time with the maids as they did their best to wash my hair and help me into clean clothes, my mistress was gone.
I took it to mean that she was spending some time with her mother. I hoped that the Queen might offer her some comfort. As was to be Annabelle's duty, the Queen had come from a distant land to marry a man she had never met. It made sense that Annabelle should seek her counsel.
That left me free to enjoy my own pursuits.
There was something odd about the stables — that was apparent from the moment I arrived. For one, the hand usually greeted me as I came down the hill; but today he was nowhere to be seen. The door to the stables was open, so I walked in. The first thing I noticed as I entered, was that Falada was hooded. Perhaps Annabelle had requested it, so that Falada might be rested before our big journey. Annabelle wasn't one for riding other than for short pleasure trips. I did not ponder over it, though. Annabelle's behaviour had been out of sorts in many ways.
I trod across the straw-covered floor, thinking I would find the man in with one of the horses. A low keening came from a stall at the far end. It sounded as though one of them was unwell. When I inched closer, I was met with a sight that was at once shocking and mesmerising. There was Annabelle and Jaspar Clewes, disrobed, their limbs entwined.
I was so terrified of being caught that I crawled into the corner of an empty stall, waiting until their moans subsided. There was the rustling of clothes being replaced, brushed down and tidied; urgent whispering, too low to make out anything coherent. And then, after what seemed like an age had passed, they left. One after the other, leaving a respectable pause between them.
I cannot explain why I acted as I did next, only that I was stunned and curious. I had felt similar stirrings, fleeting only in nature, when receiving a smile from a handsome gentleman of the court. Truly though, I could only speculate over the feelings Annabelle shared with the earl. I had no real understanding of these things. It was something I wished to explore though.
I crept into the stable where Annabelle and the earl had lately lain. At first glance, there was little to distinguish the floor from any of the occupied stables. But then I noticed a few clues: the absence of horse dung and a recently scrubbed floor; the straw on the floor arranged in a neat rectangle. Usually it was strewn in a shambolic mess, but here the straw had been carefully arranged to form a makeshift mattress. That was when I noticed the piece of white cloth.
Fearful that I'd tarried too long and that perhaps Annabelle or the earl might return, I snatched up the cloth and fled. I was almost to the mouth of the stables, when a voice spoke:
"Ah, the folly of pureblood is not yours to see.
Thine pretty neck shall hang if my mistress catches thee."
A chill gripped my heart, and for an instant my legs felt as though they were all flesh and no bone. I caught the wooden door-bolt, stopping my fall. My eyes roved wildly around the room. Who had spoken? I could see only Falada in her stall and the other horses in theirs. Had some knave secreted himself in one of the other stalls? Was my mistress's secret exposed?
The invisible fingers around my throat loosened. I came to my sense and tore from the stables. I ran all the way to my favourite tree at the edge of the kingdom. When I got there, I sank against the trunk and spread the cloth out on the grass. It was a silk handkerchief, one of Annabelle's — I knew them well. In the centre of the cloth were three almost perfectly-formed drops of blood.
What is this magic? I thought.
Of course I know what it was now, but in my naiveté, I imagined it was some sort of talisman. A charm to bind Annabelle and the earl together — to petition the aid of the spirits against an unfair fate.
I reasoned that such a powerful symbol might come in handy on our journey. It was just Annabelle and myself riding alone to Ghivault, without guard. Even if it proved to be meaningless, the idea of having some sort of good-luck piece gave me comfort. I pocketed the handkerchief.
The next day got off to a bad start. Annabelle was in a foul mood. Shouting at the maids, telling them they'd tied her stays too tight. Accusing the stablehand of trying to break her neck by not fastening Falada's saddle just right.
For my part, I tried, and succeeded, to stay out of her way until the moment of our departure. I was only delaying the inevitable though. For once we set off, there were no maids or stablehands to take the brunt of Annabelle's sharp tongue. Only me.
We had scarcely left the King's lands when Annabelle bade us to stop by a rushing river.
"Naiya!" she said, unlooping her golden cup from around Falada's neck and throwing it with force, such that it struck against my breastbone. "Fetch me some water."
Not meeting her eyes, I took the cup and knelt beside the river.
"No, you simpleton. Do not draw it from the side — not where the animals come to drink and foul the river with their waste. There!" she said, gesturing to a precarious-looking branch lying across the river. The white foam of the rushing water gathered in the folds of its cross-branches. "Take it from where the river runs fastest. Then I can be assured my water is fresh."
Had Annabelle and the King plucked me from the markets that day; had I been gentry-born and not of the river-folk, I am almost certain I would have gone to my death. For the river was an untamed beast. It eddied and whorled angrily with an unpredictable dynamic. As my foot took that first tentative step, the branch dipped further under the rushing current. I would be lucky if it held my weight. It would not hold against the force of the river as well.
I turned my eyes to Annabelle, silently beseeching her to recognise her callousness, to call me back. But she was smiling with a dangerous light in her eyes. I realised then she was toying with me. The matter of whether I lived or died while fetching her water, was to provide her with some sport, a distraction from her unhappy fate.
A bitter taste pricked my tongue. We had been companions. I had forgiven her for taking me away from my mother all those years ago. I had overlooked her recent cruelty, excusing her behaviour as that of a victim of circumstances. But I would not lay down my life for her amusement.
Taking care to hide my lips from Annabelle's view, I whispered the rhyme my mother had taught me so long ago.
"River fierce, river fair
Catch my fall, steady my stair."
Immediately, the wild bucking waves simmered down to a gentle flow. The branch felt stronger, more solid under my feet. Without looking down, I placed one foot in front of the other until I reached the river's centre. Lowering my haunches, I swept some of the river's water into Annabelle's golden cup and with careful movements, made my way back to the safety of the bank.
When I handed the cup to Annabelle, she examined me over the rim as she pressed it to her lips. The feverish light had left her eyes, replaced with something else. Something she may have seen reflected in my own eyes, should she have taken the time to notice. Mistrust.
We rode on for a time, not speaking, until we came to another part of the rushing river. This time the branch was still attached to a tree, curving over the water from a height. It was much thinner and brittle in appearance than the fallen log. The river was even faster, more savage than it had been at the previous juncture.
I eyed the branch with dread. I was slim but the branch was thinner still. There was no earthly way it would bear my weight. The fervent twitch at the corner of Annabelle's mouth told me she had drawn the same conclusion.
So once again, I whispered the rhyme.
"River fierce, river fair
Catch my fall, steady my stair."
Again the roiling waters slowed until they wove and meandered like a bubbling brook. With my throat constricted, I lifted my skirts and stepped out along the branch. It held steady for the most part, dipping only slightly as I reached the middle of the river, allowing me to lower myself into a crouch and dip the golden cup in the water.
As I leaned forward however, my slipper lost its grip, gliding across a patch of lichen. My stomach lurched as I fell sideways. My hands and legs struck out, desperately seeking purchase on the branch. I was lucky. My arms and legs wrapped around the knotted wood. For a few moments, I hung there. The icy water clawed its way up my trailing hair, biting into my scalp. A chill reminder of what should befall me if I let go.
I readjusted my grip, and the branch steadied. Again I appealed to Annabelle with my eyes. Thinking that surely, if she held some compassion, she would instruct me to make my way back to her, hand upon hand to the safety of the bank.
Instead, she laughed. "Oh, you are well positioned there, dear Naiya. You are a faithful servant indeed. Pray, while you swing like a monkey in the market square, do lower my golden cup and fetch my water."
Lifting my chin with as much dignity as I could muster, I once again unlooped the cord holding the golden cup from around my neck. My legs reflexively tightened around the bough, balancing my one-handed grip as I swooped the cup across the water's surface. The water slowed just as it had before, but the downward movement of my arm freed the blood-spotted handkerchief from its resting place at my bosom. It would have fallen into the river and washed away, if I had not released my other hand and snatched it back.
To have lost the three drops of blood to the flowing river would have been a bad omen indeed.
But now I was truly in peril. My legs were still wrapped around the branch but I was hanging upside down now, my hair soaked through, the waves lapping my forehead and lashes. It was as though someone had slipped a burning mask over my face.
Taking leave of propriety, I screamed. "Help me Annabelle. Please!"
Annabelle's mouth hung open. I had never seen such terror as the kind reflected in her pale blue eyes. But her expression was not due to my predicament. Her attention was riveted on the kerchief in my hand.
"Where did you find that?" she asked, her voice trembling.
"Please, Annabelle. Please," I begged through chattering teeth.
She looked from the bloodstained square to my legs around the branches, and another expression took her. It reminded me of a donkey snapping at a nuisance fly. She lifted her skirts and made her way to the tree upon whose branch I currently clung.
With kid riding gloves still on, she placed both hands on the branch and pulled sharply down. She let go and the branch shot up. A quiver vibrated down the limb, right into my bones.
"What are you doing?" I cried. I knew what she was doing by then, though. She was swatting a nuisance fly.
She tugged at the branch again. Once more, the impact shuddered through me. My legs gripped the branch with all my might, but there could be no mistake. Annabelle was set to put an end to me. There was no knowing what she would do.
There was only one hope. This time I didn't hide my face. Saying the words as boldly as I could manage, I sang:
"River fierce, river fair
Catch my fall, steady my stair
With your power, running deep
Lay a path to carry my feet."
As the words left my lips, I felt a force pressing at my back. I glanced down and realised that a solid wall of water had surged upward, forming a makeshift bridge. With a silent pledge of gratitude, I relaxed my legs and let the undulating roll of the river carry me back to shore. As if sensing my danger, it threw me up onto the bank just south of Annabelle, safely from her reach.
She presented little threat though. When my feet landed on solid ground, Annabelle sank to her knees and wailed.
"Who are you?" she asked through her tears.
She clearly had not heard of the river-folk's simple magic. If she had, I doubt she would have done what she did next. She prostrated herself, there in the marshy grasses beside the river and begged for mercy.
"Forgive me. I was frightened. I was scared you would expose me." She looked once more upon the handkerchief, now little more than a bloodied rag in my hand.
I peered at her through gimlet eye. "What is this?" I said, making a vain attempt at smoothing the silk. The river water had brought the blood to life. The three drops had married, forming an ugly smear across the fabric.
Annabelle's face eased. "You do not know?" she said, pressing her palms into the earth and starting to rise.
"Do not move!" I commanded, forcing steel into my voice. Annabelle froze. "You tried to kill me. Over this?" I shook the reddened rag.
"Please Naiya," she said. "The peace of our kingdoms hang on the cloth you hold in your hand."
I looked from the cloth to Annabelle's face and understood. Snatches of overheard conversations between the maids suddenly made sense. Maidenhead. Blood.
I folded up the cloth and replaced it at my bosom.
"If I agreed to preserve your secret, what would prevent you from ordering my head the moment we arrive in Ghivault? You have already tried to kill me once." I glanced pointedly at the river, which had resumed its regular flow. "Why should I not summon a torrent to wash you away this very instant?"
Annabelle pitched herself forward, her chin grazing the dirt. "Is there nothing to be done? Spare me, I beg you. I would do anything to prove my good faith."
That is when the idea occurred to me. That Annabelle and I should switch places.
I will not pretend that it was all about self-preservation. That envy had not played its part. The fantasy had skipped through my head before. Of course I had imagined what it might be like to wear her fineries. To dance at a ball and sup on spiced pheasant and bread pudding. More than anything though, I had dreamed of riding Falada.
My eyes travelled the length of Falada's elegant nose, her gleaming coat. They came to rest on Annabelle's sidesaddle. Such a ridiculous thing. I made up my mind. I would liberate myself and Falada. I would ride her the way she was bred to be ridden.
Annabelle did not protest as violently as I expected her to. Perhaps she planned to betray me from the first. Perhaps she hoped to find her way back to Jaspar Clewes. All I know is that when I calmly put my proposal to her, she replied with: "So be it."
###
Now as I await my fate, I wonder how history will explain it. What possible power could a servant girl hold over a princess, such that she would agree to change places? In reality, it comes down to the power of a blood-soaked handkerchief and the dangerous story it could tell the King and Prince of Ghivault. That Annabelle was not pure, as was likely promised. I wonder whether those three drops of blood will make their way into the story, and if so, how the significance of their power might be justified.
###
We exchanged everything. Our gowns and horses. Annabelle bade me wear her jewellery and hair clasps. She even offered to dress my hair. As I watched her deft fingers weave her own hair and bind it in two braids intertwining at the nape of her neck, I felt sorely tempted. But I withdrew at the last moment; scolded myself for my vanity. It would take little but a concealed knife on Annabelle's part — which surely her parents had armed her with — to slit my throat as she worked.
"Suit yourself," Annabelle said, as I backed away. She withdrew a small ceramic pot from her cloak and tossed it to me. I caught it, fearful of dropping it lest I anger my former mistress. Ah, my servant's heart still beat strong in my chest.
"What is this?" I queried, my tremulous fingers hardly daring to brush the lid. What if it should carry a small snake or some other diabolical form of protection?
Annabelle laughed. "Oh you simpleton, it is only my ceruse. You must use it. Your folly shall be undone the moment we arrive if you fail to cover your skin."
She was right. How foolish of me not to think of concealing my dark complexion. Fortunately Annabelle's dress hid all but my hands and face. With the assistance of a small glass found also within the pot, and a moistened handkerchief (not the handkerchief), I was somewhat fairer by the time I was done.
By then, the sun was high in the sky. We had lost precious time and would have to hasten if we were to reach Ghivault before nightfall.
When I tried to resaddle Falada, she side-stepped and whinnied. She had never been ridden by anyone other than Annabelle. Of course that would make her uncomfortable — that was my reasoning. I ran my fingers down the length of her nose and soothed:
"Don't worry, I shall not hurt you. My heart's desire is to set you free — to ride the way you were born to."
I went to throw the saddle over Falada's hide. She pawed at the ground. For a moment I thought she would to trample me. I don't know why I acted as I did, but I pulled the bloodied rag from my pocket and said:
"Hush now. You see? I carry the blood of your mistress. A good talisman. All shall be well."
Annabelle, who had been watching keenly, started laughing. "A talisman? Oh, Naiya, you are naïve. The only power that blood holds, is the power to start a war."
Falada stopped pawing the ground, and whinnied. I could almost swear her lips pulled back in a smile. I nearly dropped the saddle when I witnessed what happened next. Falada swung her head to face Annabelle and said:
"Oh mistress, embrace your fate.
You were careless with your blood, now a common peasant you shall make.
A dirty servant girl shall sully my hide
A princess to replace you
If they mother knew thy fate, her heart would surely break in two."
Her voice was rich and melodic, like a polished instrument of wood and wind. There was jest in her tone, and upon hearing it, some of Annabelle's old ferocity returned.
"Oh hush Falada, you flea-bitten nag," Annabelle said, although Falada was no such thing. Then she proceeded to gather up her skirts and mount — side-saddle — my old gelding.
My mouth was still agape. "She talks?" I said, addressing Annabelle.
Annabelle's eyes glittered with amusement. "You who lately tamed the river, are surprised by a talking horse? Oh Naiya, you are full of contradictions."
It wasn't an explanation, but Annabelle's haughty air told me it was the most I would get without some pressing. And with each concession I might make along this journey, the more Annabelle's confidence and power would return. I couldn't risk her mutiny, so I shrugged my shoulders.
"A talking horse might indeed be a surprise, but it is no miracle," I said.
The silk handkerchief must have held some power, for at last Falada let me hurl the saddle across her back and fasten it. Then we started off again.
I had hoped to win Falada over during the journey. Provide her with a taste of freedom, and reassure her that if she willingly chose a future with me, this freedom would always be hers to have. But she was having none of it.
No matter how much I urged, she maintained a respectable canter. Furthermore, she took every opportunity to remind me that although I was her new mistress, she did not have to like it.
When we travelled under trees, she would veer toward the low lying branches, causing them to pluck and tear at my hair. When we crossed a stream, she would wade through the deepest part, causing my skirts to grow wet and stained by weed. And although I chattered to her at first — tried to draw her into conversation — she refused to speak with me. Several times she repeated her taunt:
"A dirty servant girl shall sully my hide
A princess to replace you
If they mother knew thy fate, her heart would surely break in two."
But she would speak only to Annabelle. That Falada seemed to choose the moments when Annabelle's horse was stumbling or causing her to bump around in the saddle, told me that although she had no respect for the dirty servant girl riding her, she bore no love for Annabelle either. Perhaps Annabelle had been cruel to Falada as well.
As we ventured closer to Ghivault, my throat grew dry and painful, but I dared not stop. I held no trust in Annabelle, and I was concerned that if I dismounted Falada, she may never allow me to mount her again.
My thirst-addled brain started to panic as we drew still nearer to our destination. Would Annabelle betray me immediately? Would the greenish undertone of my skin shine through the ceruse? What about Falada? I had not thought the plan through when I hastily suggested we switch places. To be caught was to be guilty of treason and at the very least I would hang.
Only one solution could guarantee my safety. I would have to have Annabelle and Falada killed. With Falada, it was easy. It was not unheard of for a monarch to order the death of a horse that displeased them. Annabelle was a different story. I had promised to spare her in return for trading places. I did not trust her at all; but I had given my word. My Mama always maintained that the strongest magic a person held was the power of their word.
It was settled. Annabelle would live.
So when the King and the Prince came to greet us at the gates, and asked me whether I journeyed well, I replied that I had not. As an attendant helped me down from Falada's saddle, I added that Falada had given me some grief along the way.
The King did not hesitate in offering the services of his knacker and I gratefully accepted. When he asked of Annabelle and whether I should like to include her amongst my ladies-in-waiting, I advised that she too had been haughty and irksome. With a laugh, he suggested the knacker for her as well.
I politely declined but suggested she be put to service elsewhere in the kingdom.
It was decided that Annabelle should work with Conrad — the goose herd. She would help him tend the geese out in the fields. This seemed perfect to me. She would be away from the gossip circles within the kingdom, and I won't deny the image of her toiling out in the sun — with her pale skin and buttercream hands — didn't give me some satisfaction.
But I am forgetting one of the biggest surprises of all. The prince. I had been so preoccupied with the fear of my deception being discovered, I had not noticed him.
When he stepped forward to kiss my hand though, it was as if he held the butterflies of my stomach in the closed basket of his hands and set them free.
"Your highness," he said. He bowed low, a hint of a smile at his lips, as if we were children and it was merely a game.
"Your highness," I said, curtseying in turn.
If Annabelle was pale, the people of Ghivault were paler still. Their skin was the cast of fine layered paper, the tracery of their veins running like a network of streams and tributaries underneath. In the youth such thin skin was beautiful. The prince was as luminous as the paper lanterns lit on the harvest eve. His pale blue eyes were unlike Annabelle's. Hers were like a dead fish held too long in a barrel. His glittered like pretty stones under rushing water.
The King's face should have been a warning. I did observe that while such delicate skin was beyond compare in youth, it took on a dry, cruel appearance in middle age.
"My betrothed," the prince said. "It would please me if you should address me as Aron, and that I should call you Annabelle."
I started then, for in my bedazzled state, I had quite forgotten my name was no longer my own. Once I had gathered my wits, I lowered my eyes and replied:
"If it should please you, your highness."
"It would indeed Annabelle. Come," he said, slipping his hand into the crook of my arm. "You must be tired. Let me take you to meet your ladies-in-waiting. And tomorrow I will visit upon you once you have breakfasted, and show you around the King's gardens."
###
Oh, what a lark it was then! How I stuffed myself silly with every manner of fowl and pie and sweetmeat. How I revelled in trying on every gown from Annabelle's trunk, sank into the heavenly luxury of having my hair brushed and braided for bed. And the bed itself! As I lay down, it was though a dozen swans spread their wings and wrapped me in their downy embrace. Into the warm comfort of sleep I drifted, never casting a second thought over the dangerous game I was playing.
###
I rose early the next morning dressing in my — Annabelle's — morning cloak, before my ladies came to wait on me. I wanted to look upon the gardens first — to appreciate them with the unguarded wonder of my own eyes, not the measured approval of royalty. But when I reached the foot of the staircase leading to the gardens, it was shock, not wonder that greeted me.
There under the arch separating the gardens from the hills where the geese flocked during the day, was Falada — or part of her, to be precise. For some reason, the King had seen fit to have her regal head stuffed and mounted under the arch.
I was about to step closer to examine her further, when I heard someone approaching. I withdrew into the shadows. It was Conrad — the goose herd — and Annabelle. As they passed through the arch, Annabelle pretended to loose a stone from her shoe. She bade Conrad to walk ahead.
Once he was out of sight, she stood in front of Falada, smiling up at her.
"Ah, Falada, how you hang there!" her voice was light and playful, teasing like the wind.
She fairly leapt from her own skin (and I from mine!), when Falada replied:
"Ah, Princess, that you pass there
If your mother only knew
Her heart would surely break in two."
Even in death, Falada's superior air would not be dampened.
Annabelle kicked at the cobblestones. "Oh hush, Falada, you flea-ridden nag." And she hurried on.
I was lightly retracing my steps up the staircase, when a whinny broke through the air. A musical voice of wood and wind sang under the arch:
"Ah, the folly of pureblood is not yours to see.
Thine pretty neck shall hang if the King catches thee."
A shiver passed through me. I gathered up my skirts and hurried up the stairs.
###
Later, with the prince (I could not grow accustomed to calling him Aron), I wandered the gardens and they were indeed breathtaking. I was fascinated with the plants in the warm glasshouse — filled with every manner of exotic species, the like I had never seen before. The prince — Aron — told me his father had them brought over from an island: a magical-sounding place which is surrounded wholly by the sea and river sand. We swept through rose-covered arbours and marvelled at the perfection of the tulip beds, arranged in carefully measured rows.
But it was the maze which filled me with awe. A life-size puzzle made of hedges. I could not help myself. When he told me what it was and how it worked, I laughed — gaily and unrestrained.
Aron looked at me and said: "Why Annabelle. There is a wild spirit in you, begging to be unleashed. Come. Let us not be prince and princess today. Let us be more. Let us be like the gods who play with our trifling lives every day. Let us run free and be as careless with our graces as they are with our mortality."
Oh, his words were a charm. A canny girl — a more experienced girl — might have queried how his tongue became so well-practised.
He threw off his morning cloak, shed his shoes and hose and ran into the maze.
"Come find me Annabelle."
And careless fool that I was, I did. As it happened, the maze was not so difficult to solve, and Aron was waiting for me at the heart of it.
"I found you. I am the victor!" I said gaily when I broke into the clearing.
"Oh, I am the true winner," he said, an odd thickness to his voice. As he closed the gap between us, his body became a wall, pressing me against the hedge.
I had a brief moment to gasp for air, like a seal breaking the surface of a wave, before it was cut off from me, my lips sealed with the hard press of the prince's mouth. I tried to step aside, at the very least to beg him to pay me some respect. After all, to his knowledge I was the princess, not some palace wench he could have the moment the urge took him. He held me fast with one lean arm blocking my escape from either side.
Panic started to bubble in my chest. I leaned back as far as I could, trying to wriggle my arms between his chest and mine. That's when I felt the weakness behind me. The hedge gave way slightly; it gave me hope. With a single movement, I fell backward. Aron fell forward, his eyes wide with surprise.
With a lack of grace unbecoming of a princess, I scrambled to the ground and dragged myself through the hedge. I listened for the sound of the prince but other than the carry of his amused laughter, there was nothing. Crawling through a hedge was not a seemly occupation for a prince either. I scooted across the open sections and back into the hedge rows until finally my head popped out into the bright sunlight of the gardens.
"Naiya!"
I froze at the sound of my name, but the address was not directed at me. From my vantage point in the hedge, I could see Conrad and Annabelle. They were standing at the foot of the hill where the geese were wandering. It appeared that Annabelle was suffering just as much difficulty under Conrad, as I had with the prince.
There was a smirk playing upon Conrad's face, as he snatched at a lock of her white-gold hair, causing it to tumble in waves. As she pulled away, he made a play for her skirts.
Now, let me confess that the memory of Annabelle's murderous deeds still burned in my breast. But having spent a day in her clothes — her bindings — it was enough to gain a true understanding of a princess's life. And the truth was that I — Naiya — possessed more freedom than she.
And so I called upon what little magic I could wield away from the water. I withdrew the bloodied handkerchief from my bosom and quietly sang:
"Blow, blow, thou gentle wind, I say,
Blow Conrad's little hat away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until her highness has braided all her hair,
And bound it up behind."
Falada, hanging on the wall, whinnied. If she could have shied, she would have. For she did not want to serve the servant girl. But as I said and will say again: there was some power in that handkerchief. The power of royal blood. Enough to compel Falada to obey me.
A strong wind curled from Falada's nostrils and lifted Conrad's hat from his head. He gave a yelp of surprise as the hat rolled away. How he cursed and yelled as he ran after it, his arm outstretched, the hat dancing just out of reach every time.
When Annabelle smiled — the first real smile I had seen since she received news of her marriage — I could no longer hate her.
I started to crawl out of the hedge, when a shadow cast over me. It was the prince.
One look at his complexion — no longer pale, but flushed — revealed he had overheard me.
"You — you," he said, his hands trembling. "What treachery is this?"
I opened my mouth to speak but he was already shouting for the guards.
"Witch! Witch!" he cried, as if I was the one he ought to be scared of.
It all unfolded very quickly after that. Being taken to the dungeons. The trial.
When they asked how I overpowered Annabelle, I preserved her secret. I told them the three drops of blood was a talisman. That I had stolen the handkerchief from Annabelle and harnessed its blood-magic. The fools believed me of course.
When the Court found me guilty and decreed that I should hang, the King asked me whether I had anything to say. I replied that I did.
"I will not deny that I have done wrong in stealing the identity of the princess, riding her horse, and ordering that horse's death. But I urge you to look upon yourselves. It is a sorry situation where a woman of royal blood can be traded like cattle and ravished as though she is a common chambermaid.
"I say this now with truth on my tongue. I believe that in hanging, I meet an infinitely more merciful fate than my mistress, the princess." Spurred on by my convictions and the amazement at having been allowed to speak, I grew bolder still. "Indeed, I would rather be dragged through the streets in a barrel shot with nails, than endure an adulterous marriage to Aron of Ghivault." I looked directly into the eyes of the prince as I said it. His eyes were dancing as he returned my gaze. His lips tilted in a lazy smile.
"Enough!" the King roared. He rose to his feet, his cheeks flushed crimson. "If you look so kindly upon such a fate, so it shall be yours!"
Annabelle, who was now dressed in all her finery, looked upon me with despair. I will never know whether she lamented my future or her own. Perhaps both. Although they were not delivered by her hand, I do believe I have Annabelle to thank for the candle and charcoal with which I write.
###
The light is creeping over the horizon now. They will come for me soon. I never did get to experience the touch of a good man. My first kiss was a stolen one. But when I walk from these dungeons, I will do so as my mother's daughter — a free spirit of the river-folk. And when that barrel shakes my soul free, it will return to where it belongs.