Violet Eyes (9 page)

There was a bowl of what looked to be clear broth set before each girl. Violet started to pick it up in her hands and then paused. Discreetly, she watched Genevieve to see how she would drink it.

Genevieve reached toward the bowl and put her hands in it. She rinsed them thoroughly before drying them on a cloth set beside her plate. Violet felt herself flushing with embarrassment. She had been about to drink the wash water.

As the dinner progressed, Violet could hear the happy exclamations of the others as they tried first one dish and then another. All of the food must have been delicious, but Violet was so preoccupied with trying to eat like a lady that she barely tasted a thing.

She took a bite of beef and nearly choked.

“Are you okay?” Genevieve asked.

Violet nodded and then quietly asked, “What is this?”

“Beef.”

“I know, but what’s on it?”

“I don’t know which spices,” Genevieve confessed, “but they are amazing. If this dinner is a sampling of what the cook can prepare, that alone would make moving here worthwhile.”

Violet glanced toward the head of the table and caught Richard staring at her. She flushed and tried to smile. He raised an eyebrow and she smiled wider, hoping to convince him, and herself, that everything was just fine.

Finally, to Violet’s relief, there was a lull between
dishes, and the king stood up to address his guests.

“Welcome one and all to Cambria,” he began. “We have called you here because it is time for our son Richard to take a wife. With so many beautiful and worthy princesses we realized that choosing one over the other would be impossible. Therefore we devised this contest. The lady who can pass each challenge will demonstrate herself to be the most delicate, the most refined princess of all and will become our son’s wife, the princess of Cambria.”

There were many murmurs of approval from around the table. But Violet noticed Richard looked as troubled by the situation as when they had spoken of it on the farm.

King Charles continued, “The first test is tomorrow. Ladies, I would suggest you adjourn to your rooms immediately after dinner so that you may be well rested. I want to take this opportunity to wish you all luck. May the most sensitive princess win!”

Violet sat in silence, a feeling of unease growing within her. Meanwhile the girls around her chattered excitedly. Genevieve gave her a cheerful smile, and Violet was hard pressed to return it.

More food continued to arrive from the kitchen, but Violet’s stomach was clenched too tightly for her to think about eating any more. She glanced up and down the table, wondering if it would be rude to go to her room.

Did she need to ask the king’s permission to leave? Was she expected to stay until dismissed? Inwardly,
Violet groaned in frustration. There were so many things she didn’t know. Her parents had raised her to be honest and hardworking. They knew nothing of courts and kings and etiquette and could never have prepared her for her current situation.

“Is something wrong?” Genevieve asked.

“I don’t feel well,” Violet admitted. She didn’t like sharing her discomfort, but she realized Genevieve was the only one who might help her get the answers she needed.

“Are you sick?” Genevieve asked, leaning away in alarm.

Violet shook her head. “No, just exhausted. I would like to lie down and get some rest.”

Genevieve signaled to a servant, who approached. “Could you tell the king that my companion and I are tired and wish to retire for the evening?” Genevieve asked sweetly.

The man bowed and then hurried to the head of the table, where he spoke to the king. King Charles looked down the table at Genevieve and Violet, smiled at them, and nodded.

“Let’s go,” Genevieve said, rising.

“You don’t have to leave if you don’t want to,” Violet protested.

“Nonsense, I couldn’t eat another bite. Besides, you heard what King Charles said about getting our rest. I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

As Violet followed Genevieve from the hall, she resolved to watch and copy the other girl’s mannerisms
and behavior, since she hadn’t the slightest inkling of how she was supposed to act.

Approaching the staircase, Violet began to look around her. When she had first arrived, her thoughts had been consumed with her task, and she hadn’t taken a close look at her surroundings. Without guests streaming down it, the empty staircase was wide enough that Violet could lie down flat on a stair and still leave enough room for people to walk up on either side of her. The dark wood seemed to glow in the light from all the candles and torches that adorned it.

At the top of the staircase Violet saw three long corridors, in addition to the one that led to her room, dimly lit by candlelight. She stood for a moment, peering down each of them and breathlessly wondering which one led to Richard’s bedroom.

Genevieve cleared her throat to politely get Violet’s attention and started walking toward their room. Violet dropped her eyes to the stone floor and hurried down the hall after her.

Back in their room Genevieve collapsed in the chair she had been sitting in earlier. “So what did you think of our competition?” she asked.

Violet immediately thought of Celeste, and she felt anger rushing through her. It wasn’t right that she was there competing. Competing as if nothing had happened, as if her family hadn’t slaughtered Cambria’s royal family.
No, not just the royal family,
Violet reminded herself.
My family.

“Is something wrong?” Genevieve asked, concerned.

Violet shook her head and glanced down at her hands. Her fists were clenched so tightly that her fingernails were cutting into her palms. She forced her muscles to relax, and she did her best to put Celeste from her thoughts. After all, it was the girl’s parents who were to blame for the past, not the girl herself.

Violet took a deep breath and thought about the other princesses she had met at the table. “They all looked very beautiful and seemed quite pleasant.”

Genevieve stared at her for a moment and then giggled. “They’re princesses. Of course they were.”

“So, I guess all princesses are beautiful?”

Genevieve giggled harder. “No.”

Violet stared at her, confused. “But you just said—”

“You commented that they all
looked
beautiful. That’s true, but it doesn’t mean they are. With skilled help even the plainest person can be beautiful.”

“Really?” Violet asked, her eyes widening at the thought.

“Really. Although, clearly, that’s something you’ve never had to worry about.”

“Where I come from, how I looked was not important,” Violet said.

“We should all be so lucky,” Genevieve said.

“I think you’re teasing,” Violet said.

Genevieve shook her head. “Do you remember the girl sitting across from you?”

“Yes?”

“She had a wart on her chin.”

“No!”

“Yes. And the girl across from me—”

“You mean the one with the brilliant white teeth?”

“I mean the one with the brilliant fake white teeth.”

Violet gasped.

“The girl with the red hair that was so perfect it almost didn’t seem real—wig.”

Violet sat down on her bed and began to laugh until tears streamed down her face. It felt good to laugh. There had been so much darkness, so much sorrow lately, that finding something to laugh about was a relief. “Okay, what about Celeste? What’s she hiding?” Violet finally gasped.

Genevieve’s smile faded. “A cold, mean heart.”

Violet stopped laughing. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I can read people. It is something of a gift. Her physical beauty is genuine enough, but her spirit is another matter.”

Violet shuddered. Celeste was the daughter of people who had had an entire family killed in their sleep. To expect her to be a warm, caring person would be to expect an apple tree to produce oranges.

“We probably should get some sleep,” Genevieve said.

“Yes,” Violet said, realizing for the first time how exhausted she was.

She turned to look at her bed and wondered for
a moment if she would even be able to sleep in it. It was incredibly soft, much more so than what she was used to. It stood several inches higher from the ground than hers as well and was piled with furs and blankets.

Undressing quickly, Violet slipped between the sheets. It was softer than lying in a field of spring grass. She thought about Richard sleeping in her tiny, hard bed at home and marveled that he had been able to get any rest.

In the quiet of the dark room Violet’s thoughts turned to home, and she found it hard to believe that she had left there only hours before. Outside, the storm still lashed against the castle, the rain drumming on the windowpanes. Violet wondered how her mother was feeling and felt tears slip out from under her closed eyelids.

An hour later Violet was still awake, wishing she could fall asleep. Sorrow for her mother had been replaced with a feeling of restlessness in her strange surroundings. Violet could hear Genevieve snoring, and she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. If the king or queen happened to walk by the room, Genevieve would find herself disqualified before the competition had even begun.

But Violet stopped grinning when she heard the sound of soft footfalls. She held her breath, wondering for one wild moment if King Charles and Queen Martha were really checking to see who might be snoring in their sleep. Her trepidation gave way to
curiosity as she realized that it didn’t sound like the shuffling of a human’s step.

A wet nose touched her hand. Violet sat up with a start and saw Richard’s dog standing next to her bed. He held something in his mouth. She stretched out her hand and he dropped a roll of parchment into it. “Good, Duke,” Violet whispered, scratching him behind his ears.

Duke leaned into her hand for a moment. Then he turned and left the room. Genevieve was still snoring, so Violet decided to risk lighting the candle on the table by her bed. The flame flared brightly to life, and she shielded it with her hand as she glanced toward the other girl’s bed. Genevieve continued to snore.

Violet carefully unrolled the parchment. The letter had been written in a strong, sure hand.
Violet, if you hope to pass the test tomorrow, do as I instruct.
Richard had done as he promised. Violet breathed a sigh of relief before reading on.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

Richard couldn’t sleep, and dawn found him pacing in front of his parents’ chambers. At last his mother opened the door, saw him standing there, and held it wide for him to enter. His father was also up and sitting at a table, quill in hand. Prince Richard walked in, closed the door, and said, “If Violet is the true princess of Cambria, then she should be restored to the throne.”

His parents both winced, but he could tell they had expected him to say it.

“If she is the true princess of Cambria, then she should be,” Queen Martha agreed. “However, there’s no way to be certain.”

“What about the nurse who took her from the castle?”

“No such person has come forth in the last seventeen years. If there was a nurse, she is probably long since dead,” Richard’s father said.

Richard crossed his arms over his chest and stood, feet planted. “Is it even possible that her story is true? I always thought the infant princess died.”

His parents exchanged a glance and then Richard’s mother nodded. “It might be true; the girl’s body was never found.”

Richard stared at them in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

His father sighed. “Son, you have to understand. When the royal family was murdered, Cambria trembled on the brink of conquest and utter ruin. We were nearly killed by another noble family amid the turmoil. When your mother and I ascended to the throne and led Cambria to victory over Lore, we pledged to keep the missing princess a secret. If everyone knew, then any number of pretenders would have been presented at court, and the kingdom could have once again been thrust into chaos—and possibly even civil war. We reasoned that if someone had hidden the princess, sooner or later they would have revealed themselves.”