While Beauty Slept (10 page)

“Prince Bowen’s valet, Hessler, has been courting my Isla for more than a year,” Queen Lenore continued. “They have been separated much of that time, but now he has written to ask her hand, and I have given my consent. They shall be married when Prince Bowen returns.”

I knew that Isla had accompanied the queen from her homeland on her marriage and that the women shared a close bond. Indeed, the queen’s eyes held a hint of sorrow as she added, “Much as I wish Isla at my side, I will not keep two lovers apart. Upon her marriage Isla’s place will be in Prince Bowen’s household, not mine.”

I nodded in what I hoped was a gracious manner, impatient to hear what plans Queen Lenore had for me. Would I be given the honor of waiting on Prince Bowen during his visit?

“As a result I will soon be in need of a new personal attendant,” the queen continued. “I have informed Mrs. Tewkes that I would like you to take on those duties.”

In my most fantastical daydreams, I had never imagined such an offer. A rush of delight washed over me, until I realized, aghast, the consequences of taking Isla’s place. I could light a fire well enough, but a lady’s maid was expected to be as refined as her mistress. I could not allow myself to be an embarrassment to a woman I so revered.

“My . . . my lady,” I stammered, “you do me the greatest honor, but there are countless others more suited to such a role.”

“You are very young,” she said, looking at me kindly, “yet all you need to know can be learned in time. I made this choice because you have qualities that cannot be taught.”

She approached closer and leaned in, her smile fading and her voice dropping to a low whisper. “Every morning you see me weep. You have told no one of my tears?”

I shook my head.

The queen glanced around to assure that none could overhear us. “I am accustomed to scrutiny,” she continued. “Lady Wintermale keeps me informed of the court gossip; it is perhaps her most important duty. If you had been confiding my secrets to your fellow servants, she would have had word of it soon enough. Yet she has made no mention of my weakness. You have proved your loyalty.”

I wanted to serve the queen more than I had ever wanted anything in my life, but I feared I was not ready for such a leap. I could only disappoint her and shame myself. Yet as I gazed into Queen Lenore’s dark, penetrating eyes, I felt enveloped by her grace. This woman, so kind and yet so mournful, trusted me. And I would do anything to make her happy.

“I am yours,” I said.

Had I known the sacrifices my service to Queen Lenore would ultimately entail, would my answer have been the same?

I arrived in the Lower Hall for supper that evening, anxious to tell Petra my news, but I saw no sign of her at the table where we usually took our meals. One of the other chambermaids quickly shook her head as I approached.

“That’s your place now,” the girl said curtly, pointing to the table where the ladies’ maids gathered.

Surprised and embarrassed, I hesitated.

“Yes, we’ve all heard of your good fortune,” she said. “News spreads faster than a fire in the servants’ quarters. Congratulations.” There was no warmth in her words, nor on the faces of the young women seated around her.

I turned and walked away, dropping my eyes downward to avoid the curious stares of the other servants. When I arrived at the table where Isla was seated, she slid from the edge of the bench to make space for me to sit. None of the other attendants did more than nod in my direction. To shun me completely would be an insult to the queen, but their near silence made clear I would not be welcomed into the inner ranks of their fellowship.

Worse was to come. When I retired to the maids’ quarters that night, I found Petra in bed, eyes closed, but I could tell by her breathing that she was not asleep.

I whispered her name, then poked at the bedsheets.

“What?” she mumbled.

“Please, Petra. I want to talk.”

“I did not think you could spare the time, with your new duties.” I had never heard this bitter tone from her before.

“I wanted to tell you earlier,” I tried to explain. “But the queen had so many instructions I couldn’t get away before supper.”

Petra’s voice was muffled against her blanket. “I am sure you were quite overwhelmed. Forgive me, I have limited experience with the many duties of a lady’s maid.”

“I have rather limited experience myself,” I said with a weak smile.

Petra, always so quick to laugh, didn’t acknowledge the joke. I watched her icicle-blond hair slide across her pillow as she turned to face me, propping her head in one hand.

“Why you?” she asked with a mix of puzzlement and wounded pride. “I served her for more than a year, and she had no complaints with my work. Yet I remain a serving maid while you become the queen’s personal attendant. Why?”

I thought of the lucky stone hidden under my pillow, of the nights I had caressed it, hoping for fortune to smile upon me. Now it had, beyond my wildest imaginings.

“I swear, I knew nothing of this offer before today,” I assured Petra. “It took me as much by surprise as it did you.”

Petra’s head collapsed back onto her pillow. “I’m sorry. I cannot help but speak my mind when I feel I have been wronged.”

“All that matters to me is that we remain friends,” I said.

“I have no doubt we shall.”

Her voice proved the words a lie, for they had the formal tone she used when serving at table. From the day of my arrival at the castle, Petra had been the person I looked to for guidance, yet as of this day I outranked her. And with our change in status, the easy bond between us unraveled. Petra was too kindhearted to cut me off completely; once the hurt faded, she greeted me with the same pleasantries as she did the rest of the household staff. But I feared that our days of sharing confidences were over. It was a loss that stung more than I could have imagined.

Though I continued to sleep in the maids’ quarters, my waking hours were spent almost exclusively in Queen Lenore’s company. My new duties were even more daunting than I had expected. I watched as Isla consulted the queen on her clothing for the day, assisted her with dressing, arranged her hair, and shadowed her throughout the day, stepping forward to smooth her gown or fetch her needlework. On my first attempt at twisting the queen’s hair into the intricate style she favored, my fingers caught in a tangle and I felt her flinch. Though she assured me it was no matter, I carried the guilt of having caused her pain and hoped desperately she was not regretting her choice.

One evening, after snarling the laces of Queen Lenore’s gown so thoroughly that she was late for supper, I slumped against the wall in defeat.

“Come, now,” Isla said, her voice rising and falling in the same melodic rhythm as the queen’s. “Are you crying?”

I turned away so she would not see my tears. Outside the window, shadows stretched across the garden, a tranquil retreat fenced off from the hubbub of the stables and storerooms at the south end of the castle. It had been cunningly designed with a series of curved pathways that revealed distinct vistas: a fragrant herb garden, a small field of wildflowers, a stone fountain carved with mermaids, and a mass of rosebushes transported from Queen Lenore’s native land. I eagerly took any chance offered to fetch fresh blooms from the gardeners, for that haven was the one place where the vista was one of trees and leaves rather than gloomy gray stone. For a few minutes, I could imagine myself in the open lands of my childhood.

As I looked downward, watching shadows create filigreed patterns along the paths, my eye was caught by a sudden flash of white in a far corner, opposite the entrance. I followed the movement for only a moment before it disappeared behind the bushes.

I must have tensed in surprise, for Isla asked, “What is it?”

“The garden,” I said hesitantly. “I thought I saw . . .” A ghost? It was the first thought that came to mind, though I dared not say it aloud.

“Saw what?”

“Nothing,” I said. “A trick of the light.”

Meek and quiet by nature, Isla rarely spoke of personal matters. So I was surprised when she pressed one hand against my arm and said, “Do not trouble yourself with worry. The queen is pleased by your progress.”

“I have been a great disappointment,” I said, my voice shaky. “You cannot deny it.”

“You have been discreet, and that is more important than anything else. She needs such loyalty, now more than ever.”

I wondered at Isla’s meaning, but she had already begun clearing off the dressing table. Had I been more practiced at reading the signs before me, I might have guessed the matter that lay so heavily on the queen’s mind. But I passed those days fretting about hairstyles and anticipating Prince Bowen’s return, little aware of the monumental changes looming before us.

Four

HEIR APPARENT

W
ith Prince Bowen’s arrival imminent, I became most curious about this royal brother, who was rumored to rival King Ranolf in looks and far surpass him in female conquests. Queen Lenore, however, was put out that Bowen’s messenger had only a vague notion of when his master might arrive.

“How are we to arrange a suitable homecoming if we are not apprised of his plans?” she fretted, after passing yet another fruitless day waiting for her brother-in-law.

“Bowen has a long history of disregarding others,” King Ranolf said with a scowl, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace. “He’s likely to halt his journey altogether if struck by the urge to hunt along the way.”

“From what I’ve been told, foxes and pheasants are not the only creatures that fear his weapon,” one of the younger ladies said suggestively. “Is he not likely to brandish his sword before any comely lass who crosses his path?”

The assembled women dissolved into laughter, and even King Ranolf smiled. Queen Lenore shook her head in disapproval, but I could tell by the way her lips curved up on one side that she was stifling her own amusement.

“Hang Bowen and his whims,” the king declared after the giggling had died down. “This talk of hunting has me missing the saddle. Tomorrow I’ll ride out with my men.”

So it was that the queen was left to welcome her brother-in-law alone when he appeared without warning the following day. As soon as a page announced Prince Bowen’s arrival, she allowed herself a quick glance in the mirror, then took her place in the chair before the fireplace, pointing to where her ladies should array themselves around her. I arranged the skirt of her gown so it cascaded in rippling waves to the floor.

I had just finished when Prince Bowen strode into the doorway and paused, admiring the scene before him and allowing himself to be admired in turn. He was, by any measure, an exceedingly handsome man, with the same broad frame and dark auburn hair as King Ranolf, and he bristled with the tightly suppressed energy of one who prefers action to conversation. As he approached us, however, his appearance called to mind a poorly executed painting: possessing a certain grandeur from a distance yet revealing a shabby technique upon close inspection. His eyes, which twinkled flirtatiously at Queen Lenore’s attendants, were watery and tinged with pink. His skin was weathered from hours spent in the saddle, and though he was only in his late twenties, a good decade younger than the king, he already appeared to have lived a harder life.

“Beloved sister,” Prince Bowen announced, reaching for Queen Lenore’s hand and bowing low over it. His lips brushed lightly across her skin.

“Brother.” Her mouth curved into a smile that was not reflected in her eyes. “How was your journey?”

“I rejoiced at each mile that brought me closer to you.”

“I see you have perfected the art of flattery.” Queen Lenore nodded toward the chair beside her. “Come, tell me of your travels.”

She caught my eye and motioned toward the door, where a footman had entered with a pitcher of wine and two crystal goblets upon a brass tray.

“Mrs. Tewkes sends word that she is preparing Prince Bowen’s usual rooms,” the man said.

“I will tell the queen,” I said, taking the tray and clutching at the edges to stop my hands from shaking. I had developed one important attribute of a handmaiden, the ability to read my mistress’s mind, and I could see that Queen Lenore was uneasy entertaining her brother-in-law alone. Why?

Prince Bowen was finishing up a tale.

“And
that
is why the women of Romany have such a reputation,” he concluded with a rascally grin.

Queen Lenore laughed politely, while the silliest of her ladies gasped with mock horror or threw their hands over their mouths in exaggerated modesty.

“Mind, you’re not to tell my brother I’ve been filling your head with such scandal,” Prince Bowen admonished Queen Lenore. “He would not approve.”

“You expect me to keep secrets from my husband?”

“How could you, my lady? Lips as sweet as yours were made to tell only truth.”

Queen Lenore caught my eye and smiled gratefully. “Ah, here’s the wine.” She nodded at me to pour it. I crossed the room and set the tray on top of a large wooden trunk that sat directly under the window. I was aware of Prince Bowen’s eyes on me as I walked, and I fumbled with the pitcher’s handle. It slipped in my hand, and wine splashed onto the tray.