Violet Eyes (12 page)

“I do not know how I can help, but I will certainly try,” Violet promised.

“As will I,” Genevieve said.

“Thank you,” Goldie said, squeezing Violet’s hand, then stood abruptly and wiped away her tears. “Come now. We have a ball to attend.”

The three walked along the garden pathway toward the castle. Violet heard a noise behind her and turned in time to glimpse a woman disappearing around a hedge. Violet thought she might follow the woman to see who it was, but she decided
against it. She had not said anything of which she was ashamed.

Inside the castle the table in the great hall had been cleared away to make room for dancing, and several musicians were tuning their instruments. A number of young noblemen gathered in the elegant space, and Violet was relieved. She had envisioned each princess trying to dance with Richard while everyone else just stood and watched. With more people dancing, Violet hoped she would be able to disguise the fact that she couldn’t dance.

None of the other princesses were present yet, and the steward bustled up to the three of them and directed them to wait in another room.

As Violet took a seat in the drawing room as the steward had instructed, she asked the other girls, “Why do we have to wait here?”

“So that they can properly introduce us,” Goldie said.

A few minutes later more of the competitors joined them. They sat and talked together, laughing and comparing stories about their home lives. It was fascinating to listen to, and Violet felt even more that theirs were lives she would never understand. They all seemed to sparkle in ball gowns, each more spectacular than the next. Celeste was the last to arrive, and her black dress, which was shot through with silver threads, was breathtaking.

At last the steward returned, and all seventeen of them followed him to the entrance of the ballroom.
Violet strained to see into the room. And when she finally glimpsed Richard, wearing his crown, his blue tunic emblazoned with gold, her heart skipped a beat.

“Majesties, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present the princesses,” the steward announced.

The room quieted, and all eyes turned toward them. “Princess Celeste of Lore,” he said in a booming, authoritative voice, and Celeste sailed into the room, curtsied, and then walked slowly down the length of the room before turning at the end.

He called nine other girls Violet didn’t know, who mimicked what Celeste had done.

“Princess Genevieve of Antiqua.”

Genevieve walked in, curtsied, and joined the others at the far end.

“Princess Goldie of Northland.”

Goldie floated into the room and Violet marveled at her poise. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she would never have believed the princess had been sobbing just a few minutes before.

One by one the others entered, until only Violet was left waiting in the drawing room. She stepped forward, and the steward announced, “Princess Violet.”

Violet did her best to curtsy gracefully and glide to the far end of the room without tripping over herself. She noted the omission of a kingdom following her name, and she knew the others had too. The question of her lineage hung in the air around her and made her uncomfortable. Still, she couldn’t have
expected the steward would announce her as Princess Violet of Cambria. She knew she should just be grateful he had called her a princess at all.

A moment later the king and queen moved toward the center of the room. They were magnificent together, moving with a grace and ease that Violet could never hope to achieve. The musicians began to play. King Charles and Queen Martha danced, spinning together around and around on the floor until Violet felt dizzy just watching them.

The dance ended, and then the king and queen invited others to join them as the music started for a new dance. Violet took a step back toward the wall as a wave of young men descended upon the group of princesses.

“What’s wrong?” Genevieve asked.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Violet said.

“That’s okay; neither do I,” a smiling man said, offering her his hand. “I am Roland, count of Argess.”

“Violet,” she responded. She took his hand, and he led her onto the dance floor. She lost track of how many times she stepped on his foot, but she was quick to notice that he was very kind and a much better dancer than he had let on. He just kept smiling and talking, never starting or making a comment that she was tripping all over him.

The next two men Violet danced with weren’t as gracious, grimacing every time she stepped on one of their feet, but they didn’t say a word about it either.

“You are going to leave some of them intact for
the rest of us, aren’t you?” Genevieve joked as they both sat out a dance.

“I don’t know. Depends on whether or not they get the warning and stay away.”

“Just do us all a favor and wait to dance with Richard until the rest of us have had a turn,” Genevieve said.

Violet looked at her suspiciously, and Genevieve just shrugged. “It isn’t every day a girl gets to dance with a prince, even if she is a princess.”

“Who is that girl?” Violet asked, pointing to the one dancing with Richard. She had skin so pale it almost seemed to glow, and her lovely face was crowned by silver white hair.

“That’s Arianna; she’s from Aster. They say her mother is a mermaid,” Genevieve added conspiratorially.

Violet couldn’t help but laugh. “A mermaid, really?”

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Genevieve said. “I can’t tell you if it’s true or not. That’s not even the strangest part.”

“Okay, what?” Violet asked.

“I hear Arianna’s in love with a prince who’s descended from werewolves.”

“You’re making that up!” Violet accused.

“No, I swear it’s true. Or at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“If she’s in love with another man, then why is she here?” Violet asked, choosing for the moment not to dwell on the werewolf part.

“What are any of us doing here?” Genevieve asked. “Maybe her parents forced her to join the competition to strengthen her kingdom’s alliances, or maybe Arianna is trying to make her werewolf jealous.”

“Isn’t anyone here for love?” Violet said under her breath.

“Only you.”

Violet startled. “How do you know that?”

Genevieve rolled her eyes. “Please, it is so obvious. Everyone knows you love him.”

“Then why don’t they all leave?” she asked bitterly.

Genevieve patted Violet on the shoulder. “Like I said, some of us aren’t here by choice. Even still, though, Richard is an excellent catch. He’s strong, kind, and handsome. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t love him, but I’m sure I could learn to love him. Anyone could. Now smile—your prince is headed this way.”

As Prince Richard approached, he held out his hand to Violet. She took it and followed him onto the dance floor. “I don’t know how to dance,” she admitted.

“That’s okay—just move with me,” he said, one hand holding hers and the other on her waist.

She looked down at his feet. “No,” he said.

She looked up at him. “What?”

“Don’t look at our feet; look right here, in my eyes,” he said.

“But how will I know which way to move?” she protested.

Richard’s hand tightened around her waist, and his fingers pressed into her back until she stepped closer to him. “You’ll just know,” he whispered into her ear.

Violet gazed deep into his eyes, and when he began to move, she moved with him. She didn’t know if it was the subtle pressure changes in his fingers, or the movements of his eyes, but somehow Violet knew just which way to move while she was dancing with Richard. They started slowly and then began to pick up speed until they were twirling around the room.

Violet kept her eyes locked on Richard’s, afraid that if she looked away, the moment would end, and the magic would be lost.

“You have bewitched me,” he whispered.

She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m the one under your spell.”

“Then I hope it lasts forever,” he said.

“Forever,” she breathed.

The music stopped, and after a moment so did they. “I’ll send Duke to visit you again once I know what the next challenge is,” he leaned close to murmur.

“I wish you would send yourself instead,” she breathed.

“One day I just might.”

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

“You can’t be serious,” Richard said, staring at his mother.

“Quite serious,” she replied.

“The next test is to see who feels intense pain over the loss of a single pulled hair?”

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” she said.

Richard sat down and passed a hand over his weary face. He was still wearing his finery from the ball, and his feet were sore from having danced continuously for hours. He just wanted to send a message to Violet and then get some sleep. “Seriously, what are you and Father doing?” he asked.

“Exactly what we said we would do. We’re looking for a young woman of great sensitivity.”

“But it’s so absurd. I mean, would
you
feel intense pain over the loss of a single hair?”

Queen Martha smiled, but there was a touch of sadness in it. “I always do.”

Richard knew, instinctively, that his mother was talking about something else; he just couldn’t figure out what it was. He thought about pleading with her again to end the whole contest but knew it would be no use. Richard’s mother was the only person in Cambria more stubborn than his father.

“Don’t worry. If you’re meant to be with her, it will work out that way,” she said, softly.

“But why can’t I just be with her? Why must there be all of these games?”

His mother didn’t answer him, probably because she had nothing new to say on the subject. Frustrated, Richard stood to go. “Sleep well, Mother.”

“And you, my son.”

Richard left and headed to his room. He lit the candle on his writing desk and took out a parchment. He dipped his quill in the inkwell and began to write.

Dearest. Only five more challenges. Tomorrow’s will be simple. All you must do is pretend to be in great pain when a single hair is plucked from your head. It’s absurd, I know, but for now we must play along. Yours, Richard.

As soon as the ink had dried, Richard rolled up the parchment and whistled. Duke, who had been sleeping at the foot of his bed, awoke and bounded over to the desk. Richard let the dog sniff the napkin that Violet had used at dinner. “Remember Violet, Duke? Remember going to see her last night?”

Prince Richard held out the parchment, and the dog took it in his mouth. “Okay, boy, go find her!”

The dog trotted out of the room, and Richard put his head down on his desk. What was he, a prisoner? A prisoner who had to send secret messages via a dog? It made him sick, but he saw no other way out.

Violet was waiting for Duke when he arrived. She took the letter from him with trembling hands. She lit the candle on her bedside table and read the letter three times, just to be sure she understood.

To test herself Violet plucked a single hair from her head. She barely felt it. It was more of an annoyance than anything else. Violet sighed deeply. Tomorrow she needed to convince the others, and herself, that it was a lot more than just an annoyance.

“Thank you, Duke,” she whispered. She patted the dog on the head and then watched as he left the room.

Violet lay down and tried to sleep, but thoughts of Richard crowded her mind. She thought of the dance they had shared. It had been so perfect. A perfect moment in an otherwise imperfect day.

In the morning Violet woke well before Genevieve. She dressed in silence and made her way downstairs, watching as servants cleaned and carried and made preparations for the day. Violet wanted desperately to help. For the first time in her life she felt useless, and she longed for a physical task that would take her mind off of everything that was happening.

In the great hall the steward approached her. “Princess Violet, a messenger arrived early this morn
ing who wished to speak with you,” he said.

Immediately Violet thought of her mother. “Where can I find the messenger?” she asked hurriedly.