Violet Eyes (21 page)

“Now, where were we?” the king inquired.

Father Paul cleared his throat. “Last night the prince went to the home of Violet’s adopted parents. I was staying the night after having given her mother a new herbal potion to try and ease her pain.”

“How is she?” Violet interrupted, not caring if it was princesslike or not, just needing to know.

Father Paul smiled at her. “When I left, she seemed to be doing better. I think there’s cause to hope even that she might recover.”

Violet felt her knees buckle, and she sagged against Arianna in relief.

Father Paul resumed his story. “Prince Richard
shared everything that had transpired here during the competition, and he asked whether or not it could be proved that Violet was the true princess of Cambria. Given everything that has transpired, I knew the time had finally arrived to reveal my part in the child’s disappearance. I have known the truth and have kept it secret for seventeen years. Violet is the princess.”

“It’s so hard to believe,” Violet whispered.

“It is you,” Father Paul assured her. “I came back with Richard so that I could tell what I knew.”

“And we thank you,” the queen said.

“Thank you, Father Paul,” Violet said, voice trembling.

“I never intended to keep your whereabouts a secret forever, my dear; just until I knew that it was safe,” he said with a smile. “Prince Richard convinced me that it was.”

“Not as safe as I thought,” Richard grimaced.

“And my mother might recover?”

“It looks very good. Of course, it would help if she had constant care and good food. That’s why Prince Richard has arranged for your parents to arrive here tomorrow morning to help you celebrate.”

“Celebrate?” Violet asked.

“Our wedding,” Richard said, moving next to Violet and taking her hand in his. The look that he gave her sent shivers through her, and she began to smile.

111

After dinner Violet and Richard found a stolen moment alone. He led her upstairs, navigating swiftly through the maze of hallways, but wouldn’t tell her where they were going.

“Does this have something to do with that surprise you promised me?” she asked.

He smiled. “Yes, it does.”

A minute later they were standing inside one of the private chambers. “These are my rooms, soon to be ours,” Richard said.

Violet felt herself blush.

“I wanted to show you this,” he said, indicating a large tapestry on the wall near his writing desk.

She studied it and after only a moment realized it depicted the assassination of her parents. Richard stood quietly beside her as she looked at it.

“I looked at this tapestry every day as a child,” he murmured. “And yet I was blind to the most significant detail until just recently.”

“What is that?” Violet asked.

He pointed toward the far side. “There, the woman holding the baby, leaving the room.”

“Yes?”

“The child has a crown on her head. And she is very much alive as opposed to her parents. Violet, that’s you.”

Violet raised her hand to touch the weaving.
Me, that was me, smuggled out of the castle right under the noses of the murderers
. She felt tears sting her eyes as she said a silent thank-you to the nurse, Eve. Had the
weaver known or guessed that Violet had survived that night?

To Richard she said, “Thank you.”

The whole kingdom was poised to celebrate the High Feast like never before. The return of the princess and the new victory over Lore had spurred the people on to increased zeal, and the festivities of the first two days of the Feasting had been larger and noisier than anyone could ever remember. Violet had even managed to get her new friends into the kitchen to try their hands at pie baking for the contest. The cooks had looked on in dismay as Genevieve, Goldie, and Arianna got more flour on themselves than in the pies.

When High Feast Day, the third day of the festival, arrived, Violet was breathless with excitement and anticipation. “How do I look?” Violet asked, smoothing down her dress. The gown was white with ribbons of green and gold—the national colors of Cambria—streaming from the bodice and flowing toward the floor. Matching ribbons of green and gold had been braided into her hair, which Genevieve and all three of her maids had spent an hour on. The skirts of Violet’s dress were so full that she had trouble moving about her room without knocking things over. She had asked to be allowed to spend the last few days in her room with Genevieve prior to the wedding, and her friend had already picked up half a dozen things that Violet’s skirts had knocked over that morning.

“Beautiful,” Genevieve said.

“Like a princess,” Arianna confirmed.

“Like the most beautiful bride Cambria has ever seen,” Goldie said.

Violet hugged her friends. In less than an hour she and Richard would be married. It still took her breath away to think about it.

There was a knock on the door, and Goldie went to get it. “You have visitors, Violet.”

Violet turned to see two elegantly dressed women walk into the room arm in arm. The first was Richard’s mother, and the second was hers. Violet felt tears of joy stinging her eyes. Sarah’s cough was getting better each day, and although she was very weak, she had begun to get out of bed. Still, Queen Martha had spent hours with Sarah, and the two had enjoyed planning every moment of the wedding together. Violet marveled as she saw the queen holding up her adopted mother and was touched by how generous Richard’s mom was and how caring.

Violet’s parents had been invited to live in the castle, but they weren’t entirely sure they were ready to give up farming. Violet had persuaded them to stay for a couple of weeks after she married Richard. It would give her mom more time to recover, and when Thomas had shown up the day before for the festivities, he had very solemnly promised to run the farm in their absence.

Violet embraced the two women and then offered
them seats. “Violet, have you seen the portrait of your mother?” Sarah asked.

Violet nodded. The portraits of the former royal family had been in storage for nearly seventeen years. King Charles had had the large canvases brought out, and Violet had been delighted to see that there was a family resemblance.

“The same beautiful violet eyes. That night you arrived here, I felt you had to be related,” Queen Mary said, with a smile.

“I’m still surprised you let me in the door, as wretched as I looked that night,” Violet said.

“But if I remember correctly, you looked gorgeous by dinner. I knew that dress would look perfect on you.”

“So, it was you who sent the clothes?” Violet asked.

“Yes. I always believed that you had survived, and I had hoped someday we would find you. When it looked like you might actually be the princess, how could I not make sure you were at least attired like one?”

Violet smiled. “I have so much to thank you both for.”

“I did bring you something for good luck today. You can put it in your shoe or your bodice,” the queen said.

“What is it?”

“Hold out your hand.”

Violet did as instructed, and into it the queen dropped a single black pea. Violet stared at its round black shape before looking up at the other woman.

“It’s from underneath your mattresses. That pea helped bring you to this day. And now I think you’ve had quite enough of nightmares, so never fall asleep near it again.”

Violet started laughing.

Out in the hall she heard a familiar voice and smiled. “What’s so funny in there?” she heard her father ask.

“Nothing!” Violet called back.

“May we come in?” Richard asked, trying to sound innocent.

“No,” Violet said, walking close to the door. She touched it and could feel his presence on the other side.

“This door can’t keep us apart forever,” he joked.

Violet smiled and looked at the pea. “Nothing can keep us apart ever again.”

“You know, in less than an hour everything changes,” he whispered.

“I know,” Violet whispered back, glancing out the window at the gathering storm clouds and smiling.

D
ON’T MISS THIS MAGICAL TITLE
IN THE
O
NCE UPON A
T
IME SERIES!

D
EBBIE
V
IGUIÉ

It should have been the happiest day of her life, but instead it was a living nightmare. Pearl slowly fingered the fabric of her pale blue gown and closed her eyes. Fat tears squeezed cut from beneath her eyelids and rolled down her cheeks.

The bell of the chapel began to ring. It was ringing for her. Its keening was her death sentence, its steady beat her death march. She felt herself begin to shake. Today was the last day of her freedom, her last taste of joy. She opened her eyes and stared down at her slippers. They gleamed softly white, mocking her. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, for today she would become a bride.

She looked back upon her life and saw how every step had led her here. Where had it all gone wrong? What could she have changed?

She closed her eyes again and prayed for death.

T
he fisherman sat quietly in his boat staring at the darkening skies. The sun
should
have stood directly overhead, marking midday, but instead it was obscured by angry clouds that seemed to grow thicker by the moment. He squinted, staring at the horizon. The leathery skin of his face crinkled around his hazel eyes. A storm was coming up fast, too fast. A stiff wind suddenly sprang to life, roaring across the bow of the boat and bringing with it the unmistakable smell of rain. It was time to head for shore.

The fish had been acting strange all day, nervous, as though there was a predator lurking in the darkening water. He had been out since noon, and not a single one had found its way into his nets. Still, he had seen the dancing shadows and quick flashes of silver that indicated their presence. He quickly pulled the woven rope nets in and secured them.

A raindrop splatted on his nose and a shiver danced up his spine.
Finneas,
he thought,
you’d better get yourself home fast,

No sooner had he picked up the oars and began to row than the heavens let loose. The ocean began to
heave, and it was all he could do to keep the tiny boat from capsizing.