Violet Eyes

  “And you love him,” William said.

  Violet lowered her eyes. “Even if I did care for him, he must marry a princess.”

  “Child, that’s what we’ve been trying to tell you,” her father said. “You are a princess.”

  “I’m a princess,” she whispered slowly.

  Her mother’s face was filled with pain, and she was having a hard time breathing, but she smiled at Violet and said, “Now, go get your prince.”

  “But I can’t leave you, not when you’re—”

  Sarah shushed her. “I will live as long as I am supposed to live, and your being here won’t change that one way or the other. But I need to know that you’re fulfilling your destiny and fighting for your happiness.”

  An hour later, with her mother’s words ringing in her ears, Violet was in the barn saddling up Bessie with her father’s help. At the last, William held the horse’s head as Violet swung up onto her back.

  “Mother?” Violet asked.

  He shook his head. “She’s slipping away from us.”

  “I should stay.”

  “No. I know she doesn’t want you to remember her this way. Go and bring back a prince I can call my son.”

  She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “I’m so frightened, Father,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he said. “But it’s only change, lass.”

  “Will you send word?” she asked.

  “When it’s over, I’ll come to the castle to see you outride, outcook, and outsmart all those other princesses.”

  Violet smiled sadly. Somehow she didn’t think she would be so lucky as to be allowed to compete with the others in those areas. She turned Bessie’s head toward the barn doors and urged the mare out into the storm.

  It took only a few seconds before she was drenched through to the skin. Her mind was torn between thoughts of her adoptive mother lying on her deathbed and the man that she loved marrying another. When the tears came, Violet let them fall freely, the storm without raging as the storm within gathered force.

  As they entered the village, Bessie turned toward the small marketplace she was accustomed to visiting. Violet gently pulled Bessie’s head back around and aimed the horse’s nose toward the hill in the distance. The rain had eased, and she could actually see the castle perched there in the pale sunlight that filtered through the clouds.

  Violet felt a thrill of excitement exiting the village. When she reached the castle, she would be farther from home than she could ever remember traveling. Though, if what her parents had said was true, she had been far from home all along.

  A blast of cold wind presaged the arrival of more rain. Violet urged Bessie into a trot just as the skies opened again and water cascaded down on them. The mare tossed her head, and Violet put a steadying hand on her neck. “Easy, girl, we have to keep going.”

  The intensity of the storm doubled, and a fierce wind began to blow as if seeking to force them to turn back. Fear began to overtake her. Maybe she was making a mistake; maybe she should return home. Her parents needed her. What about Richard? a voice in her head whispered.

  Maybe he doesn’t care for me like I think he does. What if it was all a mistake, and he rejects me? Maybe his parents have already chosen a princess for him, and I’ll have to watch him marry someone else. Who am I, after all, but just a farm girl who helped him? He may have been grateful, but perhaps gratitude was all that he felt. She thought about the kiss they had shared. Could he have kissed her like that if he felt nothing for her? The wind stung her cheeks and blew wet locks of hair into her eyes. Violet gritted her teeth, crouched low on Bessie’s back, and urged the mare forward.

  It was not long before the castle loomed ahead of Violet in the darkness, the rain bouncing and sliding off its massive stones. She rode into a courtyard and then slid off Bessie’s back, panting with exhaustion and shivering with the cold.

  “Milady, let me assist you,” a guard said, running up to her. Another man appeared and began to lead Bessie away.

  “I’ve come to see the king and queen,” Violet said, shocked at her own audacity. Still, it was too late to turn back.

  “Then you must come in out of the rain.”

  She set her jaw, stilling the fluttering in her heart, and strode forward into the castle.

  “Perhaps my lady would like to refresh herself,” the guard suggested.

  Another servant scurried forward to take charge of her, and the guard bowed and returned to his duties. The man looked her up and down with a disapproving look on his face. Even though he was a servant, his clothes were finer than any Violet had ever seen in the village.

  She looked around and could see the sheer size of the castle sprawling beyond the room in which she stood. The stone floors were lined with fresh rushes, and the air was warm and perfumed. She could see a massive hearth in the room beyond with a fire crackling in it.

  “I’m a princess, and I’m here to see the king and queen,” she said, returning her attention to the servant.

  “Very good, milady. We shall just make you comfortable, and I will arrange an audience for you later.”

  Violet shook her head. If she didn’t speak to them now, she might never find the courage to confront Richard’s parents. “I will see them now,” she said, hoping that her voice held an air of authority to it.

  The conviction in her voice must have been clear, because the man bowed and gestured for her to follow. A minute later Violet paused outside a large room where she could see many people milling about within. Just below the ceiling dozens of flags hung; she recognized the flag of Cambria and then the one of Lore. She bristled in anger when she saw it and then forced herself to take a deep breath as she realized that the flags were probably representative of every royal family in attendance at the castle for the competition.

  “Milady, how shall I announce you?” the man asked, turning to her with lifted brow.

  She hesitated for a moment, wondering what she should say. “Violet,” she said at last.

  For a moment she thought she saw the man smirk, but then he sailed into the room, and she could see him walk toward the thrones. She couldn’t hear what he was saying, but when he turned toward her, she realized that must be her invitation to enter.

  “Courage,” she whispered to herself. Violet walked into the room. Courtiers and servants stood about in small groups talking. At the end of the room was a raised dais with three elaborately carved wooden thrones on it. The legs of each were carved as standing lions, and a deep, rich purple material covered the seats and backs.

  From his place on his throne Richard caught sight of Violet and leaned forward. Her heart began to pound. Richard blinked a couple of times, brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened in recognition. With great effort Violet wrenched her eyes from his gaze and turned to look at the king and queen as she halted before them and clumsily curtsied.

  The queen’s eyes widened in surprise as she took in Violet’s bedraggled appearance. A moment later the woman looked perfectly restrained again, like nothing could shake her.

  “Violet,” Richard said, in strangled tones.

  His mother glanced sharply at him, and Violet realized that the queen knew who she was.

  “Child, why have you come out in this storm?” the king asked in a mild tone.

  “Your Majesty, I have come to compete for your son’s hand in marriage,” Violet said.

  “Richard, this is your farm girl?” the queen asked.

  “Yes, she’s the one,” Richard said.

  Violet realized that the room had grown quiet as everyone stopped talking. She could feel that all eyes were on her.

  The king cleared his throat. “So, we have you to thank for the safe return of our son?” he asked.

  Violet glanced at Richard, who was nodding his head. She hadn’t been the only one to care for the prince. Her parents and Father Paul had aided him as well. Still, from the look in Richard’s eyes she could tell this was no time for her to be humble. “Yes,?
?? Violet said.

  “My dear, we owe a debt of gratitude to your family for caring for our son while he was ill. We would like to reward you. However, only a princess can enter the competition,” the king said, his voice still gentle.

  “And a princess stands before you,” Violet said, raising her chin.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The king and queen both stared at Violet for what seemed like an eternity. Violet stood in her drenched and filthy clothes, water dripping from her brow and rolling off the tip of her nose, and tried to act as dignified as she could despite the circumstances.

  The king and queen wore dark blue robes shot through with gold, and crowns that glistened with gemstones of every hue. They both seemed so composed, so sure of themselves, of who they were and what that meant. They were everything she wasn’t.

  There were murmurs from the others in the room, but Violet kept her eyes fixed on Richard and his parents. The king and queen glanced at each other, and even though they didn’t speak, Violet knew that they were communicating with their eyes, just as her parents had always done. Violet glanced at Richard. What would it be like to know someone so well that you could read the tiniest, most subtle emotions on his face?

  “You say you are a princess?” the queen asked, turning back to Violet.

  “I believe that to be true, yes,” Violet said, heart beating faster.

  “Can you explain yourself?” the king requested.

  “My mother is dying,” Violet said, voice cracking slightly. Tears slid down her already damp cheeks. She didn’t dare look at Richard, who had met her mother, nor at the queen, who was Richard’s mother. Instead she focused on his father. “On her deathbed she revealed to me that I was not her true daughter. A nursemaid brought me to my parents’ farm as an infant and asked my parents to keep me safe. The nursemaid said that people would be looking for me and—if they found me—would try to kill me.”

  “Because you were a princess?” the king asked, leaning forward sharply.

  Violet nodded.

  “Did this nursemaid have a name?” the queen asked.

  “Eve.”

  Again the king and queen exchanged looks, and then both sat back on their thrones. “Thank you for sharing your story. We will investigate your claim,” the king said. “For now, because this tournament would not have come to pass if you had not saved our son, we will allow you to compete.”

  Violet couldn’t decide whether to shout for joy or collapse in exhaustion. Instead she forced herself to bow and say in as calm a voice as she could manage, “Thank you, Your Majesties.”

  The king waved forward one of the female servants who was standing nearby. “June, please show the lady Violet to a room.”

  Violet bowed again. Richard looked at her and smiled in a way that made her blush. She turned and followed June out of the hall.

  As Violet followed June down a corridor, June turned to her apologetically. “Unfortunately, you’ll be sharing a room with another princess. So many young ladies have arrived, and half of them accompanied by parents or relatives; we don’t have rooms for all.”

  Violet smiled, thinking of the small house that she shared with her parents. “I don’t have any problem sharing,” she said.

  The two climbed a grand staircase and turned down a long hallway lined with doors. Violet wondered briefly if she would get lost among so many rooms. June turned into the open door at the far end of the corridor.

  Violet followed the servant into the room. The bedroom was grand, and indeed larger than her entire house. A girl about Violet’s age was seated in a chair looking quizzically at her. She was beautiful, with auburn hair and large green eyes. “Princess Genevieve, Princess Violet,” June said with a curtsy to the other girl in the room.

  “Hello,” Genevieve said, rising from the chair.

  “Hello,” Violet said, trying not to smile when she realized how tiny the other girl was. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was the one Richard had said was so short.

  “Miladies, the banquet will be in one hour,” June said before leaving.

  “Where are your things?” Genevieve asked.

  Violet looked down at her sodden dress. “I’m afraid this is all I have,” she said, ruefully. Violet braced herself, expecting Genevieve to laugh at her.

  Instead Genevieve’s eyes flew open wide. “What an adventure you must have had! How long did it take you to get here?”

  “My whole life, it seems,” Violet answered frankly.

  “How exciting! You must tell me all about it,” Genevieve said, eyes flashing with excitement and alabaster skin flushing. She clapped her hands together like a child receiving a longed-for gift.

  “Gladly,” Violet said.

  Just then a trio of servants bustled into the room and seized Genevieve. “My lady, we must get you ready for the banquet!” one exclaimed.

  “Now, you haven’t been agitating yourself, have you?” another asked.

  “You know what your mother would say,” the third added.

  Genevieve’s face fell. Violet watched in fascination as the three women hurried Genevieve into a fresh dress and began brushing her hair. Violet shook her head in amazement when Genevieve’s protests of wanting to brush her own hair went unheeded.

  Genevieve looked so forlorn that Violet’s heart went out to her.

  “I wish I could loan you a dress to wear tonight,” Genevieve said.

  “I don’t think I could wear any of yours,” Violet said.

  Genevieve shook her head. “Where are your servants?” Genevieve asked, scowling briefly at her own.

  “I don’t have any.”

  “Then who will help you get ready?”

  Before Violet could answer, Genevieve said brightly, “Christine can help you.” She indicated the youngest of the three servants.

  “There’ll be none of that,” one of the other women spoke up. “It will be our hides if you aren’t presentable.”

  Genevieve’s face fell. But a movement in the doorway caused her eyes to light up.

  “Milady?”

  Violet turned around and saw an older lady standing just inside the door holding a gown of pale green. It was the loveliest thing Violet had ever seen.

  “Milady?” the woman repeated, and with a start Violet realized she was speaking to her.

  “Yes?”

  “I was instructed to bring you this gown.”

  “It’s for me?” Violet whispered in awe.

  “It is.”

  Violet took the dress, marveling at the feel of the fabric beneath her fingertips. The woman gave her a small nod and then turned and left. Genevieve managed to free herself and came over to look at it. The green was so deep that it reminded Violet of the forest glistening under a winter sun. Delicate gold embroidery circled the neck and wrists in a pattern that reminded Violet of vines.

  “It’s beautiful,” Violet said.

  “It’s very expensive.”

  “I’ve never seen anything so pretty.”

  “It isn’t yours?”

  “No,” Violet said.

  “Well, someone wants you to be the most exquisite lady in the castle.”

  Violet shook her head. “It must be some mistake, or else maybe they didn’t want me wearing this to dinner,” she said, indicating her current dress.

  “It would reflect badly on all of us,” Genevieve noted. “Still, I think whoever sent you this dress must be very fond of you.”

  Violet thought of Richard. Could it have been him? He was the only one she knew in the castle, after all. “Maybe so,” she said.

  She glanced down at herself. “I just wish they’d been fond enough to send shoes as well,” she said regretfully, but with a hint of humor.

  Genevieve glanced down at Violet’s tattered slippers. “You can wear a pair of mine.”

  Violet shook her head. “I don’t think they’d fit.”

  “Actually, I think we wear the same size.”

  Violet glanced down and
noticed that Genevieve’s feet were much larger than she had expected.

  “Christine, please bring me a pair of slippers,” Genevieve said.

  With a disapproving cluck at Violet, Christine handed over the slippers. They were black, and soft to the touch and larger than she would have expected. Black beading covered much of the toes. Violet took them and then sat in a chair to try them on.

  “My brother always teases me and asks me when I’m going to grow into my feet,” Genevieve said as Violet slid on the shoes.

  The slippers fit perfectly. Violet admired them for a moment, hoping that the dress would fit so well.

  She looked at the rest of her and realized that she really needed to wash before putting on the dress. She found a washbasin and pitcher and set about cleaning up.

  As it turned out, the dress was also a perfect fit. Genevieve loaned her a brush, and Violet managed to braid her wet hair into a single rope down her back. After a few minutes work Violet checked her reflection in a looking glass.

  “I look like a princess,” she whispered in awe.

  “I would hope so,” Genevieve teased, her demeanor relaxing now that she was no longer being fussed over by her servants. “Let’s go; we don’t want to be the last to arrive.”

  Out in the corridor they found themselves swept into a procession. Young women poured from every room to join the throng heading for the main hall. Arrayed in so many different colors, heads bobbing about, they made Violet think of them as a field of wildflowers waving gently in the breeze, all consumed by a single thought: Which one of them would be deemed worthy to be Prince Richard’s bride?

  They descended the staircase, and Violet tried to get a good look at the girls around her. From what she saw, Genevieve was certainly one of the prettiest ones. Violet ran a hand over her hair, wondering how she compared and sure that she stood out as the outsider in the group.

  I don’t belong here, she thought, her stomach twisting in knots. When Violet reached the bottom of the staircase, she paused, watching as the others continued into the hall. Even though the king and queen had let her enter the competition, Violet didn’t have a prayer of winning. She looked at the other girls, with their petite figures, pale skin, and soft hands, and she knew she was nothing like them. She was fooling herself if she thought she could pass for a princess, let alone a delicate, sensitive one. Why should she try if she was destined to fail?