Violet Eyes

  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.”

  “But no nurse has come forward. So, why do you hesitate to believe that Violet is the princess?”

  “We had reason to believe that the baby was either drowned in the river by the Lore assassins or abducted by them,” he said.

  “If she was abducted by them, then that would mean—”

  “That she was raised in Lore,” his mother said. “That Celeste could be the true princess of Cambria.”

  Richard felt his blood run cold, and he shook his head. “That’s unthinkable.”

  “I wish it were,” his mother said grimly. “There’s a very real possibility that if she does not win this contest, the king and queen of Lore will try to claim that the Cambrian throne is hers anyway.”

  “Why not strike first and declare Violet the real princess of Cambria?” Richard asked.

  “We must continue with this contest or risk offending eighteen other kingdoms. If your Violet is everything you believe her to be, she will be the winner, and we can then use her existence to counter any claim presented by Lore.”

  “And what if neither Violet nor Celeste wins?” Richard asked.

  “Then you shall marry the winner immediately, and her parents will support us in whatever comes,” his father said.

  Prince Richard shook his head. “It’s always about politics,” he said.

  “Always. And as prince you would do well to remember that,” his father said.

  “But I love Violet.”

  “It’s a noble sentiment, but treaties and alliances are based on mutual self-interest and gain, not love,” King Charles said.

  “All is not lost,” the queen added. “She may win.”

  “How?” Richard asked bitterly. “These contests you have arranged are absurd. I very much doubt that most noblewomen could pass them, let alone Violet, who has worked her entire life and known nothing of ease or finery.”

  “You must have more faith in her, and in us,” Queen Martha said.

  Richard paused and stared at her for a moment, trying to interpret her meaning. “Is there something you haven’t told me?” he asked at last.

  “We have told you everything you need to know,” his father said.

  But not everything I want to know, he thought. Richard debated whether or not to press the issue further but sensed he would get nothing more from his parents at the moment. But Richard could play that game too. He didn’t know all that his parents were planning, but he could do everything in his power to make sure that at the end it was Violet and not Celeste who was still standing.

  Violet woke up and lay still, taking in her environment. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours she could scarcely believe it. She thought of her parents and wished that they might be well and happy. She sat up slowly. The bed was so soft it was hard to get out of it.

  She glanced across the room and saw Genevieve also beginning to wake. Violet struggled out of bed and retrieved her gown from the night before.

  It seemed too fancy to wear during the day, but her own clothes were ruined from her journey and seemed to have disappeared from the room as well.

  Violet dressed quickly in her green gown and then sat to brush her hair. The snarls and the tangles were nearly too much for the brush, and she winced in pain as it pulled at her hair. She heard Genevieve get up and move around, but Violet was focused on the task at hand.

  “Would you like me to brush it for you?” Genevieve asked suddenly.

  Violet jumped to see Genevieve standing an arm’s length away. “No, I’m fine,” Violet said quickly.

  Genevieve shrugged and went back to her side of the room. I should just tell her so she’ll understand, Violet thought. She bit her tongue, though, and continued to battle her tangled blond locks. A couple of minutes later Genevieve’s maids bustled in and began to fuss over Genevieve.

  “I’m going to breakfast,” Violet said, having arranged her hair as best she could.

  “I’ll be there shortly,” Genevieve assured her through gritted teeth.

  Downstairs Violet walked from room to room, taking in the immensity of the castle. She walked by the throne room, but it was empty. She kept walking, watching as servants went through their morning routines.

  Suddenly she heard what sounded like Richard’s voice as she approached another room. She paused for a moment, not wanting to interrupt. “… wish

  you luck in the competition,” he was saying.

  “I won’t need it,” a sultry voice purred.

  Violet’s heart began to pound. She started to move away, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping. Not a moment later Celeste appeared in the hallway, looking even more beautiful than she had the night before at dinner. A smug smile was firmly in place, and it didn’t falter even a bit when she saw Violet.

  “Oh, you. Girl, can you fetch me some water?”

  “Excuse me?” Violet asked, when she realized Celeste was talking to her.

  “Oh, sorry, I thought you were one of the servants,” Celeste said.

  “I’m not,” Violet said haughtily.

  “Are you sure about that?” Celeste asked bluntly. “Listen, you might as well go home; I’ve got this competition as good as won.”

  “If you don’t mind, I think I’ll stay,” Violet said through gritted teeth.

  Celeste shrugged. “Whatever. You probably won’t even make it past the first test. I mean, look at you. Those rough hands; the way you walk. I even thought you were going to drink the wash water yesterday. It’s obvious you’re not sensitive. It’s also obvious that you’re a fake.”

  Violet opened her mouth to protest but could think of nothing to say. Celeste was right, and from the look on her face she knew it. Celeste continued on her way, smirking.

  Violet thought about going back to her room, but she wasn’t ready to face cheerful conversation with Genevieve. Instead Violet made her way to the great hall. She discovered that she was the first to arrive and took her seat from the night before. Harried-looking servants passed to and fro with barely a glance in her direction.

  One woman entered the room, saw Violet, and made straight for her. Violet recognized her as the woman who had brought her the beautiful dress. The woman looked agitated, and she was wringing her hands.

  “Begging your pardon, my lady.”

  “What is it?” Violet asked, a note of concern in her voice. Violet feared that the king and queen had rethought their decision to allow her to compete and had sent this woman to deliver the news.

  “I’m sorry. I just now put the rest of your things in your room.”

  “My things?”

  “Your other clothes and s
uch. I was meant to do it last night.”

  “What is your name?” Violet asked.

  “Mary, my lady.”

  “Mary, who gave you this dress to give to me?” Violet asked eagerly.

  Mary just looked at her, confused. “Why, no one, my lady. I was told by the steward that it was your dress and to take it up to you along with the rest of your things.”

  “Oh, well, thank you,” Violet said.

  Mary nodded and then scurried away. Violet was no closer to discovering her benefactor’s identity. Genevieve arrived at the table a few minutes later.

  “The rest of your things were delivered to the room,” she said cheerfully.

  “So I heard.”

  Not long after, everyone else was seated around the table, including Richard and his parents. Compared to dinner the night before, everyone ate breakfast in relative silence. Violet guessed she wasn’t the only one who was nervous. The rich food wasn’t helping her to calm down either. As breakfast came to a close, the king stood up to make an announcement.

  “As you know, the competition begins today. The first challenge tests your sensitivity. There will be four pairs of threads set before you. In each pair one thread is silk and one is cotton. You must choose the silk thread in each pair. Those who correctly identify all four silk threads may remain. The rest may leave or stay as they wish, but they will not continue to the next challenge.”

  All around Violet heads nodded in understanding of the challenge. Violet’s heart sank. Were these girls’ hands really so delicate, so sensitive, that they could tell silk from cotton in a single thread?

  “You may return to your rooms. The steward will come for each of you one at a time.”

  Back in their room Violet could not sit still, and she paced the floor. Left, left, right, left. That was what Richard had written to her. That was how she should choose.

  “At least this first challenge should be easy,” Genevieve said, attempting to make conversation as she sat at the table and watched Violet.

  It took all of Violet’s willpower to keep from laughing. She had never even touched a silk garment. “So, all princesses should be able to tell the difference?” Violet asked.

  Genevieve shrugged. “Any who have done embroidery, which would be most.” She sighed. “It’s one of the few activities I’m ever allowed to do.”

  “I’ve never done any embroidery,” Violet admitted.

  Genevieve’s eyes widened. “Do they keep you locked in a tower?”

  “No.”

  “Have you been asleep for several years after being cursed?”

  “No.”

  “Then how come?”

  “I did … other things.”

  “Like what?”

  “I can cook. I make a great berry pie,” Violet said. “I was planning on entering one in the contest at the festival.”

  Genevieve stared at Violet, mouth gaping. “They let you in the kitchen?” she squealed at last.

  “Of course.”

  “And they weren’t afraid you would burn yourself or cut yourself?”

  Violet laughed. “Of course not. I learned how to handle knives and how to treat fire with respect when I was little.”

  A sudden knock came at the door. The steward appeared. “Princess Violet, the king and queen are ready for you,” he said.

  Her heart in her throat Violet followed the steward to the throne room. There were fewer people there this time, just the king, the queen, a few servants, and a handful of petitioners. Violet looked around for Richard but was disappointed to discover he was absent.

  “Approach, Princess,” the king said.

  Violet couldn’t help but wonder if he called all of the princesses by their title because he couldn’t remember their names—or just her. She stepped forward, and there on a table were the four sets of threads. Left, left, right, left. That’s what the parchment had said. Violet prayed Richard had gotten it right.

  “Tell us, which of the threads are silk?” the queen asked.

  Violet touched each one in turn, closing her eyes as she did so she could concentrate on her sense of touch. In dismay she realized that she truly couldn’t tell the difference between any of the threads. After touching the last thread, Violet opened her eyes and looked at Richard’s parents, who were leaning forward on their thrones, awaiting her answer.

  “The silk ones are here on the left, here on the left, there on the right, and here on the left,” she said, indicating each in turn.

  Violet looked up and held her breath, waiting for their pronouncement. “Thank you,” the king said. He waved his hand and then turned aside to talk with the steward.

  Violet stood for a moment and then realized that she had been dismissed. “Excuse me, Your Majesty?”

  The king looked back at Violet, clearly startled at the interruption. She could tell she had made some sort of mistake, but since the damage was done, she pressed on. “Did I pass the test?”

  “We will make an announcement this evening at dinner,” he said. “You may go for now.”

  Violet had just reached the door when she heard the king say, “Just a minute. Violet?”

  Violet turned in dismay. Being demoted from “Princess” to just “Violet” couldn’t be a good thing.

  “Yes, Your Majesty?”

  “I would like you to stay for a minute. Come here, please.”

  Violet hurried to stand before the thrones again. “We’re hearing petitions today. Competition or no, work still continues.”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she just remained quiet.

  “Two men are disputing over the right to farm a piece of land. I believe it is near your father’s. I’m going to let them argue their cases, and if I have any questions, I would like you to answer them. I would like to have an unbiased answer from someone who might be in a position to know a thing or two about farming.”

  “I’d be happy to assist in any way I can,” Violet said, and curtsied.

  “Steward, bring them in,” the king instructed.

  Two farmers entered and came before the king. One was tall, with eyes like a hawk, and the other was short, with ruddy cheeks.

  “Please share your complaint.”

  The ruddy-faced one spoke up. “Sire, the land that I farm requires water for irrigation, which comes from a stream. We are neighbors and have always had an agreement to share the water. Two weeks ago, though, he dammed the water on his land, and now my crops are dying.”

  “We had no such agreement regarding the water,” the tall one insisted.

  “Steward, how many bushels does each produce a year from the land he works?” the king asked.

  Violet listened as the steward gave his answer. She studied the two men closely. The argument was over whether or not there had been an agreement, which meant one of them was lying. The question was, which one?

  Each man continued to argue his side, while the king asked additional questions. Violet watched each man closely as he responded, and even more closely when he was listening to the other one.

  “Violet, what do you think?” the king asked quietly.

  She was surprised that the king would ask her opinion. “The tall man is lying.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, convinced finally of the truth. “They had an agreement; the tall one is lying.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Given the crops being raised, the short man could not possibly expect to plant and harvest without a steady supply of water. He would have been a fool not to have an agreement with his neighbor.”

  “And what makes you think he’s not a fool?”

  Violet answered, “Because he looks you in the eyes; he’s hiding nothing. The tall one won’t look anyone here in the eyes, including his neighbor.”

  “Thank you, Violet. I appreciate your insight,” the king said. “Steward, make sure the dam is removed from the stream.”

  The steward bowed and escorted the two m
en out. “Violet, you may leave now,” the king said.

  “Thank you,” she answered, not sure what else to say, and left.

  Violet returned to her room, where Genevieve was waiting, wide-eyed. “You were gone for so long!”

  “There was a lot going on down there,” Violet said.

  “Did you pass?”

  “I don’t know. They are going to announce the results at dinner.”

  “That’s cruel! Waiting the whole day is going to be dreadful.”

  “Princess Genevieve, Their Majesties are ready for you,” said the steward from the doorway.

  Genevieve stood up from her chair and followed him out. Violet wanted to wish her good luck, but in truth she hoped that every other girl failed, including Genevieve.

  Violet sat down in a chair and stared at the window looking toward her village in the distance. She tried not to think about the test, or Richard, or her mother. It left her very little to think about.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Genevieve was subdued when she returned from the test.

  “How did you do?” Violet asked.

  “Fine. I could tell which threads were silk.”

  Violet’s heart fell, but she struggled to smile. “Then why aren’t you happy and smiling?”

  “Someday I’ll be queen of my own country or another. There are some things I’m not looking forward to in that regard. I complain that I never get to do anything, which is true. Some of the responsibilities of being queen, though, I don’t want.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Genevieve shrugged. “Let’s talk about something happy.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like how we’re going to fix your hair for dinner tonight.”

  Violet laughed. “That’s not exactly what comes to my mind when I think of happy.”

  Genevieve grinned from ear to ear. “Are you kidding? This could be great. No one ever lets me fix my own hair, so I can at least do yours.”