I am sat over the white bedspread shielding the feathered mattress. A scarlet red boudoir pillow rests in the midst of my crossed legs while I hear Mr. Crowley knocking at the door to bring me the customary supper I so avidly long.
"Come in," I invite him.
The butler opens one of the doors, masterfully balancing the silver platter on one of his large hands. He places in front of me the glass of honey milk, some dried fruit and toasts with colorful jams disposed in a handmade porcelain plate.
"Thank you, Crowley."
The thick brows of the older man furrow into an almost imperceptible frown, evincing clear concern toward my pensive face. "Is there something I can help you with, dear?"
I should not be too awed with his assertive remarks past all these years. If there was someone in this palace capable of sensing when something was not quite right, it was for certain the person who took care of me since I was yet a little girl, running through the grounds to watch the guards battle in their epic tryouts. The whole palace would stop whatever chores they had in hands to look desperately for me. Yet, to this day, I don't think any of them found where I hid. No one except for Crowley. The exceptional well dressed butler walked into the patio to the sound of clinging swords one evening. I was so absorbed in the battle staged in front of me that I only took notice of his presence when a tall figure blocked my view per complete. 'Have you got lost, dear?' he asked me humorously. Instead of staring at an upset scowl as it was expected, I look up to find a smile depicted along the thin line of his lips. I remember him sitting next to me on the dirt, watching the tryouts of the future of the Royal Cavalry a decade ago from this day.
I feel the tender look of his eyes upon me as I ponder what should my answer be, when finally I pat a spot on the bed. Perceiving my gesture, Mr. Crowley sits there, patient and quiet.
"I had a strange encounter with a woman this morning," I so begin to explain.
"A strange encounter? How so?"
I lips part to answer him but the words swiftly cease on my throat.
I suppose that with the week of the festivities growing closer each day, the realization of my responsibilities grew with it. A part of me wished to prove I was prepared in any way. Even though I was far from that...
I do know that as Royalty we must be prepared to face any kind of odd situation that we might find ourselves into. Then all I shall do is grow used to them.
"You know, Crowley, I barely remember it." I turn my attention to the toast over the plate and willingly lead it into my mouth.
"If you say so, ma'am. But permit me to say," his calm yet wise tone always seizes the attention of whoever stands in the room, "There are only two ways of getting rid of unsettling thoughts. Either you face them or you let them go."
With only a few days ahead for the ball, Jacobini and his tailors rushed around the palace in a constant stir. Either it was to find the colors that best suited me or the types of fabric designated to emphasize my features. The dress rehearsals were becoming part of my daily routine although we could barely call them that because there was no dress yet. Jacobini said and I quote, 'My creations are not something to see in precess. All I can do is assure you that it will be better than what you have ever dreamt of in your wildest sweetest dreams, Princess of mine.'
And it was absolutely stressful to let everyone else in charge of everything. I did not care about the ball, let aside the dress itself. What was making me so anxious was the fact that everyone was making such a great effort for everything to go perfect that I was afraid not to level the expectations they had all put on me. That's why Jacobini, hasting down the hallway that gives access into my room, stopped on his creaking heels and turned backwards.
"May I come in?" he asks, peering through the door left ajar that must have given him sight for my reflection over the vanity mirror.
"Certainly. Is there anything else you need from me today?"
"Not quite. In fact, we are at a matter of minutes to finish the masterwork," the tailor sounds proud of himself.
"What is it then?"
He lets out a sigh. "Pardon me, Princess. I was passing by and I couldn't unsee the despairing look resting on that pretty face of yours... It certainly does not go along with the dress!"
I let out a smile. "Oh, it is nothing to worry about. Exhaustion, that's all."
He eyes me intensely, considering if he should or should not speak his mind. At last, he decides to do so. "You are not perfect."
My inner brows raise and a wrinkle appears on my forehead, evincing my confusion toward the afflicted man who tries to explain himself as immediately, "What I meant to say with such words is that you are a mere human as the rest of us... so to say. The upcoming week will host lots, lots of people, indeed. But do not forget it is yours. They all stand with their beliefs of what you shall or shall not do. But who better to decide the best for you than the Princess herself?" He smiles, but hurriedly corrects himself, "Unless it is about the dress. I certainly do know best what dress shall born to be exhibited by your beauty."
I titter, looking thankful for his words. "I would not dare to discuss it even."
Jacobini takes the brush from my hand and runs it down the long strands falling over my shoulders. "That's what I call perfection," he remarked, catching a glimpse of my smile.
A couple of days went by and the stir within the walls of the palace had only increased by the time. Tomorrow would begin the week of the festivities with the reception taking place at seven o'clock early in the morning.
I couldn't wait...
"Turn it to the left!" I watch from the top of the great staircase as The Queen orders everyone around. At the moment it was the florists that would not stop entering through the front door with vases of any size and shape, thousands of flowers and decorative leaves. "Not so much! Please, be cautious, it is imported porcelain!" she continues. Her attention being now drew to the tapestries hanged highly in the ceiling and along the walls of the great hall. "Oh, for the crown's sake, not there. In the centre of the room!"
"What are you doing here?" I am startled by the sudden voice coming from behind my back.
"Shh!" I lead my index finger toward my lips at the sight of the lovely girl with a pile of folded sheets in her hands.
"The Queen is looking for you everywhere!" Claire whispers.
"Why else would I be hiding?"
"You know it is unenviable, don't you?"
"Well, hope is the last thing to die, so they say."
"For as much as I would love to keep you company during this hard journey of yours, I must finish taking care of the rooms in a hour... or so." She smiles. "But let the will of Gods be with you." She disappears through the corridor.
Meanwhile, in hasten pace, I observe the short woman entering now the room, approaching my Mother with a spoon on her hand and a plate underneath. "Do try this one, ma'am, and see if it is to your taste."
She leads the gilt spoon into her mouth. Her face neutral, leaving Mrs. Savignae before expectation.
"Well? How is it?" the woman asks hopeful that it would be the last time she would take the same path with a spoon on her hand for the day.
"I want ten cauldrons of this soup." The austere tone crosses the Hall.
"Yes, ma'am." She cleans the sweat starting to form on the forehead with the back of her thick hand.
With my Father locked in the bureau, implying he had lots of papers to sign and non-postponable tasks on his hands - as he did every time we hosted an event - I decide to go down the stairs following the cook.
With extreme heedfulness in avoiding the falcon eyes of my Mother's - way too absorbed with the newly arriving boxes at the moment - I walk down the spiral staircase, a few steps behind Mrs. Savignae who seems way lost on her own thoughts to even notice my presence on the servants' floor.
Down there, I find the ambience not to be much different than the remain of the palace. Everyone walked back and forth, swamped with tasks to fulfill until the crepuscule is set and dimness creeps outside these walls. I was not so sure how many were to come but I believe that among the cooking, the cleaning and listening to my Mother's commands as they were laws may not be an easy task to comply.
"Make ten caulderons of this soup!" I hear the cook from the kitchen ahead. "Make it twelve!"
I step forward the corridor heading to where the shrill voice came from. The kitchen, despite of its huge size, was crowded by people I do not quite recall to ever seen before around the palace.
"Princess!" Mr. Crowley stops abruptly in his way to the stairwell. "Is there anything you need?"
"A minute of peace, perhaps."
He offers me an understanding smile. "It will take a week for a second of silence to rest within these walls once again. If you need anything else, you know where to find me." I nod my head, not wishing to stall him with my vague deliberation.
As I stood quiet on the corridor, most of the engaged workers would stop on their tracks and bow clumsily, not certain how to act on my presence. I watched even the most distracted stumble on their own feet due my unannounced presence on the servant's floor.
"Oh, Princess!" Mrs. Savignae deviates her eyes from her lettuce at last, landing them on me instead. "But to what do we owe the pleasure?"
The woman wipes her watered hands on the apron strapped over the long dress that slipped down her silhouette while she strides toward the corridor. Her tone of voice accelerated like she had just run along with Lawrence on the matinal exercise he so religiously does. She dips into a deep curtsy as she approaches.
"I wished to pass by and see how things are going with all this fuss and hurry."
"Oh! Terrible!" she answers frankly. "Your sweet, sweet Mother hired a whole herd of people to invade my Kitchens and they are driving me insane! They don't know where anything is and now I don't know where anything is as well! Me, alone, would serve a better meal for a thousand of royals than these excuses for cooks all together ever could. This is my kitchen, after all!"
"I believe you could, Mrs. Savignae," I agree with the woman that could possibly have a heart attack at any moment.
"Now if you excuse me." She increases now her tone of voice with the purpose of making herself heard by the most recent recruitment of the palace, "I must go back to my chores before those felons destroy my Kitchens!"
"Of course. I will bother you no more."
She nods her head and walks away. "Who would have thought of such thing as an invasion to my own kitchen? An outrage, it's what it is," the indignant woman mumbles on her way.
Left on my own again I come in conclusion there is nothing else I could possibly do to avoid my Mother's flurry.
As I turn on my heels to leave, I almost collide with someone else. This time, the person was shockingly poise as I have not seen someone in quite a few days.
"Oh, Mr. Langston! What a surprise," I exclaim before the sight of the baker in the palace confines.
"Good morning, Your Highness." He bows. "Their Majesties summoned me to be the baker along with Mrs. Savignae for the week. I could never stay permanently but baking for such an important event, how could I refuse?"
"I was not notified about the invitation but I am glad you accepted it anyway. Although I must warn you, Mrs. Savignae is... having a rough day." We both chuckle humorously even if we were well aware it wasn't something to take lightly.
"I would not dare to count otherwise."
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