Violet Eyes (13 page)

“I believe he’s in the kitchen. I can summon him for you.”

“No, that’s okay,” Violet said, already headed for the kitchen.

“But my lady—”

Violet just kept walking. When she entered the kitchen, several servants rushed forward, protesting, and she thought about what Genevieve had said about never having been allowed in a kitchen. Violet scanned the room for a familiar face.

“Violet, over here!”

She turned and saw Thomas. The boy hastened up to her and regarded her with awe. “I hardly recognized you,” he said.

“Thomas, what news?” Violet asked, too afraid to engage in pleasantries with him.

His brow furrowed. “Your father sent me to tell you that he won’t yet be joining you. Your mother’s health is doing worse and worse. They send you their love and are remembering you in their prayers.”

“She’s still alive?” Violet asked, hope touching her suddenly.

Thomas nodded solemnly. “Father Paul doesn’t think she’s going to make it, though.”

“But she’s made it this far.”

Thomas nodded again.

“Thank you,” Violet said. It didn’t take away all
the fear or worry, but it was a small relief to know that she was still okay. “Are you going to be staying?” she asked Thomas.

He shook his head. “I’m just getting some breakfast, and then I have to return to the farm. Your father’s had to hire my older brothers to help get harvest done in time for the Feasting. He’s put me in charge of them,” he told her importantly.

Violet smiled. “You make sure and keep them in line.”

Thomas nodded. “Don’t worry; I’m keeping a good eye on your parents, too. That’s why I have to get back, though.”

“Would you tell my parents I love them both?”

“I will,” he promised.

When Violet returned to the great hall, she felt a little more at ease than she had earlier.

The morning meal was a quiet affair, and she suspected everyone was exhausted from the previous evening’s events. The king made no announcement about the day’s challenge, but he told everyone that the steward would come get them when it was their turn, as he had the day before.

Upstairs in their room Violet watched as Genevieve did some needlework. The other girl tried to teach her a couple of stitches, but Violet was too distracted to pay very close attention.

Finally, the steward came to their room, but this time he escorted out Genevieve first. Violet had to wait only a few minutes before she returned, rubbing
the back of her head absently. Then it was Violet’s turn to follow the steward, who led her not to the throne room but to the queen’s chambers.

Violet was overwhelmed by the grandeur. The bed was monstrous, the size of her house. Rich red tapestries draped down the walls. A pair of matching chairs invited her to sit with their bright cushions. A writing table stood against one wall. There was another table with a white top ribboned with black streaks that was unlike anything Violet had ever seen. The queen rose when she entered, and Violet fought the urge to drop to her knees before the stately woman.

Violet was offered a chair, and she sat while the queen made small talk about fashion. Then the queen produced a beautiful brush with gold filigree on it. “This is the finest brush I have ever used,” the queen said.

“It’s lovely,” Violet answered.

The queen signaled, and a maid came forward and took the brush from her. “See what it does for your hair,” the queen said.

Violet sat still as the maid approached her with the brush. She felt the bristles touch her hair and stroke downward. She tensed, waiting. Finally, she felt a small twinge. Violet cried out and put her hand to her head. “Ouch!”

She felt silly and awkward, but she tried to contort her face with pain even as she wished she knew how to cry on demand. With each passing test Violet felt more
like a fool. She remembered joking with Richard about how a woman sensitive enough to please his parents couldn’t possibly have the strength to bear children. Thinking about her competition, Violet was certain that at least half of the delicate princesses would die in childbirth, if they even survived the pregnancy.

“Oh, my dear, have you been injured?” the queen asked.

“It’s nothing,” Violet started to say, and then stammered to a stop. “Well, actually, yes, it does hurt. I think she pulled a hair from my head.”

“I’m sorry, milady; it was very clumsy of me,” the maid said. The woman moved away and handed the brush back to the queen.

“I hope you will feel better shortly.”

“I hope so,” Violet said through gritted teeth.

She couldn’t believe Richard’s mother actually thought she was still in pain.

“Perhaps you should go lie down.”

“Thank you,” Violet said, standing up. She turned to the door and then forced herself to stop and turn back. Violet didn’t want the queen to suspect that she’d known what the test had been, since it had not been revealed at breakfast. “But Your Majesty, it can wait. I want to take the second test now.”

For just a moment Violet thought she saw the hint of a smirk on the older woman’s face, but it quickly disappeared. “Don’t worry, my dear. You already have.”

“Did I pass?” Violet asked.

The queen shook her head. “We’ll let you know later tonight.”

Violet returned to her room and tried not to worry about all the things that she wanted to fret about. She glanced over at Genevieve and noticed that the other girl looked pale.

“Are you okay?”

“I have a headache,” Genevieve said, her voice strained.

Violet stared at her in disbelief. Could Genevieve be faking it? Surely having a single hair pulled couldn’t actually have been debilitating?

“How come?”

“I don’t know. I get them sometimes; I never know why.”

Violet relaxed slightly. It was just a case of bad timing. “How did you do in today’s test?”

Genevieve shook her head. “I’m still not sure what it was.”

“It was strange,” Violet offered, without saying more.

“As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t think I’m going to feel like doing my own hair tonight?” Genevieve sighed.

Violet had no desire to try to duplicate one of the elaborate hairstyles she had seen at the castle during the last two days. “I can have your maids come and help in a little while.”

“I’m sure they’d like that.”

In the end Genevieve’s entourage came traipsing
into the room, shooting haughty glances at Violet. They helped Genevieve get dressed while Violet wrestled with her own garment. At last Christine approached her. “Can I help you?” she asked Violet.

“No, I can manage,” Violet said, trying to twist her arms far enough behind her to lace up the back of the dress.

“I’m sure you can manage, but you shouldn’t have to.”

Violet looked at the other girl. “I’m no better than you are,” she said.

The maid shook her head. “You’re a princess. There are just some tasks you can’t do, or shouldn’t do,” she corrected herself.

Violet gave up with a sigh. “Thank you,” she said as the girl laced her into the dress.

“You’re welcome.”

At last both Violet and Genevieve were dressed. Violet was wearing a white dress with silver trim. Staring in the mirror, she noticed how much more obvious her tanned skin was in contrast to the snowy white of the dress. She considered changing and then rolled her eyes in frustration. “I’m starting to think that all I ever do is eat and change clothes,” Violet complained.

“Welcome to the life of a princess,” Genevieve said with a tired smile. She was wearing a pale green dress that somehow seemed to emphasize the pallor of her skin. Even when she pinched her cheeks for color, it didn’t seem to help. Violet sighed as she turned back to the mirror.

“Do you still have that headache?”

“Yes. Hopefully it will be gone by the morning.”

When Violet entered the banquet hall, she was shocked to see that Celeste was already there, her head bandaged. “What happened?” Violet asked.

“The clumsy maid pulled a hair from my head, and I have been in agonizing pain ever since,” she pouted.

“You can’t be serious,” Violet said.

“I guess I’m just too sensitive, not that you would understand.” Celeste sighed dramatically. “If only I could be rough and coarse, like you,” she said, her voice sickly sweet.

“Oh, I’d like to pull
all
your hair out,” Violet hissed, lunging forward.

Celeste screamed and someone grabbed Violet by the shoulders. “No, Violet, don’t give her what she wants,” she heard Genevieve beg.

Violet glared at Celeste. “This isn’t over,” Violet said, her voice low enough that only the three of them could hear. Celeste rolled her eyes and then flounced off to her seat.

Genevieve pulled Violet into her seat. Everyone was looking at Violet. And she was shocked to see that Celeste was not the only one whose head was bandaged. Violet shook her head in disgust. It was bad enough that she had lied over the plucked hair causing her pain. With the rest of the contestants making such a fuss, it only made her job that much harder.

“Nobody could really be crippled from having one
hair pulled out,” she whispered to Genevieve.

The other girl shrugged, clearly more interested in keeping a quarrel from breaking out than on the niceties of the competition. “You need to calm down. Picking a fight with Celeste would be more than enough reason for them to send you home for not being sensitive or delicate enough to marry Prince Richard.”

Genevieve was right, and Violet knew it. It didn’t stop her from wanting to dunk Celeste’s face into her soup bowl, though.

“How can you be so calm?”

Genevieve smiled. “I just think of all the stories I’m going to tell about Celeste and some of the others when I get home. They’ll be the greatest villains of all time, and they won’t even know it.”

Across the table the girl with the fake teeth appeared to be in great distress, as she had bandages that wrapped all the way around her head. For a moment Violet contemplated the stories that would be told about her and her teeth and started to feel a bit better.

Soon the remaining girls had assembled around the table. Violet looked expectantly toward the doorway, eager to see Richard. He was, after all, the reason she was putting up with Celeste and the others like her. Neither Richard nor his parents were anywhere to be seen, though. The steward strode to the head of the table and, after a brief consultation with one of the servants, drew the guests’ attention.

“The king and queen send their apologies. They
will not be joining you tonight. One of their servants, Mary, became ill early this morning and has since passed on. In light of this tragedy they did not feel it was appropriate to celebrate this evening. They do, however, wish for you to enjoy yourselves despite their absence.”

Violet felt ill. She hadn’t known Mary well, but she had seemed a good woman. Her thoughts turned to her own mother, who was soon to be dead. Tears stung her eyes, and she signaled to the steward, who came over. “Excuse me, please. I have to go,” Violet said.

He nodded, and she stood up, wiping her eyes.

A few other girls were also distraught. But the girl with the fake teeth said, “I don’t get it. It was only a servant; why are people so upset?”

Violet fled toward the stairs. Back in her room she fell on her bed and began to cry.

“Violet, are you all right?”

She sat up to see Richard standing in the doorway. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, wiping at her tears.

“I know, but I saw you run by looking terribly upset. Tell me what is troubling you.”

“I was so sad to hear that Mary died. Then I started to think about my mother.”

Richard approached Violet gingerly until he was standing next to her. “If you want, I can send a messenger to your father to see what word there is.”

She was torn. She had just heard from Thomas that morning, but he had said she was failing.

“You would do that for me?” she asked, looking up at Richard.

“I would move heaven and earth for you,” he said with a frown. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just been a lot to take.”

“I didn’t mean the tears. I meant, like this,” Richard said, indicating the room and her dress. “It’s not you.”

“No, it’s not,” Violet said miserably. “I’m not a princess; I’m a farm girl, and that’s what I want to be.”

“Then why are you here?” Prince Richard asked, his eyes piercing her soul.

Violet couldn’t lie to him. “I’m here because, as much as I want to be a farm girl, I want even more to be your wife.”

Richard crossed the room to her in two strides, and the expression on his face was so fierce that she recoiled a moment. He reached out and grabbed Violet’s arms and pulled her to his chest. He slid his right hand up behind her head and then kissed her hard. He held her so tightly Violet couldn’t have moved even if she had wanted to.

The first time Richard had kissed her, standing in the field, his lips had been soft, the kiss gentle. This time it was intense. The onslaught made her gasp. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him.