What Else Is There?

By Laura Schiller

Based on: The Swan Princess

Copyright: Richard Rich Animation

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There was something different about Odette when she arrived at the ball.

She was much quieter. She danced correctly, but without her usual grace; she seemed uncomfortable in her skin somehow. She stared wide-eyed at her fellow guests in their finery, even though Queen Uberta had been throwing parties just as elaborate (well, almost) for years. All of this could have been explained by the swan curse, of course – anyone would feel out of touch with polite society after paddling around in feathers for a week – but Derek still felt uneasy, in a way he couldn't put his finger on.

As a hunter, he had learned to notice even insignificant details, and to trust his intuition. Right now, that intuition was telling him something was wrong.

Odette's behavior wasn't the only thing that was off, either. Bromley wasn't here. Derek felt guilty. Finding Odette again had overwhelmed him, but a prince shouldn't be so irresponsible as to lose track of his best friend in the forest. It was too soon to worry – it had been less than a day, after all. Brom might still turn up any moment, dirty and tired and bragging about the adventure he'd had … but Derek had never imagined himself getting engaged without his best friend there to congratulate him.

If he couldn't deal with one worry, though, at least he could deal with the one right in front of him. He kept a close eye on Odette as they waltzed around the room.

"Hey," he said, patting her black velvet sleeve, "Is that a new dress you're wearing?"

Odette never wore black. She wore white and pink and lavender and other flowery colors, appropriate for a young unmarried lady. Black was for older women. Derek had never been interested in women's clothing, but growing up with a fashion-obsessed mother, he couldn't help but pick up these things.

"Master gave it to me." Odette smiled vapidly and batted her eyelashes. "Isn't it pretty?"

The smile, as well as the words, gave him a chill down his spine. She looked and sounded all wrong.

"Wait, you're calling him Master now? And letting him dress you?"

"But I – I have to," she stammered. "I have to do what he tells me."

Odette didn't take orders from anyone, including her late royal father. If she made up her mind not to go somewhere, it took physical force to move her. Even under the curse last night, she'd brought Derek to the lake at the risk of being shot with arrows. Though visibly terrified of the sorcerer holding her captive, she'd been equally determined to escape him and keep Derek safe from his wrath.

"What in heaven's name did that monster do to you?"

Odette startled, blushed, glanced wildly around as if she was afraid of someone listening, and hid her face against his shoulder, so suddenly that he almost fumbled his dance step. "Please, let's not talk about it," she whispered. "Don't worry. After tonight, everything will be perfect."

Her golden waves of hair brushed his nose, as soft and sweet as he remembered. For a moment, he felt like a fool for doubting her. She looked like Odette, smelled like Odette; she even had the pendant he'd given back to her last night. She'd been through a terrible ordeal; how could he blame her for acting strangely after that? Who else would she be?

But the shape-shifting creature he'd read about in the library wouldn't get out of his head. It's not what it seems, William had told Derek with his dying breath. Could this be what the old king had meant? Could the Great Animal, or the sorcerer who controlled it, be disguised as Odette?

There had to be some way to test her.

The scenery of the ball around him – the dancing couples, the chamberlain scurrying self-importantly around the room, Rogers conducting the orchestra, Uberta staring at her son and his dance partner with avid curiosity – gave him an idea.

"Remember the last time we were at a party like this?" Derek murmured, doing his best impression of a man in love even though his stomach was twisted with nerves.

"Oh yes," said Odette, nodding eagerly.

"We were so happy that night, weren't we?"

"So happy," Odette sighed.
"That was the night I asked you to marry me. And you didn't hesitate for a second, did you? You just said yes."

"I did," Odette cooed. "Anytime, my love, as soon as you say the word."

That was when Derek knew.

The real Odette would have known the truth about that night. The real Odette would have remembered how she'd hesitated, how she had asked Derek if her beauty was all that mattered to him, how Derek had – to his lifelong shame – answered: What else is there? The evening had ended in heartache and disappointment for everyone concerned.

Whoever this person in his arms might be, she wasn't his betrothed. He pulled her closer – and snatched the heart-shaped locket from around her neck.

"Guards, arrest this woman! She's an impostor!"

She let out a panicked shriek – that voice was definitely a stranger's – and bolted for the doors, but two of the armored Royal Guards who had been standing at the edges of the room advanced on her and caught her between them, each grabbing one of her arms.

She swayed and turned limp in what looked like a faint … but the hair that fell forward to hide her face was gray, not blonde, and between the two tall men, she suddenly shrank until her head was barely level with their chests.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Queen Uberta, all but shoving her way through the crowd. "Derek, who is she? What's she doing here?"

"I was about to ask the same thing," said Derek, tucking the necklace in his pocket for safekeeping and advancing on the impostor.

He was not the sort of person to threaten a tiny old woman, witch or no witch, but his face and voice were very stern as he leaned down to look her in the eye. She had green eyes, not violet, and her large nose and wrinkled face didn't bear the slightest resemblance to the woman she had been impersonating all night. It would have been impressive if it weren't so frightening.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Princess Odette?"

He expected fear, defiance, humility, more magic – anything but what she actually did, which was burst into shrill, mocking laughter.

"Me?!" she exclaimed. "You think I did this? Ooh, little prince, Master always said you were slow, but I never knew … oh, you pretty painted fools, what's coming for you is so much worse than poor old Bridget Broom!"

But there was fear in her eyes despite her sneering tone, as if her master, whoever he was, scared her more than even a hostile crowd like this.

But when she caught sight of one particular face, all the bravado drained out of her. Her eyes filled with tears and she reached out with skinny, age-spotted hands. "Cyril?"

"Bridget!" The Chamberlain's small, brightly dressed figure emerged from the crowd. He ran forward and squeezed Bridget's hands, ignoring the two guards on either side of her, ignoring every other person in the room. "I thought – How did – All these years - What in the world have you been doing?"

"He said he'd make me young and pretty," Bridget sobbed. "Like those princesses you're so crazy about … I just wanted to be good enough for you … "

"You were always good enough for me!"

"Chamberlain! Are you familiar with this … person?" said Uberta, with a sniff that spoke volumes of her disgust in learning that a trusted and valued servant of hers was familiar with a witch.

"We were engaged once," said Cyril, pivoting to stand between Bridget and her accusers. "But she was forced into exile along with Lord Rothbart when he tried to overthrow the late King William. They said she was a traitor too, but I never believed it. I searched for her … Please, Your Majesties - " He fell to his knees in front of Uberta and Derek. "Show mercy. Whatever she's done, aren't twenty years enslaved to a sorcerer punishment enough?"

At any other time, Derek would have thought they looked ridiculous together: an old crone in a gown meant for seduction and a chubby little man with a huge ruff and bright yellow doublet. They didn't even look close enough in age to be former sweethearts. Perhaps that was the difference between twenty years with Uberta and twenty years with Rothbart. There was nothing ridiculous, however, about the looks on their faces.

They loved each other. And the Chamberlain already knew what it had taken Derek a lifetime to learn: how to look beyond a woman's body and into her heart.

Derek had to tell Odette that she had always been good enough – more than good enough – for him.

But he had to find her first.

"Tell us where Odette is, Bridget," he said quietly. "And I promise you won't be punished."

Uberta frowned, but did not undermine her son's orders in public. She picked her chamberlain up off his knees and brushed some imaginary dust off him, in a manner that said I'll forgive you this time for consorting with traitors and being part of a scandal at my ball, but don't let it happen again.

"She's locked in the dungeon in the ruins of Swan Lake Manor," said Bridget, hanging her gray head with a sigh of defeat. "So's that friend of yours. Shaking like jelly, he was. You shouldn't let him wander off alone."

"Bromley?" Derek demanded. "He's got Bromley too?"

So that was where his friend had disappeared to. Derek called himself ten kinds of idiot for not considering that sooner. They must have blundered right into Rothbart's territory on that hunting trip without knowing it. Brom in a sorcerer's dungeon – it didn't bear thinking about.

"Bromley is his name, yes." Bridget shuddered from head to foot. "Oh mercy, I've said too much … Master's going to kill me."

"Not if I can help it." Derek gestured to the guards who were still holding on to her. "Release her. Tell the stablemen to ready my horse. And, uh … could someone get me a spare bow and arrows? I seem to have lost mine."

He wasn't normally so careless with his prized weapons, but again, finding Odette had driven everything else out of his head. If he was going to face Rothbart, however, a sword wouldn't be enough.

The guards saluted, turned as one, and marched out. Bridget collapsed into a black velvet puddle on the floor. Cyril hurried to help her to her feet and lead her away, presumably somewhere quiet and protected.

"Derek!" Uberta clutched her son's sleeve as he turned away. "Did you say just one horse? My darling boy, you don't mean to say you're going to fight this villain alone?"

"I agree, sire," Rogers chimed in. "I thought I'd taught you better combat tactics than this."

Underneath his mother's drama and his tutor's criticism, they looked genuinely afraid. Derek brushed off Uberta's hand as gently as possible, kissed her on the forehead, and gave Rogers an affectionate clap on the back.

"This is my fight. I practiced, remember? If I'm not back by midnight, you can send the army after me … but let's face it, I'm very fast." He showed them the kind of smirk at which Odette, if she were here, would have been tempted to throw a tomato.

"I'll have the Great Animal's head as a trophy by the time they're halfway there."