A/N: This is first attempt at a Fairy Tale. I hope it turns out well, and I welcome all critique in the form of reviews & PMs!
Very loosely based on the traditional tale 'The Goose Girl' and the retelling by Shannon Hale - but as the story progresses, no further parallels can be drawn.
Read and review at your pleasure!
Disclaimer: This is a non-profitable piece of writing. No copyright infringement is intended.
The Princess was dead.
A heavy silence hung over the darkened room. There was no cries of anguish, no howls of despair.
Just a pensive, foreboding silence.
I shrank further into the shadows of the embroidered walls, twisting my fingers nervously behind my back. The presence of death overpowered me, choking my lungs, clogging the back of my throat. I clamped my lips shut as I fought the need to cough.
We all regarded the Queen fearfully, our exquisitely beautiful, cold, icy monarch. She stood tall and regal over the wasted body of her only daughter, her stance still powerful. Only the bow of her head showed any form of emotion.
The silence still held.
Finally, the First Chamberlain started forwards slowly, his forehead furrowed with sorrow. He sank to a low bow at the Queen's feet, only the slightest shake of his hands betraying his wariness of her reaction.
"Your Majesty," he whispered, his voice torn with sadness – or was it fear? One never knew when it comes to dealings with this Queen. "Your Majesty, we must begin the mourning period at once. The nation will share your agony; we will all grieve the passing of such a fine young princess." There was a small murmur of agreement around the room. I remained silent, concentrating on the whiteness of the chamberlain's knuckles as he clasped his hands together tightly. "God on high has seen fit to take her under his wing – it is his will, and though we will mourn, we shall not forget. Allow the court to ring the funeral bell, Your Majesty-"
"No-one is to leave this room." The flat, emotionless voice rang out, authority present in every syllable. The Queen turned her head, and fixed the Chamberlain with a burning gaze.
"B-But, Your Majesty-"
"I said," she struck again, her clipped voice low and dangerous, "not a single soul present is permitted to leave this room." She drew up to her full, fearsome height, and cast us all a steel glare. "No-one. Not a single chambermaid, a fainting Lady-in-Waiting, nor an impatient pageboy. If any member here so much as dares to look out the window-" she paused, cold anger emanating from her every pore, "they will know the full extent of an abandoned mother's fury."
The room breathed a collective sigh as the Queen and her stony faced advisor swept away. The old maids helped the terrified Chamberlain back onto his feet, and small mutterings began to break out, the relief tangible in the air.
And yet, I noticed with pang of pity and fear, everyone ignored the fresh corpse on the plush bed.
Sidling along the carpeted wall, I shifted to the left to afford a better look of the late Princess.
The Princess nobody knew.
Only a few knew her name, her full title. We, the Hidden Court, simply called her Princess.
Nobody ever meant the title anyway. She was treated with indifference from her servants, who only kept their place for the generous amount of money the Queen was willing to give to maintain our secrecy.
For, this Princess had been born weak, ailing and doomed to a short life. Her mother and father, the late King, may God rest his soul, were ashamed of their daughter's ill health. No monarch should ever birth a weak child.
And so, from the hour she was born, they had kept her veiled in mystery, making her an elusive figure to the public, stashing her in the east wing of the palace, where the Hidden Court was created to attend to her every need. Foreign, exotic wise men and healers were often admitted to try and better her ill health, but it was hopeless. The Princess was, and would stay, ill.
The cities ran rife with rumours and stories of this nameless Princess's tale – the most common belief being that she had been born with such a blinding beauty and a kind disposition, that it was not fit for every peasant, every casual man to look upon her perfection. She was the subject of every idle maid's gossip, the fantasy of many workmen.
I sighed as I looked upon the limp strands of dull yellow hair on the pillow, the unhealthy grey tinged pallor of her skin. Contrary to the tales, neither health nor beauty had touched our unfortunate Princess.
But what do I know of beauty? I know little beyond this East Wing, only permitted to exit the walls into the full court upon three occasions in my sixteen years. See, it would not do for a member of the Hidden Court to be tempted into revealing the Princess's ailments. Upon my infancy, my father became the appointed musician for the sickly Princess, I have been sealed inside these walls along with her as her playmate, ordered for years to try and provoke her enthusiasm, to charm life into her.
A curious mix of relief and sorrow washed over my tongue as I approached the bed warily, inspecting the only friend I have ever known, although our relationship was rather forced. Without her, I can finally live.
She had never known life at all.
I smoothed her dry hair off her forehead, feeling the familiar brittleness of the dry locks in my hands.
"May God relieve you, Princess," I whispered. An unexpected tear gathered in my eye. I turned my head away, and concentrated on the tassels of the carpet instead.
"Noelle?" There was a gentle tug on my wrist. I looked up into my father's haggard face. Worry creased his brow. "Are you hurt?"
I shook my head. "We are free, father," I told him chokingly, the enormity of what this death meant for me sinking into my consciousness. I stepped towards the tiny window overlooking the east courtyard – a view that had taunted me for years. "We can finally leave."
My father tightened his grip on my arm. "We cannot be so sure of that, my love," he whispered in a strained voice.
Surprised, I looked up. "Why ever not?" I demanded, my voice rising higher than it should.
My father turned away from the window tiredly, pulling me with him. "There is no knowing what our Queen may do in her anger," he murmured in a low voice. "Now that the Princess, may God rest her soul, is gone, we remain simply as witnesses to the royal family's deception of the public. Even if they announce the death, they may not reveal her weak health over the years. They will be wary of us, afraid of our tongues and knowledge. They might never, completely let us go."
I swallowed hard. Strain, uncertainty, and fear were traced so clearly on his face. My eyes darted around the room – and I noticed similar emotions on each grave face, despite their attempts to start lively conversation.
Shut in, alone with the royal corpse, we, the hidden court, simply sat and waited.
For two days and two nights.
We sat, hardly breathing, hardly living.
I curled up on the rug in front of the unlit fireplace, my eyes trained on the window. I heard the faint trills of birdsong through the thick pane. My fingers tapped impatiently. It had been long – too long – since I have been outside. I longed to feel the full strength of the sun on my skin, to see the faces of people my age, to learn their traits, their fancies, to taste life away from the Hidden Court. To ride a horse, to taste a banquet, to visit the dressmakers, to learn to dance. Was it asking too much?
I sighed dreamily, and laid my head back on the hard marble of the fireplace. The room was empty, expect for myself, and the Princess. The wasted body on the bed was covered with a dark sheet of velvet. I avoided looking at the contours under the material. I heard the strains of tense conversation from sitting room, where the rest of the Court was congregated. They had refused to sit in her room, flocking away from the traces of death.
But, somehow, I had not wanted her to be alone.
I snapped on the third day.
"This is ridiculous!" I stormed, not caring about my voice carrying down the hall. I rounded on my father angrily. "Are we royal prisoners? Have we committed treason? How dare she lock us up as if – as if we've committed some treacherous offence!"
"Noelle," Mrs Reynolds, the housekeeper began soothingly, "Calm down, dear. I'm sure the Queen's just in a state of shock. We are hardly the priority at the moment."
I scoffed. "We've never, ever been priority. She might have just left us here to starve."
"Noelle!" Mrs Reynolds reprimanded me sharply. "Watch your tongue! You may have been brought up here without anyone to curb your manners, but I'm warning you, the moment you step out into the wider world, your behaviour will quickly be criticized if you carry on this way."
"If we stay here, I'm not going to have a chance to experience the world anyway!" I railed, ignoring the warning. "This is sheer stupidity-"
"The Queen!" We heard a courier announce below. "The Queen!"
The room stiffened noticeably.
"Go back to your seat, Noelle," Mrs Reynolds whispered. Her grip on my hands tightens, and I looked up into her suddenly aged and weary face. She held me close for one second, before pushing me back to my chair beside the window.
"What is she-"
"Don't ask anything. Just… just try to stay quiet," Father muttered tersely, seating himself in front of me, as if to shield me from view.
Kira reached across and gave my hand a squeeze.
"The Queen! The Queen!" the call resounded from down the corridor. Shakily, the First Chamberlain rose, his fat, round face sweating, patting his white hair nervously.
The marching footfalls of the entourage stopped before the door.
"The Queen!" the last cry rang. The heavy oak door flung open. "The Queen!"
The tall, imperious monarch finally swept in – and I stifled a shocked gasp.
For once, her masses of dark hair were not swept up into an immaculate style. The irises of the icy eyes were swollen, enveloping them in black. Her skin was unhealthily pale and pinched, giving her a ghostly aura.
She stood, her thin silhouette highlighted against the brightness of the hallway, her gaze sweeping the room.
If it was possible, her glare burned more than usual.
The First Chamberlain deflated in front of her imposing figure before lowering his quivering head. "Y-Your Majesty-"
"Where is the girl?" That feared voice bit out imperiously. She looked down disdainfully at his fat figure, the very tilt of her head full of contempt.
The First Chamberlain visibly flinched, jerking back slightly. "T-The Princess, Your Majesty?" His eyes flickered towards the closed door leading to the Princess's chambers. "But, Your Majesty, the P-Princess is d-dea-"
"The other girl. Where is the Princess's companion?"
My father stiffened in front of me. His fist clenched tightly as he looked at the Chamberlain imploringly.
The poor man sweated as his head swivelled between my father and the queen uneasily.
"The girl, you imbecile?" The steel coated voice softened dangerously.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and clenched his hands together. "Y-You must mean N-Noelle, Your M-Majesty," he whispered.
My head snapped up from the carpet. A small noise emitted from my father's throat. His arm jerked involuntarily towards me.
Black, emotionless eyes met my own. "Bring her here," the Queen demanded quietly.
Nobody moved.
The Queen seemed to draw strength from our little act of defiance, and a small grimace of a smile graced her lips. She drew herself up straight, and looked at me straight on. "I have an issue to discuss with you," she stated imperiously. Striding along to the doors linked to the Princess's chambers, she held them open. "Would you care to join me?"
My mouth dropped open for a moment, before I rose unsteadily to my feet. The hem of my gown suddenly felt very heavy.
My Father's arm gripped my sleeve tightly, unwilling to let me go. Surprised I looked down at his seated form, and took in his confused, panicked eyes, his trembling hands.
His hand dropped as the Queen turned her impatient glare upon him.
I followed the Queen as we entered the Princess's chambers once more. She strode decisively to the centre of the room, ignoring her daughter's covered body swathed in black velvet and protected by the holy cross. Her gaze seemed to fall eagerly upon me, a dangerous gleam in her eye.
"Close the door, girl," the emotionless voice instructed me.
Reluctantly, I did as I was told.
"Now, go and stand next to window."
Uncertainly, I stepped slowly into the pool of golden light streaming determinedly through the barbed and narrow window. The sudden strength of the light made me wince.
There was a choked moan from the Queen's direction. Startled, I lifted my eyes up to her.
"Yes…" she whispered. She stepped closer to me. "Yes…"
The dark eyes travelled slowly across my face, lingering on the line of my jaw, the bridge of my nose.
Fear crept slowly into my mind. This Queen, this woman looked dangerous.
She began to mutter feverishly to herself, her lips moving too fast for me to follow. Slipping into my courtier mask, I trained my eyes away from her, focussing instead on the delicious way the sunlight bathed the cold walls, the golden tint it cast on heavy curtains, the-
"You may have a seat." The fearsomely hard voice had returned. I glanced towards our Queen cautiously, as I lowered myself onto the stool beside the window. Clasping my hands together uncertainly, I waited for her to begin.