Another fairy story! Fit the second

The following day, they packed. Trunkfuls of richly embroidered dresses, of delicate undergarments, of shoes; for even a princess in exile must dress according to her station. The Dowager Marquise had been wont to receive all manner of guests and a princess should be attired as a princess should when in the prescence of nobility. She thought hard on her toys, her dolls. Should they be packed? In the end she gave in to the housekeeper’s pleadings. As a child, her childhood would remain with her a little longer.

Early the next morning, footmen and the King’s Master of Horse arrived with a grand carriage drawn by four dappled geldings. While the footmen loaded the Princess’ trunks onto the rear platform of the carriage, the Master of Horse called the Princess to one side. He knelt, and looking into the Princess’ eyes, he said: “The Queen sends her love to you, child, and protection. I will ride postillion and my footmen will ride the rear. You need have no fear or concern for the journey. As King’s men we are sworn unto death to protect the King and the King’s own.”

“Thank you,” she replied. “How fares my mother?”

“She is well and misses you terribly. She would now have you home to the castle but she defers to her mother’s last wisdom. Come, we must be about if we are to make your aunt’s by nightfall.”

The housekeeper appeared at the porch carrying a small bag. “Come, my sweet,” she called. “I have prepared some nuncheon for you in case no inn can be found on the road.” The Princess walked across and received the bag. “I shall miss you, Melissa,” she said quietly and placed her forehead on the housekeeper’s outstretched hand. “And I you, little one. Be brave and live well and long. Perhaps one day, we too shall meet again.” She turned and darted back into the house so that the child would not see her tears.

“Come, Princess,” called the Master of Horse, “we depart. ‘Tis a long road ahead and we must not tarry!” The Princess walked briskly to the carriage and, her arm supported by the Master of Horse, she climbed in. The footmen climbed onto the baseplates at the rear, the Master of Horse mounted the leading horse on the left, and another journey began.

The following years of her life were among some of the happiest. Although she sorely missed her grandmother, her cousins became like brothers, in fact became her brothers in so far as she was concerned and they would spend all of their time together, inseparable. The village children became her friends too, even though they knew she was a Princess, the daughter of the King and Queen, still she was treated no differently. She attended the same village school, ate the same simple meals, dressed in the same simple clothes and played the same simple games. As the years passed, she grew to become what later tales would attest without a shred of doubt, the fairest of the latter day elves. A bright and dazzling light shone from her eyes and her laughter was enough to shame the dourest of the villagers, of which there were many, to raise a smile.

Some years later, when she had become full grown in body, if not yet in mind, she returned home one day from her studies. Quietly slipping off her shoes on the coarse matting just inside the entrance, she heard her aunt’s voice, talking to her youngest child, a girl. “So who is daddy’s little darling?” she cooed. “Who does daddy love the best? Who is the apple of our eyes, then? Who do we love more then anything in this world? Who is so much more loved than that interloper, that cuckoo?” The princess was dumbfounded. Cuckoo? Was that all she was? A parasite in the nest? A leech? Had she been deceived all of those years? A lump started to grow in her throat and she knew that she was about to cry. Slipping her shoes back on, she ran from the house as fast as she could, towards the small wood that lay at the eastern edge of the village. As she ran she could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks. “How could she?” she thought, as all the happiness of her short life seemed in one brief moment to dissolve into dust.

Finally she reached the wood and, exhausted, lay beneath a giant oak; her head turned away from the village and the life she had known. “Gran'm'ma, where are you? Please, come to me. Help me!” She called but her grandmother did not, could not, come. She was truly alone now, perhaps for the first time. “I cannot stay here, not now. I cannot go back there, not now.” But where could she go? The Queen? No, both she and her mother were likewise bound by her grandmother’s ancient wisdom and her interdict. Natalia? Perhaps.

Natalia was a seamstress, who lived in the next village. So, retracing her steps out of the wood, the Princess rejoined the road that meandered between the two villages. Turning her back on the village that had been her home for more than 10 years, she made her way down the narrow track towards Natalia’s house and, she hoped, some kind of sanctuary. Natalia was famed in the region for the quality of her dressmaking and had, in fact, made more than one dress for the Princess herself, at the Queen’s behest no less. The Princess had found her an amiable companion during the long and tiresome fitting sessions when Natalia would gently gossip through a mouthful of pins about her village and the small comings and goings of daily life.

The sun was slowly setting when she finally came on the gate in front of Natalia’s little cottage, fingers of orange and magenta streaked the clouds as though the very west itself was aflame. She knocked on the door. A voice like ringing crystal came through the open window. “If you be friend, enter! If you be foe, ‘ware my hounds lest you lose more than the seat of your trou’s!” The Princess smiled. “Hounds indeed!” she thought. “More like rats, those dogs! I doubt they could reach even my seat let alone a brigand’s!” The Princess pushed the ever unlatched door and went inside. Natalia was crouched over her bench stitching tiny, gold fleurs-de-lys around the hem of a child’s dress. The seamstress looked up and swept the Princess with her eyes. “What ails thee, child, for I see it in thy face. Great pain, I see, behind those eyes. Come, sit! I shall prepare mulled wine and oatcakes, if they be not too hard. Come, sit! I shall return shortly. You may admire my handiwork, while you wait. I think it will impress.”

To be continued