Sleeping Beauty, the One Who Took the Really Long Nap (11 page)

Sara laid her hand on my shoulder as I stared into the garden. “He will come,” she said firmly. “I assure you. No man looks at a woman the way he looked at you and does not return.”

I sighed. “Perhaps he was a figment of our imagination. The fairy could have given us one last dream to prepare us for awakening.”

Sara didn't answer right away. Then she said, “Definitely not. Remember your cooking, ah, limitations? Neither of us could have prepared yesterday's salmon and rice stew!”

I brightened. She was right, of course. He HAD to be real. But then where was he? “Do you think something happened to him? Perhaps the invisible wall is keeping him out.”

“It did not do so before,” Sara observed. “Come, let us begin our day. I am sure he will show up. He seemed the type to keep his word.”

I let her steer me out of the library and into the kitchen. Making our own meals was certainly getting old quickly.
What I truly wanted to do was hide in the corner of the wine cellar like I did when I was younger, closing out the world. But I was nearly a woman now. It was time to outgrow such things. I accepted the piece of peach pie Sara found in the back of the pantry, but I could not enjoy its sweetness.

By noon the courier had still not returned. Perhaps he had not even located Jonathan. As a knight, he could be off somewhere distant on a quest. I had no way of knowing. A tray of breakfast food had been delivered to my chambers earlier, but all I could choke down was one sausage. The porridge now sat in the corner, congealing.

I stared out onto the lawn. The falconer was there, working with his birds. Every few moments one of them flew dangerously close to my window but turned before smacking into the thick glass. I feared I might go mad if I sat there any longer, so I decided to join the falconer on the lawn. The guards were surprised by my sudden appearance in the hall and scrambled to their feet. I did not give them a backward glance. Fortunately they dared not stride too close to the birds so I was given a wide berth. The birds were used to my presence, but to a stranger they could be deadly.

“What troubles you, Prince?” the falconer asked, not turning around.

“How do you know I am troubled?”

He cocked his head toward the birds, circling a few yards above us. “The birds can always tell. They have sensed your distress. In addition, I do not recall seeing the castle guards posted to your care since you were a babe.”

I sighed. “You would not believe it if I told you.”

“Try me,” he replied, holding out his arm. A falcon landed neatly on the thick leather strap and accepted a small piece of fresh meat before flying off.

Before I could stop myself, the whole story came pouring out. Princess Rose and the invisible barrier, Percival and his lies. The castle guards. When I was finished, the falconer watched the birds circle for another moment, then said, “You shall have to move quickly.”

“I know,” I replied. “Every hour seems like a year to me.”

He shook his head. “It is more than that. Your father has asked me to prepare the birds. He is planning a hunt for tomorrow.”

I gasped. “He shall find the castle!”

“You will have to reach Rose before that happens.”

“What can we do? I can run swiftly, but I cannot outrun the guards. They would surely pursue me.”

“I shall help you,” the falconer said. He walked a few paces farther from the castle, keeping his eyes focused on
the air so the guards would think he was just following the patterns of the birds. I followed. “The way I see it,” he said softly, “you must get word to the princess of your situation. I can send my swiftest peregrine with a note. Then tonight, under the cover of darkness, I shall cause a distraction — perhaps I visit the aviary and some falcons are missing. Your father will call for an immediate investigation, and your guards, believing you to be sleeping in your bed, shall be called to help. You will then flee into the woods and return to your princess. Even if you have not figured out how to grant her total freedom, at least you will be together when the hunting party arrives at her door.”

“I do not know how to thank you,” I said humbly.

For the first time, the falconer met my eyes. “I have known you since you were a babe and watched you grow. Your life has not been easy. You deserve your happiness now. I shall prepare the note, telling the princess you will be there before midnight.”

I grasped him on the shoulder in thanks. For the rest of the day I was a dutiful son. I helped Mother organize a charity dinner. I sat in with Father as he met with the bailiff about something to do with taxes, a sick goat, and a barrel of ale. I couldn't focus enough on their conversation to figure out what those three things had to do with one another. I was too busy planning my escape.

At supper, Father spoke of his plans for the hunt. Mother said she'd like to come along and Father said that would be fine. I began choking on my pheasant. The steward brought me some water. I gulped it down as I quickly calculated the date. We were still four days away from the second Thursday of the month. We were just about to begin the apple cobbler when the porter came in and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Your Highnesses, but the Prince has a visitor.”

I jumped up from my chair. Could Rose have broken through the barrier? If so, I needed to hide her from Mother! Or maybe the visitor was Jonathan!

“Show him in,” Father said, obviously pleased with the thought I might have a friend.

The porter shook his head. “The visitor told me he should like to see the Prince in private. He says it is a matter of state business.”

Father looked confused.

The porter continued, “Something about the work the Prince is doing in the village, in Rose Square? Helping the townspeople?”

My heart thumped in my chest. Rose Square! Whoever this visitor was, he or she knew something about Rose! “Oh, yes,” I said hurriedly. “I know what this is about. I've been
helping to plant some new rutabagas and turnips in Rose Square. I shan't be long.”

Mother wore a pleased little smile. “You go on, son. What a lovely way to help the less fortunate.”

I nodded and followed the porter from the room. Mother gestured for the guards to stay behind, which was kind. The porter led me to the library. A very short man in a black cape was facing away from me. He waited until the porter left us to turn around and lift his head. I almost fell over backward, quickly steadying myself on the arm of a chair, amazed by the disguise.

“You must be … you're …” I stuttered, not being able to form the right words.

The creature nodded and curtsied slightly. “I am the fairy who has looked after Princess Rose for lo these many years. I looked after you, too, although you did not realize it.”

When I could catch my breath I said, “You did an excellent job of keeping Rose safe, and I thank you deeply for allowing me to be the one to awaken her. But why can she not leave the grounds of her castle?”

“Oh, but she can,” the fairy said with a shrug. “Just as soon as you let her.”

I almost fell backward again. “Me? Whatever do you mean? What could it possibly have to do with me?”

The fairy sighed, shaking her head. “Men. Do you understand nothing? I shall tell you this much:

And with those cryptic words, her features began to shimmer and I had to squint to see her. Then she was gone. Just gone. Cape and all. I stared at the space she had previously occupied.

“Fairy!” I whispered loudly. “Please come back. What does that mean?”

I caught a faint shimmer near Rose's painting on the wall, but it quickly disappeared. The fairy was not coming back. Thankfully I would see Rose soon. I hoped she had better luck with the fairy than I.

“What is
that
?” Sara asked, pointing above our heads. I laid down my paintbrush and looked up from my easel. It had been Sara's idea to take out my old art supplies, and we had spent a peaceful hour in the garden, painting. The missing prince was never far from my mind, though. I had to put up my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. A dark shadow passed back and forth, circling overhead. It gradually got lower until I could clearly see it was a large falcon. I had not thought to check the aviary when Sara and I toured the castle yesterday. Had some of the birds possibly survived? But no, this one did not have our family's colors on its talon.

“Should we go inside?” Sara suggested, backing away. “Those birds can be very dangerous.”

I shook my head. The bird was gliding to a halt on top of one of Mama's prized blueberry bushes. It shook its leg. “I think it's hurt,” I said, stepping toward it.

“Careful,” Sara warned, coming up from behind. We slowly approached the bird, trying not to make any sudden
moves. About two feet away, I realized the bird had not hurt its leg — it had a note tied around it! It was holding out its leg so I could take it. The bird bent its neck down to sample a blueberry and I took that moment to slip the scroll out from under the thin leather band that bound it. I unraveled the thin parchment. “It is about the Prince!” I exclaimed.

“Out loud, please,” Sara demanded.

“‘Princess Rose and Lady Sara, the Prince is under house watch and could not come as promised last night. He feels terrible about it, and shall rectify the situation tonight. Please look for him before the midnight hour. Blessings, the falconer, friend of the Prince.'”

I read it over and over until Sara finally cleared her throat. I looked up, blushing.

“Shall we send a reply?” she asked. “The bird is still here.”

“Excellent idea.” I hurried over to the easel and picked out my thinnest brush. I turned to my palette and dipped the brush into some blue pigment. With my hand poised over the back of the scroll, I suddenly stopped. I had never written a note to a young man before. What was I to say? The bird flapped its wings impatiently.

I wrote:
I shall count the hours. Yours truly, Princess Rose.
Then I gently waved the paper in the air for a few moments so it would dry before I rolled it back up. I affixed it to the
waiting leg, and as soon as I tightened the leather knot, the bird flew straight up and away.

“What was your reply?” Sara asked.

I told her and she looked aghast. “
Yours truly
?” she said. “That sounds so formal!”

I lifted my chin defiantly. “That is how Mama used to sign her letters.”

“Yes,” Sara said, “when she was writing to a friend, or ordering more clothes. Not when she was writing to her one true love.”

I pretended to be absorbed in my painting. I couldn't very well sign it
With love, Rose.
After all, I had known him for a day. True, my heart did quicken whenever I thought of him. And I had felt comfortable with him very quickly. But I had never known love for a young man before. How was I to recognize it now? Without taking my eyes off the flower I was painting, I said, “In my defense, I DID say I was counting the hours until his visit. Surely that was bold enough?”

“True,” Sara acknowledged. “That was in the right spirit. Fine, I shan't mention
yours truly
again.”

“Yes, you will.”

Sara shrugged and smiled in that mischievous way of hers. “You are probably right.”

That night as darkness fell, Sara and I went into the library to wait. We huddled together on the couch under the
warmest blanket we could find, still not daring to light a big fire. I tried to keep myself awake by recalling the Prince's features one by one. His long, regal nose. His warm brown eyes. His hair the color of sunflower oil. I was just about to dwell on his broad shoulders when Sara grabbed my arm and we both sat bolt upright. Shouting! Someone was shouting outside. More than one someone. My heart pounded in my chest. One voice cried out above the others, “Open the door! Open the door!”

I could not move.