Sleeping Beauty, the One Who Took the Really Long Nap (3 page)

I was so very excited. My first slumber party! Another year had come and gone, and I hadn't managed to become impaled on a spindle. Hurrah!

This year my guests included four girls from the most important families in the kingdom — Meggin, Clarissa, Tabitha, and Bethany — and a girl from town named Sara whom I had befriended the past year when I'd gone with Mama to drop off some clothes. Papa had kept his promise and always made certain the townsfolk had enough to wear. He imported the clothes from all over, and then Mama herself (and her staff of twenty) delivered them. Sara had been
the one to open the door of their small farmhouse when Mama knocked. Sara was so surprised to see the queen that she fell over backward and knocked over a bowl of cabbage soup that her younger sister was about to set down on the table. Sara had strands of green cabbage dripping from her hair, which was the color of strawberries. I laughed and helped her up from the ground.

The next time we went to deliver clothes, Sara taught me how to milk a cow. Before I could touch it, Mama first had to make sure there were no pointy parts on the animal. Old habits die hard. Sara said she could hear the town crier now:
Hear ye, hear ye, our beloved Princess Rose has been brought down by a common farm cow! More information when she wakes up!
Sara and I laughed till tears ran down our cheeks. Mama didn't think it was very amusing.

Promptly at seven o'clock, the girls began to arrive with their overnight bags. Their parents or servants dropped them off. Some stayed to chat with my parents, who assured them that we would be supervised at all times. Of course we would — when was I ever
not
supervised? Sure, there were some hidden passageways in the castle that I had yet to explore, and there might be a cute page or two that we could spy on, and perhaps I knew where the cook hid the
sweets in the back corner of the pantry behind the milled wheat, but none of that was on our agenda. Our agenda had only one item on it.

Makeovers!

The last to arrive was Sara. She and her mother did not have a carriage, so they walked up to the castle. Sara didn't have a father. She never spoke of what happened to him. The porter had the guest list, so he did not give them any trouble crossing the moat. Sara and her mother lingered inside the gate, clearly a bit overwhelmed by the majesty of our home. I had worried a bit that Sara might stand out, but fortunately since all of the girls lived close enough that they had to get their clothes from my father, everyone was dressed in similar summer shifts. Mine had an extra bit of embroidery along the bottom.

The other girls began whispering when Sara arrived, which I did not think was very kind. So I looped my arm in hers and brought her over to the group. I made the introductions, and then we all hurried up the winding stone staircase to my bedroom suite. Six ladies-in-waiting hurried after us.

Bethany stopped halfway up the stairs and whispered, “Rose, why are they following us?”

“What do you mean?”

She gestured behind us at the ladies-in-waiting. “I thought we were going to your room to do makeovers.”

“We are.”

She sighed. “In
private
.”

I had grown so accustomed to being watched over that it didn't bother me anymore. Most of the time I simply forgot anyone else was in the room. I looked around at the other girls, and they were all nodding. Even Sara.

“They won't bother us, I promise. It's not as if they're spying on us.”

The girls looked skeptical but continued following me upstairs. When we got into my suite, the ladies-in-waiting gathered in the sitting room. We all jumped up onto my four-poster bed.

“Wow,” Sara said, her eyes large as she looked around the room. “Is all of this yours? This whole bed and everything?”

I nodded, recalling that she had to share a bed with her sister. To change the subject, I said, “Let's see what everyone brought!”

With a collective squeal, the girls emptied the contents of their bags onto the bed—jars of makeup and brushes and tubes of lip paint, baubles of all colors and shapes, feathered caps, pots of glitter, wigs, and butterfly pins for our hair. Clarissa even brought a corset she had “borrowed” from her older sister. Someone banged the knocker on my door and we jumped. I had requested Papa send up a page with six full-length mirrors, and could I help it if the cute
page was the only one working tonight? When he came in the room, the girls giggled some more. Sara blushed deeply when he bowed to her and said, “How do you do, madam?”

“He likes you!” Bethany shrieked.

The ladies-in-waiting came hurrying in from the next room. “We heard a scream,” Becca said, an edge of panic to her voice. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Becca,” I assured her. “We're only having fun.”

Becca didn't look amused. She glanced hard at the mess on the bed, then led the ladies back into the sitting room.

Tabitha reached for a pot of blusher and said, “It would drive me batty if I always had people looking over my shoulder.”

“Me, too,” the others said. I was surprised. Having so many people looking after my best interests just made me feel that much more loved.

“Shall we go to the mirrors?” Sara suggested. I was grateful to her for taking the focus off me.

I placed one of my feather pillows in front of each mirror. Then we each carried over an armful of supplies.

For the next half-hour, we proceeded to make ourselves over. I became a blond. Sara became a brunette. Bethany painted her lips bright crimson. Meggin helped Tabitha lace up the corset. Tabitha had to wrap her arms around a bedpost to keep from falling over. It made her look deformed!
We all got a good laugh and then Meggin unlaced it for her. Another knock came. This time it was my parents.

“Don't mind us,” they said, taking seats on the cushioned bench across from us. “We'll just watch. Why, we would hardly recognize you girls, all outfitted up like that.”

The girls smiled politely, but it wasn't the same with Mama and Papa there. Clarissa fastened a butterfly pin in her hair, but when it fell out she didn't bother to fix it. After a few minutes she said, “I am quite tired, Your Highnesses. Perhaps you could show us to our rooms?”

I opened my mouth to point out that the eve was still young, but all the other girls except for Sara jumped up so quickly to join her that I fell silent.

“Certainly,” Mama said, not picking up on the girls' displeasure with the situation. One by one they gathered up their belongings and filed out. They each mouthed the word
sorry
as they left. I wasn't sure if they were apologizing for cutting the party short, or whether they were saying they felt sorry for me. I didn't know which was worse. I pulled off my blond wig and let it dangle in my hand. I wanted to run and hide. Last year while helping Papa take inventory of the wine cellar I had discovered the perfect nook in the corner. On the rare moments I was alone, I hid there with a book, a candle, and some of Cook's special plum cakes.

Besides two ladies-in-waiting, Sara was the only one still
in my room. “You'll be in my favorite guest quarters next door,” I told her, staring down at the circular pattern on the rug. Once she left, I would pretend to sleep and then head down to the cellar.

“If it wouldn't be too much of an inconvenience,” Sara said softly, “I'd rather stay in here with you. I'm so used to sharing a bed with my sister, I don't think I would slumber if left alone. And your bed is so big you could fit ten of me and twenty of my sister and still not notice we were there.”

I looked up in surprise. I could not wipe the smile off my face. “Fifty of you and a hundred of your sister!” I replied.

“Two hundred!” she shouted.

“THREE HUNDRED!” I yelled.

I decided right then and there to give Sara all the presents the other girls brought me, which sat unopened downstairs. Sara had already given me the best gift I could have asked for. “Sara?” I said as she began wiping the bright lip paint off her lips with a piece of damp cloth.

“Yes?”

“Do you think I'm quite strange?”

“Of course,” she replied. “That's why we're friends. I'm strange, too.”

“No, I don't mean strange
good
, I mean strange
bad
. Because of them?” I tilted my head into the sitting room where the last two ladies-in-waiting sat.

She did not answer right away. Then she said, “Well, I do not think it is the customary thing, but your parents have good reason to worry after you. And to be truthful, with my father gone and my mother working all hours of the day and night, I wouldn't mind it if people looked after me every now and again.”

“I shall look after you,” I declared.

She smiled. “You will need those seven-league boots for that.”

Sara had once told me a tale about magical boots that allowed the wearer to cover seven leagues in just one step. She figured if I owned them, I could reach her house from the castle in a little more than three steps.

It turned out I did not need magic boots to look after Sara. A few weeks after my birthday party, Sara learned that her mother was going to marry a blacksmith in another part of town. She was selling the farm and moving the family. The blacksmith had five children of his own, and the house was tiny. Sara was distraught.

I immediately asked Mama if Sara could stay with us. Mama said of course she could. But Sara insisted she could not simply be a guest. She wanted to be useful. So I said good-bye to long-suffering Becca, and hello to Sara, my new lady-in-waiting who also happened to be my best friend.

At nine years old, my favorite food was roast mutton. For months I would eat nothing else. Having a hearty meat-eater for a son pleased Mother, but the kitchen staff was beginning to worry.

One night Father's trusted chamberlain was helping him prepare for bed and muttered something under his breath. When Father asked him to repeat it, he at first refused. Father asked again. It is impossible to say no to my father twice, so the chamberlain was forced to repeat his comment. “All I said, sir — and forgive me my boldness —was to wonder aloud about your son's, ah, eating habits.”

Father looked surprised. “Many children have strange tastes. Why, when I was the Prince's age, I would eat only quail eggs and strawberry jam.”

“I am sure you are right, Your Highness. It is probably only a phase. Let us put on your nightclothes now.”

The chamberlain held up Father's dressing gown, but
Father narrowed his eyes and said, “You do not believe it is a phase, do you?”

“I am sure I don't know, Your Highness,” said the chamberlain, no doubt wishing he had never mentioned anything.

“You think he may be part ogre, like the Queen.”

The chamberlain chewed on his lip and didn't answer. Father sighed and sat down on the edge of his bed. “I admit, I have wondered the same thing.” He put his head in his hands. The chamberlain awkwardly patted Father on the shoulder.

“Er, it will be all right, Your Highness. I am sure your first theory was correct. So the boy likes mutton? A lot. So what? I haven't seen any other ogre-ish tendencies in him.”

“Nor have I,” Father said, raising his head slightly. “But how can we be certain?”

The chamberlain paced the room, unused to being taken into the King's confidence in this way. “We can devise a test,” he suggested. “Although we don't know what day, or days, of the month his ogre-ish blood will rise to the surface — not that I'm saying it will — but if it does, we need to be prepared ahead of time.”

“What kind of test?” Father asked miserably.

The chamberlain shook his head. “I am not sure. Perhaps you could consult with the castle chaplain? He could pray on it.”

Father stood up and clasped his chamberlain on the forearm. “That is an excellent idea. I shall do that first thing in the morning.”

The chamberlain nodded and began dressing Father in his nightclothes.

“And by the way,” Father continued, “you're fired for being so impertinent as to speak to me about my son.”

The chamberlain gaped and turned white.

“Ha-ha, just kidding, old man,” Father said. “You're not fired.”

(Besides my mom's “issues,” my dad's “sense of humor” was also why it was hard to keep good help around.)

The next morning Father went directly to the castle chaplain, and together they devised a test for me. They found as many strangers as they could, and each day invited a different one to have lunch with me and Father out on the Great Lawn. Mother always had committee meetings at lunchtime (she was very active in the community, part of her whole “beloved by the masses” thing), so Father knew the newcomers to the castle would be safe.

I was so thrilled to be spending time with Father that it never even dawned on me to suspect anything. As the month was winding down, Father had run out of strangers and had to invite the same ones back again. Even though I loved spending time with Father and felt important for the
first time in my life, the lunches were deadly boring. By the time the guests started to repeat, I tried desperately to get out of going. Father agreed that all I had to do was show up and shake the person's hand. Then I could be on my way. This was fine with me. Not that I had any grand plans for my free time. I longed to immerse myself in my studies, but no tutors stayed around long enough for me to get through a whole geography or history lesson. Most children would probably be pleased with that, but I was often bored. I wanted to learn about the outside world, but no one was there to teach me. I spent much time in the aviary with the falconer, who let me feed the birds that accompanied Father when he went out hunting. Even though they had very sharp beaks, they never bit me. The falconer said I was his favorite visitor. I happened to know I was also the falconer's
only
visitor, but I appreciated him trying to make me feel good.

On the last day of the month, with the last lunch a few hours behind us, Father found me playing with my toy soldiers in the library. He sat down next to me on the floor, something I can't ever remember him doing, and said, “Congratulations, my boy! You don't have a drop of ogre blood in you!”

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

Then he told me about the test, and how I had passed by apparently not attacking any of the guests.

“But why did you think I might have gotten some of Mother's ogre blood? Have I done something terrible?” My heart began to race at the thought of it. Perhaps I did horrible things and didn't remember them! Why had I never considered that I might have inherited her ogre ways?

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” Father assured me. “Actually, it was the mutton.”

“The mutton? What mutton?”

“All the mutton you eat at every meal. We thought perhaps the fact that you were drawn to such a meat-filled meal indicated you had a thirst for … for … other meaty things.”

I shuddered at the thought. “To be honest, I am getting very tired of mutton. I was going to ask the cook to make me something different, like quail eggs.”

“Excellent idea,” Father said. “I'll alert him myself.”

I thought about all those special lunches. I couldn't believe all the trouble they went to. “Did you ever consider just bringing me something of beauty? Flowers? A nice painting or two? If I liked it, that would have proved I wasn't an ogre.”

“Hmm,” Father said. “Hadn't thought of that. Sure would have saved me from a lot of boring meals.”

“You thought they were boring, too?” I asked.

He smiled and tussled my hair. “Of course. I don't know
how your mother does it, all those luncheon meetings with the same groups of women.” He shuddered. “It would drive me mad.”

I had a question I'd wanted to ask him for years. Considering this was the longest conversation the two of us had probably ever had, I figured it was the right time to ask it.

“Father?” I began.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever talk to Mother about, you know, what it's like for her? The whole part-ogre thing?”

Father shook his head. “When she first told me, I asked some questions, but she never wanted to talk about it. She's ashamed. I told her that no one can help what's in their blood. It is not their choice.”

“That's how I feel, too!” I said eagerly. “I don't blame her. I just wish she didn't shut me out so much.”

Father nodded. “Me, too, son, but that's just the way she is. It doesn't mean she doesn't love you.” He reddened a bit as he said the last part. We were not a family that tossed the
love
word around in casual conversation.

I wasn't so sure of Mother's love, but I said, “I know.”

Father uncrossed his legs creakily and stood up. Before he left the room he said, “A new page is transferring to our
castle tomorrow. He's about your age. How about he becomes your personal attendant? You could use a close friend around here.”

I nodded. A friend wasn't the same as a parent, but I'd take it. “Father?” I called out, surprising even myself. He turned around and stuck his head back in the room.

“Father, how come I don't have a name?”

He didn't answer for a moment, then said, “When you were born, we wanted to make sure things were going to, shall we say, work out. Everyone simply referred to you as the Prince, and eventually that became your name.”

“That's what I thought,” I replied. “I just wanted to be certain.”

I went back to setting the toy soldiers up for battle. I thought Father had left but then heard, “Would you like a name?”

Startled, I dropped the soldier in my hand. It hit the rug with barely a sound. I nodded.

“How about you pick your own?” Father said. “Come to me when you've chosen.” With that, he left me.

I was quite taken aback. It is not every day one is told they may pick their own name. What a huge responsibility! Mortimer? Octavian? Rex? How would I choose? By dinnertime (quail eggs and strawberry jam, which was delicious) I had landed on Rhyan. A solid, strong-sounding name. By dessert, I had changed it to James. By the time I climbed
into bed, it was Lucas for sure. When I woke up, I couldn't even remember why I liked Lucas. I obviously wasn't ready to saddle myself with a name yet. Instead of me finding my name, my name would just have to find me.