The Scarecrow King: A Romantic Retelling of the King Thrushbeard Fairy Tale (3 page)

“But Father said—”

I waved her off. I remembered all too well what Father had said.
If you don't select a husband, then I will select one for you.
“I've already got several things working against me, Imogen.” I turned to face her on the bed and gave her a wicked grin. “My magic isn't useful, I'm dreadfully brown, and like Father said, there's not enough money to dower me.”

“Your magic is useful,” she protested, as she always did when I tried to play down my Birthright.

“Wrong,” I said, gesturing at the gilt mirror that hung on my wall. “Take that, for example. One of Father's ancestors could use it like a scrying glass with her Birthright. She spied on everyone in the kingdom through it.” Now that was a Birthright I admired. Too bad it had driven the ancestor mad. “All I can do is magic the mirror with a bit of luck so it won't break if it falls.”

“That's a good Birthright,” Imogen said in a cheerful voice. “Think of the money you've saved the kingdom on broken mirrors and glassware.”

I snorted. “Truly a royal Birthright, indeed. At any rate, it does not matter. We'll both be at the ball, and once they see you and your beautiful golden hair, they won't care a bit about me.” I leaned over and hugged her, knowing it for a fact. Imogen was so beautiful and sweet that it hurt my heart to look at her sometimes. I wanted to be jealous of her – she had everything: Father's love, beauty, a sweet personality, and a remarkably strong Birthright– but I couldn't be jealous of Imogen. It was impossible not to love her with my entire heart.

A dreamy look crossed Imogen's pretty face. “All the handsomest lords in the land will be here in two weeks. Surely you can find someone to fall in love with?” She was thinking of the eldest son of Earl de Bourgh. He was attractive and dashing, with blonde hair so pale that it might be white, and broad shoulders.

He was also a bit of a dunce, but I never admitted to such things in Imogen's presence.

“Ah, but Father isn't going to give me enough time to fall in love,” I said, my voice sounding bitter even to my own ears. “Just enough time to find someone that is idiot enough to cart me out of Father's castle.”

My sister's green eyes filled with tears at the thought. “I will miss you if you leave. Oh, Rinda, what are you going to do?”

I put my arm around her shoulders, hugging her to soothe her anxiety, as if by doing so, I could somehow soothe my own. “Don't worry, Imogen. We'll think of something. After all, perhaps we'll get lucky and none of them will want to marry me. Then, Father cannot possibly try to marry me off…” My voice trailed off as a plan began to spiral through my mind.

Of course. It was so simple that I broke into a wide grin. I simply had to make myself completely unmarriageable in their eyes and I’d be free to do as I pleased.

Imogen lay her shining head on my shoulder, oblivious to the wicked smile making its way across my face. “I'd find it very hard to believe that no one would want to marry a princess, even a poor one. Despite what Father says, Rinda, you're very pretty.” She gave a huge, dramatic sigh, her shoulders heaving. “It's hopeless. There’s no way to avoid marriage.”

I squeezed the puffy linen shoulder of her plain pink gown. “People want to marry princesses if they find them appealing in some way. I shall have to go out of my way to make myself as unappealing as possible.”

Imogen lifted her head from my shoulder, giving me a wary look. “What do you have in mind, Rinda? Would Father approve?”

Oh, Father would not approve in the slightest. I intended to make him the laughing-stock of the kingdom. But I just patted Imogen's shoulder. “Leave it all to me.”

Chapter Three

The next two weeks passed in a blur of motion as court readied for what was already being called the Royal Engagement Ball. People began to trickle in from the neighboring lands, from the coastal duchies and the borderland earldoms. The wave of carriages entering the capital city of Balinore was something out of a storybook, and the castle rooms were rapidly filled with excited nobility. When no more rooms were available for the visiting nobles, colorful tents were pitched around the castle bailey and scattered about the green fields as far as the eye could see.

Since it was summer, my sister was gone during the daytime to use her Birthright on the fields to ensure that they would grow to their full potential. Ever dutiful, Imogen was out from sun-up to sun-down on her small pony, dressed in a straw hat and plain gown, helping the peasants water their crops. Father spent his days cloistered with the visiting nobility, the throne room a constant source of conversation and merriment. Minstrels and mummers from miles around had followed the nobility to the castle, and the festival was merry for all.

Well, almost all.

Since Imogen was busy trying to save the kingdom from my father's stupidity, and I was mostly useless, the preparations for the Royal Engagement Ball had fallen to me. And to everyone's surprise, I had fallen to the duty with a great zest. After all, I knew where to hit my father where it hurt.

“Spare no expense,” I told Cook as handed me a lengthy menu with rich, decadent foods.

“Spare no expense,” I announced as the royal decorators came to show me the window hangings and banners they had specially prepared for the event.

“Spare no expense,” I told the mummers, the minstrels, and the acrobats that demanded advance payment for the revelry. My father's steward had frowned at the cost, but I'd smiled and given him some ridiculous line about wanting our special evening to be perfect…and hired another troupe of dancers on top of the already-planned festivities.

I had caught Father frowning at a few of the pricey silken draperies that were covering the walls of the throne room, and could practically see him counting pennies in his mind. It made me gleeful, and I continued to spend money in shocking amounts.

“Spare no expense,” I told the royal wardrobe when my sister was fitted for her gown, but on this one, I truly meant it. Imogen was lovely and deserved pretty things. She knew of the kingdom's money troubles and tended to wear the same gowns over and over again while I ordered new dresses in the latest fashions and ignored the price. “Imogen's gown must be trimmed with the finest ermine. And I want no less than a dozen emeralds in her belt and her circlet each.”

The mistress of the wardrobe had gulped but nodded.

My gown for the Royal Engagement Ball was going to be something special as well. Whereas Imogen would be gowned in a soft green velvet that would play her pale hair and green eyes beautifully (and call to mind her life-giving powers), I'd decided upon severe black taffeta. The cut of the dress was crisp and fashionable, but the color was perhaps a shade too stark against my pale skin and warm brown hair. Jewelry encrusted with gemstones of onyx and black pearls adorned my circlet, and my belt was made entirely of jet beads. I glittered like a dark raven in the rich outfit, and the wardrobe mistress had pursed her mouth and shook her head at the sight of me in it. “You look as if you are in mourning, Princess Rinda,” she had whispered to me.

“Do I? That's perfect,” I said smugly, and did not elaborate when she gave me a confused look.

All was ready by the day of the ball. My trunks were packed in anticipation of my nuptials, my tower room stripped of all personal items. Our dresses were complete, and the castle was transformed into a gaily garbed spectacle of Balinoran excess, and the halls rang out with the merriment of hundreds of nobility.

Once it was time, I was bathed, perfumed, groomed and changed into my chemise, corset, and heavy ball gown. My hair was pulled back into a shining knot, and my onyx and pearl circlet was laid upon my brow. As I held still, my maid outlined my dark eyes with kohl to make them luminous, my face dabbed with rice powder.

When I looked in the mirror, the face that stared back at me was delicate but too pale, with my mother's deep brown eyes and the graceful bone structure of my father's royal ancestry. If it weren't for the brown of my hair, I’d have looked like a grieving noblewoman. While normally I was just as beautiful as Imogen, today I looked like a hollow-eyed widow, the extreme appearance made more so by my somber garb. My father would hate my appearance, from my sickly-pale face to my rich gown and the crust of jewels upon my brow.

And the waiting court had no idea what they were in for tonight. I gave my reflection a smile, grabbed my thick, heavy skirts in my hands and went out to face the ballroom.

~~ * ~~

Imogen was waiting for me at the head of the stairs. Where my hair was worn up in a sleek knot, her golden hair had been teased into a thousand spirals, held back from her face by the emerald circlet. The golden curls spun about her head like sunlight, and her green eyes sparkled as she twirled in her lovely gown. “Father was so generous in our dresses, wasn't he? I daresay that there is nothing finer in the kingdom.”

I leaned in and kissed her cheek with affection, saying only “Father was indeed generous.” The smile on my face broadened – Father actually had no idea what I'd spent on our dresses, but I was sure to hear about it on the morrow. Provided I was still in the castle, of course.

I was looking forward to seeing Father's reaction at the sight of our rich garb, and I was not disappointed as he met us at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes lit with pleasure at the sight of beautiful Imogen, his eyes lingering on her circlet and then her jeweled belt. Surprise gleamed in his eyes and he glanced over at me, and my stark, somber wear, my circlet that dripped with jewels. His pleased smile turned into a hard line.

“Rinda—” he began in a warning tone.

“Don't we look lovely, Father?” Imogen said in a light, guileless voice. “Tonight is going to be so very special.”

“Memorable,” I added with a smile. They had no idea.

My smile must not have been as sincere as Imogen's. Father gazed at me a moment longer, suspicious, and then crooked his arm for Imogen to place her hand in it.

I did not get an arm, despite my father having two. Imogen seemed to realize this as well, and offered me her free elbow, so she might be the buffer between us.

A herald sounded a trumpet, and footmen opened the double doors to the ballroom, and as a royal family, we entered.

The crowd immediately parted to let us through, the light, fluting music dying as we entered. Like the tide rolling back, the sea of colorful nobility surged backward, men bowing in a swirl of capes, women dropping into a flurry of curtsies. My heart lodged in my throat and my pulse began to throb in fear. So many people – the ball was an absolute crush. I noticed more men in the crowd than women, and my heart sank even more. They were here to marry a princess, and my father had two of them eager for husbands. I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress and put on my haughtiest smile, determined to be poised and confident this night, the princess on the inside and the out, even if my father did not think me one.

Arms linked, we swept through the crowd and ascended the dais to our thrones. Father had the largest one, a heavy oak chair with a high, carved back and red velvet seat. The princess thrones were small, backless versions of my father's throne, seated together and off to the side of the dais. Father released Imogen and we moved back to our thrones, then sat after the king did.

All eyes in the room were upon us – my sister's verdant loveliness and my severe, dark form. The sensation was prickling and uncomfortable, and I clenched my fingernails deep in my palm, digging to calm myself. Ignore them. Ignore them all.

A waiting servant handed my father a goblet of wine. He took it and raised it into the air, as if toasting the waiting crowd. “The princesses of Balinore bid you welcome!” A cheer arose from the crowd.

Not this princess
, I thought.

Imogen reached over and grasped my hand, and I realized that she was trembling. My poor sister was nervous but radiant – she expected nothing but good things to come out of tonight. I did not have such hope.

My father raised his hands, waiting for the cries of the audience to die down. Once they did, he spoke again. “Tonight,” he began, “I make the greatest sacrifice a father can make for his children—”

I snorted.

Imogen glanced over at me and squeezed my hand, trying to warn me to be quiet.

“—to give them away in marriage,” Father continued in a bombastic voice. Cheers arose in the room and Father's velvet cape swirled about his shoulders as he waved his hands, gesturing for the audience to quiet. Again, he raised the goblet. “For the past eighteen years, I have made the choices for both of my daughters, doing what I thought was best for them. Tonight, I do what I think is best for them again, and allow them the choice. Tonight, Princess Imogen and Princess Rinda will choose their husbands amongst the nobility.”

My stomach made a sick flop. I glanced over at Imogen's face and her bright eyes. She seemed eager, her gaze scanning the crowd for a familiar face. Earl Dunderhead must be here. Good for my sister. At least one of us would have a happy union.

“So that my lovely daughters can meet each and every suitor, we ask that your names be given to the court herald. You will be arranged in order of rank and attend to my daughters individually throughout the evening.” Again, another cheer. Father made a grand gesture with his hand, the wine slopping over the edge of the cup and onto the priceless carpet that covered the dais. “Until then, we dance.” And Father turned back to Imogen and I. “Since this night belongs to the princesses, it is only fitting that they lead us in a dance.”

I made a noise of distress in my throat, realizing that Father had surprised me. I hated dancing. I was terrible at it, too, and so I avoided it during normal court functions. Father knew this and I caught the smile on his face as he handed his goblet to a servant. As Imogen and I stood to move to the dance floor, he took her hand and gave me a hard look. Father had decided to humiliate me publicly in exchange for my obscene spending.

Clever, if cruel.