The village lay in the valley below her father’s castle, its streets made of hard-packed dirt. The people went about their business of buying and selling. Soon the snow would begin to fall, as it did every year about this time, and she shuddered to think of anyone caught without warm clothing in winter. One glance at the mountains surrounding their little cove revealed how forbidding this land could be.
Nevertheless, her people were happy. Ever smiling, they were known far and wide for their joyful songs, singing as they went about their work. They were a hardy people, and many survived as shepherds, traipsing up and down the mountains with their flocks of sheep and goats. They had the furs from their flocks to keep them warm, and they had their work out in the sun and fresh mountain air on the green mountainsides they loved. They didn’t deserve the fate her father and King Claude had planned for them. They needed her, and she could not fail them. She was their only hope.
How would they feel if they were forced to work in the Valkenfeld mines? Made to dig new mines in the beautiful Montciel mountains? They’d be down in a dark hole from sunup to sundown. No more fresh air and sunshine.
Elyce could not allow that to happen.
A woman and a small child were coming toward them on the narrow street. The little girl, doe-eyed, with pale blonde hair, smiled at Elyce.
“A good morning to you,” Elyce said, smiling back.
The mother nodded. “And to you, Fraulein.”
It was the first time Elyce had ever been referred to as a simple maiden. It made her smile, but then she grimaced a moment later. What would the little girl and her mother have said to her if they knew she was the princess and that their lives would change drastically, and for the worse, if she married Rodrigo?
She thought back to her sixth birthday. Her mother had been smiling and kissing Elyce’s cheeks as the kitchen servants sang a birthday song to her and gave her cakes and sweetmeats.
That part of the memory was blurry, but afterward she’d heard her father and mother talking in the hallway outside the kitchen. Her mother’s voice started to rise, in volume and in tone, until she was screaming at her father. Then her voice stopped. Just stopped. When Elyce ventured into the hallway, her mother was lying on the floor, and her father was waving a servant over to help him carry her to her room.
Elyce’s mother never woke up. She died the next day. The physician said it was likely a severe attack of the heart brought on by a fit of passion.
A few months later, Elyce’s aunt Winifred, her father’s sister, came to live with her, to teach her “how to behave as a princess should,” and she many times warned her, “You mustn’t be like your mother. She was much too emotional, and that is why she died. Screaming at your father brought on an apoplectic fit.”
Elyce’s life had never been the same.
Her heart still ached sharply at that memory. She’d done her best to hide her tears whenever her aunt and father were around, to keep them from scolding her, but many nights she cried alone in her bed.
“You must never show your passionate nature,” her aunt would say anytime she expressed anger or frustration or even sadness, “especially in front of your people. You are their princess, their provider of safety and security. They should never see your tears, nor any other sign of feeling besides contentedness and confidence. You are too passionate, too given to fits of emotion.” The words like your mother hung in the air as Aunt Winifred shook her head, her face scrunching as if she were gazing at something revolting.
Her aunt’s contempt of any expression of passion—anger, frustration, or even joy—had confirmed what Elyce suspected: If she displayed emotion, her father and her aunt would not love her. And if they didn’t love her, who would?
She understood from many encounters with her father and aunt that there was something wrong with her, that she was unacceptable and unlovable when she expressed her feelings honestly and openly. She had to hide her emotions because they were disgusting and dangerous, as they’d killed her mother.
But even though she tried, Elyce still was not always successful at subduing her feelings.
“This way.”
Jacob jarred her from her ruminations as he pointed to the left, down an even narrower street, and they both stepped into its relative darkness.
She motioned for Jacob to take the lead, knowing he was reluctant to walk ahead of her, but he was the only one who knew where the house was.
Today there were no guards accompanying them. Their mission required complete secrecy; no one must know where she was going or the purpose of her errand.
At the end of the street was a grassy hill rising in front of them, almost perpendicular to the ground. Was this a dead end?
Jacob turned to the right, skirting the steep hill on a tiny dirt path that went behind the village. The trail led away from any sign of civilization and into meadows that appeared fallow and unused. Edelweiss and other wildflowers, pink and blue dots of color, grew almost as thick as the grass. The pretty sight made her heart lighter, taking her mind off the seriousness of her quest. Then the path began to grow steep, and they headed up along a route taken by many shepherds and their flocks over the past few hundred years.
“Here we are, Princess.” Jacob dared to speak her title now that no one was around.
A little door was visible in the side of the hill, with grass growing all around it. And walking along the narrow bit of ground that led up to it was a little old woman, bent and holding a thick staff in her hand. She stopped and fixed her eyes on them.
“Frau Saacha?”
“Yes?”
“We would like to speak to you.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Princess Elyce of Montciel, your former charge.”
The old woman sized her up, looking her over from head to toe. “I haven’t seen you since you were about two years old—when your father got rid of me for letting you run barefoot outside.”
Elyce hadn’t heard that story.
“You must want something important if you came all the way up here looking for me.” Frau Saacha laughed, a short, sharp sound.
“Indeed,” Jacob said. “May we come in so that we can speak more privately?”
She shrugged. “Suit yourselves.” She opened the door to her small abode, and they followed her inside.
A lamp was burning on a tiny table with only one chair next to it. The old woman placed two more stools at the table. Elyce sat, then the old woman. Jacob stood near the door.
“You have grown quite tall and fair. You look like your grandmother, Queen Trianna,” Frau Saacha said.
“Thank you.” Elyce’s grandmother had been considered a great beauty.
“She was a strong woman, loyal and true, brave and strong-willed. Can the same be said of her granddaughter?” She gave Elyce a piercing look.
Elyce wasn’t sure how to answer. She was trying to be brave and strong for her people’s sake. If what she was doing was considered improper, she believed that in being loyal to her people she was making the nobler choice.
How tired she was of that word—proper. Don’t show any emotion. Don’t cross your legs. Don’t let anyone see you upset. Don’t cry. Don’t laugh out loud. Don’t frown. Don’t smile too much. Don’t be so lenient with the servants. Don’t do this and don’t do that.