Young Writers Society

Chapter Three

We are walking on a long, narrow bridge, over a moat large enough to be a lake. The palace ahead is at least a half size larger than ours. It’s quite warm and muggy out, though I can see big gray clouds rolling in from the East. My father is breathing heavily in the heat, and leaning on Noah for support. Walking this far on foot isn’t good for his old age. We are getting closer now, although I am still tempted to swing myself over the side of the never-ending bridge and go for a well-deserved swim. My father would never forgive me if I did that.

We approach the ridiculously large, stone castle and I see that the thirteen-foot tall, wooden door is open a crack. There is some commotion inside, but I can’t make out any words.

My father hears it, too, and calls out, “Your Highness?” The noise on the other side of the door stops immediately. Then a face appears in the crack of the door and says, “Your Majesty!” As he steps outside, I see the face is attached to a tall body with a round stomach. His left arm hangs at an odd angle by his side. I wonder what kind of accident could have caused that. Dark-brown hair, speckled with gray, falls to his chin in ringlets. He has a silly gelled mustache and a puffy beard; you can barely see the freckly, weathered cheeks beneath. A strong nose sticks out of the facial hair; a little out of place it seems. He has bushy eyebrows; each little hair more independent with age. His eyes are dark and a little judgmental, but beyond that, they are kind.

I decide I approve of this man. He might have some flaws, but I’m sure he isn’t proud of them, and I can tell that once you get to know him, he is someone you won’t regret knowing.

He and my father nod to each other in a polite greeting, and then he waves us inside, holding the large door open with his strong arm. As we step inside, I gasp at the sight of the strange decor. Mirrors. Hundreds of them. Huge ones, tiny ones, and dozens in-between. Everywhere you look, you are staring at yourself. I look at King Moore quizzically. I didn’t see him as this type. I guess I was wrong.

“Don’t look at me, m’lady... save your questions for my son. He has a bizarre sense of style. Must be from his mother.” I smile at his comment. Yes, I definitely like this man, I think to myself. But from what I’m hearing, I’m not sure I’ll like his son.

King Moore leads us to another room, this one with just as many mirrors. In the center of the room there is large wooden table set for tea.

“I know that four o’ clock is the traditional teatime, but I thought we’d get started a little earlier today.” says King Moore. “I have something I need to take care of at five o’ clock sharp, and I wanted you to have the freedom to stay for at least a full hour.”

“That’s very kind of you, Your Highness. I thank you.” says my father.

“Now, where is Adam.” King Moore says, “Cogsworth, fetch Prince Adam, at once!” The short, stocky servant immediately leaves the room.

King Moore looks embarrassed. “Er... won’t you have a seat?” he says.

“Yes, thank you, Your Majesty.” I say.

“Of course m’lady.” the king says.

My father and I sit and wait, until we hear footsteps coming from somewhere in the castle. It must be the prince. My fiancé. My stomach fills with butterflies, but not the good kind. I am worried that I will not like this Prince Adam, who fills his castle with mirrors and isn’t there to greet the guests straight away. I know I am judging too fast. I haven’t even seen him, but I am supposed to marry him in one month.

“M’lady?” I hear someone address me, and turn in my chair. In the doorway to the mirrored room, I see him. It has to be him. He is dressed elegantly, and wears a cocky smile upon his face. King Moore didn’t mention another son, so this must be the one and only, Prince Adam. I look from King Moore to the prince and try to see the resemblance. Prince Adam bears none to his father, except for his height, the color of his dark hair, and the sharp nose that seems to fit him better than the king. Unlike his father, he has no freckles, and slightly olive-toned skin. He keeps his chin and upper lip cleanly shaven. He has: broad shoulders, strong arms, a thin frame, long legs... ridiculously fancy shoes.

As I study him, he studies me, and I realize I had forgotten to answer. “Yes, m’lord.” I say.

“Well!” says King Moore, “Now that we are all acquainted with one another, let’s have some tea. Please, come sit, Adam.” He motions to an empty chair to my left.

Prince Adam cooly walks over to the seat next to me, and sits down. He looks at my dress and smirks. “Nice yellow.” he says under his breath, in a tone soaked so heavily in sarcasm that I can see he has had tons of practice.

“Thank you.” I say, dryly. My father gives me a warning look, as he hears my tone. What he didn’t hear though was Adam’s “compliment”.

A little, round lady comes in from one of the many arched doorways, holding a teapot. She comes up behind my father and offers him tea.

“Oh, yes please,” he says, “thank you very much.” She pours the tea. He is more polite to this woman than his own servants. It’s probably because he is nervous.

“ ‘Twas nothin’ Yer Majesty.” she replies. She approaches King Moore, but he waves her away. “Guests first, Rosetta.”

“Oh, o’ course, Yer Highness!” She hurries over to me. “Forgive me, m’lady,” she says as she fills my cup.

“Don’t worry about it,” I whisper to her. She smiles her thanks, and then moves on to King Moore, pouring his cup of tea. When she gets to Prince Adam, the tea spills slightly over the edge of his cup, and onto the saucer.

“I’m so sr’y m’lord! It won’t ‘appen again!” she says to him.

He looks at her angrily and whispers, “Why, Rosetta Potts. Shame on you, spilling my tea like that. I am next in line for the throne, you know. Treat me with some respect, or you won’t be here to serve me as a king very long.” Poor Rosetta hurries away, with apologetic regret splattered on her face like the spilled tea. The two kings are discussing the growing storm, oblivious to anything else.

“What was that for?” I whisper to Prince Adam. I am surprised someone is capable of such malice toward a sweet old lady.

“I know,” he says, “such rude service!”

“I meant you, m’lord.” I whisper back. “Poor Rosetta. She didn’t mean to spill your precious tea.”

“It was completely necessary. How else is she supposed to learn who is in charge, m’lady.” He replies haughtily.

“M’lord, She’s not a dog!” I snap.

He gives me an incredulous look. “Well!” is all he says.

Our fathers turn their attention away from the weather and back to Rosetta as she returns to the table with a sugar bowl, a lemon dish, and a small milk pitcher on a tray. She brings the tray over to my father. “Milk, Yer Majesty?”

“No thank you,” my father refuses. She puts the milk down.

“Sugar?” she holds up the bowl of sugar cubes.

“Yes, three please.” My father says. Prince Adam raises his eyebrows at me, and I pretend not to notice. Rosetta gives him three sugar cubes, then she moves on to me. Before she can say anything, I say, “No thank you, Rosetta. I like my tea plain.”

“Yes, m’lady.” she says as she moves to King Moore. The prince raises his eyebrows again, and again I don’t acknowledge him. King Moore takes lemon and one sugar cube. My fiancé takes milk and one sugar cube. Rosetta offers us raspberry scones. We each take one.

The tea goes on for a while, a little awkwardly. My father and King Moore make small talk, trying to fill the silence, and failing to engage us in conversation. I answer questions directed at me with short answers. Prince Adam smirks at someone, or says something rude to me once in a while, but most of the time stares at all the mirrors on the walls. He seems to enjoy pestering the servants. As it had gotten darker with clouds, a servant had come out to light the candles at the table. The prince would discreetly blow one of them out, and then call, “Angelo! Angelo Lumiere, you forgot to light this one! I swear, Angelo, if you forget a candle one more time...” then he’d blow one out again. Our fathers were too busy to notice.

Now, the man, Cogsworth, comes into the doorway with a frown and says to King Moore, “Thirty minutes ‘till five o’ clock, Your Highness.”

The king looks up and says, “Thank you, Cogsworth.” Then he looks at my father and me. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty...and m’lady, but I must ask your pardon; I have an important matter to take care of, as I told you before. It was so wonderful having you! I am very excited about the wedding. I’ll have Cogsworth keep in touch with Jonathan and I will see you next month!”

“See youthen, Your highness. Thank you so much for having us!” my father says. “Goodbye!”

We meet Noah in the doorway, and as we leave the mirrored castle, I see Prince Adam talking quietly to another servant. The look on the servant’s face is absolutely terrified as she seems to apologize to his lordship, over and over. As she scurries away, he grins to himself.

I have to come up with some sort of a plan. There is no way I am going to marry that beast.