Rosalie
FOUR
Time passed on by and slowly court settled back down, its guests drifting back to their own lands after clasping eyes on the rescued princess and her saviour. Gift upon gift had been delivered to the princess, each one welcoming her back to where she belonged. King Harold, Prince Christian's father, had sent the most magnificent gift to her, one that surprised even the Queen. A chest filled with jewellery had arrived with an envoy, a gift that had been replicated several times before, but the difference was that more followed the chest and soon a wagon full of silk and lace joined the jewellery, along with a formal declaration written and signed by the king himself declaring peace and unity between their kingdoms, all in honour of the princess returning. The Queen suspected that Prince Christian had written to his father about his intention to marry her and thus resulted in the king promoting his son's desirability for her hand. And though she knew the topic of marriage would continue to be brought up, there was nothing in the world that could force her to speak about it just yet.
As all important matters pertaining to the princess were sorted, she was kept hidden away within the castle as tutors and a governess were employed in order to teach her everything that a princess her age should know. So many rules and lessons were taught to her, and so many days passed where she would disrupt the tutors by pushing all her books away and running from the room, determined to escape the prison she had been brought to. But unlike her home, this castle had guards and even when she escaped into the gardens there was nowhere for her to disappear to, for they were enclosed pieces of land, nothing like what she was used to.
Before that Prince Christian had come along, she had been a simple Rose, free to roam wherever she should like. Free to do whatever she pleased, and talk however she liked. There were no heavy dresses forced onto her, clothing that covered her from neck to floor or tight shoes with heels that pinched her toes together. Instead she had run barefoot, a choice entirely her own, and wore simple, loose clothing that allowed her to move freely. When the winter would come she would cover up so that she did not have to run from the cold and there was never anything wrong with that. According to the tutors and the people she found in this castle, there were so many things wrong with the life she had lived for as long as she could remember, further enforcing what she had been told over and over again about how devious and adamant her captors would be that her life before was wrong.
On top of teaching her everything that she needed to know, the Queen had also employed two ladies for the princess and set them the task of trying to uncover what had happened to her during the years that she was missing. No matter how the Queen, the physician or anyone who had spoke to the princess phrased the question, she refused to talk about her life, not even to tell them who she lived with for all those years. It was her secret and the Queen was determined to uncover it.
It was Prince Christian who managed to get the girl to talk about it, to everyone's surprise. He had gone to visit her chamber and as he was admitted, the princess was having a sewing lesson with her ladies but when he entered, they stopped their actions which made her look up. "Your Highness," he said, bowing his head slightly. "May we speak?"
She didn't reply nor did she stand and greet him like she had been taught, instead her ladies took it upon themselves to stand from their seats and exit swiftly from the room, allowing the prince to take one of their seats opposite the princess. Still, she ignored him.
"It is thought of as polite to answer when one is spoken to," he commented, making the princess look up from her sewing.
"It is not very polite to take someone from their home against their will," she retorted, resting her gaze back on her work. Sewing was not her idea of an afternoon of leisure but according to her ladies it was a popular activity for women. She could not understand how something as boring as sitting in a group to sew was regarded as a more enjoyable time than going outside and running about with the freedom she once had. The idea of being barefoot in the gardens disgusted her ladies.
The prince sat back in his chair and watched as the princess stabbed the material violently with the needle. "I don't know much about needlework --"
"You don't know much about anything."
"--but I am sure that you should not be so violent with your actions."
A smile played on her lips. "I imagine that the material is you, Prince Christian."
"Why?"
"Because I hate you."
"You hate me for rescuing you?" he questioned.
That angered her and she threw her needlework carelessly onto the floor as she stood. "You ruined my life!" she shouted, bunching her skirts up in her hand and striding across the room and away from the prince. "You came into my home and arrogantly assumed I needed rescuing!" A book was lying on the windowsill so she grabbed it with her free hand, spun around and threw it towards him. It didn't quite make it but nonetheless it drew him out of his seat.
"That was not your home, my lady," he said, taking a step forward only to step backwards when she turned towards the bookcase that was beside the window.
"Don't call me that!" She knocked all the books of the top shelf. "I am not a lady. I am not a princess. I do not belong here." She reached up and began yanking out the hairstyle she had been forced to wear for the day.
Prince Christian knew that if he left the room her ladies would return, see the mess and the state the princess was in and send for the physician so that she could be sedated. He had been present when the physician spoke frankly with the Queen about the princess and knew the belief was that she had spent such a long time in the ruins that she struggled to accept the change, and as she had not been educated like a lady should have she did not know how else to deal with the struggle other than to act out and be troublesome. None of the blame was laid on her shoulders, though; everything that the physician thought was wrong with the princess was all the fault of her captor, the elusive person no one had ever seen. Not even when she was initially taken did anyone witness the criminal. All her guards and her governess and nurses she had been travelling with had been slaughtered as they journeyed back to where she was being fostered. And though it was tradition for a royal child to be fostered elsewhere and only visit court occasionally, the Queen had been against it from the start, wanting to instead have her raised close to them. She had finally relented after several discussions with her husband, a decision she regretted when news reached court about the tragedy.
As her hair hung down around her face in tangles, the princess leaned against the window and let out a sob. "You ruined my life, now I will never see him again."
Her words startled him and he moved forward, stepping over the books and towards the princess who had now dropped to the floor with her head in her hands. "He? Your captor was a man. Was he of noble blood?"
She left out a muffled, humourless laugh as she lifted her head. "He was not my captor. He was my carer. He cared for me, kept me warm and scared away anyone who might have frightened me," she said quietly. "He made so many fires that I always have one burning, just to keep me company."
"He stole you away, princess. That makes him your captor," he told her, bending down to her level and resting a hand on her forehead. It was warmer than usual. "You are feverish. Come, have a lie down." With that he helped her up and led her through the doors that led to her bedchamber. Though she did not feel ill, she did have a lie down once he left her bedchamber. The prince was left with the mess of books that were scattered around the floor of the chamber, and after a moment he decided to pick them up himself so that her ladies did not return to a mess and run and tell the Queen. He knew he should report what he had found out to her straight away but decided to wait a while, to see whether he could find out more about this man first.
As it was, he was still trying to convince the Queen to allow his betrothal to her daughter and finding out information that could possibly lead to the discovery of her captor could just be what he needed in order to achieve that approval.
As all important matters pertaining to the princess were sorted, she was kept hidden away within the castle as tutors and a governess were employed in order to teach her everything that a princess her age should know. So many rules and lessons were taught to her, and so many days passed where she would disrupt the tutors by pushing all her books away and running from the room, determined to escape the prison she had been brought to. But unlike her home, this castle had guards and even when she escaped into the gardens there was nowhere for her to disappear to, for they were enclosed pieces of land, nothing like what she was used to.
Before that Prince Christian had come along, she had been a simple Rose, free to roam wherever she should like. Free to do whatever she pleased, and talk however she liked. There were no heavy dresses forced onto her, clothing that covered her from neck to floor or tight shoes with heels that pinched her toes together. Instead she had run barefoot, a choice entirely her own, and wore simple, loose clothing that allowed her to move freely. When the winter would come she would cover up so that she did not have to run from the cold and there was never anything wrong with that. According to the tutors and the people she found in this castle, there were so many things wrong with the life she had lived for as long as she could remember, further enforcing what she had been told over and over again about how devious and adamant her captors would be that her life before was wrong.
On top of teaching her everything that she needed to know, the Queen had also employed two ladies for the princess and set them the task of trying to uncover what had happened to her during the years that she was missing. No matter how the Queen, the physician or anyone who had spoke to the princess phrased the question, she refused to talk about her life, not even to tell them who she lived with for all those years. It was her secret and the Queen was determined to uncover it.
It was Prince Christian who managed to get the girl to talk about it, to everyone's surprise. He had gone to visit her chamber and as he was admitted, the princess was having a sewing lesson with her ladies but when he entered, they stopped their actions which made her look up. "Your Highness," he said, bowing his head slightly. "May we speak?"
She didn't reply nor did she stand and greet him like she had been taught, instead her ladies took it upon themselves to stand from their seats and exit swiftly from the room, allowing the prince to take one of their seats opposite the princess. Still, she ignored him.
"It is thought of as polite to answer when one is spoken to," he commented, making the princess look up from her sewing.
"It is not very polite to take someone from their home against their will," she retorted, resting her gaze back on her work. Sewing was not her idea of an afternoon of leisure but according to her ladies it was a popular activity for women. She could not understand how something as boring as sitting in a group to sew was regarded as a more enjoyable time than going outside and running about with the freedom she once had. The idea of being barefoot in the gardens disgusted her ladies.
The prince sat back in his chair and watched as the princess stabbed the material violently with the needle. "I don't know much about needlework --"
"You don't know much about anything."
"--but I am sure that you should not be so violent with your actions."
A smile played on her lips. "I imagine that the material is you, Prince Christian."
"Why?"
"Because I hate you."
"You hate me for rescuing you?" he questioned.
That angered her and she threw her needlework carelessly onto the floor as she stood. "You ruined my life!" she shouted, bunching her skirts up in her hand and striding across the room and away from the prince. "You came into my home and arrogantly assumed I needed rescuing!" A book was lying on the windowsill so she grabbed it with her free hand, spun around and threw it towards him. It didn't quite make it but nonetheless it drew him out of his seat.
"That was not your home, my lady," he said, taking a step forward only to step backwards when she turned towards the bookcase that was beside the window.
"Don't call me that!" She knocked all the books of the top shelf. "I am not a lady. I am not a princess. I do not belong here." She reached up and began yanking out the hairstyle she had been forced to wear for the day.
Prince Christian knew that if he left the room her ladies would return, see the mess and the state the princess was in and send for the physician so that she could be sedated. He had been present when the physician spoke frankly with the Queen about the princess and knew the belief was that she had spent such a long time in the ruins that she struggled to accept the change, and as she had not been educated like a lady should have she did not know how else to deal with the struggle other than to act out and be troublesome. None of the blame was laid on her shoulders, though; everything that the physician thought was wrong with the princess was all the fault of her captor, the elusive person no one had ever seen. Not even when she was initially taken did anyone witness the criminal. All her guards and her governess and nurses she had been travelling with had been slaughtered as they journeyed back to where she was being fostered. And though it was tradition for a royal child to be fostered elsewhere and only visit court occasionally, the Queen had been against it from the start, wanting to instead have her raised close to them. She had finally relented after several discussions with her husband, a decision she regretted when news reached court about the tragedy.
As her hair hung down around her face in tangles, the princess leaned against the window and let out a sob. "You ruined my life, now I will never see him again."
Her words startled him and he moved forward, stepping over the books and towards the princess who had now dropped to the floor with her head in her hands. "He? Your captor was a man. Was he of noble blood?"
She left out a muffled, humourless laugh as she lifted her head. "He was not my captor. He was my carer. He cared for me, kept me warm and scared away anyone who might have frightened me," she said quietly. "He made so many fires that I always have one burning, just to keep me company."
"He stole you away, princess. That makes him your captor," he told her, bending down to her level and resting a hand on her forehead. It was warmer than usual. "You are feverish. Come, have a lie down." With that he helped her up and led her through the doors that led to her bedchamber. Though she did not feel ill, she did have a lie down once he left her bedchamber. The prince was left with the mess of books that were scattered around the floor of the chamber, and after a moment he decided to pick them up himself so that her ladies did not return to a mess and run and tell the Queen. He knew he should report what he had found out to her straight away but decided to wait a while, to see whether he could find out more about this man first.
As it was, he was still trying to convince the Queen to allow his betrothal to her daughter and finding out information that could possibly lead to the discovery of her captor could just be what he needed in order to achieve that approval.