The weather feels chill, and depresses me during the nights. My ladies-in-waiting mill about trying to make me comfortable by doing all of their odd jobs--lighting fires and bringing heavy blankets to and from my chamber. How I wish it was spring, for gloom and the fog hang over the castle daily, without fail.
However, despite the weather everyone is excited. Yes, even my spirit (which so determines the fate of our loyal subjects) could not put a damper upon a single person's mood. For a ball is to be held, in my honor, within the next twenty-three days. And whenever a ball is held in my honor, it means food for the starving, for I order all table scraps (quite a few good chickens) to be placed outside their doors by morning. If I should not go hungry, neither should those hard workers.
Also concerning the ball is the matter of Prince Stellonius, also called Galway. He is a kind soul--it is shown now, for he is the one holding the ball for me! He is rich, and has so much money to spend on trifles; I hear he has golden bedchambers with artists to craft the gold every other week. This makes for many a tale, and my ladies tell me that in the village they are starting to say he has sheets spun out of silver, yet feeling like light silk.
Prince Stellonius, however, is taking an interest in me that stretches far beyond a noble friendship. Is it possible that he is considering...a courtship? I cannot bear to think of such a thing, fourteen-year-old that I am. I am not ready for marriage, nor do I think I shall ever be.
Now the wind is howling, and so my lady-in-waiting will come in to brush my auburn hair, summon for more heavy comforters--and when all that is done with, we shall fall to talking with one another, plainly. She will confide her newest secrets to me, secret-keeper that I am, whether it be about the stable boy whom she admires from afar or the poor peasant boy's family who is suffering terribly and ask me to help or assist. I have nothing new to discuss, for cold autumn weather makes me a bore (though I am feeling comfortable and warm in spite of being a bore). What will I say? I have it!--I shall ask her about Prince Stellonius, and how I should properly decline any hints of courtship.
The ball awaits me in twenty days, and so I have called for my royal dressmaker to outfit me in something stunning. It is good to make an impression, especially if you are both the princess and the guest of honor. So after trying on yards and yards of lace, silk, and chiffon (I had forgotten how tedious dressmaking actually is), the dress has been arranged. It shall be ready for me before the ball, but I will receive it that night.
This afternoon I received a note from Prince Stellonius when I was walking in the garden. It was written on silken parchment with golden ink--he truly goes to every extravagance, and I would be horrified if someday he should bestow it all upon me.
As for the note itself, it was nothing more than a kind greeting, but I believed it was right to presuppose that he had intended for a hidden undercurrent in those flowing words of his. Well, I suppose I shall never know until he tells me or makes it obvious to my mind, which is slow in all matters concerning love. Yet I do dislike waiting...perhaps I should be forward with him, and ask.
Though a gloom lies over the castle as if in wait, I am overjoyed and filled with the sunniest disposition. (No doubt everyone is breathing sighs of relief now.) I had been in a low mood with the storms lashing the kingdom and tedious reports to greatly depress even the most buoyant child. For days, not even the sweet scent of violets could cure my ghastly lowering spirits. But then, there was a change.
Immediately that morning I was refitted in my wondrous gown. It is beautiful, and even more so now that I see it as a dressmaker does, not in ignorance. And by ignorance, I mean seeing it only as yards of fabric. Now it is stunning, midnight blue yards of lace, silk, and chiffon which will perfectly embody my very soul. I was able to patiently wait and hold perfectly still as the final touches were made. I am so anxious to do anything in this gown--though I know at the ball it shall be a complete round of eating, drinking, and dancing until one could feel too full with the enjoyment.
When I was finally able to refresh myself with tea, an exciting arrival came for me in the form of a book. I opened its new, rough parchment pages and soon found myself immersed in it. It is a collection of tales about princesses or other forms of royalty. Somehow, I do get the feeling that everyone shall live happily ever after.
Then I found myself wondering about my own story. And then I remembered that I had not been forward with Prince Stellonius. Is it quite so terrible to wait? I asked myself, and then spotted the loveliest piece of silken parchment on my writing table, with my name written gloriously in golden ink.