The girl who slept on a pea

A little girl lived in a castle by a lake; it was made all of white stone and impressive stained-glass windows glittered 25 feet high; clusters of sweet pink roses clung to the thick granite wall surrounding the castle; the conical towers were pale green and pink and looked like candy--in fact, the castle walls themselves sparkled like white sugar. The lake it stood by was small and perfectly round.
The little girl, named Hannah, who lived inside, was a princess and just as delicate and pretty as princesses are supposed to be. She had pale blond hair with streaks of darker honey and her eyes were large and deep blue--deeper blue than the lake by the castle. Her skin was rosy as a peach, not pale and transparent like the un-healthy beauties who cut off the blood from their vital organs through the use of too-tight corsets and ate only fruit and wine.
Her parents were kindly and indulgent, but her mother, the Queen Bertrine, was a firm believer in working, and her father, the King Albert, was a firm believer in discipline.
One day, on Hannah's 13th birthday, she was sitting outside in the courtyard, on a swing hanging from a tall and stately oak tree. Somewhere near, a troubadour was playing a fife, and the minor notes peirced Hannah's heart. She began to hum along her own harmony with the song, and swung slowly, gently kicking her feet.
Her mom walked around the corner of the courtyard and into Hannah's view. Her reddish hair was piled in a coif high on her head; Hannah noticed some silver strands for the first time as she came to stand beside her, a wrinkled yet dignified hand resting on the tree.
"Beautiful, isn't that?" Queen Bertrine said of the troubadour's song. As if on que, the notes ended and plunged Hannah and the Queen in momentary silence.
"Mom," Hannah said, "I've been wondering." Because she had. Something had been bothering her ever since she had overheard a conversation between her two parents a few nights ago.
"What have you been wondering?" asked the Queen.
Reluctant to break the peaceful atmosphere, Hannah did not answer for a while. She watched a small sparrow hop along the flagged-stone path.
Finally, she said, "You and dad aren't...well, I...you aren't going to make me marry, are you?" She waited in anxious fear, relieved to have gotten it out.
"Well, child!" Queen Bertrine said after a shocked pause, "Where did you ever come up with that idea?"
Hannah was un-willing to admit to her eavesdropping, so she muttered, "I was just wondering..." She scrunched up her face. That was lame, Hannah thought.
Queen Bertrine was silent for a few moments, and then she removed her jeweled hand from the tree to rest on Hannah's arm.
"Let's walk."
As the ambled slowly on the path, oak trees so thick in areas the swath of leaves overhead cut off the sun, the Queen nervously told Hannah the way things were.
"It isn't as if your Father and I are going to MAKE you marry," she explained. "But, well, don't be too surprised, Hannah, but you've already had the first offer for your hand." She cut off Hannah's choked sound of surprise and continued, "It's the first of many, and we're going to have to accustom ourselves. You are only thirteen, but--" She stopped walking and put her hands on Hannah's shoulders, turning her to face her. "You are beautiful." She smiled into her eyes, and Hannah noted the friendly etching of crows feet around her eyes. "Before long, you're going to demand to take charge of managing the suitors who come to propose." They began to walk again. "I suppose that's when your Father and I will have to resign ourselves to a lonely life." She sighed. "You are such a ray of sunshine. I pray you won't leave us so soon." But Hannah was too occupied with her thoughts to notice how the Queen's grey eyes grew shiney with unshed tears.
She could hardly believe that someone wanted to marry her. HER! Not to mention someone she didn't even know...she was only thirteen. Still a child! She thought about how she still loved to eat plum cookies and milk, and how, just yesterday, she had caught a butterfly in a jar and almost cried when Betsy, her nurse, made her let it go. Surely men wanted a grown woman? Someone tall and stately, with jewels sparkling in their shiney hair, and clean, slender, white fingers? Hannah looked at her own dirty paws. No, she was not ready to marry. She looked up at Queen Bertrine, who had fallen silent, and felt a sudden rush of affection for her.
"I hope I don't marry for a long time," she said, slipping her arm through her mothers.
"Me too," answered the Queen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Prince Peter was the oldest of four boys. He was 17, tall, and devilishly handsome. He was always prone to seriousness though. His brothers, Henry, Steven, and Paul, were rowdy and lackadaisical, and spent their days hunting in the extensive forest on their grounds, drinking wine and making bets.
"Hey Peter!" It was Steven. Peter looked up as he mounted his horse, Coin, a dappled grey. Steven was blond and blue-eyed and at 13 was already a favorite among the girls.
"What is it?" Peter asked, noting how Steven's skin was bronzed deeply against the white-blond of his hair and the pale blue of his eyes. Peter's own skin was pale in comparison--he did not spend nearly so much time outside.
"We're going hunting--Henry spotted an elk--a real beauty. You can't say you don't want in."
"Yes, I can," Peter informed him. "Sorry Steven but I've got other business to attend to."
Steven scoffed. "You're such a meiser. You never want to do anything fun."
"Yes, well, I'm tempted but really, I can't today," Peter insisted, wishing Steven would go away before he was forced into saying what it was that he was doing.
"You'll regret it," Steven said, but luckily, left Peter in peace. Peter sighed, and patted Coin's silky neck.
"Come on old girl," he said, nudging her gently in the flanks. As they began a brisk trot, Peter went over his plan in his mind.
He was looking for a wife.
Not just any wife--a princess. A REAL princess. He hadn't found one yet, and his parents were beginning to be concerned. They wanted him to secure an heir. He couldn't just jump into something like that with both eyes closed. Well, he was on the road now, and he was going to stop at every castle along the way until he found what he was looking for.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"No, don't curl my hair!" Hannah found herself whining to Betsy. Ignoring her, the matronly woman stuck the iron rod into the fire to heat, and said,
"I don't know how you escaped with straight hair, with both your parents being curly."
"I hate having curly hair," Hannah said passionately. "It makes me look like a..." She searched frantically for a word, "...a sheep. A fat, wooly sheep."
"Listen to the child!" Betsy cried. "Lord up above, you get stranger every day. A sheep!" But she smiled to herself as she removed the rod from the fire and gingerly tested it.
Hannah watched the bent form of her nurse. Her body resembled an apple dumpling in shape--with a beefy chunk of a head, weathered and mottled. Her brown eyes twinkled kindly though, and her thick hands were gentle as well as capable. Hannah loved her, and was secretly glad that she was kept on, even though at 13 she had no real need for a nurse.
Betsy turned around and saw Hannah looking at her.
"What is it, girly?"
"Just wondering how you could betray my trust this way by curling my hair."
Betsy made a noise of exasperation in her throat. "You have a way of twisting words around that I'll never understand. Now come her, in front of me so I can get you dolled up for the Duke."
"The Duke?" Hannah asked in distaste. "If it's for HIM I'm getting my hair curled, good riddance. One look at me with this thick layer of curly wool around my head and he'll give up any thoughts of marriage."
"The Duke is a catch!" Betsy said, looking at Hannah in shock. "You'd do well to marry a man like that one--you're lucky such a man wants to marry you!" Betsy furiously began to wind a shaft of Hannah's hair around the iron rod.
"No, I'm not so lucky," Hannah said. "I'm 13 and he's an old man. He probably uses a cane when no one's looking." Betsy gave a startled noise and twisted Hannah's face towards her.
"You little sharp-tongue! If your parents hear you talking like tha'..." But after 5 minutes of silence, during which one steaming ringlet was formed and another wrapped around the iron, Betsy chuckled. "You little gnome. You'll be around some time yet."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I hear you're Father has come up with some new technology in...what was it? Agriculture, I believe," King Phillip said conversationally to Peter over a leg of roast lamb.
"Yes--to do with some new form of wheat. He has expert agriculteralists who have come up with a new seed that breeds a tougher more whithstanding form of wheat that will not be susceptible to frost." Peter was polite; he had answered inquisitions on the wheat for two years now. It wasn't really news--it was well known now about his Father's new form of wheat.
"And has it worked?" Peter sighed and plunged into an explanation. What he was really here for was Princess Odia, the oldest of King Philip and Queen Henrietta's three daughters. There was no denying she was beautiful: there she sat in night-blue silk, her glossy chestnut-brown hair coiled elegantly on her head. She used her knife and fork as if they were embroidery needles. Gracefull, measured, poised. In the light of the candles, her blue eyes flashed warning signals to him.
Lydia, the middle daughter, sat beside her and sent Peter dimpled smiles all night. She was beautiful too, with a jungle of coffee-brown curls and a set of impeccable straight white teeth. In frustration, Peter smiled grimly back at Lydia and wondered what was wrong with him. True, he had found his heart quickening a little when he first saw Princess Odia, but that had turned out to be nothing but a little lightheadedness from too much riding. She was lovely and polite, demure and refined. What else was a princess supposed to be? But Peter knew that this wasn't where his search ended. There was something about her--besides the point that she clearly had given her heart to a different man, hence the subtle glares--something that had bothered Peter all night but that he hadn't been able to put his finger on.
Then it hit him. She was too quiet. She hadn't said ONE word since he had seen her besides a polite greeting upon his arrival. And Princess Lydia was too desperate.
Well there you have it, Peter thought. Too quiet. A real princess would speak her mind. Tomorrow he would have to depart on the road again. Next stop, King Regibald's daughter, the Princess Syble.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hannah watched the lace at Prince James' throat bob up and down with his Adam's Apple as he talked. Frills of lace spilled over the high collar of his blue velvet suit and under the tight cuffs at his wrists. Dainty wrists. Hannah sniffed distainfully. She could break his wrist bones like twigs. What kind of a man was that? Not a man--a Prince. Apparantly that made up the difference.
Hannah forced herself to listen to what James was saying. His eyes had taken on a sort of passionate sheen.
"Princess, you are worth more than all of the kingdoms, put together!" He clasped her hand and looked at her breathlessly. Embarrassed, Hannah glanced around, hoping nobody was listening. To her relief, they seemed to be alone in the back garden. At least that's what Hannah thought until she saw a certain large Hydrangea bush rustle in a very un plant-like way. And there wasn't one lick of breeze against Hannah's cheek. She felt blood rush to her face.
"You musn't SAY such things," Hannah scolded in a low voice, surpirsing herself at how much she sounded like Betsy.
"Why! Why musn't I!" Prince James fished around for Hannah's other hand and held them both in his sweaty grasp against his blue-velvet chest. "I'll tell the whole world! I'm going to marry a girl more lovely than the stars--nay--than the sun and the moon and all their glory!"
Hannah could not believe her ears. She snatched her hands away.
"Would you be quiet!" She whispered, noting the hydrangea bush rustle yet again. "I am NOT going to marry you!" Seeing his protruding eyes protrude even farther, Hannah assured him again. "No, I am not going to marry you!" After a struggle to regain her composure, Hannah folded her hands and sat primly on a nearby bench under an overhang of honeysuckle. Only then did she dare look at Prince James. His lips were pursed and he seemd to have gone pale with fury. Hands clenched in fists, he stood speechless. His mouth opened to say something.
"Perhaps you'd better see my Father," Hannah said in a dismissive tone. "I want to be alone now."
"Perhaps I will!" Prince James cried, finally finding his voice. "What a very good idea!" He turned around and began to walk very rapidly in the direction of the castle. When he was out of sight, Hannah let out her breath in relief.
"What a nightmare!" She muttered. Then she remembered the hydrangea bush.
Sure enough, there crouching behind the voluptuous bush was Dirk, the head gardner, shaking violently with silent mirth.
"Alright, I've found you. Might as well get up now." But Dirk was unable to move at the moment. His breath began to come out in ragged wheezes. He took his cap off and slapped it heartily against his thigh.
"I'm sorry, mistress," Dirk gasped as his laughter finally began to die down. He reached up to wipe away a tear. "I meant no disrespect-"
Hannah was angry. Nobody knew how to treat a princess anymore. Her own servants--
"My own servants, spying on me!" She cried, still shaken after James.
Dirk quickly sobered.
"I know that's how it seems, Mistress. Truly I didn't mean to spy. I was pruning this bush-" sure enough, he still held some pruning shears in his hand-"when I heard you enter with the...Prince. There was no time to do anything. I ducked behind the bush without thinking. I know that doesn't justify anything, but--"
"Oh, it doesn't matter, Dirk. Nevermind." Hannah was suddenly ashamed at the way she had let her temper slip. Dirk had known her since she was a baby. She didn't think of him as a servant--he was more like an old Uncle. To see him grovelling that way made something in her stomach turn sick. "I'm just glad it was you and not Betsy." Then she asked, "Do you really think I did the right thing?"
Dirk grinned, and got to his feet, replacing his cap snuggly back on his head. "That's not my place to say, Mistress."
"Oh Dirk, if I'd trust anyone's advice I'd trust yours." Dirk began pruning again. Dark clouds of leaves fell around his feet as he worked.
"Well, Princess, only you know who you want to marry. It's not for an old gardner to tell you what's in your own heart."
Hannah sighed. "I suppose I could have handled it better," she said. A corner of Dirk's mouth twitched.
"The Sun and the moon and all their glory couldn't have done a better job," he said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The faceless rider was after him; Prince Peter kicked his heels into Coin again, frantically. If he just went a little faster, and then got around that bend up ahead...he squinted his eyes. Coin's harsh breathing filled his ears--or was it his own? He didn't know, but the pounding of hooves sounded close behind him. He twisted his head back to get another look. There he was! Peter's heart slammed, once, inside his chest. The black cape billowed behind him, his face hidden in the shadow of a large hood, and the black horse charged ahead with tireless energy, unnatural red eyes glowing.
The bend in the road was coming up--fast. Peter tried to see past the rushing wind, which pressed at his eyes fiercly, and tried to make his fingers obey his will, but they would not: off the road Coin flew, fed with panic from his rider, straight for a tall, shadowy, pine forest.
Then Peter's muscles worked.
"STOP!" he yelled, and hauled on the reins with all his might. Then he barely waited for Coin to slow before leaping out of the saddle and making a dead run for the forest. But he wasn't fast enough. The thud of hooves, the hard breathing of beast and man, the jingle of a bit, and there they were, cutting Peter off, the horse prancing un easily. Then the rider was unmounting, slowly advancing towards Peter. Then he was stopping infront of him so that Peter could smell his sweat. Then he was removing his hood. There was his face, a smooth oval disc, devoid of facial feature. Peter's mouth opened to scream with horror but no sound came, and suddenly, the man did have a face, he was not a man, he was a woman, and she was saying,
"If you please, sir, you yelled in your sleep sir, I didn't mean to wake you."
Peter sat up, and realized that his bedsheets were twisted around him so that he could barely move his legs. He looked at the woman again. Her cheeks looked like they had been stuffed with two round apples and she wore the red and white uniform of the women servants in this particular castle. She stood by his bed looking awkward and nervous.
"So they send women to guard their guests now do they?" Peter asked in a voice harsher then he had meant. He was still shaky from the dream, and he felt cold and sweaty. He regretted saying it immediatly when he saw the woman's brown eyes suddenly glint.
"No--they send women to guard the children."
Peter was furious! This was a servant, talking to him that way! But then he heard her chuckle.
"I didn't mean it, my Lord." She began un-twisting the bedsheets with deft fingers. "You woke the Princess and she sent me to see what was the matter." She finished with the bedclothes and reached down to heft the heavy quilt from the floor.
"So the Princess is feeling better?" Peter asked, curious at once. She had been too ill to meet Peter when he arrived in the afternoon, and wasn't able to come to dinner. He hadn't really much hope--she would be his 17th try--but he still was bothered by a vague wonder if THIS was the one, HERE was the real princess he had been searching for, and he wouldn't be able to see her. He had to leave the next morning and make his way back to his own castle. He had already been travelling a month and had recieved a letter from his Mother beseeching him back home. Besides, he was discouraged, and he missed his own castle and grounds and rooms and servants. He even missed his three lazy little brothers.
"Her fever is broke but she is weak as a kitten," answered the woman. She turned to leave, bringing the lamp with her and plunging Peter into darkness and shadow. "Sleep well, Your Highness."
"Give Princess Hannah my regards!" He called after her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

All was quiet in the darkened castle kitchens. The last crimson glow from the setting sun crusted the counter tops like shining rubies; bits of it glanced off the smooth curved lines of porceline bowls and a white jug. It smelt like flour and butter and barley. Hannah entered slowly, carefully, lifting up her heavy skirts with one hand, and peering around her. She knew that the cook, Milly, had made a batch of plum cookies today. She did every wednesday.
There! There, on an old pine table still dusted with flour, a plate lay covered with a cheese cloth. Hannah carefully walked forward and reached out a hand to lift a corner of the cloth. There they lay, chubby and moist.
'Oh joy,' she whispered to herself. Then she screamed.
"Kitty!" She whispered hoarsly. The fluffy, grey and white cat had chosen that moment to wind around Hannah's legs. Her heart still pounding, Hannah grabbed a handful of sticky cookies and shoved them in her apron pocket. She wondered if someone heard her scream...
"Milly?"
Oh no..Hannah groaned. She remembered Betsy's room was by the kitchen. She turned stiff with panic, her eyes searching frantically for a hiding place. Kitty, purring loudly, slithered underneath the table.
"Milly, you ok?" Hannah heard Betsy's footsteps through the blood rushing in her ears, and made an impulsive decision. She leaped under the table, realizing a moment too late that she had left a corner of the cheese cloth up.
The light of a lamp threw the room into a jumble of long shadows. Hannah heard Betsy's loud breathing. 'why do I do this to myself?' she thought in dispair. 'Why do I have to get myself into these situations?' Kitty had leaped onto her lap and was rumbling contetedly. Hannah wanted to strangle her. Meanwhile, Betsy had stopped walking, and Hannah could just imagine the confused look on her face.
"Who's there?" She asked. "Milly?" Hannah didn't dare breath. "I could have sworn..." she mumbled.
Suddenly, with a loud 'meeeow!' Kitty had slipped off Hannah's lap and began to wind herself around Betsy's legs.
"Was that you?" Betsy asked the cat. But then there was a period of silence wherein Hannah thought her lungs would burst, and then, oh horror, Betsy's brown-leathered feet began to shuffle towards the pine table.
Hannah found herself eye to eye with her nurse, who's mouth was working silently. She tried to smile.
"Hello, nurse," she said, but all that came out of her throat was a sort of terrified sqeak.
"Hannah! Git up out o' there! If your parents knew the way you--hiding under tables in a dark kitchen! What were you thinking!' She reached a warm hand to help Hannah scramble up. "Oh Lord, when will you ever grow up,' Betsy muttered, noticing for the first time the lifted corner of the cheese cloth and the dent in the pile of cookies.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Peter, you know I like you," Princess Genevieve purred, placing a small, white hand on his arm. Peter cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"Uh, really. Do you?" His voice cracked. He could smell lilacs and roses from her hair, a smooth, shining mass of fiery red.
"Yes. I do, very much." Her fingers walked up the buttons on Peter's tunic. "Very, very much." Her eyes, a brilliant green, looked up at him seductively.
Peter could feel a bead of sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He took a a few steps backward. To his amazement, so did Genevieve. He took four more steps backward. She followed him again! He thought of playing this game until he walked backwards all the way to his quarters and closed the door, but then thought better of it and stopped. She was smiling; a small, secretive smile, like she knew exactly what he was thinking.
"I know you feel the same about me," she whispered.
"You--you do?" Peter looked down at his hands. They were shaking! What was this girl? A witch?
"Yes, I do," she was saying. Peter had to get out of there. Where was the rest of the family? A servant? A maid? The dog?
As if on que, Perry, a large Saint Bernard lumbered in, bringing with him a pungent smell of fish. He was the King's dog, and pampered all day with fresh venison, trout, and foul. He padded heavily towards Peter, panting and waving his tail.
"Oh, imagine that. I forgot." Peter said.
"What? Forgot what?" Geveveive used both her hands to force Peter to look at her. "Peter, I'm telling you that I love you."
"Yes, well, I'm sorry," Peter found himself saying. "I really must take this dog on a stroll." What? What was he saying?
Genevieve glared at him.
"So sorry.." Peter finished off lamely. Then, with a malicious afterthought-- "You can come if you want. Perry loves people."
"No...no thank you." Peter noticed she was backing away slowly. Being released from that heady smell of lilacs was like being released from prison.
"You sure?"
Peter was rewarded with a killing, icy stare, before the Princess turned on her heel and walked from the room. What a relief.
"Good dog," Peter crooned, scratching through the thick fur around Perry's neck. "Good dog."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Bleeding Heart? If my lady doesn't mind, what are you trying to say by adding those?" Dirk was standing beside Hannah, barely covering his exasperation as she clipped flowers for a bouquet for the table tonight.
"I just like them--they're pretty. Besdies, nobody will know that they're actually called 'Bleeding Heart'."
Dirk made a helpless gesture by her side as she snipped off another cluster. She knew her bouquet was anything but traditional. It was a crazed bundle of every flower that caught her attention--roses, 'mums, pansies, baby's breath, crimson flags, lilies..and a whole bunch of colourful, vibrant ones that she didn't know the name of.
"Dirk, you're just not looking closely enough. What you see are a bunch of names. I see colour."
Dirk was silent for a few moments.
"I suppose that is a way to look at it," he said gruffly.
Later, Hannah was pleased to find that King Ferdinand and his young wife, Queen Lily were dining with them. She loved King Ferdinand, with his red bristle of a beard and booming, hearty laugh that always made her laugh with him. Hannah looked up to Queen Lily also; beautiful and quizical, she always seemed to be secretly laughing at the world. Hannah found her a sort of puzzle, the few times she had seen her at court.
Now, sitting in the gilded dining hall, by the light of the candles, chewing amiably on roast pork, the royal pair seemed much less intimidating.
"It seems we can't leave them to build their own bridges," King Ferdinand was saying.
"I don't think you give them enough lee-way," argued Hannah's father. "They have busy lives--the kind of work they do is inconceivable to us."
Queen Lily sat beside Hannah.
"I like that bouquet," she whispered to her, nudging her gently in the ribs, pointing to Hannah's huge multi-coloured bouquet in the middle of the table. "Is that Bleeding Heart? That's my favorite flower."
Hannah, pleased, now felt confident that this was a kindred spirit.
"I have a brother," Lily whispered again after a sip of wine. "He's about your age."
"Oh?" Hannah's voice immediatly took on a carefully polite, disinterested tone. She would turn 14 in three months and had already had enough of suitors. Sometimes it occured to her that there would be no one left by the time she was ready to marry.
"He'll be joining us here in a week," Lily continued, licking the back of her pudding spoon. "He's a handsome boy..."
Hannah smiled half-heartedly. She looked back at the bouquet of flowers. Bleeding heart dripped lugubriously, like the stems were weeping dark pink tears.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"I don't know what's gotten into you." Peter's mother, Queen Amber, stood in front of him, her arms hanging, looking helpless.
"I'm fine, mother," Peter said, and, turning away, walked to the window.
"Don't tell me that." She followed him. "You're home one week within months--you leave without so much as a warning, taking no servants--you're not even eating, as far as I know." The silence stretched between them. "Peter...talk to me." Peter was astonished to hear tears in his mothers voice. He softened.
"I'm trying to find a princess," he admitted finally. "A REAL one," he added hastily.
"Why Peter--" the queen had begun to say, but then--"Ahh, a real princess." There was silence again between them, but this time the Queen was thinking hard about the problem, and Peter waiting anxiously for advice. He felt relieved to have gotten it out. "Well, now I understand," said the queen. "I can't say much, except, if you think you've found her, bring her here. I'll tell you if she's a princess or not."
"Really?"
"Oh yes--I have my ways. Don't look so astonished, Peter. Of course women know these things."
Peter felt such a load lifted off his shoulders that he impulsively grabbed his royal mother and enveloped her frail, corsetted body in an enthusiastic bear-hug.
The queen laughed in surprise and affection, patting her son on the back.
"You're the best," Peter said.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Hannah, now that she was so close to becoming 14 (an age infinitly more mature and old than 13), decided to put her foot down.
"You will NOT curl my hair," she told Betsy, her eyes bright and dangerous. Betsy still would have done it except that Hannah threatened to let her father know about her pink and blue ruffly knickerbockers.
"The cheek..." Betsy could be heard muttering at various times during the day.
The reason Betsy wanted to curl Hannah's hair was that this was the day Queen Lily's brother was coming, and everybody was turning themselves inside out in an eager attempt to please him. Queen Lily and King Ferdinand had become favorites around the castle. Not only had Queen Lilly presented the head cook, Milly, with a jar of equisite red-gold honey, but King Ferdinand gave one of the stable boys a tiny foxhound puppy; Queen Lily also worked every day for hours in the garden and gained considerable respect from Dirk after suggesting a cure for the patch of marigolds, and King Ferdinand introduced the use of a new, secial kind of fish lure that delighted Hannah's Father. Therefore, everybody was hoping against hope that this prince would be the one that could win Hannah.
Queen Bertrine was actually becoming weepy and was prone to come to tea with red-rimmed, watery eyes, and would often place her withered, dignified hand lovingly on Hannah's shoulder for no reason at all, and to Hannah's great consternation, burst into tears.
Hannah herself was determined not to make a match of it. Her contrary nature stubbornly reared its head. That is why, after much thought, she decided that she did, after all wish for her hair to be curled. Betsy, in smug satisfaction had no idea what was actually going on in Hannah's head, but joyfully produced shining ringlet after shining ringlet. After Betsy had finished and was safely in the kitchens to lend Milly a hand, Hannah vicuously raked her fingers through the curls until they became one big, tangled, fluffy mess.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


Peter smoothed his hair with one hand before swinging off of Coin. He had been here before--he recognised the sparkling white castle and the thick blooms of pink roses clinging to the granite wall. The pastel conical towers made it look like a child's toy.
The Royal family was waiting for him on the steps. Where was the princess he had seen while he was here? He recognised no face but that of his sister's as she strided up to him, her lovely face split in a grin.
"Peter, dear brother." She clasped his hands in hers. "This is the most delightful place. Come, let me introduce you."
"Quite unecessary," said a deep voice. "We've already met, Prince." King Albert held out a thick hand, and Peter remembered him, and his wife, Queen Bertrine.
"I believe I have not had the honor of meeting you," said a girl, and Peter turned to stare into a pair of the biggest, deepest-blue eyes he had ever seen. They were staring at him in an almost hostile way.
"No...no I don't believe you have," Peter said a trifle breathlessly. She held out a small white hand imperiously and Peter took it in his large brown one, and raised it to his lips.
"This is Princess Hannah, Peter," Lily said. Hannah gave a distinct glare.
"A-an honor," Peter stuttered. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from her eyes. She raised an eyebrow.


Later, when Peter was safely in his rooms, he couldn't contain himself and gave a mighty leap, punching the air several times.
"She's it!" He yelled. "She's the one!" He flung himself onto his bed, but unable to lie still, jumped up again. He was going to find her. He was going to woo her.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *


"I don't see how you can call yourself an authority on books," Hannah said airily to Peter as they took a turn about the garden. Peter was trying to absorb Hannah's caustic blows but they just made him baffled--and therefore, a rather stupid conversationalist.
"I--I don't say I'm an authority on all books--" protested Peter feebly.
"Yes you did. You said those exact words: "I consider myself an authority on books. I was right here, beside you." They sat down on a bench. Peter felt that his heart was falling out from under him. Here was the girl--the princess--of his dreams, and she, for some reason, hated him. His white cheeks flushed.
"Well nobody can deny that I've spent most of my life in study of books," he retorted. He looked to the ground, ashamed to meet Hannah's hateful glare. But she was silent, and when he at last looked up, she was looking at him.
Oh those blue eyes--like pieces of sky--Peter's heart dissolved.
"I think I'm a bit hard on you," Hannah said, peering still harder into Peter's gaze. He hardly dared breath.
"I think so too," he admitted. They both laughed.
"You don't...you don't REALLY want to marry me, do you?" Hannah asked, hopeful. Peter could see that the right answer to give right now would be the incorrect one. So he just smiled.
"See that cloud up there, shaped like a fat little horse?" He asked, pointing. Hannah looked, and nodded. Peter was silent. When Hannah turned to look at him, he was gone. Were he had been sitting was a large, creamy, hydrangea blossom.
"What does this mean?" Hannah said, aloud.