“No. No. No. Not the red dress!” Bernice shouted at Melissa. “Novron, protect us. Look at that neckline. Her Highness has a reputation to protect. Put that in storage, or better yet—burn it. Why, you might as well salt her, put a garnish behind her ear, and hand her over to a pack of starving wolves. No, not the dark one either; it’s nearly black—it’s spring, for Maribor’s sake. Where’s your head? The sky blue gown, yes, that one can stay. Honestly, it’s a good thing I’m here.”
Bernice was an old plump woman with a doughlike face that sagged at the cheeks and doubled at the chin. The color of her hair was unknown, as she always wrapped it in a barbette veil that looped her head from crown to neck. To this she added a tall cloth filet that made it seem like the top of her head was flat. She stood in the center of Arista’s bedroom, flailing her arms and shouting amidst the chaotic maelstrom that she had created.
Piles of clothes lay everywhere except in Arista’s wardrobes. Those stood empty, waiting with doors wide, as Bernice sorted each gown, boxing the winter dresses for storage. In addition to Melissa, Bernice had drafted two other girls from downstairs to assist in the packing. Bernice had filled one chest but still her bedroom remained carpeted in gowns, and Arista already had a headache from all the shouting.
Bernice had been one of her mother’s handmaids. Queen Ann had kept several. Drundiline, a beautiful woman, had been her secretary and close friend. Harriet ran the residence, organizing the cleaning staff, seamstresses, and laundry. Nora, whose lazy eye always made it impossible to tell who she was actually looking at, handled the children. Arista remembered how she would tell her fairy tales at bedtime about greedy dwarves who kidnapped spoiled princesses, but a dashing prince always saved them in the end. In all, Arista could remember no fewer than eight maids, but she could not remember Bernice.
She had come to Essendon Castle nearly two years earlier, only a month after Arista’s father, King Amrath, had been murdered. Bishop Saldur explained that she had served the queen and was the only maid to survive the fire that had killed her mother so many years earlier. He mentioned Bernice had been away for years, suffering from melancholy and sickness, but after Amrath’s death, she insisted on returning to care for her beloved queen’s daughter.
“Oh, Your Highness,” Bernice said, holding two separate pairs of Arista’s shoes, “I do wish you would come away from that window. The weather may look pleasant, but drafts are not something to toy with. Trust me, I know all about it—intimately. Pray you never have to go through what I did—the aches, the pains, the coughing. Not that I’m complaining, of course; I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m blessed with the gift of seeing you grow into a lady, and Maribor willing, I will see you as a bride. What a fine bride you’ll make! I hope King Alric picks a husband for you soon. Who knows how long I have left, and we don’t want people gossiping about you any more than they already are.”
“People are gossiping?” Arista turned and sat on the open windowsill.
Watching her on the edge, Bernice panicked and froze in place, her mouth opening and closing with silent protests, both hands waving the shoes at her. “Your Highness,” she managed to gasp, “you’ll fall!”
“I’m fine.”
“No. No, you’re not.” Bernice shook her head frantically. “Please. I beg of you.”
She dropped the shoes, planted her feet, and reached out her hand as if standing on the edge of a precipice. “Please.”
Arista rolled her eyes, stood up, and walked away from the window. She crossed the room to her bed, which lay beneath several layers of clothes.
“No, wait!” Bernice shouted again. She shook her hands at the wrists as if trying to dry them. “Melissa, clear Her Highness a place to sit.”
Arista sighed and ran a hand through her hair while she waited for Melissa to gather the dresses.
“Careful now, don’t wrinkle them,” Bernice cautioned.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” Melissa told her as she gathered an armful. She was a small redhead with dark green eyes who had served Arista for the past five years. The princess got the distinct impression the maid’s apology did not refer to the mess on the bed. Arista fought to keep from laughing and a smile emerged. It only made matters worse when she saw Melissa grinning as well.
“The good news is the bishop delivered a list of potential suitors to His Majesty this morning,” Bernice said, and Arista no longer had any trouble quelling laughter, the smile disappeared as well. “I’m hoping it will be that nice prince Rudolf, King Armand’s son.” Bernice was raising her eyebrows and grinning mischievously like some deranged pixie. “He’s very handsome—many say dashing—and Alburn is a very nice kingdom—at least so I have heard.”
“I’ve been there and I’ve met him. He’s an arrogant ass.”
“Oh, that tongue of yours!” Bernice clasped her hands to the sides of her face and gazed upward, mouthing a silent prayer. “You must learn to control yourself. If anyone else had heard you—thankfully, we’re the only two here.”