The Storyteller
The dining table stretches in front of me, already stu ed to the brim with the night’s meal. Platters heaped with hedgehog meat pastries and cow tongues line the polished wood, interspersed with crystal bowls of little stu ed dormice and sleek boiled fish eggs. Each velvet seat is set with a gilded plate and six utensils that rest on top of an intricately folded cloth, creating a glimmering border around the spectacular pig that lounges in the center of the table, crowned with cranberries and dried citrus slices that accentuate the perfect chesnut of its shriveled flesh My mouth waters as I anticipate sinking my teeth into every delicacy.
A stream of nobles trails into the hall behind me, shu ing to their seats in silence. I am far beyond my depth, never having been raised with wealth, but I step into the manners of high society as if it were second nature. There is little time for small talk before the king arrives and we are seated
The king digs into a large helping of assorted delicacies and waves a hand without looking up from his plate, allowing the rest of us to begin. I can only stand the sound of chewing for so long, but thankfully my daughter– ever the perfect lady–speaks up.
“Thank you all for serving this magnificent feast. I am truly honored to be marrying your son.” She snatches the prince’s hand as he reaches for a biscuit and threads her fingers through his.
The queen looks up with a somewhat startled expression. “Ah, yes.” A pause. “Now, remind me how you met again?” she at last continues, poking at the meat in front of her. My daughter opens her mouth but I cut her o . “Allow me, Your Majesty ” A nod, and I dive in
“Manyyearsago,morethanIcaretorecount,Imarriedtheloveofmy life.Asecondwife,bringingwithherasecondchild,asistertothe daughtermy rstwifehadbornenotevenayearprior.Forseveral years,welivedasahappyfamily,mydaughter,Imogen,growingup inseparablefromhersister,Catalina.Everythingcrumbled,however,
whenmywivesmettheirendsinanunfortunateaccidentthatleftmy girlsreeling.”
Yes, unfortunate Sometimes at night I can still hear their screams lingering in the back of my mind. I feel my eyes glass over and shake my head, jumping back into my story after a beat of silence filled with the clinking of fine silverware on even finer plates.
“Followingtheirmothers’tragicdeaths,Catalinabecamesullenand bitter,refusingtocompletethesimplestofchoresandchoosinginstead towasteawayhertimeinthepastureswiththecowswhileImogen threwherselfintothehousework,doinganythingandeverythingto helpthosearoundher Itwasdi culttowatchmygirlsgrowapartover theyears,buthopesoonpresenteditself.Yourowngenerousfestival andthepromiseoftheesteemedprince’spresencereignitedaspark thathaddiedsolongago”
I pause once more, allowing the chorus of a rmations mumbled around mouthfuls of half-chewed food to wash over me. I bow my head as another para n cake is dropped on my plate and drizzled in duck sauce.
“Naturally,ImogenandIwereecstatictogotothefestival.Catalina, however Well,shestillhadherneglectedchoresleftto nish Witha promisethatshecouldjoinuswhenshewasdone,weswepto tothe fair.Withourgoodfortune,weranintotheprincewithinmoments.
Ofcourse,wehadnoideathekind,thoughtful,politeyoungmanwho struckupaconversationwithmydaughterwasofroyalblood.Not thatitwouldhavemattered:itwasloveat rstsight.”
So rare. Usually, you have to demand love, pry it from the cold, guarded hearts of the people around you. I look at my daughter and smile as she leans over to whisper in the prince’s ear, her hand resting on his arm. Thank God she had hers handed to her.
“Not veminuteshadpassedwhenIcaughtsightofCatalinaacross thestreet,drapedinhersister’sdressandtryingtoremain inconspicuous.Naturally,Iwasfurious.Afterall,theonlywayshe couldhavearrivedsofastwasifsheabandonedherwork,notto mentionstealingfromhersister.Imogenwasingoodhands,soIleft hertoherconversationandmademywaythroughthecrowdtowards Catalina Notwantingtohumiliateher,Idiscreetlytookherbythe armandguidedheroutofthefestival.
I’llspareyouthedulldetailsofwhathappenedathomethatnight The nextmorning,ImogenandIagainsetoutforanotherdayofgrand celebration,certainthistimethatCatalinawouldobeymywishes.The daywentpreciselyasexpected:mydaughterwasonceagainjoinedby thegentlemanofthedaybefore,andhenoblyescortedheraroundthe fairuntilthedaygrewdarkandtheairgrewchilled.Itnearlybrokemy hearttowatchthempart,promisingtomeetagainthenextday,butat leastCatalinawasn’ttheretoruinthemomentwithherdour countenance.”
A chuckle pulls me out of my flow. The queen stifles a laugh with the back of her hand as the hall is soon overwhelmed with laughter, the other guests quick to follow her lead. I grin I haven’t even gotten to the best part, but it’s great to see such appreciation at the expense of my di cult daughter. I flash a wink at her sister, reveling in the sight of her hand intertwined with that of the prince.
“Aswewalkedalongtheroad,IcaughtImogencastingalongingglance overhershoulder,andaquickglanceofmyownrevealedthesmiling faceofthegentleman ItwasatthatmomentthatIconcoctedmy grandplan.Thenextand naldayofthefestival,IsuggestedImogen goinher nestdressandshoes Thedaypassedmuchlikethe rsttwo: aquickreunionwiththeyoungman,followedbywanderingand laughingasIwatchedfromadistance.Whentheskyagaingrewdark,I pulledImogenbehindmewhenhercompanion’sbackwasturned As soonaswebrokethroughthecrowd,Iinstructedhertoleaveoneof the neslippersbehind.Shetriedtoprotest,butatthetimeIwastoo focusedonhurryingherhomeunnoticedtolisten”
An unfortunate mistake, I’ll admit
“Asexpected,theyoungmanshoweduponourdoorstepthenextday, clutchingtheslipperinhishand.Ofcourse,Iwasshockedtoseehim accompaniedbyguardsanddressedinroyal nery,butwhowasIto discouragemydaughter’sloveonthebasisofclassdi erence?The adorationinhiseyeswasproofenoughthatitwouldn’tstophim, either.WhatIdidn’texpect,however,wasthattheslipper the promiseofafutureformylittlegirl wouldbesnatchedoutfrom underher.”
Hot anger bubbles in my chest as the doors are thrown open, interrupting my story precisely at its climax. A kitchen maid stumbles into the hall with the main dessert balanced precariously in her frail arms, but I wipe the glare from my expression in an instant as she sets a large pie in front of me. I’m honored that such a treat is prepared especially for me the benefits of a royal family, I suppose. The rest of the dinner party turns to watch as I push the tip of my knife through the crisp top. As it crumbles
I find myself gazing at the slimy mucus of a live frog that promptly jumps onto the table with a wet splat, met with the hollow laughter of the nobles. The practiced smile is quick to find my lips even as disgust roils inside; my lungs expel a hearty laugh, and I am rewarded with bright eyes of joy from my surrounding audience. “Shall I continue?” Keep the tone light.
“Havingcomeinfromthe eldsjustintime,Catalinainsistedshebe allowedtotrytheshoe rst Ishouldhaveknownfromthedevious glintinhereye,butbythetimethefootmanindulgedherwishitwas toolate.Theslipper tlikeasecondskin.Catalinasquealedinjoyand proudlyexclaimedthattheshoehadbeenhersallalong,claimingthat hersisterhadtakenthemoutofjealousyalongtimeago.Baseless accusationsaside,Icouldn’tbearthewayImogen’sfacecrumpled.As Catalinawasescortedouttothecarriage,Ipulledtheprinceintomy studyforaprivateconversation.”
“Oh, I remember this!” the prince interrupts. “He told me to–” A sharp cough cuts through the rest of his sentence, echoing in the ensuing silence. My future son-in-law recoils slightly from the daggers in my eyes as I lower my fist from my mouth. At least his mind was malleable, if not particularly sharp.
“WithinminutesIhadthewholemessstraightenedout,having reachedanagreementwithHisHighness,andmydaughterwasonher wayo tothepalacewithherprince,destinedtolivehappilyever after.”
Revulsion at my own cheesy ending shudders up my spine, but I force my lips to curve into a smile as everyone at the table claps politely. The prince, by some miracle, keeps his mouth shut, and I accept the praise graciously.
“The rest, as you can see, is history,” I say as I gesture to my daughter and her fiancé, motioning for them to stand. I follow suit, lifting my crystal glass into the air and sending some wine sloshing onto the table. A maid darts from behind me with a rag, but I don’t spare her a glance. “I propose a toast.”
My words are met with a symphony of clinking as everyone scrambles to lift their glasses, looking at me with glassy expressions of dulled interest. “To my daughter, often misunderstood but finally where she belongs.” She smiles. “And to her future husband, for keeping his word.” I raise my eyebrows as the prince shoots a poorly disguised wink my way. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and drink, suppressing a shudder as the warm liquid slides down my throat.
The rest of the night passes quickly. Dinner wraps up and within minutes we stand outside exchanging pleasantries.
“It was lovely to host you tonight, and I thank you for the beautiful tale of first love,” the queen says as I bow deep, the coach door open and waiting behind me. “I do hope your other daughter’s rebellious ways do not cause any stress or ill e ects upon your return.”
“Oh, she will not be any trouble,” I respond. “I only hope her behavior improves in the next few days so she may come to the wedding.”
The queen nods. “But of course. You are more than welcome to spend the night at the palace should you like a break from her devious ways.”
“You are most generous.” Hasn’t the night gone on long enough? “But I have matters to attend to at home. I will return in three days to celebrate the joining of our two great families.”
Several unnecessary thanks and bows and smiles later, I am waving from the window of the ornate carriage as I am escorted home. As soon as the crowd is out of sight, I pull my arm back inside and massage the muscles beneath my cheekbones it’s tiring to force a smile for so long.
When I finally return home, I ignore the coachman’s extended hand, slipping through the door and locking it swiftly I watch through the window until the carriage disappears over the hill before turning to survey the dim living room.
I find my daughter precisely where I left her, stripped of her finery and hope. Just as she deserves for thinking she could get away with the prince.
Catalina is a convulsing ball in the fireplace, a half-eaten plate of bread crusts and cheese crumbles forgotten on the tile beside her. Hmm, I had left that out for the cats, but if she found another use for the scraps, so be it. She reaches a hand to her face, trailing wet globs of snot across her soot-streaked arm as she lifts her chin to meet my eyes. Her fear is palpable, and my lips twitch upward.
I ease into my chair in front of the fireplace and kick my feet up onto the table, enjoying the sound of Catalina’s breathing growing more rapid by the second as she strains against the ropes.
As much as I would hate to be merciful, perhaps it would be best to tie up any loose ends, lest anyone return with… questions.
It’s as though a bolt of lightning courses through her body Catalina shrinks away from me, pressing her back into the stones of the fireplace with wide, wild eyes darting in every direction.
Oops, did I say that out loud?
