Once Upon a Princess Read online

  When we sit down to eat, the array of plates and glasses and utensils is almost baffling even for me, and I’m used to formal meals. The first course features delicately molded Colsteinburg cheese, caviar, and cold cucumber soup. After that’s cleared away, there is a salad, featuring, of course, Colsteinburg cheese. We make good cheese here.

  “This is sure better than the food at Sainte Marie, isn’t it?” Sophia whispers as the main course, filet mignon and a selection of vegetables, is put before us.

  “Maybe I can bring leftovers back with me this week, and we can feast!” I answer. Not that the food at school is bad, but it hardly lives up to the dinner at a royal ball.

  “Oh, you should,” Sophia answers. “Then we can share with Claudia, too.” Claudia is our other roommate.

  “There will be no leftovers,” Tobias says from the other side of me. “Because I plan to eat it all.”

  We all laugh. It’s a night made for laughter.

  The dessert is the most amazing of all—red spun-sugar dragons on a white cloud of meringue. It’s almost too beautiful to consider eating. Almost.

  After dinner, we dance some more. I don’t remember a night I’ve had so much fun.

  The orchestra hits the first notes of the Colsteinburg National Anthem, and the dancing stops. I stand by Sophia, our hands on our hearts, as we look toward the white Colsteinburg flag with its red dragon in the center. I have tears in my eyes. It’s been such a perfect night, I don’t want it to end.

  The last notes of the song are still hanging in the air when Mademoiselle Colette appears by my side, looking out of place in her sensible shoes and cardigan.

  “It’s over, Your Royal Highness.”

  3

  It is time for bed,” Mademoiselle Colette says.

  I’m not ready for it to end. Now I understand how awful Cinderella felt when the clock struck midnight. It’s like I’ve been playacting. Monday, I’ll be wearing my school uniform again instead of a silk ballgown. I would argue with Mademoiselle Colette, but years of experience have taught me that it’s pointless. She always gets her way.

  “I’ll see you back at school tomorrow night,” I say to Sophia and give her a quick hug.

  “Yes. See you then.” Sophia goes to find her parents. The magic is over for everyone, and I turn back to my governess.

  “Did you see me dance with Prince Etienne?” I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “And this dress,” I say, twirling to give her the full effect of the silk and lace. “Isn’t it the most beautiful dress you ever saw?”

  “It’s lovely.” Mademoiselle Colette reaches for my arm, but I dance just out of her reach.

  “Wasn’t tonight fantastic beyond belief? I never knew a ball could be this wonderful. I’d always figured it was from what I was allowed to see, but I never knew for sure. Why didn’t you tell me how wonderful balls were?”

  “Because.” Mademoiselle Colette firmly grips my arm so I can’t dance away from her again. “You would have been pestering to be included.” She leads me out of the ballroom, upstairs, away from the last remnants of the festivities and to my own bedroom.

  The heavy velvet curtains are closed, the embroidered bedspread turned down, and my nightgown set out, ready for me to put on, but I’m not ready to get into bed yet.

  “This night was just too fabulous!” I spin around the room. Music still plays in my head. My feet won’t stay still.

  “Let me unzip you, Fredericka,” Mademoiselle Colette says, standing patiently in the middle of my room.

  I dance my way over to her and let her unzip my dress. It falls in a heap to the floor. I glide to the bed and slip my nightgown over my head. If I close my eyes, it can be a beautiful silk gown instead of sturdy cotton.

  “When do you think we’ll have another ball?” I ask. “Next week? Next month?” Mam and Pap are always going to balls, whether at our palace or someplace else. Maybe now I can go with them.

  “That may be a bit soon,” Mademoiselle Colette says as she places my gown on a hanger. “Go brush your teeth.”

  “I’m not even tired,” I say, but I head into the adjoining marble-accented bathroom and wash my face and brush my teeth. As soon as I’m done rinsing, I dance back out.

  “Fredericka.” Mademoiselle Colette sounds tired, even though I’m not. “Please get in bed. It’s after one.”

  I slide under the covers, but I’ll never get to sleep. My feet want to keep dancing. “Good night, Mademoiselle Colette,” I say. “I’m going to remember tonight forever.”

  “Yes, Your Royal Highness,” she says softly. “I’m sure you will.” She backs out of the room, as if to make sure I don’t sneak out of bed before she’s gone, then turns out the light and shuts the door.

  I stare into the darkness and stretch. Maybe I am a little tired. The best parts of the ball play themselves over and over in my mind, like a highlights video.

  I dance and I dance, circling the ballroom floor under the twinkling lights as people chant my name. “Fritzi, Fritzi.”

  Only family and friends call me Fritzi. Something isn’t right.

  Mam gently shakes my arm. “Fritzi, wake up.”

  No. I want to dance some more. I burrow under the covers.

  “You have to get up,” Mam says. She stops shaking my arm, and her footsteps echo as she walks across the floor. Even from under the blanket, I can tell she’s flipped on the light. I peer out just enough to see what time it is. Not even four o’clock.

  I push back the covers, rub my eyes, and stare at Mam. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and rummaging through my closet.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You have a backpack someplace here, don’t you?”

  “Ja. I guess.” When did I last use it? Maybe our trip to Paris over the summer.

  Things are flying out of my closet. Why is she looking for my backpack at four in the morning? Finally, she pulls it out.

  “Here,” she says, wiping a stray hair from her forehead. “Pack only what is absolutely necessary. Clothes to last a couple of days, and anything you can’t live without.”

  “What?” I rub my eyes again. “Why?”

  “There’s no time for questions. Just get dressed and pack.” She’s so sure I’m going to do what she says that she heads out the door.

  Outside, there’s a crash, and glass shatters. I jump out of bed and push back the curtain. On the other side of the gate, there are people. Dozens of people. Maybe hundreds of people. They’re yelling, but I can’t tell what they’re saying. Some of them have signs, but I can’t read them. There are more crashes as the mob throws things over the fence at the palace. Things have obviously progressed beyond letters in the paper. Is this what Mr. Frank was warning Pap about?

  I let the curtain drop back into place and run next door to Georgie’s room. She’s already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and carefully loading up her own backpack.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, hands on hips, with maybe just a little bit of a foot stamp.

  Georgie looks up from her packing and frowns. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

  “There’s a mob out there,” I say. “An angry mob.”

  Georgie doesn’t look shocked by that information. “Yes,” she says and puts another pair of pants in her bag. “You better get dressed.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Away.” Georgie shoves in another shirt. “We have to hurry.”

  “But why?”

  Georgie waves her hand at me, as if shooing away an annoying bug.

  Fine. I go back to my room and sit on my bed, legs crossed, trying to puzzle this out. Mr. Frank warned of trouble. He said they were looking for the person behind it. But maybe it is too late; maybe the trouble has spread. I jump as something else crashes outside.

  Clearly the trouble has spread.

  But why? Pap isn’t some crazy tyrannical ruler. He’s nice. He wants what is best for Colsteinburg. Just because
some people want different things doesn’t mean they should throw things at us.

  What are some of those different things people want? I know I’ve read the letters, seen the complaints and demands, but the only thing that comes to mind is that some people want it to be free to tour the castle, since it technically belongs to the people of Colsteinburg. I remember that because I had visions of tourists wandering in and out of my bedroom all day long.

  My door opens, and Georgie bursts in, backpack over her shoulder. “Fritzi! You haven’t done a thing!” She opens my drawers and throws jeans and a shirt on the bed. “Put that on.”

  I do as I’m told while Georgie packs other clothes for me. She scans my room and asks, “Is there anything you must have with you?”

  My room is full of souvenirs and favorite things I’ve collected over the years. There’s my dragon collection: everything from whimsical crocheted ones to elegant porcelain ones. There are my snow globes. I have one from every major capital in Europe except Helsinki. I couldn’t find one there for some reason. You’d think with all that snow, they’d have lots of snow globes. There are my autographed books and pictures, including one from Prince Harry, which was kind of a joke between us last time we visited England. Sir Fred, my teddy bear, sits up on the shelf, all alone and forgotten. I haven’t needed him to sleep with since I was five.

  “We’re coming back here, aren’t we?” I ask.

  “I hope so,” Georgie answers and shoves my tablet computer and phone into my bag. She grabs some jewelry off my dresser and shoves that in too. Then she zips the bag and hands it to me. “Let’s go, Fritzi. We have to leave.” She heads out the door without even a look back.

  “Wait!” I run after Georgie, my bag thumping against my back.

  4

  Only a couple of hours ago, the palace was filled with people and music and laughing and dancing. Now it is eerily quiet, the roar of the crowd outside muted. My breathing sounds too loud in my ears. The hallways are dark, lit only with occasional safety lights near the ground. I stay close to Georgie, as if I’ve become her very large shadow. She leads me down a back staircase to the service hallways.

  When I was little, I used to play down here. It seemed daring to explore in these back rooms and out-of-the-way places and pretend I was a secret agent or a spy. Now it doesn’t seem exciting. The whitewashed stone walls and gray doors are cold and scary and sinister. This is not my house; this is not the home I’ve loved for twelve years. This is some strange and scary place filled with shadows and monsters that might jump out from behind any of those closed doors.

  I want to ask what is going on, where everyone is, where Mam and Pap are, but then I see our parents ahead of us in the hall, talking to Marco, the head of palace security. I start to run to them, but Georgie holds me back.

  “Just wait,” she whispers.

  Shortly, Marco salutes and walks away. I break free from Georgie and hurry forward.

  “I’ll send for you when it’s safe, or I’ll join you,” Pap says to Mam. “Either way, we won’t be separated for long.”

  “Separated!” I cry, rushing to Pap and grabbing his arm as if he’s going to vanish right in front of me.

  Pap puts his arms around me and holds me tight. “It will only be for a little while, Fritzi.”

  “Do you promise?” I ask.

  Pap looks deep into my eyes. “What have I told you about promises?”

  I don’t answer. I know what he’s going to say. He doesn’t make promises, because if something happens, he doesn’t want to have to break them.

  “My word is enough, right?” he asks.

  I nod, my throat feeling thick.

  “And I will not make promises that might be impossible to keep.”

  I nod again.

  “But know this. I will do everything in my power to get us together again soon.”

  “You’re king. Everything is in your power.”

  His smile is so sad it makes me want to cry.

  “Maybe not quite everything,” he says.

  “But why can’t you come with us?”

  Pap holds me out at arm’s length and bends down so he’s looking me right in the eye. “I have to stay here. Like you said, I’m the king. If I leave, I’ll be giving that up. Abdicating. You don’t want that, do you?”

  I stare at him in horror. Of course I don’t want that.

  Georgie clears her throat. “And we’re the princesses. During the Blitz in World War Two, Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret stayed in London.” She holds her head high.

  “I’m glad you know your history, Georgie,” Pap says, “but you’re not staying.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Georgie says. And I bet she’s not. Georgie’s not afraid of anything. Except maybe pimples. She freaks out about pimples.

  I’m a little bit afraid.

  Pap shakes his head. “I’m afraid for you.”

  “Where are we going?” My voice sounds strange to my ears, too little, too timid, too weak.

  “We have friends in America. You will go there.”

  “When will we come back?” I ask, biting my lower lip. Georgie always tells me to stop doing that. She says it doesn’t look elegant. Right now, I don’t care.

  Pap’s eyes meet mine. “‘Though she be but little, she is fierce,’” he says, quoting Shakespeare to me. “That is you, my fierce little Fritzi. I need you to be good and brave. You can do that, right?” he asks. “And soon we’ll all be together.”

  He didn’t answer my question, but I don’t ask it again. I have a feeling that I wouldn’t really like the answer anyway.

  Pap looks over his shoulder, like maybe he’s expecting the mob to break through at any minute.

  “We can’t waste time,” he says and opens one of the gray doors. There’s a van backed up to it with its rear doors open. It looks like the kind of van a kidnapper might use. The kind of thing you see in movies that you know the kid should never get in but does anyway. I’m not getting in that van. I take a step back but bump into Georgie.

  “You must hurry,” Pap says. He gives me a long hard hug, and I don’t ever want him to let go, but he does. Tears are streaming down my face, even though I don’t remember starting to cry. Pap helps me into the van. Soon Georgie and Mam are inside too, and the doors slam shut. Pap taps the back door four times as his way of saying a final “Ich liebe dich,” German for “I love you.”

  I fall against Georgie as the van drives off, and she puts her arm around me. It’s pitch black. There isn’t even a window connecting us to the driver’s section. I don’t know who’s driving. I don’t know where we’re going. I swipe at the tears with the back of my hand, but it doesn’t make any difference. More keep falling.

  The tires rattle over the gravel drive. The shouts of the protesters are louder but so mixed together I can’t make out what they are saying.

  Someone bangs on the side of the van, and I jump and squeal. They want in. They want to get us. Why?

  “Shh,” Georgie says. She’s always prepared for every situation, so I’m not surprised when Georgie pulls a little flashlight out of her pocket and shines it around the van. There’s a thick, padded blanket in one corner. Georgie snags it and covers us with it as I huddle close to Mam.

  Now we are in the dark, in the back of a van, under a blanket. I feel a little safer, even as more people pound on the sides of the van. The van stops, and I try to make myself as small as I can under the blanket. Any minute now, I’m going to throw up, I know it.

  “Let me pass,” the driver calls out. “I just dropped off a delivery. I got nothing. Let me pass.”

  The back door rattles as someone tries the handle. I squeak and Mam holds me tight. The van starts moving again, slowly at first, but then with more speed. We’re past the mob. We’re safe.

  Safe in the back of a dark van, fleeing from a mob at the palace. Safe is apparently quite relative.

  Georgie pulls the blanket off our heads, and my heartbeat starts to go back to
normal. I don’t even feel like throwing up anymore.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  Mam doesn’t answer. Maybe she didn’t hear me. Georgie takes my hand in hers. “There are some people causing trouble. It’s not safe for us at the palace right now. We’re going someplace safe.”

  “But why all the way to America?” I ask. “Why not just to Switzerland or France?” Those are the countries Colsteinburg is nestled between.

  “We need to be farther away from our enemies than that,” Georgie says.

  Enemies. My stomach does a somersault at that. We have enemies.

  “But what about Pap? He isn’t safe!”

  “He can take care of himself, and it’s better if he doesn’t have to worry about us,” Georgie says.

  “I’ll miss school.” I was only home for the beginning of the Octocentennial, and I’d be expected back at Academie Sainte Marie tomorrow. Today.

  “Can’t be helped,” Georgie says. Mam still says nothing. Maybe she’s asleep. Maybe I should sleep. I can’t sleep. I’m too wired, too worried.

  I’ve never been this scared before.

  I was scared when I first went off to boarding school just last month, but it was more a worry about if I would make friends and like my teachers, not that someone might hurt me.

  I was scared the night my grandfather died, a little over a year ago.

  We’d been playing Rummy, and after I played the winning hand, Grandpa put his hand to his heart. I thought he was just surprised I’d won, but then his face twisted up and went gray, and he collapsed, and I screamed for help.

  I was pushed aside as medical personnel tried to save King George, but they couldn’t. And then Pap was king, and the world was not how it had been before.

  The world is changing again.

  It’s always changing.

  I don’t like it.

  I want to go back to when my great-grandfather was king. Everyone loved King Franz. He was king for more than sixty years. Grandpa had more time to play with me then, and not so many things to stress him out and give him a heart attack. Pap and Mam got dressed up and went out a lot, but they weren’t busy all the time either. Things were easier then.