The Princess Read online

  In 1664 Anwen, the great lover of art, covered the old stone walls, enlarged the palace, and made it look like a very long, very large six-story Italian villa. The old castle was the east wing, with a new, larger central block and a new, matching west wing. At an expense that depleted the Lanconian treasuries, he imported a rare yellow sandstone from Italy for the facade.

  In 1760, Princess Bansada, the wife of the king’s fourth son, decided to do something with the grounds after overhearing a derogatory remark by an English duchess. She managed to put the kingdom in debt once again, but she made a splendid garden. There were a dozen hothouses that kept the palace supplied with fresh flowers at all seasons. There were formal gardens at the ends of the east and west wings, a twenty-acre wild garden, a rose garden, a man-made lake with a bridge across it that led to a ladies’ outdoor sitting room. There were three gazebos: one Chinese, one Gothic, and one made to look like a medieval ruin. There were statues everywhere, mostly of handsome young men. Someone unkindly said they were Princess Bansada’s lovers and that when her voracious appetite wore them out, she had them dipped in plaster. When Aria was an adult, she realized the statues were marble and therefore the story could not be true.

  When the Lord High Chamberlain rode with Aria to the palace, it was done in great secrecy. She was veiled and swathed in heavy black cloth so that no one would recognize her. She sat in the back of the black limousine and didn’t say a word. With every turn of the wheels, she came closer to the palace and she could feel the pull of the place. It was as if her ancestors were calling her home.

  The palace, so remote to some, was home to her and her eyes teared at the beauty of it, the way the sunlight lit the yellow facade, the way the mountains rose behind it. She was glad the veil hid her face and she was glad for the training she had received that kept her from showing her feelings.

  The Lord High Chamberlain, who had not deigned to speak to her for the entire trip, now spoke and his tone carried contempt in it, as if he refused to believe she had any intelligence. “You must remember at all times that you are a crown princess. You are to exercise the most rigid control. You must not relax for a second, not even when you think you are alone. For a princess is never alone. A princess is protected and watched and cared for.”

  He had not turned to look at her. “You are not to indulge in that despicable American custom of finding amusement in everything.”

  Aria opened her mouth to speak but closed it again. Her life could benefit from a little humor. She smiled at the thought of having a jitterbug contest in the Grand Salon. Perhaps she could introduce some of the more lighthearted and frivolous American customs to her relatives who lived in the palace.

  She and Julian, that is, she amended. She wondered if Julian would like to grill hamburgers by the river. She would have barbecue grills made, and instead of dressing in a long gown for dinner, they would wear blue jeans. She smiled as she thought of trying to persuade Great-Aunt Sophie to wear jeans.

  “You are not listening to me!” the Lord High Chamberlain snapped.

  Again, Aria bit back what she wanted to say. While she was princess, he had been the epitome of fatherly gentleness to her and all her royal family. She had, of course, heard rumors that he was not well liked by the people, but she had dismissed the complaints. He was such a sweet old gentleman that Aria couldn’t believe anyone disliked him. He had even generously refused to live in the house provided for his office. Aria had been touched, but now she had seen his country house and she understood he had other reasons for his magnanimous gesture. She vowed to look into her people’s complaints more thoroughly.

  He was droning on about her deportment, her duties, her responsibilities, telling how she was to be a machine, an automaton who did nothing but sign papers and dedicate factories.

  “Don’t this princess have no fun?” she asked loudly, enjoying his wince at her bad grammar. “I mean, she has a boyfriend, don’t she? When do they get together and have a giggle? You know?”

  “Count Julian does not”—he almost gagged—“giggle. He is the perfect choice of a husband for Her Royal Highness. When you are with him, you will not be alone—you are never to be alone together—so your conduct must be beyond reproach.”

  Aria kept looking out the window. Part of her was beginning to feel sorry for Princess Aria, who never got to play. But now she was a new Princess Aria. Her experiences in America had changed her—and she meant to change the life in her palace.

  Lady Werta had shown Aria a floor plan of the palace but she had been told that the Lord High Chamberlain would show her as many rooms as possible before taking her to her own chambers. Even with her heavy veil he predicted that many of the retainers would recognize her. The story they had spread was that, after her American tour, she had been felled with a particularly nasty strain of flu and had been taken to a private clinic in Austria until she recovered. No one knew when Aria was to return, and there were rumors that she had died.

  The Lord High Chamberlain started to lead her into the palace, but Aria stood where she was, refusing to let him precede her. He gave her a look of hatred then stepped behind her.

  The grand entrance hall was designed to impress people. Scrolled plaster work made panels on the walls and ceiling. The panels on the ceiling were filled with paintings depicting Rowan the Magnificent’s exploits. The wall held carved oak medallions of the coats of arms of every monarch and his queen. Aria’s arms were on the east wall, with a space below for the arms of her husband. For a moment she wondered what Lieutenant Montgomery would have put in that place. An UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU poster?

  The Lord High Chamberlain cleared his throat behind her and she walked through the big doorway into the war trophy room—another room made to impress. One wall held a twenty-foot-square portrait of Rowan on a rearing horse. Since Rowan had left behind no likenesses of himself, it was an artist’s conception of a magnificent warrior. Aria’s grandfather said Rowan probably looked a good deal more tired and dirty and wore quite a bit less gold braid than the artist depicted.

  Aria smiled at the memory and then remembered how Lieutenant Montgomery had said the people of Lanconia were now cowards.

  She sniffed and walked ahead toward the grand staircase, a staircase that a six-horse carriage could be driven up—Hager the Hated had proved that. Of course the driver of the carriage’s life depended on his winning his king’s wager. He had succeeded but the deepest nicks in the marble stairs had never been smoothed out.

  Behind her, the Lord High Chamberlain was whispering directions but she ignored him. At specific intervals along the stairs and outside the rooms stood the Royal Guard. They stood, with only one break, for eight hours at a time. Aria had never given them a thought before but now she knew a little more about waiting. Later, when this problem of her identity was solved, she might do something about these Royal Guards.

  The Lord High Chamberlain’s whispering became frantic with insistence as Aria approached her apartment, but she continued to ignore him. In the hall portraits of her ancestors looked down at her, their eyes solemn, as if they knew she was harboring unroyal thoughts. She could almost feel her mother’s horror: shall we supply the guards with chairs? Perhaps Rowan would have won his battles sooner if he had fought with his men in lounge chairs.

  Aria braced her shoulders and entered her bedchamber as the two guards opened the doors. Behind her the Lord High Chamberlain’s voice died away as the doors shut.

  On their knees in a deep curtsy before her were her four ladies-in-waiting and two dressers. They were all older women, all chosen by her mother, and Aria’s first impulse was to tell them to get off their knees.

  “Welcome, Your Royal Highness,” they chorused.

  She nodded to them but made no answer to their welcome. She really knew very little about these women as her mother had trained her not to be intimate with her attendants.

  “Leave me,” Aria said. “I want to be alone.”

  The women looked at