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  A Princess of Sorts

  Springs of the Goddess, Volume 1

  Wilma van Wyngaarden

  Published by Wilma van Wyngaarden, 2019.

  A Princess of Sorts

  Copyright ©2019 by Wilma van Wyngaarden

  1st edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the prior written permission of the author and publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  | Chapter 1 |

  | Chapter 2 |

  | Chapter 3 |

  | Chapter 4 |

  | Chapter 5 |

  | Chapter 6 |

  | Chapter 7 |

  | Chapter 8 |

  | Chapter 9 |

  | Chapter 10 |

  | Chapter 11 |

  | Chapter 12 |

  | Chapter 13 |

  | Chapter 14 |

  | Chapter 15 |

  | Chapter 16 |

  | Chapter 17 |

  | Chapter 18 |

  | Chapter 19 |

  | Chapter 20 |

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  About the Author

  | Chapter 1 |

  A small, slight figure stood on the castle wall, waiting silently at dawn.

  ***

  Another pair of eyes – unnoticed – was peering through the morning mist, also waiting for the sunrise. From the vantage point of a forked branch high in an old willow on the riverbank, the dark bulk of the castle wall was visible through the screening leaves.

  The sky changed from indigo to paler shades of blue. The deep gray of the ramparts lightened to show the texture of individual stones. Details emerged as the mist swirled and thinned.

  Finally, what the watcher was waiting for was revealed – the shadowy silhouette visible on the wall solidified into a human form.

  “Hello, Princess!” she whispered, quieter than a little bird. “A good morning to you!”

  ***

  The figure on the wall did not hear the greeting.

  Barefoot, she was dressed in a cream wool shift with a cloak thrown carelessly over top. Her long dark hair hung down her back in straggly tendrils, as unkempt as if no one had combed it in days. Beside her on the crenelated wall sat a slender gray cat.

  The sky lightened, little by little until the sun’s rim popped up over the jagged ridge of mountains in the far distance. Its first rosy rays came shooting over the forests, fields, and villages of the Kingdom of Rellant to dance upon the edges of the yellow stone castle. The silvery sky turned to pale gold and blue. Wispy white clouds drifted high above the landscape, which glowed in misty shades of lavender and pink.

  “Princess!” came a yawning call from the stairway leading downward at the northeast corner. The stairwell was roofed and narrow. “Are you watching the sun come up?”

  Princess Scylla ignored the question, since she watched the sunrise every morning, and the sunset every night. Her blue eyes, set too close together in her long pale face, stared out across the misty fields and woods stretching away from the castle. A pair of crows flew by the walls, cawing loudly in the usual way.

  “Oh, shut up,” she said, half to herself.

  “And good morning to you too!”

  Scylla turned her head towards the stairwell at the sarcastic greeting.

  “I didn’t mean you, Sorrell.” She flipped a hand towards the flapping crows. “What do they have to complain about? They’re free to fly wherever they want.”

  “Huh,” said her handmaid, whose pretty figure was apparent in spite of the brown peasant dress she wore. She was taller and stronger than her waif-like mistress. “Seems they haven’t found a nest to rob yet this morning, nor anyone to bring them a hand pie for breakfast.”

  She held out a small dish. Scylla peered at the morsel suspiciously. It was a hand-size pastry, folded over and baked.

  “What’s in that?” She picked it up. It was still warm from the oven.

  “Peach jam, I think. Or possibly ham and cheese. I went down to the kitchen and picked some as they came out of the oven.”

  Scylla sniffed it and replaced it on the dish. She did not like to eat food from the castle kitchen – in the past, she had suspected Queen Maris of poisoning her food. Therefore she had taken to growing vegetables, and sending Sorrell out to the market, or at least to be careful about what she took from the kitchen.

  “Smells like ham... Leave it for the cat,” she said, turning her attention back to the view. As she rarely left her own quarters, the wall walkway was her open window to the world. She watched as the sun rose higher, beginning to illuminate the patchwork of fields and woods and casting long shadows through the shrouding mist. High overhead, a pair of great white swans winged their way northward.

  “What would it be like to be those swans? Think of the view they have!” She pictured the swans following the meandering river, their black eyes sweeping the countryside as they headed for the lakes in the foothills of the inhospitable mountains.

  “Anyone stirring?” asked Sorrell, having broken the hand pie into pieces and placed it on the stones in front of the gray cat.

  A rooster crowed from somewhere down in the castle courtyard. Outside the walls, the golden mist hung thickly in low-lying areas and over the river. Dew began to sparkle as the sun touched the trees. Horses in distant pastures belonging to the king’s home farm paced peacefully as they grazed.

  “Just the stable boys and that rooster,” Scylla replied. “And some of the feral children are already out looking for scraps... or stealing. No one else will be up early this morning after our end-of-summer festivities... the celebrations went on half the night.”

  They both peered over the wall at the fields below. On the horse training field and the pasture surrounding it, numerous carts, wagons, and tents stood in the misty morning light, sheltering the people who had come from outlying areas to celebrate the holiday. Other than the flitting glimpses of the feral children, there was no one visible yet. From the wall above, the girls could hear a few faint snores rising from the camp below.

  “I’m told Queen Maris may postpone our grand hunting excursion until tomorrow. Some of the servants were poking around the box room this morning.”

  Scylla rolled her eyes. “I am not surprised. My father the king was half-drunk already when we left the Great Hall, and we left early!”

  “Also Prince Togin and Torin got into a bottle of wine and were sick half the night.”

  They looked at each other and snickered. “Poor little brats!” said Scylla with a feigned lisp. “I wonder where they stole it from!” Her nine-year-old twin half-brothers were indulged by both parents and ran wild in the castle. As they looked alike and behaved equally as poorly, no one was ever sure who was who.

  “I don’t know. Not from our table.”

  Princess Scylla shrugged, then shivered and hugged her cloak around her narrow frame.

  “Aren’t your feet cold?” asked Sorrell. They both looked down at Scylla’s small bare feet on the dewy stone walkway. “They’re turning blue.”

  “They’ll warm up quick enough,” said Scylla. She gave the panoramic view another inspection. “The sun is already rising. What delicate col
ors – so pretty! I’m glad the hot season is almost over... it will be much more pleasant for the next few weeks! And the fields will turn green again. See how yellow they have grown.”

  “I’ll tell the boy to bring up some more water for the plants,” Sorrell said, running a critical eye over the containers placed along the walkway.

  “My garden will like the milder weather.” Scylla turned her attention to the lush growth of flowers and her boxed beds of herbs and vegetables. There was also a pair of beehives along the wall, from which they soon would harvest honey.

  As the Kingdom of Rellant had long been peaceful, soldiers rarely patrolled the walls. Within the castle and the royal family’s apartments, however, the conflict between Princess Scylla and the queen and her ladies had escalated until the easy-going King Tobin could laugh it off no longer. Thus, for the past six years, Scylla had occupied her cramped chambers above the Great Hall, next to a suite of rooms used occasionally for guests. The corridor ended in a stairway leading up to the northeast corner of the castle, and the walkway at the top of the crenelated wall now housed her garden boxes, the beehives, and a cooking grill.

  “Are you coming down soon?” asked Sorrell, yawning again. She was much lovelier than Princess Scylla, with fine features, smooth skin, and glossy chestnut hair. Now she was efficiently plaiting her hair into a braid down her back. “I will braid your hair like mine.”

  Scylla gave a snort. “My hair will never look like yours – leave it!” She tossed her head and shoved the dark strands away from her face.

  Her handmaid snorted in turn. “I will braid it. If you show up for the hunting excursion looking like that, the queen will banish me and find another handmaid for the Princess Scylla!”

  Scylla glared at her. “I am quite sure she will not! My feet are cold, I am going down to find my slippers.”

  Sorrell followed her down the stone steps, one hand on the rope that acted as a handrail.

  “How is your hip this morning?” asked Scylla.

  “As usual,” Sorrell replied without interest. She had a hitch in her step left over from a childhood ailment and did not like to discuss it.

  They reached the corridor. Two adjoining rooms made up Scylla’s chambers, along with an alcove for Sorrell. A pair of windows overlooked the rear of the castle courtyard, with a view of the food stores building, the well and, at the far side, the kitchen and laundry. Across the hall was a box room where things such as trunks and unused furniture were stored and a smaller room where some of the younger servants slept at night. There were two tall narrow windows in the outer wall, for defense if the castle was under attack – but it had never been.

  As Scylla and her handmaid approached her door, they could see the box room across the hall was still occupied. The door stood wide open, a candelabrum holding three beeswax candles had been placed upon a table for extra light, and voices chattered from within.

  Scylla threw a quick glance back over her shoulder into the room as she opened the door to her chambers. Queen Maris herself was there, along with one of her ever-present priests, at least two of her ladies-in-waiting, several servants, and even her two yappy little dogs. Curses!

  “Ewwww,” said Scylla under her breath to Sorrell. But it was too late – they had been spotted.

  “Queen Maris, here is the princess now,” said one of the ladies-in-waiting, peering out of the room. Her sharp eyes raked Scylla from head to foot and her mouth was pursed up tightly.

  Scylla regretted not putting on her slippers or tying back her hair.

  Queen Maris, a tall, plump woman with green eyes and hennaed hair pulled tightly back, came to the door. Her hair was rarely done so simply – one of her ladies had a flair for excess and often created elaborate hairstyles for both the queen and her ladies-in-waiting.

  “I do not appreciate you giving Torin and Togin wine last night!” she snapped, glaring across the corridor at Scylla, who stood with one hand on the door handle.

  “I gave them nothing!”

  “They said you did! And told them to drink it all up – how dare you?”

  “I did not,” said Scylla as calmly as possible. “The princes have lied to you.”

  “My boys do not lie! I shall take it up with your father the king,” Maris promised, her eyes narrowing viciously. “Look at your appearance... you look like a troll! The Princess Troll! You are not to be trusted. I will tell the king you are too disturbed to travel to the hunting lodge.”

  Scylla rolled her eyes. “Really! – had I known giving them wine would mean I don’t have to go, I would absolutely have done so!”

  Queen Maris took a threatening step towards her. Scylla retreated into her own room and Sorrell slipped in behind her. The queen advanced to the open door and looked inside, her expression turning to disgust.

  “Good Goddess! What a disaster! I will have my women clear these chambers...”

  “You will not!” Scylla shrieked. Her needlework, threads, and fabric were piled on tables and chairs, as she had been sorting colors for her next project. All of it was precious to her... the idea of the queen and her women even entering the room infuriated her. She could feel her blood coming to a boil. “Get out!”

  “Calm yourself, Princess Scylla,” Queen Maris commanded, her women crowding behind her in the doorway.

  Scylla began to scream. In the past, she had found that she had no defense against her stepmother other than a full-blown tantrum and – although it had been a couple of years since the last one – she was quite sure she could produce as much noise as was necessary.

  Sorrell stepped between them and began to shoo the queen and her ladies away from the door.

  “Now see what you’ve done!” she exclaimed in exasperation. “Please leave!”

  Scylla came to the doorway as the queen retreated and screamed even louder. She picked up a tin pot she didn’t particularly like and threw it against the opposite wall of the corridor. It clanged like a cowbell as it bounced along the stone floor, and she kept screaming. The little dogs, one blonde and one mostly white, added to the din with their hysterical yapping.

  Within moments she got the results she wanted.

  At the top of the grand stairway, the central arched hall accessed the queen’s chambers on one side and the king’s quarters in the middle. On the other side were two sets of stairs, one to the castle’s guest chambers and one leading to Scylla’s corridor, all situated above the Great Hall. The soldier who stood guard at the top of the grand stairway – usually a tedious job without drama of any kind – pounded on the king’s door to alert the King’s Guard. He then came running up the steps into Scylla’s corridor, his sword drawn. Minutes later, the other soldiers of the Guard, and even King Tobin himself, came stumbling out of the chambers drawn by Scylla’s screams.

  Sorrell’s fingers were pressed against her ears but she had positioned herself bravely between the queen and Scylla. The queen was attempting to berate Scylla into silence while the two dogs shrieked in concert. The ladies-in-waiting had retreated to the box room, where the priest presumably had remained. The other servants had kept well back, but they peered through the open door, wide-eyed with alarm.

  “Good Goddess!” thundered the king. “What is going on?” A short, wiry man of forty, he was in a hastily thrown-on embroidered robe. He looked like he had been woken out of a deep sleep, which of course he had, as it was early morning after the late-night festivities. His soldiers were in a similar state, although a couple had been alert enough to catch up their weapons.

  Scylla gave another scream for good measure and then closed her mouth.

  “The princess is mad!” Queen Maris pronounced loudly over the dogs’ frenzied barking. “Look at her and look at the dreadful state of her chambers!”

  The king blinked at her from puffy eyes, smothering a yawn. His hand went to his head, smoothing down his dark hair, which was beginning to show some gray at his temples. “Could you stop the dogs from barking, my dear?” he asked. Th
en he looked at Scylla a little sadly.

  “I was just up on the wall watching the sunrise,” she said in defense. She was hoarse from all the screaming. “Next, Sorrell is going to braid my hair. As she did last night for the feast!”

  “You looked lovely last night at the feast,” said the king promptly, regaining much of his usual charm. “Very presentable!”

  “That young woman is terribly disturbed! She’s not even wearing slippers. How can you not admit your daughter should be shut away – for her own protection?” Queen Maris, turning back after shooing the dogs into the box room, glared down at her husband, who was several inches shorter than she was.

  “Nonsense.” King Tobin’s natural optimism took over. “Of course she was up on the wall watching the sunrise... she always does. And her handmaid is about to dress her and braid her hair for the journey today – as you see, she has already done her own hair... very pretty hair, too, if I may mention it!”

  His wife snapped, “The handmaid may have pretty hair, but she has been seen flirting with your soldiers!”

  “Well, my love, what soldier would not flirt with such a lovely young maid?” His bright but bloodshot eyes rested admiringly upon Sorrell, whose expression remained blank.

  “My ladies have been told to watch her closely! But... to return to the immediate problem, our dear princess is not well enough to travel to the hunting lodge... a whole week is far too much for someone so unstable!”

  “I do not care to go!” Scylla croaked. “I will not go!”

  “Of course you are going,” her father said lovingly. “It will be an excellent excursion for all of us, as it is every year. I want you all to see my improvements to the hunting lodge! In fact, I have had a beautiful turret built just for you.” He gave her an encouraging nod.

  “I have not told you what she has done now, my dear husband!” said Queen Maris indignantly. “My poor boys have been deathly ill half the night! She gave them a bottle of wine at last night’s celebrations!”

  “I did not!” Scylla snarled. She could feel her face growing red again.