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nine

Dance Poppet

D ays later, the king and his manservant startled Heather with their presence.

The former taste tester exited the castle doll house and awaited to be addressed by His Majesty.

Their refusal to stoop to hear her, silenced her voice more than her servant role ever did.

She watched on, curious, as Ulcer placed a chessboard upon the table.

Heather stewed in her anger and hurt over the king’s carelessness in placing her in the great hall. She was determined to be vigilant around him henceforth. Considering the royal with flint gray, guarded eyes, she remained silent.

He stood over the castle, as imperious as ever, his tall figure encased in a regal aubergine dyed tabard, trimmed with costly white fur. Bushy, ashen eyebrows fell low over his steel hued pupils.

“Come hither and appraise your appointed dance floor,” demanded the king.

What newly discovered game was this? During his previous visit, he inquired if she had any talents, leading her to believe dancing could be something to fill her idle time.

Ulcer had placed the chess board beyond the salt barrier.

Heather approached the boundary and pointed at it.

She was going to play as if it was successful at what he intended- fencing her in.

She found it amusing His Majesty thought she had shrunk and transformed into a faerie.

She fought a smile at the notion. His desire to keep her confined sparked her ire, but she judged it best to pretend the mineral held power over her.

The knowledge she gained from Snail proved invaluable.

But she had to wonder whether the mineral had any effect on such creatures?

She patiently waited while Ulcer, ever the king’s faithful hand, wiped away a finger path through the pale crystals. She made an exaggerated gesture to shift and shuffle sideways through, taking care to avoid contacting it with her feet. His Majesty watched her like a hawk, sizing up his prey.

She was worn from filtering her emotions. Her disdain for their king increased daily. What did it say about him- that he was preying upon someone so small? And utterly defenseless? Was she at last the mouse Uster claimed she was?

His heart was blacker than coal. She needed an update about the physician and the antidote. Could she trust him to tell her the truth?

She highly doubted it.

She had to pull herself up over the lip of the chessboard. Which was a beautifully ornate board of dark walnut, embellished with ivory opalescent squares. Fitting for a ballroom floor. Standing atop it, she made quick work of another curtsy and waited for further instruction.

“You’ll be performing three dances for my guests,” stated His Majesty.

“I expect that I won’t be dissatisfied.” He leaned forward on his jewel encrusted cane.

The stance was threatening, to say the least. His hand tightened, turning white around the handle.

His signet ring inscribed with the silhouette of a rose biting into his finger.

She imagined herself crushed within it. Would he have a miniature dungeon made especially for her if she failed to impress?

She tidied her hair ribbon, her brow wrinkled.

“Uster will provide you with the details and costume.”

Who were these visitors? Heather was appalled he planned on making an exhibition of her- like a creature at a foreign bazaar.

She’d daydreamed about dancing at court during many a banquet food testing.

For it to come to fruition in this manner- not as an equal of the gentry- but as entertainment…

It was yet another dream stolen by this heartless king.

She hoped he couldn’t read her feelings on her face. She thought fast to disguise her apprehension, curtsied and nodded again.

Uster approached the table. “His Majesty wishes you to practice every day. He has generously commissioned a pair of dancing slippers and costume.” The damned feather on Ulcer’s cap flapped with each word.

How could he not notice? Wouldn’t the constant flapping be an annoyance?

She wished she could shear it off again.

Ulcer pulled something from his tabard pocket and dropped the aforementioned footwear at her feet.

He sniffed. “For now, His Majesty would like to see you dance a pavane, to judge for himself just how much practice you may require.” He sneered. The hatred on his face shocked her into a wobbled curtsy. He noticed her misstep and huffed. “I’m sure we’ll need to be vigorous.”

Crouching, she collected the discarded items. Twisting, she gave Ulcer a view of her back as she switched out her shoes for the dancing slippers, taking great care to shield her feet and ankles from his gaze.

Returning to full height, she took a deep breath and began to move.

The Pavane was difficult to execute without partners or music.

It was a stately walking dance that was meant to exhibit a dancer’s posture.

She hummed to herself to keep time. She imagined the beautiful melody from the mysterious bard, accompanied by the flute and mandolin.

A potential dream companion graced her side.

She bowed right, then left, step ball changed, step ball changed to the center, making sure to maintain excellent poise.

Next, there were a series of low kicks and chasses.

It was here where she was supposed to join arms with her partner and spin.

“Yes, very good. I think we shall place chess pieces to stand in your partner’s stead,” considered the king.

“And perhaps we'll costume you as a game piece. My guest will be delighted when the pawn comes to life with dance.” He twisted the long tail of his mustache.

“Indeed,” nodding to himself, “that should do quite nicely.”

His comments sent her simmering anger into a roiling boil. It wasn’t her actions that pleased him, but his own grand designs. She was nothing but a pawn.

“What other dances do you know?” questioned Uster.

“The Lady in the Valley and the Butterfly’s Lament,” stated Heather, knowing full well they wouldn’t be able to hear from their lofty vantage point.

“Uster, I cannot distinguish her voice,” complained the king.

Heather froze, a frightened fawn caught in the gaze of a predator. Fearful the king’s heavy handedness with Ulcer would force the cruel man to lash out.

Reluctantly, Ulcer bent at the waist, lowering his ear to her, all the while glaring daggers her way. Heather resisted the urge to shout as loud as she could.

She calmly repeated, “The Lady in the Valley and the Butterfly’s Lament.” Uster’s threatening eye contact a physical brand upon her skin.

Uster repeated her message.

Heather dared ask, “Your Majesty, has the physician made progress with an antidote?”

Uster relayed her question begrudgingly. Hatred oozed from his eyes.

The king answered, tightening his grip on his cane. “He is working around the clock.” He stood straighter, as if pained by her audacity in asking. Heather didn’t believe a word the man said.

“For now, focus on your dancing. You have a week to prepare. The quartet will play for you every day at eleven chimes.” With those words, he showed her his back, turning to exit the room.

Heather held her breath until Uster followed him out. His beady eyes remaining on her, the venomous hatred she saw there sent a sharp jolt of fear down her spine. She would need to be vigilant with the king but also with his right-hand man.

Not long after His Majesty and Uster left the room, the door to the library creaked open once more, much to Heather’s dismay.

She feared the worst, that Uster had returned to do her all kinds of ill.

But it was Jessa who approached the doll castle.

Pleasantly surprised, Heather squealed and ran for the castle’s edge.

Jess dropped to her knees, the position placing her face eye level with Heather’s, and anxiously glanced toward the chamber’s door. “I can stay but a moment.”

“Have you heard anything about the antidote?” Heather inquired.

“The physician is practicing on captured castle mice, with deadly results. He’s proved to be a better mouser than Fee. I’m so sorry, Heather.” said Jessa. “Mayhap a few days more and he’ll have garnered something.”

“I wish the king would let me stay with you. Can you petition him once more? The princess is tasked with feeding me, but she’s not dependable.”

“I’ll try to intervene at mealtimes.” Jessa winced, her expression full of concern. “His Majesty will most likely deny any of our requests. Preparations for sowing wheat and rye are disastrous. There’s been flooding and people have had to flee their homesteads.”

The tidings filled Heather with dread. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Jessa was a ray of sunshine, always looking to the bright side of events, regardless of how challenging things were. Jessa held out her pointer finger, allowing Heather to clasp her fingertip in a makeshift hug.

“I saw Mason seated with Her Majesty’s retinue…” Heather’s words trailed off as she watched Jessa’s face crumple.

“He’s betrothed to Lady Aeryne,” Jessa revealed. Confused and shocked, Heather shook her head in disbelief.

“But…” Heather paused, “Forgive me. But I thought he was in love with you?”

“Didn’t we all?” Jessa confessed glumly. “I must go before they catch me here. Stay hopeful, the physician endeavors day and night.”

“You have all my thanks. Please come again as soon as chance allows.” She bit back a plea for Jessa to take her from this cage. She could not be responsible for making her loved ones enemies of the crown.

Heather watched as her only friend vacated the library, leaving her with her own loud thoughts, shrieking at her in the silence.