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eleven

Last Dregs

H eather paced the solar, doing her best to ignore the pinching hunger pains in her stomach. The princess failed to deliver her latest meal yet again. Removing the ribbon from her hair, she pulled errant strands back and re-tied the bow securely about them.

When they were delivered, the portions left much to be desired.

Mainly they were ingredients, crumbs of bread, entire pieces of fruit or vegetables.

She daydreamed about the complex meals she tested for His Majesty.

And since she was continuously at ill ease in the role, it was a grave statement of Heather’s current situation.

Food presented a whirlwind of emotions she continued to wrestle with.

Each time she considered a repast, her innards clenched and roiled.

And then on days like today, the hunger was burning.

The miniature castle shuddered from the approaching steps of the princess.

“Dinner is served, dolly.” The girl placed something in the dining chamber. Heather swiftly exited and crossed the hall. What would be her meal tonight?

Three thimbles sat on the table. Heather pulled one over.

It was a stew, and since all the ingredients would be oversized for her, this serving was merely the flavored stock.

Alas, Heather considered this a step up from her usual fare of late.

She raised it to her face and sniffed. The aroma of hardy, wholesome vegetable soup met her nose.

As her belly rumbled loudly, she didn’t take the time to fiddle with the doll spoons, but lifted the thimble to her lips, drinking from it as one would a goblet.

The royal shuffled around the miniature castle. One by one, the heir retrieved the family of dolls from the rooms and placed them at the dining hall table.

“Where is the king?” the girl pondered out loud. Heather watched her from the corner of her eye as the princess searched the rooms of the doll castle.

“Where could he be?” The girl’s face moved to the courtyard, searching there next, then she circled Heather’s home in pursuit.

Unsuccessful, she bent at the waist and peered under the table.

Heather did her best to ignore the girl and focused on filling her empty stomach.

Repeating her new mantra in her head, ‘there is no poison, this meal is safe.’ If only her mind and body would believe her.

The following thimble held a mushy pea. Heather grimaced and returned it to the tabletop, untouched.

Unable to locate the king doll, the princess gave up on her quest.

“I see someone made a mess of the blue bedroom.” The young girl chastised with a tsk of disapproval beyond her years.

Heather had enough on her plate, convincing her mind that this meal wouldn’t do her any harm, and she endeavored to ignore the royal.

Over her head, Her Highness screeched. Heather's hands shot to cover her ears.

“What is on this coverlet?” The princess gagged, then let out a piercing shriek.

Heather watched on as the heir flapped her hand, attempting to separate her palm from the mucus covered blanket, but the cloth clung true.

Heather smothered a laugh. The girl had found the bed cover Heather used to assist Snail.

She cried out louder and fled from the library.

Heather could not stop laughing. She wouldn’t be subjected to any acts of mortification, at least for a little while.

She took a seat at the dining table, determined to savor the sad scraps of a meal.

The following day, precisely at eleven chimes, music resounded off the keep’s stone interior, floating up to the library all the way from the great hall below.

She was thankful that the musicians weren’t in the chamber with her.

The big’s voices were painful. She couldn’t fathom how badly it would hurt with four instruments in the room.

Heather had already prepared by donning her slippers.

She stood at the ready on the chessboard makeshift dance floor.

The strains of a slower melody filled her ears.

She used it as an opportunity to move and stretch until her muscles were loose and warm.

When the first notes of the Butterfly’s Lament sounded, she felt her excitement rise, even though it was a haunting song about grief.

At last, she was dancing to one of the songs she always daydreamed about.

She spun, glided, darted and envisioned the sadness of the butterfly when it lost its mate.

Heather pictured graceful wings at her back, not butterfly wings.

Wings like Skye’s, the cells within green stained glass.

She imagined how it would be to never see Skye again, expressing those feelings with her motions.

The desire to know him better was crushing.

Her choice to remain at the castle, a plague of worry in her thoughts.

She had so many unanswered questions concerning faerie.

And the tree. She needed to learn the secret of the ribbons.

She lifted her skirts and pirouetted. When the song ended, she was out of breath but elated by her performance.

She didn’t realize anyone else was present until she heard clapping.

The king and Uster hovered over her at the table side. “Very well, my dear. You shall do me proud.”

She secretly couldn’t care less if he was pleased.

“The quartet will play the selected songs we agreed upon three times every day. I’ve instructed them to add a few pieces in between to give you a moment of rest before each dance.”

She only lowered her head and curtsied while she caught her breath.

Then the ensemble began playing ‘The Lady of the Valley.’ It was a joyful song, with a lot of hops and kicks to the choreography.

It comprised of more spirited movements, celebrating the warmest season and the brightest days of their year.

She fluttered across the chessboard on quick feet, picturing sunlight shining through leaves on a tree, light reflecting off the water surface of the pond behind the castle and the warmth of sunshine upon her face.

Happier times with her mother collecting wildflowers in the golden rays of late summer afternoons.

The bright thoughts helped her limbs and slippers feel weightless.

And so, the next hour continued with music and dancing until she had danced the three important songs at the king’s request. He remained and watched until he was satisfied.

“My guests shall be enchanted. Very well.” He obliged.

“Uster will oversee the session tomorrow.” Heather was overheated and a little exhausted.

The performance was the most physical activity she’s had in weeks.

The thought of Uster in the room alone with her made her ill.

She pressed her hand to her stomach as if she could physically settle it.

His Majesty left the library without a second glance. Uster unfortunately remained, much to her chagrin. Silence reigned for a few heartbeats until the manservant sneered.

“You’re nothing but a pet, first for the heirs and now for the king.” He sniffed, turning up his nose at her. His yellow feather reached for the rafters above.

He circled the table slowly, a bird of prey, while trailing his pointer finger along the surface as he went.

“You are nothing, no one, a trifle plaything. A mouse, that’s all you’ll ever be.

This recital is but a farce, an excuse for him to show off his possession.

It will proceed the bidding,” Uster laughed darkly to himself and towered menacingly above her.

He struck out in a blink, poking her in the stomach with a single finger, but the contact was the force of a punch, sending her crashing to the floor.

“You shouldn’t have made an enemy of me.” It was alarming how calm and removed he was. The hair on Heather’s arm stood on end.

He paused at the royal library chamber doorway and glared back at her, his hand on its wooden surface.

“It would be a shame if this door was left ajar… the mouser might find its way in.” He mused with a cutting smile. Heather’s eyes widened at the threat. “See you on the morrow, mouse.” And with those threatening words, Uster quit the room.