The Hidden Princess (Book One of the Whispered Tales)

Chapter 2

'My, it sure is hard being a princess,' said Eliza to herself trying to walk on Mara's high-heeled shoes. Although she didn't have trouble dressing up, bespangling and combing— as a dozen chambermaids were doing all these for her—walking in those shoes was terribly hard. And there was no one who could help with that, for no one could walk in her shoes. She wanted to take them off after she was just about to fall over a few times. But Nanny Ana, who followed on her every step, shook her head in disapproval every time she tried to do so.

'A princess shouldn't walk barefoot not even after she gets out of bed,' she used to say. So Eliza saw herself forced to shackle her feet in those darn shoes.

Walking in shoes was the simplest of her responsibilities. Dining was just as unpleasant. The table was full of dozens of dishes of which Eliza never even heard of. Flavours of the weirdest kind. The real challenge at dinnertime was the multitude of cutlery set by her plate: for soup, steak, fish, dessert, salad, clams. How could she not get confused? Luckily, her nanny stood behind her and poked her every time she got it wrong until she picked the right one.

Then, there were the everyday chores. And my, were they many! Making sure all rooms were clean, even the uninhabited ones. Choosing every meal, sending for supplies from the market, deciding how many carts with firewood were needed for the winter... and so much more. How was Eliza supposed to know all those things? She has spent her whole life at the mill. Sometimes, she hated Adrian for not preparing her ahead of time. Other times, she cried because she couldn't manage everything she had to do. Or maybe she cried because she missed her old father and the home she left behind.

But now it was too late to change her mind, for Adrian and Mara, and even herself would be in danger if their secret was out. And each time, Nanny Ana was there for her, giving her the wisest advice. This is how Eliza managed to fulfil her duties as a princess. One night, after she retired to her room to learn how to stitch an embroidery—for this was also one of her duties—Nanny Ana put her sewing down in her lap and asked looking her dead in the eye:

'Who are you, child?'

Eliza's heart skipped a beat. She couldn't face her and she mumbled something, pretending to be absorbed in working the piece of cloth. But her hands wouldn't listen and she stung her finger, a drop of blood falling on the white cloth.

'What do you mean who am I?' she said trying to keep herself calm. 'I am Princess Mara. Your Mistress.'

'Princess Mara, my mistress, can sing like no other. And you haven't sung one song since we were on our way here from the miller's house,' said the nanny fixing her with a firm look. 'I know Princess Mara since birth. I held her; I cared for her when her poor mother was too troubled to do it. Besides, Princess Mara has known how to use the right tableware since she was three. Her mother taught her this patiently, for one month straight. Princess Mara knows what to use when eating pheasant and what is the best garnish for rabbit stew. Princess Mara doesn't stumble when wearing shoes and she doesn't chew with her mouth open; nor does she let out burps at the table. Princess Mara doesn't snore like a pig and she doesn't drool on the pillow.'

Eliza listened without saying a word, staring at the ground, her cheeks red with shame.

'I don't know how Princess Mara convinced you to take her place. You are lucky you look so much like her. Don't you worry, my dear,' she added. 'I will always be at your side and help you out if this is the wish of my real Princess. But remember, child. The hardest thing in this world is to pretend you are something you're not and hide what you really are.'

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The day the Dark Prince was supposed to return, great excitement spread through the castle. All windows were wide open, every room was cleaned, all the sheets were washed, every corner swept. In the kitchen, the prince's favourite meal was being prepared—pheasant stuffed with blackberry sauce, baked potatoes with buffalo butter and bread made with flour of the finest wheat, brought from faraway lands where sunlight was not so scarce. For dessert, tarts and cakes were to end the feast. Eliza felt at ease amid the preparations which seemed as waking up the whole castle from its winter slumber. She entered the kitchen where plump lady cooks were moving like walking barrels and young girls were helping to stir the pots or wash the dishes.