Princess Charming

Chapter 4: Charmaine

"Breathe in, your highness."

Charmaine sucked in her stomach so that the palace seamstress could pull the laces of her corset tight enough to suffocate her.

"Would your highness prefer us to serve crab or langoustine canapes?" an attendant from the kitchen asked, hovering in the safety of the doorway.

"What does it matter?" Charmaine snapped, struggling to catch her breath. "It's not as though I'm going to be able to eat anything. Is it really necessary for it to be this tight?"

"It's the hight of fashion, your highness," the seamstress stammered.

"Since when has breathing been out of fashion?" She turned her attention back to the kitchen attendant before adding. "Serve the langoustines. I'll hide them in my bag and eat them when I return to my room if I have to."

The seamstress paled. "There isn't a bag, your highness. We didn't think-"

Charmaine cut her off with a lazy flick of her hand. She closed her eyes and took the deepest breath she could manage, like Mrs Perrault had taught her. She was determined not to break anything; she'd have no hope of convincing her father that this marriage was unnecessary if she did.

"We could have a platter of tonight's food sent up to your room once you retire, your highness," the attendant suggested hopefully.

Charmaine opened her eyes and smiled as sweetly as she could, trying to copy the tone her mother always adopted when they walked through the town. "That would be perfect, thank you ever so much."

The seamstress and attendant exchanged confused looks, before the attendant bowed at left the room.

See, that wasn't so hard. She could be civil when she needed to be. Now, all she had to do was spend the next six hours struggling to breathe and unable to eat, then she could enjoy a midnight feast in the comfort of her room. Some dancing, some smiles, scintillating conversation that ensured no one this side of the ebony mountains would ever want to marry her and she would be free.

"All done, your highness," the seamstress said, taking a step back so that she could curtsy.

"Well, would you look at that," Charmaine sighed, admiring the dress in a mirror on the other side of the room. It was sleeveless and cream on top, with gold and scarlet detailing. A section of the cream fabric had been picked up at the front, revealing a red underskirt beneath.

"You look beautiful, your highness. We wanted colours that matched your family crest."

"It is exquisite work, truly. Maybe tomorrow's could be blue and purple, to match the bruises this one is going to leave around my ribcage?"

The seamstress looked uneasy, so Charmaine forced herself to smile. "Thank you for all of your hard work. I couldn't have asked for better."

Still looking as though she expected to have something thrown at her, the seamstress retreated from the room with a hurried, low bow.

Charmaine sighed as she stepped down from the box the seamstress had stood her on. Could no one in this palace take a joke? She longed to be back at school, where she could wear trousers and people rolled their eyes at her tantrums instead of cowering. Snowdon would kill himself laughing at the sight of her in this dress. He'd challenge her to a duel, thinking he would finally be able to get the better of her if she was encased in silk instead of armour. He'd be sorely disappointed when she beat him yet again. Maybe that magic, mystery girl of his would be a better fighter. Perhaps once this charade was over, she'd be able to convince her father to let her go and visit Snowdon in Rosenberg.

Charmaine approached her mirror image slowly; the dress didn't allow for much movement, but at least she had a believable excuse to avoid dancing. In her pretty gown, with her dark hair coiffed in an elegant bun and her skin encrusted in glittering jewelry, she looked every inch the fairytale princess. On the outside at least. With a sigh, she turned to her dressing table, taking out the delicate silver tiara which was to complete the facade. Despite its slightness, it weighed heavy on her head with unwanted responsibility.

She could still remember a time, seven long years ago, when this same tiara had threatened to break her fragile grip on her messed up reality. Her head had been smaller then and her heart had been bigger. She wondered, not for the first time, what had become of Elliot. His parents had both died and a new family had moved into the house where they had spent their childhood in laughter and fantasy. Did he still think of her at all? Did he still remember all the horrible things she had said to him the night she had left for school? Charmaine hoped not. She tried very, very hard to hope that he was happy. But her heart sung with an unspoken wish that he might have received a golden edged invitation yesterday.

She shook her head. She was being silly. What would she even say to him? They had parted in the way that they had for good reason. Opening old wounds at this point would be pointless. No. If she was going to be a proper princess - a future queen - she needed a clean break. No childhood sweethearts. No remorse. No regrets.

Charmaine straightened her tiara then turned away from the mirror. The guests would be arriving soon and she needed to be stationed in the ball room, ready to receive them. She tilted her chin, holding her head up high, then strode from her room.

It was time to crush some hearts. 

{I hope you enjoyed the reference to Mirrored Snow. There's another one to come once the guests start arriving... If you enjoyed this chapter, please vote or comment to let me know what you think.}