Frog Meets Girl

Chapter 16--A Dreary Time

I finally finished this chapter! I've been struggling to find time, plus I had a raging case of Writer's Block. It's a killer. Anyway, I'm trying to post the chapter before I go back and edit it to death and bring on another case of THE BLOCK *shudder*. So, if you find inconsistencies, it's probably because it took about a month to write this and I forgot what was at the beginning. Please let me know (nicely) if you spot any major story problems and, as always, the dreaded grammar and spelling faux pas. I'm posting this now before I chicken out. You're welcome. 

            If the King had been watching, he would have not been able to find a fault in Princess Gabriella’s public display of mourning—due mostly to her numbness. He did not notice, however, so Gabriella’s demurely downcast eyes and tasteful black veils, rather than garner his praise, merely allowed her to avoid chastisement.

            Most of his time was spent huddled with his ministers around maps and letters, plotting their next move while his wife played the role of the mourning queen.

            For Gabriella, she remembered only bits of the next few days: standing behind her father as he publicly eulogized Prince Claudio and the other military leaders, then condemned the other city for defending themselves so artfully and planted a burning desire in the people for vengeance.

            The fittings for her mourning wardrobe did not seem to impact her. It seemed surreal that the dressmaker measured out black crepe and discussed the number of dresses required to outfit a princess properly for six months of mourning.

            Six months. She often repeated the words in her head and felt their strangeness in her mouth. What a short time. Meanwhile, each hour dragged laboriously on, coated in ashes and filling her lungs with heaviness.

            All through the wake, she glanced around at the others privileged to attend this royal event—savvy men and their decorous wives, who cared only for Claudio as was publicly necessary for their political aims. Her own sedate mother, clad in a deep black satin and veil of her own, sat without moving, her back never touching the chair. The usual passive expression was on her face, though Gabby thought it might be a little more pale than usual. Gabby found herself wondering whether Queen Mama ever experienced emotions.

            In the center of the great hall lay Prince Claudio, this shell of the boy who played at manly things, laid out in splendor. Brilliant blooms tucked into wreaths and garlands spat sweetness into the air, stinging Gabby’s nose. She marveled that she could be so calm while her brother lay there wearing his battle armor, arms crossed over his chest, holding his sword. Dimly, she thought that it couldn’t be him. He always wore velvet tunics and had slightly tousled hair. When had he ever worn that armor before he left?

            Although the ringing in her ears continued to haunt her, she began to hope that she was stronger than this, that her inexplicable inability to cry testified of a new strength blossoming within her. She had tried to cry, had felt the pounding in her chest and a flood of blackness pressing against her, and yet the tears would not come. She could gaze impassively at her only childhood playmate throughout the long vigil.

            Throughout the procession toward his grave, she remained the passive princess with downcast eyes. This was her first time outside the palace walls and as the people lining the streets peered curiously up at her for the first time, they remarked on her loveliness and talked for weeks about the way her calm sadness had brought elegance to her mourning.

            Gabriella, aware of their eyes, but strangely unaffected, kept her eyes on the men on the street in front of her family’s open carriage who shouldered Claudio’s coffin. With each step, it swayed slightly, as though rocking a baby to sleep, and she could feel pressure building behind her eyes.