Daughters of the King (Completed)

03 | Storm

"Today the weather turned against us. A huge storm from the north hit our ship." — Jacques Cartier, 1534

Celeste

I STORM OUT OF THE dining hall, my skirts rustling against each other like dry leaves. A cool wave of whispers washes over me as my fellow bunkmates and peers discuss my sudden departure—their hands shielding their mouths as they comment on what an unpleasant fille I am. How I act haughty but am no better than them. How I am but a scheming Jewess. How they pity my poor future husband.

I do not want to care.

I have had unwanted attention fixed upon me many a time, but comments about my past continue to sting deep. By now, I wish I would have grown a skin thick enough to tolerate malicious slander, as skin grows to form a callous. I have heard far worse spoken about me, after all.

"You are a girl, Celeste. Not good for anything other than rearing children and minding your manners!" Madame Chevalier shouts in a dark, isolated chamber of my mind.

"Oui, oui!" Father chimes his merriment, taking a swig of brandy before he wipes his black moustache with a grimy hand.

My ears ring. I clench my fingers into my palms so tightly my knuckles turn pure white. Tears flood my eyes. Blood rises in my neck and my cheeks, and the ship spins.

Madame Chevalier isn't here, neither is Father, I remind myself. I will never have to see them again, other than in my dreams.

When I have entered the corridor—slamming my back against the wall, I feel sharp, uncut fingernails graze against my arm.

"I am sorry!" The person who has just touched my arm apologizes, in a high-pitched squeal, releasing me from her grasp. "I nearly fell! I did not mean to scare you."

I wheel around to confront the unwelcome intruder. Instead, a slice of light from the lantern hanging from the ship's wall reveals Lorraine Leblanc. She peers up at me.

"What are you doing here?" I demand. "Are you following me around?"

Lorraine steps back, raising her palms as if to defend herself against a blow. "I only wanted to see if you were well after Sarah's comment. It was quite unkind, and I am sorry that she wounded you so."

"Oh..." I manage a smile, though it feels foreign and false upon my lips, "I am fine. I have gotten used to girls like her."

Her concern disarms me, although it is also quite gratifying. I have not known many who care about me in the past, and to have a near-stranger do so now is very novel.

"I suppose they aren't used to girls who speak their minds, or girls who can read for that matter," Lorraine adds. "Perhaps they are afraid of unfamiliarity."

When I don't respond she continues. "I admire your courage, Celeste. You are brave to say what you truly believe without being hindered. I have never heard a woman speak in such an uninhibited way. I-I think it must be very enjoyable to say what one means without shyness or regret."

The compliment is quite unexpected. At a loss for words, I lower my gaze.

No one has ever spoken about my bold nature in such a complimentary way. Every person I have ever known has described me as loud-mouthed and crude—that I ought to be silent and pleasant like the other marriageable young women of my age.

"Well... merci. But being bold is not always favourable. Sometimes I say what I do not mean—and injure others with harsh words." I admit, keeping my eyes fastened on the wall.

I have never mastered the laborious task of making friends, despite my years at the orphanage, opting to remain companions with my many books and lessons rather than other living beings. I have always wondered what it would be like to confide in another real, living soul my age, but have never met one willing to listen.

"Why are you here, Celeste?" Lorraine lowers her hands to her waist. Though some might consider such a question rude, from her earnest blue eyes and soft voice, I believe she wants to know. "That is... why are you travelling as one of les filles du roi if you have no intention of marrying? When you could remain in France?"

"I suppose I have always desired to travel someplace, escape Paris with its wretched social ranks and poverty. I have no one left there, and I needed a way to find a new life. Make a name for myself, somehow, somewhere..." I ponder, my voice drifting as I stare up at the rafters in the ceiling. "Why are you travelling to New France?"

Surely as a commoner, her parents could have achieved a stable match for her, perhaps with some kind blacksmith, a baker, or a successful merchant. With her good-natured charm and pretty countenance, she could have even secured an artist from the king's court, or a talented musician, perhaps.

I smother a laugh with my hand, imagining the petite girl skipping to the tune of a flute and violin.

Lorraine doesn't seem to notice my internal amusement.

Instead, she sighs and meets my gaze with glistening eyes. "I did not want to go to the New World at first. I already miss my family. I have scarcely even ventured beyond the city gates."

Her sadness melts as she recovers her resolve. "But, I must. I must go. My family is poor. The dowry should allow them to pay for bread and wine for months. I only pray that I will marry a good man."

I offer her a smile, realizing how false my preconceptions about her have been. Her confidence is a veil with which to mask her genuine fears and weaknesses.

"I am certain you will marry a good man." I console her, though I fear I may be mistaken.

Though I hope her dream of meeting a good man in New France comes to pass, it is more likely that she will marry some brute—or a man like my father, who cared more for the drink and sinister hobbies than his own daughter.