Page 3 of Lost Starlight
She must be a chaperone.
Why had my mother not told me that I would be reading to the prince?
The prince!
No matter, you can do this,I tried to convince myself again.
I walked over to the plush silver chair and took a seat, making sure my light blue, silk dress with white embroidered flowers would not overly crease, especially as it was damp. When I looked up from situating my skirts, Prince Peter was staring at me with an enormous grin.
“I think I shall like you, Lady Darling,” he said.
“You think so?” I asked, opening the book in my lap.
“I believe so. What story shall you read to me?”
“I have the story of the ‘Ancient Knights’ fromThe Ancient Tales,” I said softly, looking at him. He nodded and lay back down on the settee.
“That sounds wonderful.”
I waited a few moments before I began. Then I read:
“Before the world was created, the Creator split the light from the dark—creating the moon and the sun—one to rule the day, and one to rule the night.”
I made sure my voice was strong and clear. When reading, I liked to create different voices for the characters when I could. I also had a habit of truly getting into the stories, and when I did so, it caused the children to become very excited and engaged. But it was different reading for a prince. He closed his eyes as I spoke. In truth, him not looking at me was helpful—and I began to feel more calm, letting the story take me from where we were into another place entirely.
After I finished the third chapter, I closed the book. That had to be enough for the day. I had been reading forover an hour, and my voice would be hoarse if I did not conclude our session—especially since I had been asked to come and read every day.
“Ah, and already, it is over,” Prince Peter said, sitting up with a frown.
“Yes, I shall return tomorrow,” I mumbled.
He smiled. “You did a wonderful job. The best storyteller I have ever had. And, if you would believe it, I have had many.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.”
“No, thank you, Lady Darling.”
With that, he gave a polite bow, and I stood to curtsy, watching as the handsome brown-haired prince walked back through the door we had entered earlier, leaving the room. After he had gone, I collapsed back into the chair.
I did it,I thought, breathing out with a huff. I then closed my eyes.
That was not so bad. You can do this. He is kind,I told myself.
“You are a wonderful storyteller, my lady.”
I turned to see the older woman, who I forgot was there while I’d been reading. Her hair was tidily pulled back in a tight braid; it was a mix of brown and grey, and her face had so many lines upon it–wrinkles she had earned, I was certain, from the full lifetime of expressions upon her face. Mother always taught me to be mindful of my facial expressions, mostly to avoid ending up looking somethinglike that lady. Still, even though she may not have appeared as perfectly beautiful as, say, my mother, she had a beauty that my mother never could have. She seemed to have a sort of confidence, such that she did not have to prove anything to anyone. She worked for the royals and was close to the prince; certainly, that would have built confidence.
I envied the peace she exuded.
Will I ever appear that confident? A confidence born from being unapologetically myself?
“Oh, thank you,” I said, leaving my thoughts behind.
“You will find the prince to be carefree and easygoing,” she smiled, and the beautiful wrinkles crinkled in such a charming and honest way.
“He does seem so. What is your name?”
“You may call me Martha. No title needed.” She looked from me to the needlework in her lap. Her needle moved very quickly over some embroidered design that I could not make out, using a bright blue thread.
