The Bruised Princess Read online

  The Bruised Princess

  A Short Story Retelling of The Princess and the Pea

  A. G. Marshall

  Avanell Publishing

  Contents

  The Bruised Princess

  About the Author

  The Bruised Princess

  No.

  The word that had sealed Rachel’s fate echoed through her head with each thunderclap. It roared on each gust of wind.

  No.

  She stumbled and fell. Cobblestone streets were difficult in the daylight and treacherous at night. Her gauzy silk skirt ripped as her knee hit the rocks so hard that she knew it would bruise.

  At this point, one more bruise wouldn’t matter.

  I won’t.

  She should have run sooner. Should have bolted out the door as soon as Bette pulled the gown from the wardrobe. It was far too fine for an ordinary dinner, even one with company. She should have sensed trouble at once.

  By the time she had realized what was happening, Father had her in his iron grip. He guided her to the table, looking solicitous to the casual observer as he held her arm. When she balked, he pinched hard enough to cause the first bruise of the evening.

  Rachel stopped running to catch her breath. Rain and tears mixed together and streamed down her face. The downpour had extinguished all the lamps, and the streets were unlit. She had been to the city a few times, but she didn’t know it well enough to find the church in the dark. She waited for the next flash of lightning and searched the horizon for towers.

  There. Lightning snaked across the sky and framed a pair of tall spires.

  “I won’t.”

  She whispered into the wind to reassure herself. No one else believed her, but she meant it.

  Now that she knew which way to go, she resumed her jogging across the slippery cobblestones. She held back a groan as every inch of her protested the movement.

  Well, almost every inch. They had spared her face and hands and any skin that a fine dress would show. No man wanted to take a visibly battered bride to the altar.

  Rachel gritted her teeth and continued. The church would give her sanctuary. She would escape.

  Lightning illuminated the spires again. She hoped the kindly priest was there. The one who had whispered to her when Father had slapped her in the market a few weeks ago.

  “If you need help, you can find it in God’s house. Just come and ask for sanctuary.”

  He seemed young for a priest and moved a little awkwardly, as if he were not yet accustomed to wearing the long flowing robes. But his smile had been kind, warm like sunlight. She treasured that smile.

  “Or you can come with me now. I’ll help you find safety.”

  He reached for her hand, but the crowd surged around them and swept them apart. She searched for him, but Father caught her and kept her arm in his vice-grip until they got home. He had lectured her about the law. About the dangers of speaking to strangers. About the importance of doing as he said, and how she would thank him for it one day.

  No.

  Rachel’s ankle twisted on a cobblestone. She used a wall for balance, slowed her pace to a limp, and gritted her teeth. A sound echoed behind her, but she didn’t let herself look back. If they caught her-

  She wiped the rain from her eyes and refused to follow that line of thought.

  The law forbid any marriage where the woman was not a willing partner. She must say yes to make the match legally binding.

  It did not forbid the means often used to get a woman to say yes.

  So when Rachel said no, Squire John simply laughed and said he trusted father would take care of the matter. Squire John had already buried two wives. He knew all too well how this went.

  Father had pretended to be amused by her refusal as well, but Rachel knew the steely glint in his eyes too well to trust the expression.

  Only when she was so bruised and battered that he and Bette didn’t think she could move on her own had they left her alone. But they had been wrong, and Rachel would show them.

  She would find sanctuary.

  Lightning showed the towers looming over her. Behind her, a horse whinnied. Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. Had they discovered her absence realized so soon? Had they pursued her?

  She hobbled to the enormous wooden doors and pounded on them as hard as she could.

  “Sanctuary! Please, give me sanctuary!”

  Her voice was little more than a whisper against the storm, but someone heard. Someone opened the doors and pulled her inside.

  Prince Benjamin glared into his soup. It was the only safe place to look in the dining room. The only escape from his stepmother’s self-satisfied smirk.

  Not to mention Friar Green’s concerned eyes. Doubtless, the priest meant to be reassuring with his gazes, but they didn’t help.

  Nor did the servants’ pity. Or the guards’ stoic resolve. They all meant well, but Benjamin was tired of well-wishers. He needed action. The kind of help that no one here could give.

  A crack of thunder echoed through the castle. Prince Benjamin looked up at the noise, met his stepmother’s gaze, and instantly regretted it.

  Twelve women. She had rejected twelve perfectly good marriage candidates so her own young son could take the throne when Benjamin died childless. It was a desperate ploy. A power grab.

  And it was working.

  For while the law gave the queen power to test and approve her future daughter-in-law, it did not say what form that test should take.

  Queen Veraline had given potential brides increasingly ridiculous tests and declared each of them unsuitable. Benjamin didn’t know what she had put the last girl through, but it must have been horrific. The girl’s father had been so insulted that he had nearly declared war. Veraline dismissed the messenger with a laugh, and Benjamin had borrowed one of Friar Green’s robes so he could sneak out of the castle and smooth things over with the ambassador.

  The prince pretended not to notice when a squire hurried across the dining room and whispered to the queen. He was too far away to hear the conversation, but Friar Green cleared his throat.

  “A potential bride, you say?”

  “We aren’t expecting anyone tonight,” Queen Veraline said.

  She sounded flustered. Benjamin looked up. She was never flustered. Surely she hadn’t forgotten that she was expecting a marriage candidate? It would be insulting to the girl if a room wasn’t ready for her.

  “You weren’t expecting anyone,” Friar Green said, “But perhaps the prince was.”

  Benjamin wasn’t. The few girls he knew from summer garden parties and diplomatic balls had already come, been found unworthy, and left with apologetic glances or haughty stares.

  But at this point, he would take any victory he could get.

  “Yes, I am expecting someone.”

  Queen Veraline swallowed.

  “You should have told me, darling. I don’t have a test prepared.”

  “My apologies. She arrived earlier than I anticipated.”

  “The test for the last candidate has not yet been dismantled. Perhaps that will do?” Friar Green said. “It’s a miracle the poor girl made it in this storm. We shouldn’t delay matters.”

  The squire turned to the queen.

  “Shall I have them put her in the guest bedroom then, Majesty? The one prepared for the last candidate?”

  The queen sputtered. Prince Benjamin shared a look with Friar Green, enjoying his stepmother’s discomfort perhaps more than he should. No good would come of this, but the queen had held control of everything since Father died. It was nice to see her struggle.

  “You did say your latest test was perfect for any occasion,” Prince Benjamin said. “It determined that Duchess Helen was
unsuitable in record time. She didn’t even stay the night.”

  Queen Veraline smiled. It wasn’t a nice expression. Benjamin imagined snakes made the same face before swallowing their prey whole.

  “If you insist, dear, your mystery lady may take the test prepared for Duchess Helen. Perhaps she will fare better.”

  “And if she does?” Friar Green asked.

  The queen’s smile stiffened.

  “If the girl passes the test, I will congratulate Prince Benjamin on finding a suitable bride at last.”

  Friar Green nodded at the assembled staff. They had all heard the queen. If the girl passed the test, she would marry the prince, and Queen Veraline would lose control over the royal lineage. The priest and assembled servants looked rather pleased about the concession, but Benjamin went back to glaring at his soup.

  There was no reason to think this girl would do any better than the others. Where had she come from, anyway? Had Friar Green found someone he thought capable of passing a test? The priest was not supposed to interfere, but Benjamin had no doubt he would if given the chance.

  No matter. The girl would fail and be sent away before he even met her. It would do no good to get his hopes up.

  “Perhaps I should speak to a priest.”

  The women bustling around Rachel were nothing like what she had expected to find in a church. They were too finely dressed to be nuns. Too old to be novices. The leader had introduced herself as Grace, and the others had simply curtsied.

  “The priest is at dinner, miss. We’ve been instructed to prepare a room for you and let you rest. It is late, and you’ve journeyed far.”

  Journeyed far? Rachel had only come a few miles, and she hadn’t told them that.

  “I think perhaps there has been a mistake. I’ve come for sanctuary. My father-“

  “No need to get into all that now, miss. It doesn’t matter.”

  Rachel relaxed a little. She was willing to explain everything to prove her need for sanctuary, but she would rather not talk about it tonight.

  “We’ll just help you get undressed and into a nightgown then.”

  Grace reached for her gown, and Rachel jumped back. The woman’s movements reminded her of Bette. If Rachel hadn’t been in a church, she would have suspected Grace was a lady’s maid.

  “That isn’t necessary,” Rachel said quickly.

  “Your dress is soaked through, miss.”

  Grace reached again, and Rachel flinched. Concern clouded the woman’s face, and she lowered her hands.

  “It’s alright, miss. We only mean to help.”

  Rachel knew that. She believed that. But the memories were too fresh, and she wasn’t willing to let anyone touch her yet.

  “I can undress myself, thank you.”

  The women shared concerned glances and reached a silent agreement. They nodded and stepped back.

  “We’ll just leave a nightgown for you, then,” Grace said. “Your room is through here.”

  Rachel followed her through the door and gasped. A tower of mattresses filled the room from floor to ceiling. A ladder leaned against it. Rachel’s eyes climbed the ladder to the top, where she could just make out a blanket and pillow perched on top of the enormous bed.

  “Am I supposed to sleep on that?”

  “That is the condition, miss. You have to sleep there if you want to stay.”

  “Why?”

  Rachel hadn’t spent much time in church, but this seemed a bizarre condition for sanctuary. Grace shook her head.

  “It isn’t for me to question, miss.”

  That sounded like a church-appropriate response. Rachel sighed. Strange and uncomfortable as the bed would be, at least she was safe. Her father couldn’t reach her there.

  She would kick the ladder away if he tried.

  “Very well, then. Thank you.”

  “You’re sure you don’t want help undressing?”

  “Quite sure.”

  Grace curtsied and left. Rachel eyed the chair by the fireplace. She could sit there for a few moments and rest before climbing the ladder.

  And fall asleep, no doubt. If sanctuary only had one condition, she would do well to observe it.

  It was easier to tear what remained of the gauzy dress off her body than to unbutton the tiny pearls along the back. Rachel ripped away handfuls of the hateful gown and tossed them into the fire. The wet fabric sputtered in the flames before it burned.

  Fortunately, the nightgown was a simple, loose robe. Easy enough to pull over your head even when you were stiff and bruised. Rachel put it on and started up the ladder before she had a chance to think too hard about it and change her mind.

  Her legs ached from running all the way to town. She tried to bear most of the weight with her arms, but that wasn’t much better. Her back had received the worst of the beating, and it throbbed as she pulled herself up.

  Sweat beaded on her forehead, but Rachel gritted her teeth and kept going. If this was all she had to do to earn sanctuary, she would count herself lucky. Climbing a ladder was a simple enough matter compared to everything else she had gone through.

  It got harder and harder to convince herself of that when her body began to shake. By the time she climbed over the side of the mattress tower and collapsed onto the pillow, her strength was truly spent. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered how she would get down, but even that seemed a small matter compared to what she had accomplished.

  She had escaped. Found sanctuary and made her own destiny. Rachel smiled and stared at the ceiling, a vast expanse of white that was closer to her face than any ceiling had a right to be while she was in bed.

  “No,” she whispered before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

  Rachel awoke the next morning and blinked at the ceiling. What had looked white in the flickering firelight was actually silver decorated with ornate filigree patterns. The painter must have laid on his back near the ceiling to complete it, just as Rachel was doing now.

  She had not expected the church to be so beautiful.

  Rachel reached her arm up to trace the silver swirls. At least, she tried. Her muscles screamed a silent protest and refused to move.

  Blast it all. It was worse than she’d thought.

  Rachel took a deep breath and slowly rolled over on her side. She glared at the ladder. There was no way she could climb down it.

  Hopefully getting off the bed wasn’t also a condition of sanctuary. They hadn’t mentioned that yesterday.

  A door opened, and Rachel heard someone moving around the room. The curtains pulled back, and light streamed through the ceiling-high windows, further illuminating the silver paint.

  The person below bustled around the room, then stopped. Rachel imagined they were staring up, trying to decide if they should wake her.

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to be awake, but she would have to face the day sometime. Might as well be now.

  “Good morning,” she called.

  Her voice was raspy. Being out in the cold rain yesterday hadn’t done her any favors.

  “Good morning, miss. Would you like breakfast?”

  It sounded like the same woman from yesterday. Grace. Perhaps she was a volunteer who helped people seeking sanctuary?

  “I would love breakfast.”

  She hadn’t eaten anything last night at dinner. Just stared at her plate wishing everyone would go away.

  “Then climb down, and we’ll get you ready.”

  Rachel tried to sit up, but her muscles quivered and refused to move. She groaned.

  “Are you alright, miss? Didn’t you sleep well?”

  Was it Rachel’s imagination, or did Grace sound hopeful?

  “I-”

  Rachel stopped. She had been going to say that she had slept perfectly well. She didn’t want the priests to think she was ungrateful for their hospitality.

  But someone who slept well would be able to climb down the ladder.

  There was a scuffling sound, and Grace’s hea
d popped over the edge of the mattress. She studied Rachel with a critical eye.

  “You don’t look well rested, miss.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not.”

  The woman curtsied. An impressive thing to do while balanced on a ladder.

  “I am sorry about that. Wasn’t the bed to your liking?”

  Rachel raised an eyebrow, but Grace seemed serious. Was this some sort of game? A way to test her character and decide if she was worthy of sanctuary?

  “It is a lovely bed, but rather, um, firmer than I’m used to. I’m a little stiff this morning.”

  “Really? You didn’t find it comfortable?”

  There was no mistaking Grace’s excitement now. Her eyes sparkled with it.

  “No, I did not find it comfortable,” Rachel admitted. “In fact, I’m so stiff I’m afraid I won’t be able to come down for breakfast.”

  “Indeed?”

  Grace clapped her hands together, then grabbed the ladder again to keep her balance. Rachel simply stared. The woman’s behavior was beyond strange.

  “I wonder if I might speak to a priest?” Rachel asked. “I would like to arrange the details of my stay.”

  Grace beamed.

  “Oh, yes. There will be so many details to work out! I’ll fetch Friar Green at once, and some young men to help you down.”

  She practically jumped down the ladder and left Rachel to stare at the ceiling. She passed the time stretching her body out as best she could without falling off the bed and wondering if Friar Green was the priest she had met before. Rachel had almost loosened enough to sit up when Grace returned with help.

  After some debate, the young men created a sling out of the sheet and lowered Rachel to the floor with ropes. She cried out once as the rope dug into a particularly tender bruise, then bit her lip to keep silent the rest of the way down. Grace scolded the men for hurting their charge, and their apologies seemed genuine as they set Rachel in the chair by the fireplace, bowed, and hurried way.

  Rachel blinked. No one had ever bowed to her before.