The Maid and the Monarch

Chapter 2: Princess Minerva

Princess Minerva had another name. Mad Minerva, they called her. Mad Minerva, who couldn't stand the pressures of being nobility. Mad Minerva, who stayed in her tower and refused even the most influential guests. Mad Minerva, whom I now had to tell about her father's passing.

Something about the nickname had always felt wrong to me. Like it was unfair somehow, even though I'd never met the Princess. Until now, that is.

I knocked on the door to her chambers and heard a muffled admission from within. One of her personal staff, a servant a few years older than me, opened the door. I entered, ducking my head in respect.

"Butterfly," Princess Minerva said.

I looked up in confusion and my breath caught in my throat. Princess Minerva was beautiful. The sort of enchanting, haunting beauty I had heard of in faerie tales. She was slender and elegant, from the soft curve of her neck to the spread of her long fingers on the book resting in her lap. Her hair, a rich chestnut, had been put up into a complex bun and held in place with a sliver pin in the shape of a flower. She wore a simple dress dyed pink and blue, one strap of which had slipped from her shoulder and left the very top of her chest exposed. That alone would have left me speechless, struggling against the warmth that filled me.

But then there were her eyes.

There was a resemblance, unmistakably, to Prince Leon's sapphire gaze and general bone structure, but only in the ways that a candle resembles the sunset. Princess Minerva had eyes that held the sky in them. They shone like sunlight on water. I met her gaze, and felt myself melt inside.

"Butterfly!" she said, and smiled at me. I fell in love all over again.

"A thousand pardons," a servant--the one who had answered the door--said, dragging me back to reality, "but Princess Minerva is confused. We have just finished tending to her butterfly garden."

That too, I had heard rumors about. The Princess maintained a small flower garden within her tower where she raised a wide variety of butterflies.

"Of-of course," I struggled to regain control of myself. I was a maid. Even looking at the Princess for too long would be improper.

"What is your reason for being here?" the servant prodded, "the Princess is not to be disturbed for unimportant matters."

"I'm sorry, your highness," I curtsied, trying to keep my eyes on the floor. "I have terrible news. Your father... he's been killed."

How were you supposed to break this sort of news to someone? Probably more with more care and compassion than I had. The servant inhaled sharply. Princess Minerva made no sound. I risked a glance up at her.

Her eyes were still on me, searching for something I didn't understand. She looked neither sad nor angry, merely perplexed.

"Your highness?" the servant asked, "I'm so sorry for your loss. What must we do?"

"Go away," Princess Minerva ordered, "I want to be alone."

At her command, out bodies snapped into motion. The Imperative practically dragged the servant and I out the door as we scrambled to exit as quickly as we could. If I had been in control of myself, I would have taken another glance back. I might have said something, offered some small comfort. Or at least had one last look at the Princess who had locked herself away from the world.

The servant pulled the door shut behind us. He was a shorter man in his late forties, I guessed. Simon, I thought I remembered his name being.

"Is the king truly dead?" maybe-Simon asked.

I nodded. "I was the one to find him. He had a knife stabbed through his heart." I tapped my chest in a way that was definitely too flippant, and immediately regretted it.

Maybe-Simon didn't seem to care. "Murdered," he mumbled, "then the killer is still at large? They could still be in the castle?"

"I... suppose." My stomach flipped. In my rush to bring the news to Princess Minerva, I hadn't considered the agent behind the king's demise. An assassin bold enough to kill the most powerful man in the kingdom. An assassin that might strike again.

"We should spread the word among the servants," maybe-Simon said, "make sure everyone gets back to their rooms while the guards search the castle. If we are going to catch the murderer, it will likely be this evening."

Something inside me tingled at his mention of the coming night. I remembered Prince Leon's words from before, his desire to have me first, before his brothers could claim me. The Imperative pulled on my chest. He had ordered me to spend the night with him, and his powers demanded that I obey.

But the Imperative wasn't absolute, was it? I tried to focus on the feeling inside me, the instinctual urge to submit. It wasn't overwhelming, I could fight it for an evening, couldn't I?

In my village, they told stories of people who tried to resist the Imperative of our nobility. My father, whose face I could not picture, had always swept me away before the ending. Only when he had died and when my mother was too sick to watch me, was I able to sit for the whole tale. I couldn't sleep for several weeks afterwards.

"Head to your room," maybe-Simon said, oblivious to my internal distress, "I'll swing by the kitchens and let people there know."

He left me alone. I took a deep breath, slowly counting the seconds. Maybe-Simon was right, I should go to Prince Leon's chambers. NO!

Startled, I shook my head. The thought had slipped its way into my mind, it spoke in my own voice, though its aim was entirely alien to me. Go to your room, I thought, one step at a time. Your room. Not his. Yours.