Chapter Text
“Isadora! Come down from there, you will surely fall!” The small voice of timid young Melantha rang through the castle gardens. Isadora grinned down at her from the wall. Melantha jumped atop an overturned flower pot and tried to coax her friend down. Isadora, fearless as always, jumped down and landed on her feet in the freshly turned earth of the gardener’s brand new rose bed. The gardener saw her trample some of his precious Venetian roses, and he came storming over, ears turning red and a trowel in hand. Isadora giggled and grabbed Melantha’s hand, pulling her through a patch of honeysuckle and into the side door that the servants used for serving garden parties. The girls ran through the halls, tracking mud and flower petals onto the cobblestone floors of the servants' passages. Clara, the head laundress, shouted after them to stop, but Isadora paid her no mind, pulling Melantha further into the castle. After some time, they reached Melantha’s chambers, and the two sprawled out on the rug in the middle of her bedchamber, panting hard. Just then, a woman burst into the room. Queen Cordelia, red in the face and clearly livid.
“Princess Melantha! It does not become a young lady of your status to be traipsing around in the gardens with the daughter of a lady in waiting, as though you were some common servant!” The queen berated her daughter, and Isadora sat beside her, looking ashamed for once. Maria, Isadora’s mother, walked into the room looking distressed, and upon seeing the queen, curtsied, before she turned to her daughter.
“Isadora, what is this?”
“Take your daughter away Maria,” The queen ordered, sweeping out of the room. “And send Cecily to help Melantha change!” Maria did as she was ordered and took Isadora from the room.
Melantha sat on the floor in her mudstained dress, bewildered and sad. Cecily entered the room a few minutes later, and helped the morose Melantha into a fresh dress. Melantha trailed behind the maid all the way to the great hall, where her parents were expecting her for a banquet. Today, Queen Cordelia and King Johan would be presenting their nine year old daughter to the rest of society as a potential bride, or as Melantha understood it, a political pawn to be trapped in a foreign castle forever. She sat at the high table, kicking her feet under the table and picking at her food. Queen Cordelia leaned over and whispered in her ear.
“Look happy to be here, we are trying to set you up with a nice prince.”
“I do not want to marry some boring, stuffy prince, I wish never to marry.” Melantha said defiantly. Queen Cordelia frowned, turning back to her food with a sniff and a warning glance. Melantha plastered on a half smile, and continued picking at her food. Lord Cornelius, a stuffy old man that Melantha had never liked, stood from his place near the end of the table, and raised his glass of fine French wine.
“A toast, to whomever may be lucky enough to have our dear Princess Melantha as a daughter-in-law!” He proclaimed with enough pomp and show to make a peacock jealous. Melantha rolled her eyes and sighed. As the courtiers raised their glasses, she felt a tap on her knee from below the table. She glanced down, and saw Isadora sitting crosslegged beside to her chair, smiling. Melantha smiled back, and Isadora whispered.
“These old men are all quite annoying, are they not?” Melantha nodded slightly and smiled again. Just then, a footman burst in through the doors of the hall, red in the face and yelling,
“An attempt has been made on the life of the King!” Two guards followed him, one on each side of a figure in a maid’s uniform and a sack over her head.
“We caught her attempting to poison your dinner my lord.” The guard on the left said as he pulled the sack off the woman’s head. Maria. Isadora gasped and ran to her mother, but was quickly grabbed by the footman and thrown to the ground, scraping her arm on the cobblestone floor as she fell, sobbing, in a heap. King Johan stood and addressed Maria.
“Is this true?” The lady in waiting was silent, head bowed.
“She will not answer, it must be so!” Queen Cordelia exclaimed. The hall was filled with muttering and someone audibly gasped on the other side of the room. Isadora was still on the floor, and Melantha wanted so badly to run and help her, but one glance from her mother smashed any such designs. The footman kicked Isadora hard in the back and turned to the king once more.
“What shall be the consequence for this lady-in-waiting my lord?”
“Throw her in the dungeons, and send her child to an orphanage. The children of traitors deserve no kindness.” King Johan said coldly, not even sparing a glance at the girl who lay crumpled on the floor before him as he sat back in his stately chair. Melantha watched in horror as Maria and Isadora were dragged off. Queen Cordelia turned to her daughter and whispered,
“This is why you do not associate with common servant’s children.” Melantha bowed her head and remained that way for the rest of the banquet.
The king and queen spent a great deal of time assuring the people that no harm had been done to the king, and that Maria would be punished severely. After what felt like ages, Queen Cordelia ordered that Melantha be taken to her chambers. Cecily came to escort her and help her settle in, and Melantha followed her numbly, still stunned by the events of the evening.
“Cecily, what is to happen to Isadora?” she asked quietly. All the answer Cecily could give her was a sad smile and a pat on the shoulder as she led her to her chambers. As Cecily helped her out of her fine gown and into a nightdress, Melantha caught a glimpse of her own face in the mirror on the wall. Her blue eyes were red and puffy, although she had not been crying. Cecily gave her a pitying glance as she finished lacing the ties of the nightdress and coaxed her into her bed.
“I do not know my lady, but I can safely say that Isadora will never again see these halls.” She whispered as she brushed the dirt Melantha and Isadora had tracked in from the bedclothes. Melantha watched her leave the room and shut the heavy oak door before she let herself cry. The tears rolled down her cheeks slowly at first, then became a storm streaming down her face. She lay there, silently mourning the loss of her only friend, until she drifted into a fitful sleep.