Chapter Text
Ophélie was everything that girls of her time aspired to be: beautiful, rich, famous, and above all, a Princess.
However, those who saw her in the headlines couldn't even imagine what she thought of that life.
"I hate this shirt," she grumbled. She was standing on the bed, brushing her long brown hair.
Despite showing no sign of fatigue during her royal duties and being highly praised by the media for it, Ophélie felt exhausted.
During her tour of Europe, she had already visited London, Amsterdam, Paris, and now Rome, the famous Eternal City. It was her first time in the country, but the Italians spared no effort in welcoming her: a military parade and a ball held in her honor with 500 guests, most of whom were representatives of other monarchies.
The evening would have been perfect if she hadn't made the faux pas of taking off one of her shoes to scratch her ankle while greeting all the aristocrats present, and not putting it back on in time when she sat down, leaving the shoe exposed in front of her. Luckily, Marshal Wolf, who announced her entrance into the ballroom, invited her to dance, causing her to stand up, cover the shoe with her dress, and put it back on.
Her lady-in-waiting, Countess Roseline, heard her complaining about the nightgown.
She was a tall woman, with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, dark red hair, and a stern expression, but with an almost gentle, maternal way of speaking.
"My dear, your nightgown is beautiful!", she said to the young Princess, who was now gazing at her own reflection in the enormous golden mirror facing the bed.
"But I'm not 200 years old. I look like an old woman," she complained, sitting up in bed.
The Countess fluffed her pillows and straightened the impeccably white sheets of the enormous four-poster bed, paying little attention to what the young woman was saying.
Nothing could be more fitting for a Princess, Ophélie thought sarcastically.
"Why can't I wear pajamas?" She asked.
The Countess seemed horrified. In her mind, only men wore pajamas.
"Pajamas?!"
"Just the top part."
The Countess was perplexed, to the point of taking off her glasses and staring at the Princess. It wasn't the first time the young woman had had such ideas. When they were in London, she asked if she could walk around the city wearing boots. In Amsterdam, she asked if she could swim in the Canal Cruise in a swimsuit. In Paris, she wanted to drink wine at the top of the Eiffel Tower. In Rome it couldn't be any different: Ophélie would come up with another absurd idea. If she continued like this, Roseline would write a letter detailing these ideas to the Princess's mother, Queen Sophie.
"Did you know that there are people who sleep completely naked?" Ophélie asked, laughing.
"Thank God, you're not one of them," she replied, closing the heavy, dark curtains. Ophélie resumed brushing her long hair, but not for long. Outside, music, excited shouts, and honking cars could be heard. She stood up and ran to the balustrade to see what it was.
"Please don't get out of bed without putting on your slippers first," the Countess requested, going to fetch the slippers for the Princess.
Ophélie paid no attention to what she was saying, as she was more distracted watching the group of people near the river dancing and singing under the lights.
The Countess placed her slippers on the floor and stepped away from the balustrade to put them on. Instead of returning to the window, she went back to the richly decorated room, so similar to all the others she had stayed in during the last few weeks: frescoes, chandeliers, large windows, imposing beds, enormous mirrors, gold candelabras, and wooden floors. She lay down on the bed, which had already been made.
The noblewoman brought a plate of biscuits and a glass of milk. Ophélie ate and drank this every day before bed, ever since she was a child.
"Everything we do is so healthy," she murmured sadly. Her life wasn't bad, it was just... monotonous. Boring. Programmed. Regulated. Scripted.
There was never a single moment when her day wasn't planned: what she would wear, what she would eat, what shoes she would put on, what jewelry she would wear, who she would meet, how she would get there, how she would get back, and what she would do when she returned.
She was tired of it.
"They will help you sleep," replied the Countess.
"I'm too tired to sleep. Too tired to close my eyes."
The Countess ignored the complaint and began reading the schedule for the following day, which was packed, as always.
At 8:30 am, she was supposed to have coffee with the embassy staff.
At 9 a.m., she was going to an auto dealership, where she would be presented with a car, which she would politely refuse.
At 10:35 am, she would go to the countryside to do a small inspection of the agricultural society and would receive an olive tree as a gift, which she would gladly accept.
At 10:55 a.m., she would visit an orphanage and give a speech on trade relations, the same speech she gave in Paris. To the orphans, she would give a speech on youth and progress, the same speech she had given in Amsterdam.
At 11:45 AM, there would be a press conference about good manners and morals.
At 1 p.m., she would have lunch with the Minister of Foreign Affairs.
At 3:05 PM, a plaque would be unveiled.
At 4:10 PM, she would visit the police.
At 4:45 PM, she would return to my room to rest. She didn't realize that a storm of fury and resentment was brewing around the Princess.
"Stop!" Ophélie shouted, with all the anger she had accumulated since London.
She was completely exhausted, drained, tired of the same royal duties she had been charged with since she was 15 years old.
She rarely yelled, if ever in his life. She obeyed everyone and everything without question, respected authority, ignored his own feelings for the sake of others, and never raised his voice to anyone, until that moment.
She had no opinions.
She couldn't question it.
Ophélie was just a little doll, a puppet, properly trained only to smile and wave. Tears streamed down her beautiful face.
"Everything's fine," murmured the Countess, "it didn't spill." She was referring to the milk and biscuits on the bed.
This angered Ophélie even more. The words, which she hoped would be comforting, were not for her, but for the glass, the plate, the sheets, the bed, the room. The Countess was more concerned with not damaging the furniture and bedding than with the Princess's mental well-being. She had the impression that they, the objects, were worth more than her, and this hurt her even more. The emotions came out like an avalanche, a runaway car in the street, a tsunami.
"I'll call Doctor Lazarus for you," the Countess advised.
"I don't want to see him," cried Ophélie, "I want to be left here to die!"
The Countess almost rolled her eyes.
"You are not dying."
"Leave me alone!" she pleaded, crying into her pillow. Roseline was slowly losing her patience. She didn't understand the outburst. The young woman had everything she wanted, was well-liked by everyone, next in line to the throne, beautiful, and with a huge line of suitors.
"Why are you crying?" Roseline wondered. Ophélie did not answer.
"You're nervous, Ophélie! You need to calm down." She tried to hold the young woman's shoulders, but Ophélie squirmed angrily in bed.
"Then leave me alone!" She shouted again, with all the strength his lungs allowed.
"Your Highness!" the Countess reprimanded, finding that hysterical behavior utterly absurd and ridiculous.
"I'll call Doctor Lazarus."
"It won't do any good!" Ophélie murmured as the Countess left.
~
Doctor Lazarus was a 62-year-old man, neither tall nor short, with white hair and smile lines scattered across his face. He had been the royal family's physician for 40 years and was familiar with all the members, accompanying Princess Ophélie on her European tour. He was shocked to learn that she was having a hysterical fit.
He quickly accompanied Countess Roseline to the young woman's room and was relieved to see her asleep.
Perhaps the Countess is going mad, he thought.
Roseline herself thought she was going mad when she returned to the room and saw Ophélie resting peacefully on the pillows.
"She was hysterical three minutes ago," she explained.
He didn't want an unfounded rumor about the Princess being hysterical to spread. Lazarus placed the leather briefcase he always carried when he needed to attend to someone on the dresser and approached the Princess.
"Your Highness? Are you sleeping?" he asked.
"No," Ophélie replied softly. Lazarus touched his forehead to see if it was hot and took a thermometer out of his pocket. He always carried one with him.
"I'm embarrassed, Doctor. I started crying for no reason," she explained shyly. Subconsciously, she was pleased to be expressing emotions she had never expressed before, but consciously she felt ashamed for having reacted so strongly. Lazarus laughed and placed the thermometer in her mouth.
"It's perfectly normal to cry, even without a reason." The Countess nudged the doctor's arm.
"She needs to be rested and calm for the press conference tomorrow, Doctor," Roseline pleaded anxiously.
Lazarus knew she feared incurring Her Majesty the Queen's wrath should anything get out of control, and he completely understood. However, the Princess's health came first, regardless.
"Don't worry. I'll be relaxed and I'll bow my head, I'll smile, I'll thank you, I'll encourage trade relations between Italy and my country..." Ophélie didn't finish speaking because she began to cry copiously again. She buried her face in the pillow so that no one would see her state.
"Uncover her arm, please," he asked the Countess, who quickly proved helpful. Lazarus took a needle filled with medication and injected it into the Princess's arm.
"What is that?" she asked.
"It's just to help you sleep and relax. When it takes effect, you'll feel calm and happy. For now, stay lying down." He stroked her arm and smiled. He knew she was feeling that way because of her busy schedule and tiring days. She wiped away the remaining tears with the back of her hands.
"Could you leave a light on, please?"
"Certainly." He smiled and held her by the shoulders. "The best remedy for you, Your Highness, would be to do something you enjoyed for a while."
The Princess smiled.
"Thank you very much, Doctor." Lazarus liked her very much. She was polite, kind, friendly, and empathetic. Everything a young woman should be, especially a Princess who would be Queen.
He picked up his suitcase and said goodbye to Ophélie.
"Good evening, Your Highness!" He gave a small bow and left the room.
The Countess turned on the bedside lamp, as requested, and left the room, leaving Ophélie with her thoughts, waiting for the medicine to take effect. She admired the frescoes on the ceiling. No matter how many times she saw them, she would never tire of their beauty. If she could, she would visit all the museums, famous landmarks, and churches in Rome, appreciate the sculptures of Italian artists, the frescoes in the chapels, the paintings, the operas, the books. Everything.
The headboard was also of great beauty: winged cupids, bows, arrows, and a huge seashell, all bathed in gold. The medicine wasn't working, at least not as quickly as she'd hoped. She jumped out of bed and back onto the balustrade, without the slippers the Countess had so insisted on.
The dancing and singing continued, unaffected by Ophélie's outburst.
She was staying at the beautiful and old Palazzo Barberini, which offered an incredible view from that window; the city was illuminated, bright, exuberant, and imposing.
Despite the noise outside, nothing could be heard in Ophélie's room, nor from outside it; on the contrary, silence reigned, as if she were the only one in that enormous building.
Suddenly, with a burst of courage, she stepped away from the window and went towards her dressing room to change her nightgown for a skirt, a white blouse, and gloves, because she was still a lady, and a lady never left the house without her gloves.
She couldn't go out in my pajamas to explore the city at night.
The doctor had said that the best remedy would be if she did something she wanted to do.
Well, Ophélie always obeyed authority figures, so who was she to follow medical orders?
After changing his clothes, she gently opened the bedroom door to observe the movement outside, which was nonexistent: his bodyguard was asleep, as she had already suspected. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him sleeping on duty.
She closed the door as quietly as she could behind him and took off his shoes, stepping onto the floor in just his socks.
What would the Countess think of her at that moment? Barefoot, silently passing the guard, only to escape and explore the city at night?
"That's not the behavior expected of a Princess!" she would say to Ophélie, causing the vein in her forehead to become so prominent it felt like it was about to burst.
The young woman ran down the stairs and put her shoes back on when she got outside. She felt the warm wind brush against her legs.
Leaving the room was easy, but leaving the building would be difficult. She needed to find a way out of there, fast. The place was full of soldiers that the Marshal had offered to protect her, and she knew they wouldn't be sleeping on duty.
She ran away from the property and towards the courtyard, hiding behind a pillar.
She was out of breath.
She didn't do very strenuous physical exercise, just light walks and waltzes.
Everything befitting a Princess, who was now trying to escape and spend the night on the streets. As she took a deep breath, she heard a clatter of sacks clinking against each other. Emerging from behind the scoundrels and approaching the noise, Ophélie saw a small food truck. They were probably restocking the Palazzo Barberini's pantry overnight.
She didn't think twice: she waited for one of the helpers to move away from the truck and jumped inside, hiding behind a barrel, which she assumed contained wine, crates, and more sacks.
Your heart was pounding in your chest; she even thought she was going to faint.
The employee returned and closed the truck doors. Ophélie felt the engine reverberate and sat up like a crate.
She didn't know where the truck was going, but just knowing it was leaving the Palazzo was already more than enough to make her feel relaxed.