CHAPTER TWO

The light streamed in from a window high in the wall of the haunted quarters in the East Wing. The young Princess stood slightly to one side of where the rainbow-like beam touched the floor, reading a book of verse. With a heavy sigh, she put the book down on a wooden stand and turned away to face her hard straw bed.
‘Is this the life of a Princess who is the sole heir to an ancient Kingdom?’ she asked herself. ‘Is this all I have to look forward to?’ But even while saying this she could not help but smile, just a little. It was a smile that never seemed to quite go away.
She picked up an old lute lying on the floor and started to strum a little joyful jig. Clutching the lute to her chest she started to dance around the East wing. Going through the wide doors into her bedroom, onto the floor below, where the cold seeped up from the dungeons; then running as fast as she could along the corridors while holding and playing the lute. All the time playing and singing and laughing and smiling.
Suddenly she stopped. Out of breath, arms aching from holding the instrument as she played it, she paused. She heard the metallic scratching sound of a key being inserted into the lock on the big main door connecting the East Wing to the rest of the castle. She hurried back to her bleak living room and listened as the firm but slow footsteps of her only human friend came up the wide winding staircase to his den.
‘Hello Limerun,’ said the Princess, ‘I’m glad to see you.’
‘Good morning, Princess,’ replied Limerun, ‘it’s good to see you in such a buoyant mood. Gracious me, but you look as though you are happy. Two and a half years in this awful place would have put me on my deathbed.’
‘Limerun. I shall not always be here. You said as much to me when I first arrived. I must be strong for my people. Are you still my friend?’
‘Yes, Princess. You know you may ask of me anything. I am terribly sad. We are the only two left in the Kingdom who think of good things to come. All the rest are distressed and exhausted by the hard and slavish work they have to do day by day to keep themselves alive.’
The two sat down together, side by side, on the edge of the straw bed. Limerun put his arm around the Princess, who was called Gilevroe, although hardly anyone now knew her name. Indeed, most of the people in the Kingdom had almost forgotten that Gilevroe existed.
Limerun was looking a little older now. His white hair seemed to have turned even more white, like snow on a high mountain bathed in strong sunlight. His long locks flowed down nearly to the small of his back, and were a little matted. Gilevroe saw there were more wrinkles turning downwards from his eyes and mouth. Gilevroe did not like this. She knew her friend was terribly sad.
‘Gilevroe,’ said Limerun, quietly, with an air of warning: ‘I think we have a problem.’
Gilevroe shuffled about on the bed. Some time ago she had learned to bury the hurt of being parted from her parents. Her smile had grown more forceful and more than a year ago the Chief Adviser had succumbed to its power. Now Limerun lived in fear that one day he would return from the dungeon and smile at the King and Queen. That would earn him a death sentence. Gilevroe had learned to enjoy the solitude. She knew that one day she would escape from isolation and rule her Kingdom. Then she would put into practice all the things she had been thinking about while alone in the East wing.
What Limerun was about to tell his young charge would shatter that illusion.
‘My little friend,’ continued the most senior of senior Advisers. ‘I am the bearer of bad tidings.’
He told her that the Palace was buzzing with a rumour that another child was on the way to the King and Queen. The Royal couple had come to the conclusion that passing the Evil Kingdom onto their firstborn was too risky. Despite his best efforts Limerun had been unable to persuade them that ‘The Smile’ had gone. They had no desire to see their one and only child. Indeed, they took great joy in pretending to Limerun that they had even forgotten her name. Now they had told him they were having another child and this time it would be a boy. ‘A normal one, Limerun, a normal one. None of that nonsense with ‘The Sm…’
Before he could finish the word his Queen had slapped him hard on the top of his head. ‘No mention of that horrible girl and that horrible apparition on her face.’
‘Sorry, my dear, so sorry,’ spluttered the King.
Limerun sat himself down on the bed beside Gilevroe and put his right arm around her shoulders. ‘I want you to be brave when I tell you this story.’
She turned and put on her strongest most royal face. ‘Of course, I shall be brave, dear Limerun.’
The Chief Adviser could not bear to look too long into Gilevroe’s eyes. His head slid back until he was focusing on the ceiling. An eerie feeling came over him. He watched as a spindly spider slowly made its way across the roof timbers. He had the distinct impression that the spider was spying on him. Don’t be stupid, he told himself. You’ve just been working too hard. Get some rest.
Limerun started babbling on to Gilevroe about what was going to happen when the birth came near.
‘When a Queen goes into labour the whole Palace becomes like a hive of bees disturbed by a gardener’s fork. The building will be buzzing with activity, with servants running back and forth, doctors and nurses hurrying from the bedroom to the conference room and to the hospital; butlers and chief maids rushing around giving orders to all and sundry. Everybody doing a bit of this and a bit of that. Getting in each other’s way all the time.’
There would be so much chaos when this happened that the most Senior Adviser and his little Princess might be able to pass through the entire castle in some clever disguise without anyone so much as giving them a second glance.
Limerun went on to explain his plan. Each would dress as a servant and Limerun would hide his long white locks in a big cap. If they put their heads down, they would be in the safety of the big Palace garden within minutes. All that remained was for Limerun to make sure that he was the first to hear about the Queen going into labour. And, of course, that was no difficult thing, since the Most Senior Adviser, would naturally be the first to know.
‘As the eldest child, reared in safety although not in the royal household, when the time comes for the throne to be passed on I will ensure you return in splendour.