It is going to be the most memorable night of my life.
I, Princess Fredericka, get to officially attend a royal ball and not be hustled off to bed before the dancing even starts, because today is a momentous day. On this day, October first, eight hundred years ago, our family founded Colsteinburg.
Mademoiselle Colette adds a jeweled circlet to my pinned-up red hair.
“You are much too young for a tiara,” she frets, even as she makes sure it is straight.
“I’m twelve. Besides, tonight I need to look the part of a princess, wouldn’t you agree?” I ask my governess.
“Georgiana didn’t attend a royal ball until she was thirteen,” Mademoiselle Colette points out.
Finally I get to do something that Georgiana didn’t get to do!
“But how often does a country have an Octocentennial?” I ask. “I shouldn’t have to miss out just because my birthday hasn’t come around yet.” I turn my head this way and that as I study myself in the mirror. I like the way the tiara looks. Perhaps I can convince Mam to let me wear one all the time.
I use my phone to take a picture of the full effect and upload it to social media with the caption, “Finally going to a ball.”
Mademoiselle Colette sighs the put-upon sigh she’s perfected over the years. “Far be it from me to tell the king and queen how to raise their younger daughter. I only work here.”
I give her a hug. “But I love you, Mademoiselle. You know that. Are you going to the dance?”
“I am going to put my feet up and watch TV. That is as much excitement as I need.”
So little imagination. “You should go,” I say.
“Perhaps I’ll go for the dinner,” she says. “Now, go see if your mother approves of you.”
“Mam always approves of me,” I say, grinning at her.
She gives me a playful swat. “See if she approves of how you look.”
I nearly get the heels of my shoes tangled in my red-and-white silk floor-length gown as I start to walk. Mademoiselle Colette steadies me and shakes her head in despair.
“You need to be in pinafores and saddle shoes.”
I stick my tongue out at her and head down the thickly carpeted hall to my parents’ suite.
I knock, and the door is opened by Matilde, my mother’s lady’s maid. “May I see my mother, please?” I say.
“The king and queen are speaking with Mr. Frank, but you may come in and wait.” I go into the anteroom with its hanging tapestries and stained glass windows. “You look lovely, Your Royal Highness,” Matilde says.
“Thank you.” That’s one vote of approval anyway.
I hear voices coming from the adjoining sitting room, but I know better than to barge in when my parents are in a discussion with Pap’s top adviser, so I sit on a cushioned bench, swinging my feet and waiting.
“Frederick, I tell you there are people poisoning the atmo-sphere.” Ivan Frank’s raised voice comes through the closed door to me. “People who do not want another year of Mohr rule in Colsteinburg, let alone another eight hundred.”
Pap answers him but keeps his voice low, and his words are indistinct.
“I don’t know who!” Ivan responds, loudly. “There is someone behind the unrest though, but we haven’t found out who.”
I’ve seen the letters in the paper by people who aren’t happy with the way things are run, but things are run the way they always have been, and there are always people who aren’t happy about it. I’ve paid enough attention in history class to know that. One disgruntled rabble-rouser can cause a lot of problems. I hope they find him soon and put a stop to it.
“Watch your back,” Ivan continues. “Perhaps this celebration is ill advised.”
A shiver runs up my own back. What does he mean by that? Does he think that with unrest in the government, people will think the celebration is foolhardy, or does he think that something bad might happen?
The door opens, and they come out, my parents in their regal attire and Ivan Frank looking dashing in his tuxedo.
“Thank you, Ivan,” Pap says, his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I do not believe canceling the ball is the answer. If we were to do that, we would look afraid. I am not afraid. It would look as if we had something to fear. And we don’t. Let people talk. They always have.” He glances at me and lowers his voice. “And double security around the palace.”
Ivan nods his head. “Yes, Sire,” he says, and with a smile and nod to me, he leaves the room.
“Let’s have a look at you, Fritzi,” Pap says, grinning as if his adviser hadn’t just been giving him bad news.
I stand up and slowly turn around so Mam and Pap can see me.
Pap only became king of Colsteinburg last year when my grandfather died. Pap wears his formal uniform with a colorful array of ribbons and badges. I don’t know what all of them mean, but I do know only the king can wear them. And he’s the king.
Mam’s auburn hair is piled artfully on her head. Her gown is form-fitting and worthy of a Hollywood red carpet.
Next to them, I feel like a little kid playing dress-up.
“You look so grown up,” Pap says with approval.
“Too grown up,” Mam says. She doesn’t seem quite as satisfied. “What happened to my little girl?”
“I’m not so little anymore, Mam,” I say.
“No, I suppose you’re not.” She has a wistful tone in her voice, but I can’t help growing up. In fact, I can’t wait until I’m as grown up as Georgie and everyone takes me seriously.
“Is everything all right, Pap?” I ask, trying not to sound too concerned, even though Ivan’s words left a bubble of anxiety in my belly. “Ivan sounded worried.”
“It’s Ivan’s job to worry,” Pap says. “Everything is fine. Are you ready for your first ball?”
His certainty bursts the worry bubble, and I feel much lighter.
“Very!”
“Then let’s see if Georgie’s ready, and we can get this party started, what do you think?” Pap asks.
I grin back at him. “Sounds good!”
Georgie, of course, is not ready. She’s eighteen and doesn’t rush when she wants to look nice. When she is done, I feel like I should just fade into the woodwork. She’s elegant and graceful and looks exactly how someone would expect the next-in-line to the throne to look: blonde, fresh-faced, and cheerful.