It is time for bed,” Mademoiselle Colette says.
I’m not ready for it to end. Now I understand how awful Cinderella felt when the clock struck midnight. It’s like I’ve been playacting. Monday, I’ll be wearing my school uniform again instead of a silk ballgown. I would argue with Mademoiselle Colette, but years of experience have taught me that it’s pointless. She always gets her way.
“I’ll see you back at school tomorrow night,” I say to Sophia and give her a quick hug.
“Yes. See you then.” Sophia goes to find her parents. The magic is over for everyone, and I turn back to my governess.
“Did you see me dance with Prince Etienne?” I ask, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “And this dress,” I say, twirling to give her the full effect of the silk and lace. “Isn’t it the most beautiful dress you ever saw?”
“It’s lovely.” Mademoiselle Colette reaches for my arm, but I dance just out of her reach.
“Wasn’t tonight fantastic beyond belief? I never knew a ball could be this wonderful. I’d always figured it was from what I was allowed to see, but I never knew for sure. Why didn’t you tell me how wonderful balls were?”
“Because.” Mademoiselle Colette firmly grips my arm so I can’t dance away from her again. “You would have been pestering to be included.” She leads me out of the ballroom, upstairs, away from the last remnants of the festivities and to my own bedroom.
The heavy velvet curtains are closed, the embroidered bedspread turned down, and my nightgown set out, ready for me to put on, but I’m not ready to get into bed yet.
“This night was just too fabulous!” I spin around the room. Music still plays in my head. My feet won’t stay still.
“Let me unzip you, Fredericka,” Mademoiselle Colette says, standing patiently in the middle of my room.
I dance my way over to her and let her unzip my dress. It falls in a heap to the floor. I glide to the bed and slip my nightgown over my head. If I close my eyes, it can be a beautiful silk gown instead of sturdy cotton.
“When do you think we’ll have another ball?” I ask. “Next week? Next month?” Mam and Pap are always going to balls, whether at our palace or someplace else. Maybe now I can go with them.
“That may be a bit soon,” Mademoiselle Colette says as she places my gown on a hanger. “Go brush your teeth.”
“I’m not even tired,” I say, but I head into the adjoining marble-accented bathroom and wash my face and brush my teeth. As soon as I’m done rinsing, I dance back out.
“Fredericka.” Mademoiselle Colette sounds tired, even though I’m not. “Please get in bed. It’s after one.”
I slide under the covers, but I’ll never get to sleep. My feet want to keep dancing. “Good night, Mademoiselle Colette,” I say. “I’m going to remember tonight forever.”
“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” she says softly. “I’m sure you will.” She backs out of the room, as if to make sure I don’t sneak out of bed before she’s gone, then turns out the light and shuts the door.
I stare into the darkness and stretch. Maybe I am a little tired. The best parts of the ball play themselves over and over in my mind, like a highlights video.
I dance and I dance, circling the ballroom floor under the twinkling lights as people chant my name. “Fritzi, Fritzi.”
Only family and friends call me Fritzi. Something isn’t right.
Mam gently shakes my arm. “Fritzi, wake up.”
No. I want to dance some more. I burrow under the covers.
“You have to get up,” Mam says. She stops shaking my arm, and her footsteps echo as she walks across the floor. Even from under the blanket, I can tell she’s flipped on the light. I peer out just enough to see what time it is. Not even four o’clock.
I push back the covers, rub my eyes, and stare at Mam. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and rummaging through my closet.
“What are you doing?”
“You have a backpack someplace here, don’t you?”
“Ja. I guess.” When did I last use it? Maybe our trip to Paris over the summer.
Things are flying out of my closet. Why is she looking for my backpack at four in the morning? Finally, she pulls it out.
“Here,” she says, wiping a stray hair from her forehead. “Pack only what is absolutely necessary. Clothes to last a couple of days, and anything you can’t live without.”
“What?” I rub my eyes again. “Why?”
“There’s no time for questions. Just get dressed and pack.” She’s so sure I’m going to do what she says that she heads out the door.
Outside, there’s a crash, and glass shatters. I jump out of bed and push back the curtain. On the other side of the gate, there are people. Dozens of people. Maybe hundreds of people. They’re yelling, but I can’t tell what they’re saying. Some of them have signs, but I can’t read them. There are more crashes as the mob throws things over the fence at the palace. Things have obviously progressed beyond letters in the paper. Is this what Mr. Frank was warning Pap about?
I let the curtain drop back into place and run next door to Georgie’s room. She’s already dressed in jeans and a T-shirt and carefully loading up her own backpack.
“What’s going on?” I ask, hands on hips, with maybe just a little bit of a foot stamp.
Georgie looks up from her packing and frowns. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”
“There’s a mob out there,” I say. “An angry mob.”
Georgie doesn’t look shocked by that information. “Yes,” she says and puts another pair of pants in her bag. “You better get dressed.”
“Where are we going?”
“Away.” Georgie shoves in another shirt. “We have to hurry.”
“But why?”
Georgie waves her hand at me, as if shooing away an annoying bug.
Fine. I go back to my room and sit on my bed, legs crossed, trying to puzzle this out. Mr. Frank warned of trouble. He said they were looking for the person behind it. But maybe it is too late; maybe the trouble has spread. I jump as something else crashes outside.
Clearly the trouble has spread.
But why? Pap isn’t some crazy tyrannical ruler. He’s nice. He wants what is best for Colsteinburg. Just because some people want different things doesn’t mean they should throw things at us.
What are some of those different things people want? I know I’ve read the letters, seen the complaints and demands, but the only thing that comes to mind is that some people want it to be free to tour the castle, since it technically belongs to the people of Colsteinburg. I remember that because I had visions of tourists wandering in and out of my bedroom all day long.
My door opens, and Georgie bursts in, backpack over her shoulder. “Fritzi! You haven’t done a thing!” She opens my drawers and throws jeans and a shirt on the bed. “Put that on.”
I do as I’m told while Georgie packs other clothes for me. She scans my room and asks, “Is there anything you must have with you?”
My room is full of souvenirs and favorite things I’ve collected over the years. There’s my dragon collection: everything from whimsical crocheted ones to elegant porcelain ones. There are my snow globes. I have one from every major capital in Europe except Helsinki. I couldn’t find one there for some reason. You’d think with all that snow, they’d have lots of snow globes. There are my autographed books and pictures, including one from Prince Harry, which was kind of a joke between us last time we visited England. Sir Fred, my teddy bear, sits up on the shelf, all alone and forgotten. I haven’t needed him to sleep with since I was five.
“We’re coming back here, aren’t we?” I ask.
“I hope so,” Georgie answers and shoves my tablet computer and phone into my bag. She grabs some jewelry off my dresser and shoves that in too. Then she zips the bag and hands it to me. “Let’s go, Fritzi. We have to leave.” She heads out the door without even a look back.
“Wait!” I run after Georgie, my bag thumping against my back.