The Secret of the Seven Princesses

Organized chaos reigned throughout the dining room. With seven growing princesses, such pandemonium was not irregular. Indeed, many of the servants had come to expect that each meal would be a challenge. Unfortunately, not everyone was so accepting of that fact.

King Gustave exasperatedly regarded his daughters under thick red eyebrows. Would they never learn to truly act like ladies, like princesses? Each of the princesses were contributing in some way to the dining room bedlam through a disrespectful lack of table manners; food seemed to fly even from those who weren't actively throwing it, many felt the need to shout across the table to be heard, and none of them seemed to care about using the proper utensils for the main course. If their mother had been alive…but he stopped this painful train of thought.

The spread before the royal family was typical of any dinner at the manor. The table groaned underneath plentiful dishes of roast beef, honeyed ham, boiled potatoes, candied yams, Yorkshire pudding, shepherd's pie, and numerous other delicacies. At the beginning of the meal, the feast had been arranged with as much care as a painter lends to his art. But as the meal progressed, the table began to resemble a pig's trough. Surprisingly, all seven princesses had remained relatively unscathed from the various array of the feast.

Gustave did not expect that to last much longer.

As a chicken wing randomly flew across the table, the king sighed heavily, rolled his eyes and looked to his eldest daughter for reassurance. Eralie, at the very least, knew how to behave with some decorum. She sat to his immediate right of the table, demurely nibbling at her potatoes.

At twenty-two, she was the picture of her mother, with long black hair and a slender frame. Her eyes—though blue instead of brown—held the same dreamy look that told of a wandering mind. Named for the Muse of Love, Eralie emulated her namesake through her romantic tendencies and daydreams. For any normal person, a chickpea flying past her face would have pulled her out of her reveries. But not Eralie. She remained oblivious to the commotion around her.

This blissful ignorance was not shared by Gustave's second eldest daughter, twenty-one-year-old Cliodne. From her place to Gustave's left, she had pushed her plate away as if she no longer had an appetite. Plopping her elbows unceremoniously on the table, she impatiently buried her face in her hands. Her corkscrew curls spilled over her ears like a tawny waterfall, and her hazel eyes glared daggers at her sister Callia through her fingers.

Seemingly innocent, the third princess refused to lift her green eyes from the book she was reading. Gustave had grown tired of telling her not to bring a book to the table, and had long ago decided to quit wasting his breath. Indeed, he had to fight awe as he observed her methodical motions; not once did she look up from the page she was reading, and yet Callia still ate her dinner steadily and without incident. Every so often, a piece of food would fly her way. When it did, the nineteen-year-old would simply fling her own spoonful of victuals with startling accuracy, never once lifting her wavy brown head to look up.

A dollop of shepherd's pie landed near Gustave's wine goblet, causing him to turn a quelling glance to Thaleia, his fourth daughter. The seventeen-year-old's gray eyes sparkled mischievously before dropping in feigned shame. Her dark auburn hair, which had been brushed and shining at the start of dinner, was now mussed in its standard ponytail. If he had to guess, the king would have ventured that most of the mess tonight and in previous nights had been made by his incorrigible tomboy. Even if he didn't wish to voice it aloud, Gustave would wager that besides Callia, Thaleia was the only other girl to hit her target most of the time.

Across the table, the scene could not have been more different. Despite the fact that Thaleia's twin, Raia, was seated opposite her, the girls didn't really have much more in common. Raia's light auburn hair was neatly pulled into a low bun, with wispy tendrils tickling her ears, and her dark blue eyes were focused on her plate in concentration. However, she wasn't eating. The artist of the family, Raia was currently focusing on her latest masterpiece: a towering sculpture of the manor's clock tower, fit to scale, made of corn, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Normally a very docile girl, Raia looked up only for a moment to stare down a dinner roll that had come just a bit too close to the tower for her liking.

As the dinner roll soared past the tower, a quick hand reached out and grabbed it from midair. Before anyone even noticed, Petra had stacked the roll on top of the other four next to her plate. Along with the roll, there were three baked potatoes, two cups of pudding, two goblets of wine, and ten concentric circles of some random vegetable mix. Casting about a quick glance with her brown eyes, sixteen-year-old Petra blew a loose wisp of her chin-length brown locks out of her face before striking out her fork to stab a stray pea off the side of her sister's dish.

"Hey!" Eurielle squealed. The youngest of all the princesses at fifteen, her blue eyes were pulled away from her dumpling-and-spoon cannon as she angrily stared at Petra. She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder as she turned to face the kleptomaniac sister. "Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" Petra asked innocently.

"Take my food! And my brush, and all my things!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Petra said coolly, using her own spoon to eat some of her vegetables.

"You do too know what I'm talking about," Eurielle hissed dangerously. Turning her attention back to her cannon, she flung some of her peas at Petra. Unfortunately, she had terrible aim and by some unlucky chance her barrage of peas hit Callia, who in turn believed the peas to come from Thaleia. It was surprising to Thaleia when a mushy plop of mashed potatoes landed in her goblet, but not quite shocking enough to keep her from starting an all-out mini food fight.

Gustave simply rubbed his temples, took a sip of wine, and narrowly avoided being hit by several spoonfuls of now unidentifiable mixtures of food. He knew better than to try and gain control of the situation now; the last time he had attempted to interfere, it had taken several washes before his favorite vest had come clean, and even then it was never the same. He knew that the best thing to do was let them wear themselves out. His plan was working well enough, but no sooner had he thought that the whole thing was over did a whole tomato land squarely on top of Raia's clocktower sculpture.

There was a dead silence in the dining hall as everyone prepared themselves for the aftershock. Raia stared at her ruined work of art, hardly breathing. Realization dawned. She stood up so fast that her chair fell backwards, inhaled deeply, and shouted at the top of her lungs.

"WHO. DID. THAT?"

Everyone was silent. No one was willing to step forth and take the blame. Gustave quickly glanced at all the princesses. Eralie was staring at Raia. Cliodne was glaring at Thaleia. Callia had stopped reading and was now using the book as a shield. Thaleia was gaping across the table at her twin. Petra was busy hoarding another dinner roll. Eurielle hid behind her hands.

Just as Raia gripped the edge of the tablecloth in preparation of ripping it out from under the once-magnificent feast, the sound of a doorknob turning permeated the silence. Within seconds, all of the princesses had situated themselves in a respectful manner. Eurielle silently ate soup from an empty bowl. Petra took a breadstick from Raia's plate and Raia herself solemnly sipped tea from a delicate china cup with her pinky extended. Thaleia nibbled on a piece of fried okra. Callia's book had mysteriously disappeared, and she was currently taking a leisurely sip from her wine goblet. Cliodne tried her best to look preoccupied with buttering a piece of bread. Eralie touched nothing and stared expectantly at the door as Gustave loudly cleared his throat.

The door opened, emitting King Gustave's head steward and right-hand man, Sir Typharius Bionne, formerly of Elensar. His sandy blond hair fell into his face slightly as he bowed, respectfully averting his hazel eyes. The room was silent save for the dull thud of his footsteps as he crossed the room. Gustave rose from his chair and inclined his head in order to hear the whispered words from Sir Bionne.

"The Marquis of Charyn has respectfully requested permission to speak with you in the entrance hall, Your Majesty. Shall I inform him of your incapacity at the moment?"

Gustave glanced down the length of the table at his daughters, all of whom were calmly and innocently eating their suppers. He severely wished that he could escape from the present scene, even to talk with the Marquis of Charyn—a renowned blockhead and scatterbrain. But suppertime was a highly regarded tradition, not only in Kyoria but in the neighboring countries of Elensar and Deturus as well. If it was to become known that he—the king of Kyoria—had neglected to dine with his family, the ramifications would prove disastrous and could even start a war.

King Gustave had no intention of starting a war over something as insignificant as eating dinner.

He nodded wearily, picking up his fork as he sat once again.

Sir Bionne turned to leave the dining room. Before slipping through the door, he cast one glance towards the seven princesses sitting around the table. A smile quirked the corners of his mouth and his eyes sparkled in amusement.

"By the way, m'ladies, you're not fooling anyone."

His exit was accompanied by a loud thunk as Cliodne dropped her fork. Silence filled the room before being broken by Thaleia's trademark snort. Eurielle burst into giggles, her face turning pink. The rest of the sisters soon joined in with the riotous gaiety. Raia gazed wistfully at her damaged creation before succumbing to the merriment.

Gustave sighed heavily and took a sip from his wine goblet as the guffaws, chuckles, giggles, and tinkling laughter of his amused daughters echoed across the mangled feast. Though he couldn't help but smile at their enjoyment, his forehead remained wrinkled in consternation as Gustave considered how best to amend the unacceptable and unladylike behavior of his daughters.

Author's Note: Reviews and constructive critiques are always welcome, but please no flamers!