The Secret of the Seven Princesses

It did work. For weeks and weeks, it worked.

Eurielle smiled happily as she thought of how Raia's plan had gone off without a hitch. Petra had procured a large bundle of the sleep-inducing root from the palace gardens, which Raia had dried and crushed into a fine odorless powder. Each night, the princesses offered Justine a valerian root-laced cup of wine upon her entrance to their chamber nearly an hour before their scheduled bedtime. The first night, Raia had claimed that it was only fitting that Justine join them in this "nightly routine," and the woman seemed little the wiser that the routine had only been invented that morning. The maid was more than willing to accept the offering, as she was unused to such luxuries, and of course agreed not to divulge that they'd given her wine while "on duty." In keeping with the routine, the princesses joined her in partaking of the (undrugged) drink so as to avoid any suspicion. Eurielle had never really liked the taste of red wine very much, so she just kept her lips closed and pretended to drink and swallow, her eyes trained on Justine's face until an elbow jab from Petra reminded her to look away.

The initial effects of the sedative were gradual—so much so that neither Valeria nor Justine suspected anything when the housekeeper visited at her usual time. Not long after the door was locked, however, the younger woman displayed the classic signs of sleepiness: excessive yawning, unsteadiness of gaze, and the tendency to keel over on the nearest piece of furniture. Of course, Eurielle hadn't actually seen these behaviors for herself. The first night, she had awoken from her own sleep when Justine collapsed into the corner armchair, her slightly-open mouth emitting the faintest of snores. Cliodne and Thaleia had carried the maid from the chair to her cushy collapsible cot in order to make her more comfortable and to keep her from getting a crick in her neck the next morning. Justine's complete lack of reaction when moving her had convinced Cliodne that nothing short of an earthquake would wake the drugged servant, so she gave her official sanction to descending into the sanctum as usual.

As she stepped into the brightly lit room, Eurielle breathed deeply, inhaling the magic that permeated through the air and into her very skin. As always, the last vestiges of her exhaustion were wiped away; indeed, she never felt more energized than when she was in the Room, and this was partially the reason why she felt compelled to return each night.

The princesses fanned out across the room, each with a complicit understanding of her role and responsibilities for the night's activities. Though their adventures in the sanctum had initially begun with the spontaneity of their bedtime skits, the past six months had witnessed a change in the context of their storylines—or, as things progressed, storyline. For they had not changed the skit for many nights now, instead choosing to perfect and reenact a story of Callia's that they'd all taken a liking to.

For all intensive purposes, the story was perfect for each of their preferences. It had the right amount of danger, intrigue, and adventure to suit Thaleia and Petra, and its dramatic scenes perfectly fit Eurielle's, Raia's, and Eralie's expectations. As for Cliodne, she was satisfied that the female characters had the right balance of femininity and independence to make them interesting heroines, rather than tiresome. In both respects, both the story and their acting pursuits had flourished beyond their wildest dreams, and each princess found her natural role in either the production or the story itself.

More and more, the princesses had been relying on Callia to dictate the story, rather than merely narrating. She was the natural storyteller of the group, and it seemed only natural that she be the one to keep track of the story itself. Eurielle, for one, had never before cared whether their skits made sense—it was all in good fun after all—but Cliodne insisted that Callia attempt to keep the story as justifiable as possible. Considering Eurielle's and Thaleia's penchants for throwing curve balls, Callia certainly kept herself busy in constantly revising the script and making changes to scenes that didn't flow on stage.

Eurielle prided herself on her acting abilities, but she knew that some of her sisters, particularly Cliodne, were a little weak in learning her lines and expressing the true aura of her character, however minor it was. Cliodne more than made up for her deficiencies by her invaluable direction and guidance. She had fallen into her natural leadership abilities by acting as the director of their production, and if her short monologue as the quirky housemaid sounded rather stilted at times, then so be it.

As self-appointed set designer, Raia had at first expressed her disappointment that the sanctum made her job somewhat unnecessary. The gemstone mosaic behind the stage that she had found so extraordinary upon their first visit soon proved to be even more than it appeared. The scene changed with each entrance into the room, the gemstones impossibly rearranging into a different landscape while still retaining its color palette. However, Raia soon turned her artistic skills to other pursuits—namely, costume design. It was a wonder what that girl could do with a needle and a little imagination.

She, Cliodne, and Callia worked closely together in creating their "vision," as they called it. All three were so involved in their production responsibilities and in making the play move smoothly, that they were not overly interested in acting major parts. Instead, they took responsibility for filling in the minor roles whenever needed…therefore making room for the actresses.

Eurielle was sure that Eralie was born to be a heroine. The play was just an excuse for her to be what she was meant to be all along. Eurielle personally thought—though she would never admit it to Callia or to Eralie—that the former had unintentionally modeled the story's heroine, Mirium, off the eldest sister. Just like the actress, the heroine's dreamy exterior and romantic nature concealed an astute mind, strong character, and an even fiercer heart. In short, Eralie's character allowed her to play the part of the strong woman hidden within an apparently passive heroine. In a way, her acting was perfect because she technically wasn't acting at all.

Thaleia was born to be…well, not a hero exactly, but definitely heroic. Eurielle was convinced that there wasn't a better swordsman even among her father's guards…and that was saying something. Always the tomboy, she flourished in this role as Liam, the dashing nobleman's son, though Eurielle personally thought that Thaleia's face was too pretty to pass for a man, even a young one. Well, it did help a lot that Thaleia excelled in acting, even more than Eralie. Her powerful acting and line delivery always left Eurielle feeling weak-kneed and awed.

If Thaleia's part left Eurielle feeling awestruck, Petra just scared her. Cast as Captain Blackguard, the criminal mastermind and terror of the high seas, she played her part with relish. Not only that, but she seemed to truly enjoy her unofficial role as the "procurer" of all the props and pieces. Eurielle suspected that Petra liked having an "official" sanction for her less-than-admirable habits.

As for Eurielle herself, she didn't really have a preference between working behind-the-scenes or on stage. On the one hand, she was playing the part of Petra's evil yet feeble-minded minion, and she felt that she portrayed the character very well, thank you very much. Even though her role didn't fit her like Eralie's or Thaleia's, or even Petra's, she relished the challenge of portraying Mr. Spronk's immature absurdities and loudmouthed characteristics, because it was so opposite from her own personality. What fit just as well, though, was the work she conducted with music and sound effects, trying to compile a repertoire of sounds and eclectic tunes for use during the production. She had to admit, she got so involved in making sure that the sounds of the scene went smoothly that she sometimes skipped a line or missed her entrance completely. Callia was usually the picture of patience when this happened, Cliodne less so, but Petra could be downright mean about it.

For the most part, the princesses' production improved more with each midnight rendezvous. The transitions became more seamless, and even when Eurielle misplaced a line or Callia fell off the stage in her enthusiasm, they were becoming more and more comfortable with the play itself and with each other's quirks, strengths, and weaknesses.

And that was the way Eurielle liked it.

Eurielle could not seem to stop raving about the previous night's excitement. It wasn't every night, after all, that the princesses were able to get through the entire story without a single misstep or redo. For the first time in months, she'd awoken that morning with little problem, the euphoria still running through her veins. And when Eurielle was excited, she liked to talk. A lot. And to anyone who would listen (though of course in this case, Eurielle knew to keep her confidantes within the circle of her sisters).

At this moment, the youngest princess was talking the ears off of Callia as the two walked together toward the dining room for dinner. Eurielle nearly always knew when she was talking too much or too quickly, but Callia was such a great listener that she never felt the need to slow down or limit her words. Now if she'd been talking to Petra, it would have been a different story.

"And then when Petra stomped up to Thaleia and said Captain Blackguard's line about throwing the fish over the side with the rest of the seaweed, and Thaleia added that bit about even fish having spines, unlike jellyfish—did you add that to the script?" she barely waited for Callia's affirming nod before continuing. "And everyone laughed, and Eralie came in perfectly about the pirate ship and its captives having more spine than its captain...that was so funny!" She giggled madly, joined by Callia a moment later.

"What was so funny?"

Both Callia and Eurielle jumped at the sudden appearance of Sir Bionne, who rounded the corner in front of them, his arms full of parchment. He waited expectantly for an entertaining story about the source of their mirth, his eyebrows raised and his usual kind smile quirking the corners of his mouth. Callia returned his smile relatively easily, but Eurielle felt her fair cheeks fill with heat. It was nearly impossible for her to talk to her father's attractive steward without turning the color of a tomato. This time, her usual embarrassment was compounded by the fact that he'd nearly overheard something that could have betrayed their secret, thanks to her idiotic jabbering.

Stupid! She berated herself, then scrambled for an explanation. Callia seemed hardly distressed at all about their current predicament. In fact, she certainly seemed to be taking her time answering Sir Bionne's question! The green-eyed princess turned to Eurielle, shoulders still shaking with theatric laughter as she attempted to communicate something without speaking. Eurielle thought she understood what Callia was requesting of her—she had to speak up, make up a joke or story to cover their tracks. Apparently, Callia was not good at thinking up a story on the spot.

"We were talking about…seaweed!" she blurted the first thing that came to mind. She heard Callia gasp behind her, and chose to think it was motivated by her approval of Eurielle's quick thinking. "Did you know that it sticks to boats? And people can eat it…probably?"

Sir Bionne regarded both princesses confusedly. "And…that was funny?"

"Oh, no, that wasn't the funny part! I said that…Thaleia's hair looks like seaweed! When it's wet! Like after she got caught in the rain during her ride last week and nearly caught cold!" She giggled maniacally, encouraging Callia to join her in enjoying the "shared" joke.

"I see…" He trailed off, still looking from one princess to the other. He didn't seem to know what to think of her story. Feeling his gaze on her, Eurielle was sure that her cheeks were redder than ever by now. Forget a tomato…she probably looked like Snow White's apple! But he still seemed to expect more explanation of their story, so Eurielle scrambled for further response.

"Yeah! And—" her brilliance was cut short by Callia's hand on her wrist. Bidding Sir Bionne goodbye, the older princess dragged Eurielle roughly past him and down the corridor toward the dining room. Eurielle cast one look back over her shoulder at the bemused steward, hoping beyond hope that their behavior had not awakened any suspicions he might have had.

She felt a bit irritated at Callia for interrupting so rudely, but then thought better of it. After all, it certainly wouldn't do for them to be late for dinner.

Eurielle applauded Callia's reasoning when they entered the dining room to find their father and the remainder of their sisters already gathered. The tardy princesses each bestowed the expected kiss on their father's cheek, murmured their "good evenings," and then split to take their seats at the table.

The wait staff had clearly been awaiting their arrival, as they brought the first course to the table almost before Eurielle could sit down. For several minutes, the family ate in silence as the servants continued adding dishes to the table in the typical family-style setting.

Eurielle stared at her soup spoon and vaguely remembered a time when she was more likely to use it as a cannon than a utensil. Now, such an action seemed unnecessary, messy, and—dare she acknowledge it?—immature. As her mother would say, "A princess may not act like royalty at all times, but she knows when courtesy and manners are necessary." Of course, Eurielle was really too young to remember her mother when alive, so she didn't really know if Meleprene would have thought this at all. But she always imagined Meleprene giving the same sort of advice as Callia gave to her wisest characters, so it seemed to fit the situation.

As she spooned another mouthful of creamy broccoli soup past her lips, Eurielle was suddenly all-too-aware of the absolute silence of the room. Lately, it was customary for the king and his daughters to eat in relative silence, but they had usually attempted to keep up some type of communication. This tense quiet was unnatural.

The tension's so thick, we could eat it! Eurielle cracked a small smile at her witty thought, then glanced around the table, trying to locate the source of the discomfort. Callia seemed perfectly comfortable as she buttered a roll, as did Cliodne in sipping from her goblet. Thaleia and Raia, sitting side-by-side, moved in tandem in bringing their spoons to their mouths like the twins they were. Eurielle was mesmerized by the perfection of their movements, especially since they seemed unaware of it. She tore her eyes away from the twins to glance towards Petra, who was sitting next to her. Even the sticky-fingered princess seemed distinctly unruffled, though she had a comparably limited amount of purloined food around her today.

In glancing down the line towards Eralie, however, Eurielle finally located something unusual. Eralie had yet to touch a bite of food. Her utensils remained unused in front of her, and instead of giving any attentions at all to her victuals, she gazed fixedly at the head of the table. And it was no wonder! Eurielle didn't have to ponder any longer why her sisters were acting so abnormally normal; they were avoiding looking at their father.

Eurielle marveled that she hadn't noticed the look on her father's face when she first came in. It was like a thunderstorm descended upon the table—no, a hurricane—no, a cold front. Because that was definitely what was causing the atmosphere of the table to freeze over. Gustave's brows were drawn together into a low line on his forehead, shadowing his piercing gaze. His cheeks were slightly flushed with ire, and his jaw was clenched so tightly that Eurielle suspected it would hurt for hours afterward. For the most part, he glared down the center of the table, not meeting anyone's eyes (not that there were any eyes to meet other than Eralie's and Eurielle's, anyhow).

Eurielle felt her spine stiffen as she tried to straighten in her chair. She certainly had little doubt as to the reason for her father's anger. She wasn't stupid, after all, and neither was he. He couldn't have failed to notice that Judith's presence had done nothing for the princesses' pattern of behavior. No, the only question in her mind at this point was whether she should break the silence, or wait for it to be broken by Gustave himself?

Eralie took the decision from her hands. In a voice so tentatively soft that it was barely audible even in the stillness, she asked, "Father?" The other princesses dropped their charade, glancing fearfully toward the head of the table.

That was all the invitation that Gustave needed.

"I have asked you twice now to be up front with me," he spoke quietly. "I'm not going to give you another chance to lie to me."

"Father, we haven't—" said Eralie, laying a reassuring hand on his arm. Her touch seemed to unleash even more of his ire. He roughly brushed off the comfort as his voice rose in volume and intensity.

"NO! You listen while I'm talking! I have tried to protect you your entire lives, and you repay me by lying, sneaking, and keeping secrets! After everything I have done, you insist upon throwing your safety into the trash with your tattered slippers! Well, no more, ladies! I have had it! Guards outside the door didn't work, Judith inside the room didn't work! Apparently, this mystery is not to be solved by anyone within these walls, and not without some incentive!"

If Eurielle thought the dining room had been tensely quiet before, it was nothing to how it was right now. She could even hear the clinking of the pots being washed in the kitchen three rooms away. Approaching footsteps rang outside the door, preceding Sir Bionne's entrance into the quiet room. Remembering her earlier embarrassment in the hallway, Eurielle flushed again, but the steward spared her little more than a glance.

"Excellent timing, Sir Bionne," Gustave bit out, seeming to find it difficult to force his voice into a civil tone even when addressing someone to whom his anger wasn't directed. "Stand here and take note of this."

Not even waiting for Ty to stand behind him in the place indicated, the king stood to his feet, his chair scraping harshly against the floor. His voice boomed across the table.

"I am issuing a royal proclamation across Kyoria and to its neighboring countries. From this day forth, any man—whether prince, duke, royal, or goatherd—who wishes to undertake solving the mystery of the princesses of Kyoria, he shall be allowed to choose one of them as his bride and shall stand to inherit the throne." Eurielle felt as though she had been doused with a bucket of ice, followed by a vat of boiling water. Her protestations and those of her sisters were silenced with a look from their father.

"Each candidate will have one night to discover where it is you go each night, how you escape without detection, and what you do while there. They will, of course, have to stay in the room itself—"

"Father!"

"But you can't!"

"What about—"

Gustave raised his voice to speak over his daughters' outbursts. "Which will be allowable, as Judith will also remain inside your room to act as a chaperone. We will put up a partition to maintain your privacy, and he will only be allowed in ten minutes' time before you retire. As for the guards outside the room…they will be removed for the present, as they are needed elsewhere at that hour. But, be warned and advised that they will still be tasked to inform me if you venture out-of-doors at night. As for the princes…should any candidate fail in solving this mystery—and I'm sure they won't—he shall be forever banished from Kyoria."

And with that shocking announcement, he swept imperiously from the room, leaving his plate full and his daughters slack-jawed in his wake. Sir Bionne glanced uneasily around the table.

"Forgive me, m'ladies," he spoke quietly. "But I will need to draft His Majesty's proclamation immediately if I am to make the morning post." His shoes clicked on the floor as he made his way past the table to pull open the door. Before exiting, however, he turned back to face them.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and even in her numb state, Eurielle felt a flash of hot jealousy run through her as his eyes lingered on Eralie. She felt empty inside as the door closed behind him.

It was a night of silences. First during dinner itself, then before Sir Bionne's entrance and now again after their father's announcement, the table had fallen unnaturally quiet. Indeed, Eurielle wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to speak again.

"I've never seen him like that," Raia finally said, her timid voice breaking the stillness.

"None of us have," said Cliodne stoutly. She tried to appear unruffled, but Eurielle detected a slight tremor to her voice.

"I'm too young to get married," Eurielle whimpered plaintively. Her sisters turned to face the fifteen-year-old with varying looks of pity on their faces. None responded directly to her remark, though Raia reached across the table to lightly squeeze her hand.

"Maybe we've gone too far," Eralie voiced as if speaking each word was as painful as pulling a tooth.

"No, we haven't."

The princesses turned to face the speaker: Callia, the writer, the inventor, the narrator. Eurielle felt no surprise that it was she who advocated for the sanctum; after all, she had the most incentive to return, as her stories had flourished during the months they'd been visiting. What did surprise her, however, was the fervor and passion that blazed from Callia's green eyes, not to mention the determination that laced every word voiced by the soft-spoken girl.

"We haven't gone too far," she repeated. "He has. This is just too much. Father has always been overbearing, but now more than ever, he's restricting our freedoms. Before, he was content in disapproving our behaviors, but now he's trying to control our every move. He has Valeria, and Weston, and the guards, and Judith reporting on us!"

"I see what you're saying, Callia," Cliodne said logically. "But when does it end? Sure, we can drug the princes as with Judith, but is it really worth it to escape for a few hours to practice and perform a story that no one else will ever see?"

Eurielle felt a jolt when, instead of answering Cliodne directly, Callia turned to address her with a reminder of her own poignant words months before. "Eurielle, you told us before that we shouldn't be ashamed of who we are and what we like to do. Well, I don't know about anyone else, but I for one am very proud of what we've done and accomplished, and I find it worth fighting for." She turned back to address the logical princess.

"This is so much bigger than acting out a story, Clio. That's a big part of it, but only because of what it represents. Think about it: every night, when we go down that passageway into that great big room—we're free. No rules, no locked doors, no jailkeeper father making sure we stay in our pretty little prison or act like pretty little princesses. And that story is a big part of it. It lets me be the writer I've always wanted to be. Thaleia, you're the hero of your own story, and Eralie, you get to be a part of the dreamy romantic adventure."

"And Petra gets to be a criminal without doing anything illegal or going to jail!" Eurielle couldn't help quipping. She felt a rush of joy when everyone laughed, including Petra. The mood in the room had lightened considerably during the course of Callia's speech. Eurielle noticed that each of her sisters had varying measures of determination written into their faces. Unless the youngest princess was much mistaken, Callia's impassioned speech had bolstered their confidence as it had her own.

"You know what?" said Cliodne, extending her hand diagonally across the table. "Maybe it's not the most practical option, but for once, I'm willing to throw logic aside in favor of our freedom…and our story." Callia smiled at her support, placing her hand over Cliodne's and making a 45 degree angle with their arms.

Raia, who appeared to be a little choked up with emotion, said nothing as she placed her hand on top of Callia's, confirming Eurielle's suspicion of a sister hand circle. It was kitschy, and corny, and childish…and she loved it.

"I'm in!" she cried, adding her hand to the pile an instant before Eralie.

Petra quirked an ironic smile as her hand covered Eralie's. "What can I say? I like being the pirate."

Thaleia's grin was huge and incandescent as she added her affirmation. "And if Father thinks any of us are going to sit aside while some boorish, boring prince "wins" one of us, then he's in for a surprise!"

A/N: Hey to all our beloved readers! You know how you can let us know if you liked this new chapter? That's right, click on that little "review" link-you know you want to! And while you're at it, let us know which princess you'd like to see more of, because we are considering writing a sequel.

Also, keep an eye on our profile, because we have finished writing our satirical Twilight musical, Dazzle and Stretch. We'll be updating in a couple days-and don't be fooled; this musical should tickle the funny bones of Twi-hards and Twi-haters alike! Also, Harry Potter fans should check out our similar musical on our site, Riddle-Dee-De: The Voldemort Musical. It's our pride and joy.