The Secret of the Seven Princesses

King Gustave, weary and sore after an afternoon's ride around the palace's expansive grounds, settled into his armchair for a much-anticipated hour of restful reading. The volume of choice—A History of Naval Battles—had been missing from its library shelf for several weeks before he was able to claim it at last; he didn't know of anyone else in the castle who had such an avid interest in the topic, but he'd also learned not to be surprised by Callia's various readings-of-the-week.

He had not read more than three pages of the book when his peaceful interlude was interrupted by a tentative knock on the study door.

"Come in," he called with a sigh. He rested his book on the arm of the chair, its spine open to the place where he'd left off. It didn't stay there for long, though; it toppled to the floor with a flop when Gustave jerked in surprise upon seeing who had entered his study.

All seven of his daughters filed into the room, with Eralie at the front and Eurielle bringing up the rear. They stood around him in a semi-circle, each regarding their father with matching anxious expressions. Gustave didn't think that his study had ever held so many people at the same time.

"Yes?" he asked, his eyes skimming over the entire line of princesses as he contemplated the meaning behind such an unprecedented visit.

"Father, we have something we need to discuss with you," said Cliodne softly. He waited expectantly for her to continue, his raised brows nearly reaching his hairline.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Eurielle added, then seemed to think better of it, as he was already seated. "Or—never mind…" she trailed off uncomfortably. Silence descended upon the group. His daughters fidgeted and glanced at one other, seeming uncertain about who should speak first. Gustave's impatience increased.

Finally, Eurielle spoke up again.

"There's a magic trapdoor in our bedroom!" Releasing a relieved sigh, Eurielle cast a glance down the line of sisters. "That was easier than I thought it would be."

Gustave was sure that he had heard wrong. "What?"

Eralie stepped forward, breaking the line. "In the floor of our bedroom, we found a trapdoor that leads to a…a passage. A chamber…it's hard to explain. But…that's where we've been going each night, Father."

Thaleia picked up the story. "We haven't been leaving the castle. At least, not that we know of. We haven't been sneaking off to the forest or town or anywhere else. We've just…we found a secret room. And we've been going there."

Gustave pulled together his scattered thoughts and leaned forward in his chair, his brow furrowing in confusion. "But…why?"

Without saying a word, Callia stepped forward and laid a brown paper bundle tied with twine across his knees. Gustave pulled at the twine and the paper fell open, revealing a stack of parchment covered in Callia's neat hand. At the top of the first sheet was written, in elaborate calligraphy, Diamond in the Rough: A Five-Act Drama.

Callia shrugged her shoulders and smiled a little. "We finished it last night, so we're not going back."

Petra deadpanned, "Even if we could, we wouldn't."

His sharp gaze darted to the brown-haired princess. "What do you mean by 'even if we could'?"

Cliodne was the one who answered. "The passage is cursed."

Thaleia shrugged this time and waved her hand as though dismissing this monumental pronouncement as of little importance. "Yeah, something about you can enter as many times as you want but exits are kind of limited. And I think we're almost there."

At this, Gustave stood abruptly, dislodging the package from his lap and sending the pages scattering across the floor. Callia knelt and immediately began straightening and reordering the pages with motherly care. Gustave paid her no heed.

"Are you telling me that you have been visiting a cursed room every night for the past eight months?" he asked with terrified anger.

Eurielle addressed her slippers. "Nine and a half, actually."

"You've been endangering your lives for…for what? This play?"

Cliodne raised her chin almost defiantly. "In our defense, Father, we didn't know about the curse."

"I don't care whether you knew or not! What I want to known is: why in the world was this worth it? The lies, the sneaking, the secrets, the sleeplessness, if you were just waltzing into danger?"

Callia urgently thrust the stack of parchment, newly straightened, into his hands once again. "Because it's us. We've put everything into this."

Gustave had to repress the urge to toss it aside. "And if you had to do this…thing—" he spat the word out as though it were something vile, "—why couldn't you have done it without leaving the safety of this castle?"

He was surprised at the ferocity in Eralie's eyes. Indeed, when she looked at him like that, he was reminded forcibly of her mother during one of their spats. "Would you have let us? You, with all your speeches of propriety and ladylike behavior? Would you have let any of us act? Would you have let Callia write? Have you not always disapproved of Cliodne's dominant nature? Or Thaleia's and Petra's less delicate interests? Did you never wonder why we never tried to fit your expectations before? We are not your dolls!"

Raia laid a calming hand on her sister's arm and Eralie fell silent. With a surprisingly gentle voice, Thaleia said, "You ask why we would risk so much. Well, this room and this thing, as you called it, provided a place for us to express ourselves and be who we were without facing your constant disappointment in us."

"But then you wanted to take that away from us as well," Eurielle said in a small voice.

Gustave's anger deflated in the light of their impassioned explanation. He slowly sat down again. All too aware of the seven pairs of eyes gazing at him intently, he averted his eyes to stare unseeingly past his daughters. Suddenly, he viewed everything with new consideration. The food fights of old, his daughters' secretive whispers and late morning lie-ins, the prince competition and the fates of its contestants, and even the admitted escape to this chamber of theirs were not actually malicious forms of rebellion, but desperate measures taken in pursuit of their independence and individuality.

Furthermore, he realized anew that their behavior had indeed changed for the better since these last night excursions had begun—a fact that he had been too blind and stubborn to acknowledge before, especially when he believed them to have betrayed his trust. But it had been many months since he'd witnessed even a single pea leave a princesses' plate during mealtime, and they certainly carried themselves with grace and decorum as they stood in front of him at the moment. He glanced at the script in his hand.

The Diamond in the Rough. Could it be that this play, this pastime, this opportunity for freedom had finally brought about the change in his daughters that he'd long despaired of? That in acting like beggars, or ruffians, or whatever other characters were in this curious play, they had actually learned to act like princesses, as well? It certainly appeared to be the case. And if it was so, then perhaps it was high time he learned to support his daughters for who they were and encourage them to become who they wanted to be.

Having pondered these ideas for several seconds, Gustave finally spoke again. His voice was humble, a rarity for the sovereign.

"I can see that you feel strongly about this," he said hesitantly. "And I can also see that perhaps I have been a bit more…forceful than I needed to be, and not as encouraging as I should have been. Understand, though, that everything I have done was so I could protect you; but in my methods, it seems my control almost drove you into danger, rather than shielding you from it." He rose again, placing the packet of papers gently on the seat he'd just vacated. He drew closer to his daughters, filling in the remaining side and making a warped circle of royals.

"So let's come to an understanding. I will try to be more lenient, try to give you more freedom in the castle and in your preferred activities. No more locked doors, no more forbidden places or behaviors, and no more reports from chamber maids or housekeepers about your whereabouts or actions." Smiles slowly erupted around the circle, but Gustave held up a cautioning hand as he continued; they might not be so amenable to the next portion of his proposition.

"It will take some time and some getting used to. But in return, all I ask is that each of you try to be more open and honest with me. Come to me if you feel there is a problem, especially if you think it due to an error in my judgment or something I can rectify. I can't honestly say that I would have approved of your activities if you had talked to me before," he glanced behind him at the script on the seat. "But I will try to change that mindset if you promise to be upfront with me in the future. No more secrets, are we agreed?"

Eralie stepped forward once more, her eyes shining with gratitude and acceptance—a far cry from the defiance he'd seen in them previously. "I can live with that, Father." Blinking back tears, she embraced him tightly.

By her actions and consent, she set the precedent for her younger sisters. One by one, Gustave's daughters showed their support and agreement to his reform, each sealing her promise with a hug.

As the last princess stepped out of his arms—punctuated by Petra's whisper: "I promise to be more honest, Father, but you have to trust me that there are certain things you won't want to know"—Gustave wiped the moisture from his eyes. He normally scoffed at such intimate moments like this, but he couldn't help but relish the newfound emotional intimacy in his family, something that they hadn't had for quite some time.

He cleared his throat as he surveyed his daughters. "So, when do I get a chance to see this play of yours?"

His query was met by an onslaught of grins from the semi-circle. "We just need to get some stuff, and we can do it right away!" Thaleia claimed as she dashed from the circle and out the study door, followed closely by Petra.

"We'll meet you in the upstairs sitting room in half an hour, alright?" Raia didn't wait for his answer before she, too, left the room. Within seconds, nearly all of the princesses had scurried away, leaving Gustave alone in the room save for Eralie.

Befuddled and feeling as though he'd been caught in a maelstrom, he shifted his attention from the door to the lone remaining princess, who was regarding him with a bemused expression. He could only imagine what the expression on his own face looked like. He half expected her to join her sisters in gathering up whatever materials they needed to create a complete theatrical experience, but she showed little evidence of departing.

"Father, I have another confession to make."

Gustave resisted the urge to groan. "Please, Eralie, don't tell me that you've found a fairy godmother or a magic mirror or a flying pumpkin; I don't know how much more I can take at this point."

"Not quite, sir," she said with a smile. "It's just…we didn't come to you today entirely of our own accord. And we didn't discover the truth of the curse on our own; for that, we have Sir Bionne to thank."

"Sir Bionne?" For the second time that night, Gustave's eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. "And how would he come to learn of this?"

"I don't know how he found out about the passage or even the curse, but he spoke with me earlier today. He told me that he felt compelled to solve the mystery and, by telling us about the danger, he saved our lives. He refused to come to you personally, however, and take the credit or claim a reward; he felt that it was our responsibility to present the truth to you. I just thought that you would wish to know." She curtsied formally, then took her leave as well, leaving Gustave in deep contemplation of his thoughts and actions. He had little time to waste in reflection, however, as he had to respond quickly to this newest piece of information before his daughters' performance.

So much for a restful half-hour beforehand, he groused, then called for a servant to fetch Sir Bionne to his study. He paced its length, his mind actively dwelling on the fantastic story that he'd heard in this very room within the past hour. Fortunately, he was not left alone with his thoughts for too long, as Sir Bionne (efficient as always) took little time in responding to his summons.

The knock on the door preceded the steward's entry. He didn't attempt to mask the comprehension on his face; he had clearly ascertained the reason for his visit. Taking his cue from this, Gustave chose to bypass the usual introductory formalities, instead jumping straight to his point.

"Sir Bionne, I understand that I owe you a debt of gratitude."

He seemed about to deny this claim, but Gustave forestalled him. "Eralie told me about your role in protecting my daughters from harm. I would greatly appreciate if you could explain how you were able to accomplish this."

Sir Bionne seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said simply: "I was given reason for concern about the princesses' welfare shortly before Sir Luka entered the competition—"

"Who told you of this concern?"

"Forgive me, sir, but for reasons of their own, my source would prefer to remain anonymous. Suffice it to say that this person warned me that the princesses were in danger, and they provided me with the means to discover their actions without being detected: an invisibility cloak." Gustave chose not to comment on this extraordinary remark, instead allowing Sir Bionne to finish his summary without interruption.

"Thus hidden, I waited in the princesses' chamber (separated by the partition, of course) and followed them when they retreated down the passage." Briefly, Ty outlined everything he had seen and discovered while in the chamber, even those details of which the princesses had informed Gustave themselves. The steward ended his story by explaining how he had translated the riddle, discovered the warning of the curse, and decided to bring his findings to Eralie.

"I apologize, Your Majesty, if you feel that I erred in this respect. Perhaps I should have presented the information to you first—"

"On the contrary," Gustave assured him. "I admire the way you handled this. You not only solved the mystery, but you also got at the heart of the problem by encouraging my daughters to come to me themselves. You have saved them, and by doing so, you have saved me. For that, I think it only fitting that you should claim your reward for winning the prince competition, even if you did not officially enter." Gustave, expecting Sir Bionne to express gratitude at this mode of generosity, was surprised to see a look of alarm cross the younger man's face.

"Sir, with all due respect, I would prefer to abstain from claiming such a reward. My only motivation throughout this was to ensure the protection of the princesses, and I am glad to have succeeded thus. As for accepting the prize of your daughter's hand…I would not wish to give offense, but I believe that this is one prize that neither you nor any other man is able to give. Therefore, I do not feel capable in receiving it." Gustave could have easily felt the insult of this slight rebuke, but Sir Bionne spoke with such respect and deference that he could not help but admire the man for his forbearance and courage in speaking his mind.

"Very well, then. If you waive your right to this reward, then just allow me to thank you once again for the deed that you have done for my family." Gustave bowed deeply, honoring the younger man and receiving the tribute in return.

"That is all the reward I need, Your Majesty."

With that, Sir Bionne courteously departed from the room, his shoulders straight and his head held high—the very picture of nobility.