Once Upon A Princess

2: The Gift

Harold came to Amelia's room after his meeting. He was wearing new clothes: golden in color, a tinge of white along the collar and sleeves as a contrast. It was puffy, and looked stiffer than his usual clothes. He usually didn't like dressing so formal.

He sat himself down on her bed, his weight making the soft mattress fall down significantly. Amelia stayed where she was, standing by the fireplace and absentmindedly fingering the spine of the book she was holding.

"Hello, dear," he greeted. "How are you?"

She didn't look at him. She wanted to frown, but she knew that frowning made him sad.

"I'm...okay," she finished lamely. She didn't know how to tell him. She never did.

"Was I a little too rough with you this morning?" he asked. There was a small break in his voice, an edge that was only made when he was upset.

She went to her cheek then, skimming over it softly. She shook her head, finally looking at him.

"You should always be rough. That's what makes me strong."

He watched her, maybe to see if she was really meaning what she was saying. She was repeating words he had said to her before. He leaned forward, wrapping his hands together.

"You are a sun among moons," he said, quietly, almost to himself instead of her.

Then she walked to him, slowly, embracing him once she was finally there. With him sitting on the bed and her standing, they were the same height. His breath seemed shallow to her as it blew on her hair.

He pulled away then, assessing her up and down. She'd changed into a new dress; this time a light purple. She'd had her hair done up too. Though she usually didn't mind when it was dirty, the hairdresser had insisted on washing it to make it shine again. She noticed absently that her father's red had some tinges of gray.

He finally broke the comfortable silence. Amelia knew that he hated silence, even if she kind of liked it.

"Are you ready for dinner? I think your mother hired the new chef today."

"That's because she fired the old one," she said quietly. "Because she made her soup too hot."

Harold stood up, taking his daughter's hand as he led her out of the room.

"Yes, well, we wouldn't want her to burn her mouth, now would we?"

Amelia bit her lip. She shouldn't say anything rude. It was mean to talk badly about your parents. "No, we wouldn't."

He nodded at her affirmation. "I have something for you, as well," he said as they walked down the halls. She was beside him now, and they were still holding hands. She still liked to hold his hands, even though she was twelve and maybe too old for that. His hands were always warm and big. They reminded her of his hugs.

"Do you, dad? Is it another sword lesson?" Her eyes brightened at the thought.

He laughed at her words. "No, but we can practice again tomorrow. I have a gift for you. It's waiting in the dining hall."

That made her start to skip, so as to get to their destination quicker. He skipped too, though he looked peculiar and gangly doing so at his age. If they weren't the king and princess, they probably would have received a few judgmental looks from people in the corridors, but instead all they got was polite greetings.

They finally arrived at the dining hall. Amelia was still feeling some energy, jumping back and forth on the balls of her feet. Her father, however, was wheezing with shaking legs. He was immediately helped by a harried servant into his chair, which was ornate wood and stood at the head of the long table.

The queen was already there, and she shot Amelia a venomous look. It was Amelia who had made the king like this, and it was she who would be punished for it later, no doubt. Suddenly dinner was the last thing on Amelia's mind, her stomach full of heavy butterflies.

Once the king finally stopped his coughing fit, he gestured for his wife and daughter to sit down.

"Now, before we are served, I want to give Amelia her gift."

The princess straightened in her seat, even if it made her seem too eager.

A pedestal had been brought into the room at an earlier time. It was covered with red velvet, hiding whatever was inside. The shape itself betrayed something; it was small and round. At the king's command, two servants carried it over to where the princess was sitting. She was at the edge of her seat now, barely even touching its edge.

The gift was unveiled with an elegant flick of the servant's wrists, presenting a beautiful golden ball. It sat there on its own stand, a groove made so it didn't move around, and instead seemed perfectly perched as if it wanted to be admired. It was perfectly smooth, big enough to cradle but small enough to toss and catch, and showed no signs of wear. It shimmered in the light. It was pristine, and certainly one of a kind.

Amelia could only stare at it at first. It was so new and wonderful, she was almost afraid to touch it.

The king noticed his daughter's adoration right away. He loved that her blue eyes conveyed so much; a perfect window to her emotions.

"Don't you think she's a little old for toys?" the queen wondered to the room. There was something in her voice; Harold would almost mistake it for jealousy.

"When she stops playing with toys then I shall stop giving them to her," he replied. When he looked at his wife, he saw her eyes change again, and she smiled. It was strange. Rowena and Amelia shared the same eye color, but they always looked completely different to Harold. Rowena's blue reminded him of ice; almost impassable and cold. Amelia's were more like the sky: open and free.

"You can take your ball out tomorrow, but in the meantime let us eat."

The ball was quickly taken away to Amelia's bedroom as their meal was served. The royal family of Avenor always ate together, usually with the king himself leading the conversation. He'd tried in vain over the years to get his wife and daughter to bond, but they never had gotten along as well as he'd hoped. Even when Amelia was very young, Rowena had seemed disinterested.

Perhaps, he mused to himself as he had a dozen times before, she was simply not the doting type. Her role as a mother seemed less important to her than her duties as a queen. He wondered silently to himself if that's why they'd never had other children. Rowena had never brought up the conversation of having other children, and so neither did he.

But Harold did not mind that he had but one daughter. Amelia was enough for him. She'd become a good ruler, and they needn't worry about succession for a time anyways. At least, he hoped that was the case. He eyed both of his girls worriedly — and not for the first time — as they ate and avoided each other's gazes. He felt a strange twinge in his gut, and he wasn't sure it had anything to do with the new chef's meal.