A Royal Ruse

Chapter 1

2 years earlier

"Oh goodness! Look at me!"

Princess Zita groaned, gingerly touching her puffed-up eyes. She plopped down in front of her vanity, scrutinizing the swollen reflection in the mirror.

There had been a ball the previous night and although Zita did stay up late, it was sorrow and not reveling that had kept her up.

As per usual she had had an argument with her father and an hour into the ball she could no longer stand to put up with him and his power — and alcohol— drunk friends. She left the party in a blaze of rage, but not before the king spat a few choice words at her.

Frustrated and hurt, the princess shut herself in her room, flung herself onto her bed, and wept bitterly. Her ladies' maid had offered a sympathetic ear and did her best to cheer the princess up, but to no avail, as the fountain of tears only ran dry when consciousness did.

Clera momentarily stopped busying herself with chores.

"Oh no." Clera pulled a grim face, "don't tell me you're turning into your mother"

Zita whipped around, a scowl sitting uncomfortably on her cherub face.

"I'm already in such a fragile state. Do you think that insulting me is going to help?" Zita scoffed as she unraveled one of the braids that held her dense mane of dark hair.
Zita's entire disposition turned lemony at the very thought of emulating her mother's compulsive vanity.

"I'm only kidding, Your Highness," Clera made her way over to the vanity and took over the task her mistress began.

The ladies' maid's fingers weaved through the zig-zags and coils that sprung from her mistress's scalp and swept them up into a neat up-do. Clera's heart twinged at the dejected figure sitting before her. She resolved to restore the light that had dimmed behind the young royal's chestnut eyes.

"Are you excited for a day of unabashed rebellion, you hellion?" a sidelong smile dangled from Clera's right dimple, knowing how wordplay usually elicited a chuckle from her mistress. The contrived rhyme inspired a wispy smile from the princess. Although her despair was dire, the princess couldn't remain sour when she thought of the day that lay ahead.

"Horrible!" Zita shook her head in reproach, "How do I manage to put up with you?" Zita said, fighting a losing battle with the excitable grin that was adamant about taking its rightful place.

Zita looked up at her dear ladies' maid, her miffy mood lifting, knowing full well that Clera was the only reason she had managed to hold on to her sanity for this long in this viperous palace she called home.

"You're right, Your Highness. Maybe I should leave the poetry to the professionals" Clera laughed, nodding at the expansive bookshelf that took up an entire wall in Zita's room.

"This visit is long overdue. Magness told me last time I was at the market that she was working on something special for me." The Princess did a tiny bob in her seat. As soon as she was reminded of the beautiful tapestry of colors, food, and people that awaited her at the Arnoan marketplace, she had no choice but to get excited.

Zita could only sneak out once every couple of months to the vibrant town plaza of her beloved kingdom, Arnoa, as a result of her parents having forbidden her from socializing with locals. They were probably afraid that if Zita were to spend too much time with the kingdom's inhabitants, she would find out just how terrible they were as rulers, but she needn't speak to the townspeople to gather that bit of information.

The princess, along with all the other servants of the house, have already formulated a smooth system to seamlessly transport the princess to the marketplace without alerting her parents.
The morning after a ball, the king and queen would sleep in until about noonday to recover from their night of shameless merriment. While the monarchs were recovering, the princess would climb into the back of the cart used to carry food in and out of palace grounds, thus being able to sneak past the palace guards without detection. As long as she was back before they awoke, her parents would be none the wiser.

After Clera had added the finishing touches to her mistress's hair, in the form of a gold floral headband, she slipped into the grand wardrobe to fetch the princess's day dress and cloak. Clera returned brandishing a flowing silk creation; Zita's favorite. It was a deep purple that sang proudly against the princess' almond brown skin.

"Did you want me to get you anything?" the Princess asked as Clera pulled the dress over her head.

"No, Your Highness," Clera warned with a stern look in her eye, "please, no more gifts. I have no idea what to do with them and nowhere to wear them."

"As you wish," the royal conceded knowing full well that she was going to scope for a cloak and a pair of earrings that are mysteriously going to find their way into the maid's room. A cloak could never go to waste and she could always sell the earrings if she really had no use for them. The princess received an exorbitant allowance that she could not, in good conscience, spend all on herself so she often peppered the staff with luxurious items that she knew could help them if they were in a bind. She was not under the delusion that her parents were paying any of the staff fairly.

After Clera put the finishing touches to the Princess's look, she spun her mistress toward the mirror and looked at her expectantly.

"Well, I daresay I've outdone myself. I mean, considering what I had to work with." Clera teased, draping Zita's cloak over her shoulders but before she could tie it shut Princess Zita gave her a playful shove and then bolted for the door.

The princess dashed into the hallway, but not before she turned back to her ladies' maid and stuck her tongue out. Shaking her head, Clera let her run free, knowing nothing could stop that girl when she was on a mission.