The Hidden Festival

Chapter 1: Alaina

oOo

            I can hear them celebrating above me. Celebrating my 16th year in this prison. The corridors reverberate from the sound of those blasted festival drums.

            Thump.

            Thump.

            Thump.

            Thump.

            My ivory ball gown feels too heavy on my chest. The tutors said I’m not allowed to change until after the festival as usual. They’ve been bustling about all day long, ironing this, washing that. Lady Geneva scrubbed me down until my skin was red and raw. It took both Ladies Magdalene and Saundra to wrangle my thick, black hair into a bun and it took all three of them to wrestle me out of my training trousers and into a proper gown.

Why?

 I’m not going anywhere.

They all knew very well that the whole process would be useless. They knew that they would leave at a quarter till sunset to gather with their families and watch the festival parade go by. They knew they would leave me alone again, just like every other year. And now here I lay. All prettied up with my sparkling bodice and shiny hair. All for nothing.

My eyes blur, turning the mural on my wall into a watery, rainbow mess.

            This is not how I imagined my 16th birthday.

            I sighed and wiped my eyes. “He’s not coming, Alaina,” I scolded myself. “He never comes here. You know that.”

            Daddy has never abandoned his duties to come see me. Since, mother died, none of my family has been to visit. She was a great woman, my mother. Her name was Lora. Kind Queen Lora. Her dark hair always seemed to curl perfectly around her shoulders, unlike mine. She stood tall and thin, never turning her nose up at her subjects no matter how humble their background. Her smile was brighter than that of an angel and her singing voice was even better. I still hear her at night before I sleep, singing my favorite song.

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, 

Smiles awake you when you rise ; 

Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, 

And I will sing a lullaby, 

Rock them, rock them, lullaby. 

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you, 

You are care, and care must keep you ; 

Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, 

And I will sing a lullaby, 

Rock them, rock them, lullaby. 

            Mother helped me paint the mural on my walls 7 years ago. A fearsome dragon’s head opened its mouth and breathed a breath of fire that stretched around each of my four walls. Mother thought reds and oranges were too boring, so we added every color we could find. When we ran out, she had Daddy find more and have it delivered to us. We worked on completing that mural every year on the eve of the Hidden Festival. Mother came down to see me and we stayed up all night painting and laughing.

 Lady Geneva stayed with us sometimes and joined in on the fun. She really admired my mother. Since she passed away, Lady Geneva always brings up just how wonderful of a leader mother was. In Lady Geneva’s old kingdom, the queen was very vain. She never even bothered to look at her subjects, much less dine with them like my mother had. The ladies tell me that everyone in our kingdom admired our mother. They also say that I look like her, but I don’t believe that part. My mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I am merely her shadow.

I sit up abruptly on my bed. All this thought about mother is making me sad again. The ladies have left by now, so I take this opportunity to change clothes and practice my self-defense. It was really the only class I enjoyed besides singing lessons. The stone floor was cold beneath my feet as I plodded across the room. My trunk was packed tight as usual, but I didn’t have to do much digging this time.  After yesterday’s lessons, I made sure to put my trousers and blouse on top of everything else instead of buried at the bottom the way Lady Saundra likes it.

“She really hates these trousers,” I chuckled. I model the handmade clothes in a mirror, turning this way and that. Making all of my own clothes proved to be a useful skill for a princess since it meant I could wear anything I wanted. As a result, my wardrobe consisted of one or two gowns my father has sent over the years and dozens of trousers made by yours truly. The Ladies tried their hardest to gently push me in a more feminine direction, but I never budged. Men’s clothes were far more practical than anything princesses were expected to wear.

And it’s not like I was expecting to see anyone in the next few hours. They were all above ground, celebrating my birthday.