Betrothed to Trouble

Chapter 5 - Stupid Fools

Princess Giselle:

            I spent the entire day following Sebastian, the head butler, as he made preparations for the ambassadors’ arrivals. Household matters such as preparing for guests and making them feel welcome was in proper practice, the queen’s duty. But since, mother died, Sebastian had taken over her role and now that I was old enough, it will soon be my turn.

            “Alice! Where are the rest of the girls? The floor is not yet polished!”

            “Guinevere, don’t forget the end tables are to be dusted!”

            “Mia! I said green curtains!”

            “And you, James! What are you doing? Get down here at once! Are you trying to kill yourself?”

            I winced at his rapid succession of orders, watching with pity as he lectured the poor James on how to properly clean the huge crystal chandelier hanging over the Court Room were the discussions will take place. Even at the age of 60, his eyes are still as sharp as an eagle’s and his memory as acute as ever. Despite his strict and no-nonsense policy, you could tell Sebastian has a good heart. I mean, look at how he knew all the palace servants by name!  It’s like he treats them as individuals, not just a herd of workers. In return, the palace servants respected him deeply and followed his orders to the best of their ability. His charisma and his ease at solving any problem that presents itself fascinated me. No wonder Father ordered me to learn from him, he was the best.

“Princess, let us be on our way. We still have the menu to decide,” he called out to me impatiently, apparently noticing that I had been too busy watching one of the maids laying out a set of quills with breathtaking precision. I sheepishly followed Sebastian into the next room, flashing the perplexed James a sympathetic smile on the way out.

“Now, what do you think the guests will prefer, Your Highness?” Sebastian asked as we browsed through the menu book in the middle of the large royal kitchen, which was in a frenzy of activities. Chopping, washing, baking, frying, gossiping; it was buzzing with life, unlike the quiet and lifeless palace.

“Um,” I started. Great, how intelligent. I absolutely have no idea what all this food on the list is. I’m the type who just eats whatever is given, not bothering what their fancy names are. Like Carré d' agneau a la Provençale, I just call it roast lamb. See, it's simpler. Why do French people make it so complicated? And this is coming from someone who had recently lived in the Versailles for two and a half years.

Sebastian gave me a piteous look, but continued with a list of recommendations for the reception luncheon, followed by the course menu for the dinner banquet. I left the kitchen with my head spinning from all the fancy French dishes and sweating profusely from the heat of the ovens. Of course, Sebastian was as ridiculously poised and immaculate as ever.

After a few more trips to the linen storage to pick out matching sets of curtains, bed linens, table cloths, napkins and et cetera, and to the cutlery section to choose the china wares, Sebastian took pity on me and dismissed me, saying that I have learnt enough for the day. I was too tired to protest and in fact was secretly relieved as I watched him walk off to inspect the guest bedrooms. At least I had promised him that I will wake up early tomorrow to help him with the flower arrangements, so I wasn’t too guilty as I made my way to the Royal Stables, taking care not to be seen by anyone who might tell Father. The truth is, I was banned from riding ever again, unless under strict supervision, because of that one fateful incident.

It was around 3 o’clock, and the stables were usually quiet and empty of most of the stable hands at this time of the day. It was too hot to exercise the horses and they had gone off either to have lunch or take a short nap. Still, I cautiously peered around the corner of the stable doors and only allowed myself to relax once I saw it was deserted. As I strolled down the long rows of stalls, pathos of nostalgia gripped me.