The Secret of the Seven Princesses

Secrets Chapter 9

Petra rarely remembered the details of her dreams. Most of the time, she could recall the feelings or emotions they evoked—whether triumph, disappointment, anger, or delight—but it was uncommon for her to have a tangible memory of a dream.

Deep in blissful oblivion, she dearly hoped that this would be a dream that she would remember—if only for the exhilaration rushing through her veins. Her dream-self demonstrated a dexterity that her real self had never possessed; she dashed in and out of shadows along the manor's main hallway, entirely disappearing from sight only to reappear again several feet away. Her heart pounded as she stole from corner to corner, avoiding the few people who meandered by, their faces a blur. All the while, she maintained a distinct visual of her prize. She didn't know what it was, but her dream-self communicated the urgency that she must possess it at all costs. As Petra drew closer to her object, it slowly began to come into focus and take a recognizable shape. She felt a flash of comprehension as her hands closed around the mysterious object and—

BOOM!

Petra jolted awake, the images of her dream trickling away from her conscious memory like water through her fingers. She groggily pulled down the blankets covering her head to glare at the culprit who had so obnoxiously woken her by slamming the door—only to be startled into true wakefulness by the unwelcome sight of her father standing at the entrance to the princesses' bedchamber. Despite the earliness of the hour, Gustave was already replete fully dressed and impeccably quaffed, with velvet waistcoat and gem-encrusted crown. Upon seeing the glint of the circlet in the sunlight, Petra felt the same flash of recognition from her dream...but no; it would be too difficult. She wasn't her dream self, after all. And there were more pressing matters at hand.

Lit from behind by the early morning sun, King Gustave was flanked on either side by Valeria and Justine, the maid usually charged with cleaning the princesses' domain.

"Rise and shine, girls," boomed Gustave, stepping further into the room. He walked to the nearest window at the head of Cliodne's bed, whipping open the curtains and sending a stream of sunlight over the second-born's form.

"Father..." Cliodne groaned, drawing her covers over her curly head of curls to evade the blinding rays and snuggling further into the darkness. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Truly, Father," Petra protested, mustering up her best what-are-you-thinking? look. "Couldn't this wait for a little later in the day?" This seemed to have little effect on her father, however, as he merely returned her look with one of his own.

"It certainly cannot," he said. "If I were to wait until later, you'd all be scattered to who-knows-where. I needed to speak to all of you at one time, and as our last dinner meeting apparently didn't convey my meaning well enough, I thought I'd make my statement in a different way."

He had successfully gained the princesses' undivided attention. Callia and Thaleia were sitting straight up in bed, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Callia had drawn her knees up to her chest, whereas Thaleia regarded her father with a saucy—albeit sleepy—defiance. Eurielle and Cliodne didn't look nearly so alert, both still relatively prone under the covers, with only their heads sticking out. They each blinked sluggishly through their thick lashes, and Eurielle in particular seemed to find it difficult to focus on their father. Only Eralie and Raia, the early risers of the group even from the start of their adventure, seemed relatively conscious. In fact, their presence in the room and in their beds attested to the early hour. Petra could never remember a time when she had woken up early enough to catch either princess still in bed.