The Prince's Angel

Chapter Four - The Mysteries of Nannies

Atara was not at all like his mother.

She may have looked like Lisette, but the resemblance stopped there. Where Mother would have told Stefan to be careful climbing a tall tree, Atara urged him to reach for the next branch. Mother would have told Stefan to stop gobbling his food; Atara had eating contests with him and Torin to see who could fit a whole dinner roll in their mouth. Whereas Mother had gracefully walked, Atara ran with ease, like a young girl running for the sheer delight of feeling the wind on her face.

Mem was so pleased with Atara's tenacity to work that in two weeks, Atara had been promoted from a cleaning maid to a kitchen helper to a server in the banquet hall. She possessed a certain resolve that everyone could see. Stefan had heard a few of the older noblewomen whispering, "That one looks like she could take over the world, and no king would lift a finger."

Even though Atara was not his mother, and certainly didn't act like Lisette, Stefan wished many times that his father would notice Atara, especially since she served him supper.

But all he ever said was "Thank you," and "This needs more salt."

And all Atara ever replied with was, "Of course, my liege."

One drizzly day in late April, Stefan, Torin and their new nanny were playing a game called Dodge the Pillow. Atara tied a scarf around her eyes and swung a feather pillow around, following the boys as they leapt out of her reach. Torin had been hesitant to join, but Atara's contagious spirit drew him in. Soon, the game turned into an all-out pillow fight, and all three of them were laughing on the floor when Da interrupted.

"Would you mind keeping it down?" he asked irritably. "My study is in the adjoining room, and the sound comes through the walls."

"Apologies, sire," Atara said, bowing her head, but somehow, she kept solid eye contact with him. Stefan hadn't seen many servants who would be brave enough to do that.

When Father left, Torin flopped on the floor to arrange his toy army into brigades, while Atara and Stefan set up a game of checkers. Atara had made the first move, but Stefan wasn't really interested.

Once again, Da had shut them down when they were only trying to have fun, and it irked him. What was so bad about laughter and cheerfulness? He bounced his chin in his palms and tried to think of a way he could make his father enjoy romping around with them again.

"Your turn, princeling," Atara said, smiling. In the past month, it had become a term of affection that she used with him.

Stefan tried to look as bored as possible. "It would be more fun if we could play duels."

She gave him the look. "You know what the king would say about that." Another interesting tidbit that puzzled Stefan. Atara never referred to Da as "your father." It was always "the king."

"I know," Stefan muttered. "But he always spoils our fun! We used to do this all the time, before Mum... died."

Atara leaned forward and squeezed his hand in her callused one. "I'm sure he has a good reason."

"Can't think of one."

"All in good time, Stefan." Her coffee-colored eyes caught his. Even with the rain outside, they sparkled, like balmy sunshine on a wooden table.

And that was when he knew that his mother's eyes hadn't been brown.

That was another thing that bothered Stefan. He still could not remember, no matter how diligently he tried. With all of her similarities to his mum, Atara's eyes were too deep and unfathomable to be like his mother's. He knew that Mum's eyes had been calm, innocent. Atara's looked like a worn widow's eyes, full of mourning; yet a glimmer of hope still shone in them.