The Girl in the Glass Box Page 4

  "It smells putrid. And... it's just dégoûtant." Genevieve made another face, contorting her mouth and sticking out her tongue.

  "Okay, okay, you've made your point. I'm taking it away. I'll have the cook prepare something else. What would you rather have?"

  "I don't know. Something that doesn't smell like feet."

  Marnie put the dish back on the table and made a pained face as she worked hard to kneel down to the girl's eye level. She folded Genevieve's hands in her own. Genevieve appreciated the soft touch of her weathered skin.

  Marnie scanned the room over her shoulder, her eyes cautious and her posture shrunken. "Snow, my dear, do you know how many people go without food each day? Since the death of your mother, this kingdom has been suffering and starving. You should recognize how blessed you are to have food grace your table, let alone a choice in what you eat. I just want you to appreciate that food is a privilege to most. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

  Genevieve set her jaw in annoyance.

  "Don't be upset, dear. I only want you to be more aware. You're the princess and you need to think about these things. Now, tell me what you'd rather eat, and I will see what I can do."

  Genevieve crossed her arms over her chest. "I suppose I'm not hungry then."

  Marnie shrugged. "Suit yourself, Your Highness. But it will be difficult to procure you food later if you are in the middle of lessons. So it's eat now, or wait until supper."

  "Fine, I'll wait."

  Marnie picked the full plate back up in her hand and gripped a rag and an empty flower vase in the other. In pouty silence, Genevieve watched Marnie bustle around the room to change out the flowers in the dining hall before she moved to leave.

  Guilt rooted in Genevieve's chest like a lead plumb, while she simultaneously seethed with irritation. What was she supposed to do about the starving people? She sighed, listened to the rumblings in her own stomach, and played with the prongs on the silver fork that she would not be using.

  Just when Genevieve had thought she was alone, Marnie turned from the doorway. "Snow, my love. Do you know why we call you that? Your father and me?"

  "Of course, I do. You've told me the story over and over. Because I was born during a particularly hard winter and my skin was the color of the drifts," Genevieve said with a sigh.

  "Yes, that is true. But there's more to it than that. Your mother, God rest her soul, said it was fitting that a baby so perfect and fair would be born during such weather. 'She has a heart so pure, just like the pristine snow that falls outside,' she said. The nickname was to highlight your wholesomeness. You were only minutes old and, as physically beautiful as you were with your button nose and rosy cheeks, your mother was most taken by the beauty of your goodness."

  Marnie continued, "Those that love you, those that really know you, call you 'Snow' because of the pureness of your heart. I tell you this, because now, perhaps you'll understand what that responsibility really means. You just need to be that girl we all know you can be. You need to be a little more sensitive to the things going on around you."

  She strode across the room to return to Genevieve's side and bent to whisper in her ear. "You don't want to become like your stepmother, do you? Of course you don't because you are your mother's daughter, through and through. You are so beautiful both inside and out. You just need to let it shine." She pressed a brief peck to the top of Genevieve's head and then bustled off to finish her work.

  "Remember," Marnie called as she was leaving the dining hall, "your Classics studies with Monsieur Dechambeau are after your music instruction this morning. Don't forget because you don't want to keep Madame Martine waiting."

  "I won't forget."

  "And, Snow, not all afternoon with that pony, all right? I don't want you getting your hopes up. Monsieur Pommière said she hasn't been well since her birth. She may not survive, and I don't want you to grow too attached."

  "She's going to be fine. Don't even think such things, Marnie." Genevieve threw her linen napkin down on to the table and raced out the door, practically bowling Marnie over in the process.

  As Genevieve turned the corner in haste, she collided face- first into the chest of her stepmother, Queen Agrippine von Malheur. It felt a lot like how Genevieve would imagine a strike of a jousting lance would feel. Agrippine's grasp tightened around Genevieve's shoulders and then thrust her away as soon as she caught sight of her shocked face. Genevieve fumbled backward and watched her stepmother compose herself, brushing a hand down her sleeves and righting her posture to supreme rigidity. She glared at Genevieve with an arctic stare and an upturned scowl drawn across her face.

  But in spite of the queen's menacing appearance, Genevieve couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. Her skin radiated a creamy texture of flawless ivory. The natural redness in her lips emphasized her pale tone, and they looked dyed by the sweet nectar of a fiercely ripe strawberry, which matched the fire of her billowing hair. Her almond-shaped, almost cat-like, eyes spanned widely upward toward her temples. A pinkish tint dusted her sharp, pronounced cheekbones, bringing her light complexion to life. It would be easy to make the mistake of thinking: she's so stunning - perhaps she couldn't be all that terrible.

  "What on Earth are you doing rampaging through these corridors like an untrained gorilla?" Agrippine said. "Is your head full of rocks or is there a reason for your absent-minded recklessness?" Her emerald dress lengthened her body, making her soaring height even more apparent. Genevieve looked up, her neck at a severe angle, uncertain of what to say.

  Like the strike of a viper, Agrippine seized Genevieve's jaw in her hand and squeezed tight. "Answer me!" Her talon-like fingernails dug welts into her cheeks.

  "I-wahz-jusht-gooing-oushide-to-the-shtables," Genevieve said through her contorted mouth and cinched jaw.

  Agrippine flicked her wrist and snapped Genevieve's head to the side with the force. "You know, the only reason I keep you around, is the same reason my father kept me. Political leverage, my dear. Aside from that, I have no use for you. You are a nuisance, and I'm sick of looking at your face. In fact, you're lucky you have your father around to protect you. If it were up to me, I'd lock you in the dungeon until it was time for you to be of use. But you're father won't be around forever. It'd do you well to remember that."

  She remained frozen in front of Agrippine, who now stood with her arms across her chest, like a statue. Genevieve knew she couldn't leave without being dismissed. She didn't want to stay, and she definitely wasn't about to speak. Nervously, she rubbed the gold crest on the end of her necklace chain.

  "Run into me like that again or cross me in any way, and it'll be a week in the stocks for your dear, Marnie. Understand?" Her voice was even, as if she were ordering dinner.

  "Yes, Your Majesty." Genevieve continued to spin her pendant, hoping that the anger would settle enough in her stepmother not to punish Marnie for her own carelessness.

  "Now get out of my way, I have business to tend to."

  Genevieve needed no further instruction. She walked quickly past her stepmother after a very terse bow, and then, as soon as she reached the door to the gardens, she took off in a run.

  "You shouldn't be feeding her like that," a confident, but young, male voice announced from behind Genevieve. "You're just making her worse." She whipped her head around to identify the speaker. The quick movement incited a waft of musty hay and sawdust to flood her nose and her eyes began to water.

  She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hands before responding, "Oh yeah? What do you know? I've been taking care of Belle since she was born. When Monsieur Pommière said she wasn't worth the time he'd spend to try to cure her, I took on the task. After everyone else wanted to abandon her, I didn't. So don't tell me how to care for my horse." She snapped her head back around, turning her back on the boy, and continued to stroke the coarse mahogany hair. The horse's respiration was labored, its heart pumping in quick beats under Genevieve's hand.

  "Does she always lay
down?" he said. "You know horses aren't really supposed to lie down like that.”

  "She's tired. She's not well. What's it to you?" Genevieve cocked her head to one side and pressed her lips into a white slash. The know-it-all behind her couldn't be more than a year or two older than her sixteen years. What could he possibly know about her horse?

  He ambled around the mare with his hands on his hips, his worn boots pacing around them. He squatted down low to inspect the horse's eyes and then ran his hand over her stomach, leaving it there for several breaths before taking a seat next to Genevieve on the pile of hay.

  He shook his head and clicked his tongue. "Just as I thought."

  "Say what you want to say already. Stop baiting me and speak. Or else just…just leave us alone."

  His voice remained pleasant in spite of her annoyance. "Your mare has colic."

  She continued to glare at the boy sitting next to her and tightened her jaw. "I know. That's what Monsieur Pommière told me."

  "Well, didn't he explain to you what that means?" He waited for her response and, after a brief moment, continued in an exasperated tone. "It means she has a bowel impaction. If you keep feeding her, well, she'll practically explode. What she needs is a laxative. You should try giving her a mixture of warm water and mineral oil. And add some molasses to her feed. Then walk her around the grounds. If you do that every day, she should be able to pass the obstruction." He nodded with confidence and set his mouth into a satisfied grin.

  "And why should I listen to you? What makes you think that your assumed expertise is welcome?"

  "Well, fine then. Have it your way and keep feeding your mare. She'll be dead in a week."

  Genevieve jumped to her feet. "How dare you speak to me like that. Do you not know that I'm…." Genevieve paused and eyed him suspiciously. No one had ever addressed her so informally before.

  "I…I'm sorry I snapped at you and was discourteous," Genevieve said. "I just… I've been doing my best to care for Belle, and I'm worried is all." She looked at him and, for the first time, really noticed the handsome boy next to her. He leaned forward to stroke the mare and shook his chestnut hair out of his face.

  As he glanced over to her, the light caught his eyes and reflected a deep hue that resembled un champ de blés. Without warning, butterflies took flight in her stomach, and her heart raced faster than the mare she had been petting. When he wasn't being a know-it-all, he was actually quite beautiful. Perhaps, the most beautiful boy she'd ever seen.

  The boy stood up and dusted off his pants. "Did you just say you were sorry for being 'discourteous?’” He scoffed. "Ugh, you speak like them."

  Genevieve glanced around, but they were the only two in the stable. "Like who?"

  "Like the royals, that's who. The royals with their fancy language, upturned chins, and their pinkies up. Why do you speak like that? Clearly, you're common with the way you're dressed and the fact you're spending your afternoon in here."

  Genevieve looked at her "common" clothing. She wore torn linen trousers, a rather plain grey tunic, muck-boots, and dirt from head to toe. This was the attire she always wore when tending to Belle. Marnie would have a fit if she messed her good clothing.

  She swallowed with great effort and spoke past the dryness in her mouth. "Umm… so, how is it you know so much about horses?"

  "I used to have a horse of my own before we moved here. His name was Jesso, a rounsey, but as fine a horse as any, if you ask me. My father mostly used him when he'd hunt, but when he wasn't in use, he was free for me to ride and care for. I also apprenticed with Marshal Robillard in the estate of Monsieur and Madame Piquette. It was under his tutelage I learned all I know about horses."

  "Well, that is a most impressive background…err, I mean, sounds like you know a lot." She offered him a smile. "Perhaps, I will listen to you about Belle."

  Genevieve surveyed the sky past the stable doors, noticing that more time had passed than she realized. Only the peak of the sun's edge was now visible from behind the mountain's ridge in the distance.

  "I better go," she said. "Marnie will be waiting to attend me, uhh I mean, she will worry if I'm not in before dark." Genevieve and the boy stepped out of the stall, and she secured the lock tightly into place before beginning to walk back to the castle.

  "Who's Marnie?" asked the boy. "Your mother?"

  "No, my mother died when I was young, but Marnie's the closest thing I have to one, I guess."

  "And your father?" he asked.

  "My, you're nosy." She nudged him and continued to trundle along the gravel path back toward the castle. "So, when did you arrive? I don't remember a caravan arriving recently." Genevieve looked at the boy and wondered if he sensed the intentional shift in conversation. Her onyx tresses blew in the breeze of the fall's crisp air. She tucked the strands behind her ears, but the wind continued to tousle them out of place.

  The boy kept his attention on his shuffling feet as he walked. "The other day. We arrived late in the evening. You had probably already tucked in for the night. My mother has been brought here on Her Majesty's demand as head seamstress." Genevieve noted the disgust he placed on the words "Her Majesty," like he had swallowed a mouthful of lemon. "My mother's the best seamstress in the kingdom. And my father has been asked to be Her Majesty's huntsman. He's the most skilled shot and his reputation is known throughout, not only this kingdom, but the next as well." He sounded proud, but Genevieve could see in his eyes that he was not entirely enthusiastic about moving to the palace.

  "So what kind of things do you do for fun? Do you hunt like your father?"

  "He's taken me a time or two, but I've always had a greater interest in caring for animals over killing them, even if it's for sustenance. But I like to read. When I wasn't at the stables, I could always be found reading somewhere." The boy pulled a small book out of his trousers' back pocket and waved it in front of her as proof. He smiled and jammed the copy back into place. The purple and pink hues of sunset illuminated his profile, highlighting his distinctly crooked nose and prominent jaw.

  "How is it that you know how to read?"

  "My mother insisted I learn even though we've never been particularly privileged. She used to set money aside from the commissions she would earn on her dressmaking to hire a tutor to teach me to read and write. We couldn't afford it for long, but he taught me the basic skills, and I practiced by reading anything I could get my hands on. My writing still isn't great. I have trouble with spelling sometimes, but I've become a strong reader. It's been my best companion, seeing as I am an only child and don't have many friends. That's how I've come to know such fancy words like 'sustenance.'" He laughed. "So, what's your excuse?"

  Genevieve fidgeted with her sleeves, not really knowing how to lie, but not wanting to tell him the truth. "Well, I was raised in the castle, daughter of a chambermaid. My mother was pretty high up in Queen Gabrielle's command, and the queen was very good to her. She allowed for me to be educated with the children of the court, that was before she passed away." Genevieve watched her feet as she fabricated the lie, careful not to make eye contact. She peeked up to see if he was wearing a face full of skepticism. But he wasn't. He just continued next to her at a casual gait.

  An awkward silence fell and solidified the space between them. Certain he could see straight through her terrible lie, she wracked her brain for a distraction. "Hey, tell you what, I actually took a liking to writing and proved to be pretty fair at it. Maybe we could make a deal of sorts. You could read to me sometime, and I could help you with your writing, if you wish."

  He considered it a moment then said, "That sounds fair. But I'd rather teach you something you didn't already know. I mean, you already know how to read."

  "Teach me something? And what is it that you could offer by way of lessons?"

  "Fencing. Do you fence?"

  "Well, no. I've never had the means to learn or the need for such a skill. But I suppose it would be nice to learn something so different. But I mu
st warn you, I'm hopelessly ungainly. I'm pretty sure I have less balance and grace than a three-legged dog." As if on cue, Genevieve had stopped watching her feet and tripped forward with a jerk, her foot catching a rock in the road. "Whoa!"

  Strong arms caught her around the waist and prevented her from hitting the ground.

  "Whoa is right," he said. "You weren't kidding about your balance. You're a clumsy mess." With his arms still wrapped around her, he helped her steady herself before letting go. The sound of his laughter melted her insides like the warm milk and camomile drink Marnie always fixed her before bed. Genevieve couldn't help but giggle, too. She admired his face and how it brightened when he smiled. She especially adored the singular dimple that pierced the right side of his face.

  "Yes, that is one thing I wasn't lying about."

  "Then fencing lessons should be pretty interesting." He continued to chuckle low in his throat until he turned to her, "But seriously, are you all right? You didn't hurt your ankle or anything did you?" His face was full of concern, and she marveled at how quickly he transitioned from laughter to attentiveness.

  "I'm fine. But nice of you to laugh first before checking to see if I broke my foot in half,” Genevieve snickered.

  "Yeah, well, what can I say? I'm working on my skills as a gentleman, and I haven't quite gotten there yet."

  When they reached the entrance to the North Tower, she turned and faced him.

  "Shall we begin our lessons tomorrow then?" asked Genevieve asked.

  "Sounds fine to me. Where can we meet?"

  "How about in the stables again? Most of the servants and the court eat their supper before dusk, so no one should bother us if we meet at the same time as this evening."

  "Then it's settled. Goodnight then." He took her hand in his, bowed slightly, and kissed the back of her hand. Her skin tingled under the heat of his lips. "You see, I'm working on becoming a gentleman. How am I doing?" He grinned and winked.