The Hidden Princess

A fairy-tale re-told

In a kingdom of the usual mix of bad and good, a wicked stepmother contrived a plan to kidnap her stepdaughter, left behind by the death of her scatter-brained father. The kidnappers abandoned the baby on the kitchen step of the neighboring kingdom’s palace, evil but recoiling at outright murder.

The little girl, only 4, inspired pity in the cook’s spacious heart and she took the girl into her kitchen for food, warmth, a home.

As the girl grew, her vague memories of another fine home confused her. Cook heard her explanation and thought she was the daughter of a servant in an aristocratic home. However, Sura - the girl’s name - was quite sure servants’ daughters did not eat with silver spoons.

YEARS LATER

The princess of the castle, Aurora Borella, had a problem: she needed to choose her most important favored lady-in-waiting. But all the available girls were too close in appearance to her. The princess, much like the bride at a wedding, must look the best.

Once she spotted Sura, she clapped in glee and grinned, a perfect dimple popping out. For everyone knows princesses are fair haired, short in stature, tiny in waist, feet, and hands but round figure. Sura, dark haired, tall height, slender and regular waist, feet, and hands, was the complete opposite.

The cook gaped. “She’s but a servant, Miss Aurora,” for she knew the princess as a babe and always used her name familiarly.

Aurora dimpled. “She hasn’t the coarse look of one. I need her.”

And that was that.

The cook delivered Sura to her new assignment. Sura accepted stolidly, arrived at the princess’s chambers, and curtsied. Work was all the same to her.

Aurora outfitted Sura’s great self in fine clothes proper for her position and personally taught her all she needed to know. She didn’t trust the jilted lesser ladies-in-waiting to do the job. They might have taught her all the wrong things out of spite. Aurora Borella owned a caring heart and spared Sura that fate. Besides, Sura proved a quick, easy student so it was easy.

The two girls rarely disagreed over much - there was little to disagree over in such different positions - that their relationship was like two cousins raised as sisters. Sura cared little for royal politics and the scheming among the ladies-in-waiting for power, which complemented Aurora’s desire to be the only one admired everywhere she went. They got along splendidly.

The year of Aurora and Sura’s 18th and 16th year, respectively, a proclamation issued forth from a nearby kingdom. It asked that all princesses attend a ball to celebrate the prince’s first solo hunt. The guests would consume the fruits of that effort.

Aurora smiled slowly at the messenger bearing the news. “It is a marrying ball,” she declared. Sura agreed. “Sura, find my best gown and accessories for that night and then find your own, for you must come too.”

“I am not a princess,” countered Sura.

“Now, now Sura,” chided Aurora gaily, enjoying persuading the girl to attend the ball. “It will be fun.”

“I shall have to dance,” Sura replied.

“And beautifully, too.”

“And long.” With rather obnoxious partners, she silently thought. All the balls she attended with Aurora found her constantly in demand as a partner. Aurora made her attend because, to dance with the skilled and lovely Sura, the men had to dance with her mistress the princess first, making Aurora the royal belle of the ball.

“You’re my charm, Sura,” Aurora finished.

And that was that.

Aurora planned her clothing impression around showy clothes and dazzling manners. Sura contemplated how often her feet would be smashed by too eager, off-rhythm partners and planned to wear her sturdiest slippers.

The night of the ball, Aurora arrived fashionably late. She glided down the ballroom stairs in her wide pearly white gown, cheeks rogued and hair done up with pearl pins. Sura followed behind, overshadowing the effect with her tall height in an ice blue gown. Curly brown hair escaped the sapphire pins Aurora lent her for the night.

During dinner, the attendees assessed each others and, by the time dancing started, all were ready to prove their worth. Sura hung back silently, taller than all the ladies present.

Dancing began in earnest.

Aurora Borella dancing with the prince amused Sura. Not only did his height make the princess seem child-like but her poor dancing skills hindered his own lack of skill. And, he was not the usual picture of a prince: strong, outdoorsy, strong features, very fair hair and coordinated from fencing.

The prince seemed to prefer his books to his sword, his face average with messy dark hair. Dance ended, Aurora swept angrily across the floor to Sura. “Quite a ball,” she murmured, sending the prince an undimpled smile.

The prince spotted the two and wondered if he had mistakenly danced with the lady-in-waiting instead of the princess. Eager to correct his mistake, he hurried over and bowed to Sura, extending his hand. Sura accepted, biting the inside of her cheek to stop a laugh. The pair skimmed the ground, keeping time to the sound of the music. Sura made the prince seem very quick on his feet.

“Your lady-in-waiting is overdressed,” he blurted in the midst of their banal small talk. Sura’s eyes widened. “Unless it isn’t to you. I am not expert in that sort of thing,” he quickly added. Sura blinked and then laughed.

“No, that is my mistress.”

Now he stared. “With feet like that,” he muttered. Sura laughed again. To her relief, the number ended and dancers switched partners. However, Aurora Borella approached Sura to fetch her to depart; the carriage awaited them.

The whole way back to the palace, no one spoke. Sura kept her mirth in check. Aurora’s face began to sprout uncomely marks of surliness.

The prince searched for Sura - he’d found one of her blue pins and wanted to return it - only to discover she had left with the teeny girl dressed in white. He wondered where such a girl (a princess?) learned to dance like that.

(Aurora’s poor dancing skills were due to her instructors never daring to correct her. Only Sura’s help kept Aurora from being a complete disgrace.)

But the woman in blue had disappeared.

Back in her rooms at the castle, Aurora Borella kicked her way out of her dress, ripped the pins from her hair, scrubbed the rogue off her cheeks. Sura attempted to assist but the small whirlwind pushed her help away.

“Some prince that was, Sura,” grumbled Aurora. “He’s too tall. Tall is good, yes, but not too tall,” continued the grumbler. Sura smiled and “hmm”ed supportively.

Aurora grumbled herself to sleep. Dreams of dancing pearls and taunting sapphires whirled through her mind. Upon awakening, she curtly asked for the borrowed pins back. Sura indicated that the items rested in their usual case.

“Except, my lady,” began she, a bit hesitantly in the face of an obvious bad mood, “one pin is missing. I think it fell at the ball.”

“When you were dancing with the prince, I fear,” added Aurora, undimpled and fiery-eyed. “He might have it-oh!” Dimples sprouted. “If the prince has it, we must go fetch it.”

Sura bobbed in agreement. “I’ll fetch your morning clothes.” Aurora shook her head.

“My new clothes.” Sura curtsied and left the chamber, shaking her head at the princess’s sudden mood about-face.

Attired in a soft pink dress made in the less flouncy, more clingy style, Princess Aurora Borella and her chief lady-in-waiting paid a visit upon the prince’s invalid aunt. The aunt occupied a wing of their kingdom’s castle, had her own fleet of servants, and an intimidating demeanor to rival Aurora’s.

The three women sipped tea slowly, leaving little time for more than the usual small talk.

The aunt scrutinized the pair over her porcelain cup, finding fault with the blonde’s forced dimple and sniffed at the dress’s shade of pink. Sura smiled slightly and the aunt’s eyes twinkled at her. Sura hastily averted her eyes and sipped her lukewarm tea, hoping Aurora hadn’t seen the obvious favoritism.

Eventually, the aunt noisily cleared her throat and announced “I think Eugene would love to see you girls.” She beckoned to her maid. “Send for Prince Eugene, dear.” The young girl curtsied and left.

Aurora dribbled tea down her chin as she struggled not to spray with laughter. “Eugene?!”

Sura frowned. “He said Robert was his name.”

The aunt smiled. “His middle name.” Sura laughed.

The maid re-entered and, curtsying, announced “Prince Eugene.” The prince himself strode in. Aurora frostily inclined her head and managed a lady-like hiss of “Prince Eugene”, emphasis on his real first name.

The prince bowed, lifting an eyebrow at Sura questioningly. Sura rose and dipped a quick but meaningful curtsy of equal puzzlement.

The aunt noted the exchange interestedly.

“Eugene, these girls came to visit. Sit down, have tea.”

Eugene sat and had tea.

The aunt continued. “I suppose your ball went well?” Eugene nodded. “Were there any nice girls?” Eugene cast sideways glances at Sura and Aurora. Aurora tightened her lips.

“I’m not finished with contemplation,” he finally answered. Sura stifled a snort.

Ten minutes crept by the assembled nobles. Aurora searched frantically for a subtle way to demand her sapphire pin back. Her eyes spotted a glint on his shirt and, upon investigation, realized its source.

“Eugene, wherever did you acquire that darling pin?” Aurora simpered.

He pulled it from its place in his shirt and rolled it between his fingers. “I f-“

“Found it during the ball?” interrupted Aurora in an unsettling falsetto. “What a coincidence! My Sura lost a pin there.” She dimpled. “Sapphires.”

Eugene held the pin out to Sura, reaching past Aurora’s frozen face. “Yours?” Sura took it, nodding carefully.

Aurora Borella sprang to her daintily slippered feet and armed herself with deathly deep dimples. “It’s not hers.” Her first climbed higher and higher. “She’s my Sura, my lady-in-waiting, and-and…”

Sura gaped at Aurora’s unexpected outburst. Eugene stared at the raging girl.

The aunt placed her teacup on the table and rose. Addressing her maid: “Tell the coachman to ready a carriage for three people.”

Aurora faced the aunt, reaching for politeness. “We have our own carriage, madam.”

The aunt raised an eyebrow. “It is not for you, my dear Princess. It is for the prince, his betrothed, and myself.”

“You?” asked the prince.

“Betrothed?” shrieked Aurora.

“Can I not be asked first?” questioned Sura.

“Of course. Eugene?” The aunt gestured toward the seated girl.

“Will you-” Further words were drowned in Aurora Borella’s tirade.

Sura nodded, grabbing his outstretched hand. “Of course. I would love to.”

The aunt called for a footman. “Please remove this girl.”

“Princess!” shrieked Aurora. “I am a Princess Princess PRINCESS!”

“And I’m rich,” scoffed Sura in an uncharacteristically sarcastic tone.

Incidentally, she was. But that’s another tale.