The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Nancy Madore
with as little embarrassment to her sensibilities as he could manage and she, in turn, submitted willingly. She did enjoy pleasing him, provided he was considerate enough not to take advantage.
If only he would not persist in these inappropriate comments outside their bedroom, insinuating things from every scenario; things that simply added to her discomfort over that particular subject.
And now here he was again, trying to interject the topic of “it” into their discussion about the wizardess, where it could not be more out of place.
“It is not my ‘sexy’ feet which are wearing out my shoes,” she replied, trying to keep the resentment out of her voice. She did notwant to appear frigid or distraught, but rather, preferred to draw him back to reality with dignity and common sense. “The wizardess has already explained that our shoes are being worn out by our thoughts, not our feet.”
“Yes, but have you never considered what those thoughts might be?” he asked her.
“Why, of course,” she replied. “The wizardess has as much as said that it is homesickness for my sisters and my father’s castle. We had such wonderful times there. I do miss it.”
“I don’t think that is all there is to it,” the prince argued. “You didn’t forget that the wizardess also mentioned ‘discontent’ in your marriages.”
She stared at the prince, shocked by his bluntness. “It does not seem so outrageous that our new lives should be a bit difficult to adjust to after such an enchanted childhood,” she countered.
“Or perhaps it is something else,” he said, with meaning and emphasis.
So here he was, referring to “it” yet again! She ground her teeth and asked, “What else could it be?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” he lied. “But I am very interested to hear what the wizardess has to say about it.”
She forced another stiff smile. “More coffee?”
Princess Conscia had been looking forward to the wizardess’s visit, but now she was suddenly feeling nervous. Would the wizardess think her a failure as a wife? Or worse, would she be expected to humiliate herself even further to her husband? Surely he would not be so debased as to bring “it” up while the wizardess was here!
She struggled for the proper words to caution her husband while she poured his coffee. “I hope you won’t impose your own ideas aboutthis on the wizardess,” she began. “I think it would be best to listen to what advice she has to give.” A little blush crept up her cheeks as she said this.
“What ideas are you speaking of that have you blushing so, my darling?” he asked her with a teasing smile.
“I don’t have anything in mind,” she lied, wishing she had held her tongue. There was no stopping him anyway, so why had she bothered to ask?
He took her warm, flushed face in his hands and held it until her eyes met his. “I, too, wait anxiously for the wizardess’s advice,” he admitted in a low voice. They were both silent a moment, until the front bell rang out shrilly, causing them both to jump.
The prince went to the door to admit the wizardess while Princess Conscia regained her composure. A moment later the wizardess entered their kitchen, observing the princess carefully.
“Do I smell coffee?” she asked casually, but she noticed everything as she spoke, from the blush on Princess Conscia’s face to the slightly gloomy yet determined expression of her husband.
“I hope I did not interrupt anything,” she said with a sly smile.
The prince and princess looked at the wizardess; he with surprise and her with horrified embarrassment.
“Oh, heavens, no,” Princess Conscia insisted quickly. “We were simply finishing up our morning coffee.”
“Actually,” her husband divulged, “we were trying to guess what you had concluded about the shoes.”
“Indeed,” laughed the wizardess. “That is good.”
“Really?” asked Princess Conscia. She had feared her husband’s bluntness might have offended the wizardess. She poured them all a cup of coffee and sat down, feeling a bit more relaxed. She did not,however, want the wizardess to inquire further about where their conjectures had led, so she attempted to divert this by saying, “Have you questions you wish to ask about my…um, shoe problem?”
“My observations thus far have, in fact, been sufficient for me to identify the problem,” replied the wizardess.
“But, you have only just arrived,” the prince objected. “Perhaps you have missed something important.”
“Oh, I have missed nothing,” the wizardess told him with a smile. “Everything you will need is right here.” She shuffled through the contents of her bag and finally pulled from it a long, brown cylinder. “There it is,” she said, handing the cylinder to the prince. “I think its best if you delay the treatment—or even discussing it—until late in the day, when you are both ready to retire. Please follow the instructions to the letter,” she admonished him firmly, “and its magic will not fail.” She swallowed the last of her coffee and stood up.
“But…” objected the princess.
“You may see me out, Princess Conscia,” interrupted the wizardess.
With an anxious glance at the mysterious object in her husband’s hand, the princess reluctantly walked out with the wizardess.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured.
“You will in time, my dear,” the wizardess assured her. But the princess was not reassured.
The prince, meanwhile, had opened the tube and removed from it a roll of white parchment and a paintbrush. The parchment was made of a mysterious substance that shimmered as it caught the light. Several sheets were stacked together on a roll. As he unraveled the parchment he noticed that there were instructions on the back of each sheet, and he began to read. A low whistle escaped his lips.
“How strange,” Princess Conscia remarked, returning to the kitchen.
Her husband made no comment as he quickly put the parchment back on the roll and slipped it and the paintbrush back into the tube.
“May I see that?” she asked him.
“No,” he replied.
“What?” she cried in shock. “But I wish to see it.”
“I think not,” he replied.
“Do the instructions say that I can not see it?” she asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Then for heaven’s sake,” she said, “allow me to see it at once!”
“I will show it to you when the time comes,” he replied with a note of finality that made it clear he was not going to give in.
“Do you mean later this evening?” she asked.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“When we are ‘ready to retire,’” she quoted from the wizardess.
“Exactly,” he confirmed.
“Not before?” she pressed.
“Not a moment before.”
What a long day that was for Princess Conscia! Whatever was in the strange, brown cylinder must not be to her liking, she mused, for her husband to have refused to allow her to even look at it. And yet how objectionable could it be, when it was recommended by such a dignified figure as the wizardess? It was impossible to imagine that Harmonia Brist, who commanded so much respect, would suggest something inappropriate.
And yet, why was her husband keeping it from her? He would not do so unless he had reason. The princess quickly deduced that the cylinder must contain something