Born to Rule

extinguished the largest candles. A long “aaah” and gasps of amazement followed as two lines of footmen entered. Each one held an elaborate fantasy of spun-sugar cakes and molded ice creams. Set atop these delectable structures were sparkler wands fizzing with light.
    “It’s the Great Ship Maude! How totally ice!” exclaimed Kristen as a dessert was set before her. This was apparently a Sea of Salt Tears expression.
    “It’s Heart’s Purr,” said Myrella as another footman gave her a spun-sugar castle. The castle appeared to float on a pond with water lilies made of frosting.
    “The Belgravian Gardens,” Alicia said as a wave of homesickness overcame her. “The swans are so lovely.”
    “And the fourteenth regiment of the Grand Grenadiers. Oh, look, even little cannons! It’s the battle of Pliny Field. Very important.” Gundersnap bent forward to examine her dessert. “Ooh, the cavalry looks yummy!”
    “Who wants a sail? I think they’re made of marzipan,” Kristen said as she dismantled the Great Ship Maude by pulling out its chocolate mast.
    “Why was that particular battle so important, Princess Gundersnap?” Alicia asked.
    “A very savage king was defeated. He enslaved all the people. Even children were forced to work for notting, and the whipping boy’s family received no pay.”
    “Whipping boy!” Kristen almost shrieked. “Hello! That went out a couple of centuries ago.”
    Alicia turned to Gundersnap. “Do any royal households still employ whipping boys? It’s so…so…so Dark Ages.”
    But Gundersnap had turned quite red. “Well, I think it has, for the most part.”
    Alicia had the most dreadful feeling that perhaps the Empress of All the Slobodks still employed a whipping boy to receive the beatings for the small crimes and mistakes of any royal child. She knew that Gundersnap had fifteen brothers and sisters, so they probably had to have at least two or three whipping boys. The more Alicia heard about the Empress Maria Theresa, the less she liked about her.
    After dessert the princesses followed the Queen Mum to the Hall of Music. The third-year princesses sat on a stage, each with a caged bird on her lap. The first to perform was Princess Kinna from the Queendom of Mattunga, a beautiful princess with skin the color of dark cinnamon. She wore her hair in a cascade of hundreds of braids.
    “How many braids do you think she’s wearing?” Kristen whispered.
    “One hundred forty-eight,” Princess Rosamunde answered. “It’s the fashion in the Queendom of Mattunga.”
    “Queendom?” Alicia asked.
    “Yes, only women are allowed to rule.”
    Princess Kinna took her bird from its cage. She gave the bird a small signal and it opened its beak. A long stream of notes poured forth. At certain points Princess Kinna joined the bird in song.
    It was a stunning performance. Alicia gasped as the music ended. Yes, indeed, if one could lead a songbird to sing so beautifully, one could lead a nation to greatness, Alicia thought proudly. There was loud applause.
    “Inspiring!” the Queen Mum exclaimed. Onstage she congratulated Princess Kinna. Then she turned to the audience. “It can be done, miladies. It can be done!”
    But Alicia was worried. She was good at a lot of things, and she was musical, but could she do this? The idea of the contest being so important made her nervous. Very nervous.
     
    That evening Alicia felt a chill in her room that added to her unease. She lit her special reading candle. It had a small hood so no one could see the light from under her door.
    She snuggled beneath her velvet blankets and ran her hand lightly over her book’s tattered cover, embossed with gold scrolling that had long ago lost its gleam. She opened the book, read a few lines, and sighed with utter delight. Yet she was still mystified. Why had these two lovers been separated?
    Their love was so deep it was almost painful. The Forgotten Princess enchanted Alicia, and she read a few more lines before her eyes began to close. Suddenly worn out by all of the evening’s excitement, she tucked the book under her pillows and fell deeply asleep.
    From the window, a sliver of moonlight stole across her face as the clock began to chime midnight, and something cold brushed against her cheek. Someone seemed to whisper into her dreams, “There is more to my story. You must help….”
    By morning she had forgotten the words, forgotten even her dreams. But still she had awakened with the odd