Carmen Ferreiro-Esteban - Two Moon Princess

Over the winter months, my training as a lady continued. Soon my hair was long enough to dress, and I had to spend long hours brushing it. Eventually my hands became soft and white, and my nails stopped breaking. On the outside, I was starting to look like a lady.

Inside, though, something was missing, some sixth sense ladies seem to possess. Hard as I tried to fit in, I still felt awkward. To add to my misery, my sister Rosa was always there, ready to point out to my mother whatever it was I had not done, or not done well enough. The maddening thing was that whenever she told on me, she always managed to appear as innocent as a baby.

Tío Ramiro did not visit that winter. I did not really expect him to, as the roads had all disappeared under the snow, making travel impossible. But still, I missed him. Without Tío to talk to, only Margarida stood between me and despair.

“Wait until the spring,” my sister kept telling me after listening to my complaints. “Mother will introduce you to the court at the Spring Ball. You may change your mind then.” And so, obediently I waited for the spring and the mysterious ball that would make a lady of me.

Finally, when the snow started to melt in the fields and the trees to bloom with new flowers, Mother made the announcement. “As it is customary every spring,” she said, “a ball will be held in the palace. This year all the heirs of the Houses of Old will be invited. Over the following days, a contest will take place. The winner, should he win Princess Sabela’s favor, will be proclaimed heir to our kingdom.”

With a rustle of silk, Sabela rose from her chair and moved toward Mother. Ignoring the curtsy protocol demanded, she stared at Mother. “I will not marry any of the Lords of the Houses of Old,Your Majesty,” she said, her voice even.

“In that case, Princess, you will not marry anyone. Your birthright will go to Princess Rosa.”

Sabela’s answer came without hesitation as if she had rehearsed it many times. “So it will,” she said, and after a formal curtsy, she swirled around and left the room.

Rosa, her eyes beaming with delight, rose from her chair. But Mother raised her hand and motioned her to sit back.

After a long strained silence, Mother spoke. “Princess Andrea.”

I jumped forward and, in my excitement, tripped over the long train of my dress and almost fell. Behind me, Rosa giggled. I grabbed my skirts tight in my fists and jerked them from the wool rug, wishing they were Rosa’s arms. I walked up to Mother.

When I looked up from my curtsy, Mother was staring at me, but her pale blue eyes gave away nothing. “Princess Andrea,” she said in an even voice, “you are welcome to attend the ball. But remember that until that day you are under my supervision. Never forget: Your duty as a lady comes first.” I nodded and moved back.

After several weeks of exciting preparations, spoiled only by Rosa’s constant harping, the morning of the ball arrived. As I waited for the couturier to make the last adjustments on my new dress, I could not stop daydreaming. In a few hours, Mother would accept me as a lady in front of the whole court, and somehow I would understand my place in the world.

“As you can clearly see, Princess,” the couturier was saying, “the effect of the lace over the elbow is striking.”

I nodded my agreement absentmindedly. In fact, I was sure she had told me the previous week how the absence of lace in the sleeves added to the simple charm of the dress or something along those lines. I didn’t argue. The dress seemed fine either way.

I closed my eyes, too bored to listen. When I opened them again, my sister Rosa was smiling at me in the mirror. She was wearing a layered dress, each layer a different shade of pink, her favorite color. Suddenly my pale yellow gown seemed subdued. To feel better, I remembered how very becoming the hue was to my dark complexion, as the dressmaker had assured me. Apparently my sister did not find it so. “Asparagus has never looked better, slim sister,” she said sweetly.

I turned, my cheeks burning. “Look who is talking, Miss Plump Strawberry Queen.” The anger at my sister suppressed for so many years blinded me. I pushed her to the floor. Rosa screamed and covered her face with her hands. I jerked at her arms to reach her mouth and stop her cries. But Rosa shook her head and screamed again.

“Princess Andrea!”

I looked up, and my heart stopped. Mother was standing by the doorway, her eyes, two slits of ice.

I stood up and moved back while Mother came over. After helping Rosa up, she turned to face me. “No ball for you, young lady,” she said in a hoarse whisper. “You are dismissed to your quarters.”

With a final look of disapproval, she swirled around and left the room, her ladies-in-waiting silent witnesses to her indignation and my shame in her wake.

I remained still for a moment, stunned by the enormity of her punishment. Blind with anger, I picked up the skirts of my dress and rushed to my room.

Pieces of my frock were flying around me when Ama Bernarda appeared in the doorway that opens into her bedroom. “What is it, Princess?”

“Rosa got me in trouble again, and Mother has forbidden me to go to the ball. I will never be a lady now.”

“But you are a lady,” Ama said, holding me in her arms. “A perfect little lady, you have always been for me.”

I eyed her suspiciously. A perfect lady? That was new. Hadn’t she insisted, only a year past, what a perfect squire I would be? Memories of the Games came to my mind. I remembered Don Gonzalo’s cries of encouragement and the acrid smell of sweat. I remembered the trembling of the string in my hands and the exhilarating feeling of victory when the king had given me the golden arrow. Then I remembered my father’s ultimate decree, and my spirits sank again.

Ama hugged me. “Don’t cry, dear child,” she said. “It is all your father’s fault, if I may say so, that you are so confused. Storming out of the room like that the day you were born, without even looking at you. Just because you were a girl. And such a beautiful girl you were, too. Staring after him with your big blue eyes wide open, as if trying to understand what his anger was about.”

I lost myself in the familiar, probably untruthful story with a guilty pleasure. When I calmed down, Ama helped me to the bed. She left, returning with a bowl of soup she insisted I drink. I knew she would not leave me alone until I did, and I obeyed her. It was only later, as I drifted off to sleep, that I realized Ama’s trick. She had added some of her sleeping herbs to the brew.

A bright light flashing in my eyes woke me up. I sat up in bed. I knew something important was supposed to happen that day, and I also knew something was not right. For one, the sun was in the wrong place. My room faced west, so the sun was not supposed to come in until late afternoon. But the shining rays cutting through an opening in my bed curtains were only too real. I blinked and my memories came back. The morning was over, the ball had probably started already, and I was forbidden to attend.

I moaned and, burying my head into the pillows, let my fingers run freely through my hair, undoing with a wicked pleasure my elaborate hairdo—my mother’s idea of a lady’s look. No more lady this, lady that for me! Tío had told me once that if I was not meant to be a lady, no one could force me. Well, I had tried and failed. It was over.

At least Ama was gone. I knew she would be in the kitchen by now, the best place, she claimed, to hear the gossip from the ball firsthand. I got out of bed, and sitting in front of the oblong face of the mirror, I dressed my hair into a single braid. Once I had finished, I held it with the golden arrow—the arrow I had won the day of the Games, which the smith had turned into a barrette.