"The princess Lissla Lissar is of an age, now, to marry." He turned to look at her, moving to arm's length, as if to display her to best advantage to his audience, perhaps to the future husband, while he admired her with a connoisseur's vision. One or two of the ministers-the ones who had tried the hardest the night before to present the princess to different dancing-partners-looked faintly uneasy. The pale princess closed her eyes.
"Is she not beautiful? Look at her, my friends, my lords and ladies, my vassals, servants, bondsfolk, ministers, and all of my court. Is she not the loveliest thing your eyes have ever beheld?"
The two or three ministers who were feeling vaguely uneasy exchanged even more vaguely uneasy glances.
In fact the princess was not the most beautiful thing the court of the king who had been married to the most beautiful woman in seven kingdoms had ever beheld, and had they any moment of doubt they need only raise their eyes to the portrait of that queen which hung behind the very dais where the king stood and spoke of his princess. The painting seemed to be presiding over the magnificent room, the drama being enacted at its feet. Never had the painted face seemed fiercer or more compelling, or more alive; certainly it seemed more alive than the drooping princess, dangling from her father's hand, leaning upon her dog. She swayed a little, and looked ill.
The uneasiness of the ministers became a little more general, but the uneasiness had yet to take definite shape or name. It began to occur to the court that they had seen very little of the princess for the whole of the seventeen years of her existence, and was that not very odd, for a princess, and an only child of so grand a personage as their king, as well? It was true that she had been a little more visible the last two years, but she rarely spoke, and seemed to prefer the company of her dog; there were rumors of a dirty, uncouth old woman, some herb-hag, that the princess was mysteriously attached to; no one knew why.
Was it not possible therefore that there was ... something amiss about the princess?
The smiles began to fade off the faces of the courtiers. She looked, as they thought about it, haggard. Did she have a wasting illness? (What had, finally, her mother died of? The doctors never said.) Suddenly the king's over-jovial words struck on them harshly. Could he not see that there was something wrong with her?
Although perhaps he could not. She was his daughter and his only child, and he could not look at her but with eyes of love. But ... they did not want to think it, but they did ... perhaps there was a sinister reason for her habitual absence from her father's court, for her reluctance to take up her birthright, her royalty-why did she shrink from the eyes of her people?
The court shook itself, and decided to be impatient with the princess, impatient so that they need think no worse.
But the king-did he not speak a little wildly? Was it completely . . . proper ... even in a king, to praise his daughter so extravagantly? Some of the courtiers remembered his madness upon the queen's death, and the long months he had remained locked up in his rooms during her decline, seeing almost no one, state affairs attended to by a featureless collection of ministers with ponderous voices. Those had been bad times for the country.
But that was all over ... so everyone had hoped. He had been lit and capable again now for over a year-surely there was nothing really wrong now (with him or with the princess)-it would be a good thing when the princess was married and gone-he would settle down again then. He praised her extremely because she so obviously did not deserve it; with a father's love he wished her shortcomings to be overlooked; which meant that he was aware of her shortcomings.
It was really not surprising that any man should be a little over-anxious, over-thoughtful of his only daughter, particularly when that daughter was also his only child. And this girl has yawn up so distractingly like and yet unlike her mother-it is not to be wondered at, that the king does not know quite how to behave toward her.
He still misses his wife, of course, for he has not remarried. That is probably the girl's doing. Every girl wants her father to herself. Look at her now, pretending to be so bashful, so shy that she cannot open her eyes, as if she did not like being the center of attention. Look at her, half-swooning, making sure by her weakness that her father will stand close, will hold her, protect her, not take his eyes off her. She probably has a hundred little petting, luring ways with him when they're alone together. And the poor man, thinks the sun rises and sets in her. Just see the way he looks at her.
It will be better when she is married and gone.
"The princess, as I say, is to be married!" And the king gave a high-pitched giggle as he said it; and then all the court truly was uneasy. "It is high time she was married, for she is a woman grown!" And he stroked her arm in a way that made many members of the court look away, although they would not have admitted why, even to themselves.
"The princess, furthermore, is to be married very soon; the sooner the better."
The king's voice, too loud, boomed out over the heads of his people. The candles flickered, as if in response; people's gazes flickered, the expressions on their faces flickered. "I have set a great machinery in motion today, this morning, to have all this great land in readiness for the most magnificent celebration any of us has ever seen! I decided upon this thing last night, at the ball, as I beheld the princess for what seemed to be the first time; and I realized there was no time to waste. And so I set about the work this morning before dawn."
A sense of dread had settled on the company no less profound than that which lay upon the princess, who still stood silent, facing her father's people, suffering his hand upon her arm.
"For in the princess's face I have seen a thing more glorious than any I have looked on before in the long years of my life: I have seen my youth returned to me, something no man ever thinks to behold, something no man-ere now-has ever been granted. In three days' time we shall celebrate the wedding of our beautiful, beloved princess, Lissla Lissar-but it is not only your princess's wedding you shall celebrate, but your king's as well-for I shall be her bridegroom!"
Lissar fainted. She swam back toward the light again, fleeing from the roaring of invisible monsters who seemed to press close around her. She thought briefly that one of them had seized her right arm-the arm her father had held-which ached fiercely. But as she opened her eyes she realized that it was only that she had fallen on that side, and bent the arm painfully under her; and she noticed further that her shoulder ached, as if wrenched, and she guessed that her father had not wanted to let her go.
For a moment she could not move. It seemed her trapped arm held the rest of her captive; she was twisted in such a way that for a moment there seemed no way to begin the untwisting. She lay, blinking, her mind, still confused by the roaring of the monsters, failing to make sense of what she saw; the rippling of hems and the strange, abrupt, unconnected motions of shoes and boots bewildered her.