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She swaggered away,
steadying herself as she walked by Clara’s bedpost. The same one she
used to brace for the lacing of stays.
    Clara stood, gingerly and covertly
feeling her ribs, which she had landed on, feeling grateful she had
not been abused further. Olive and she exchanged a look. Better that
Ada not set her attention on Clara again.
    No such luck. Ada turned, her purple
skirts swirling about her legs like grape vapor. “You will do what
I ask. You will not embarrass
me in front of our subjects.”
    Clara knew it was useless to defend
herself with the Queen but tried nonetheless, “My Queen,” Clara
took a breath to continue, a rib squawking, “…I like showing
gratitude to our subjects, as I think they remain loyal and joyous
when they are treated well.”
    “Yes… you
would, ” Ada said with derision, her chest rising and
falling, the liquor a wave of rotten fruit immersing the room in a
cloying smell of things which sicken.
    Ada came toward her with purpose
now, swinging the decanter in such a way that Clara’s eyes became
mesmerized by it.
    “Dear Guardian,” Olive
whispered.
    Clara’s thoughts echoed.
    Ada came closer, her hips swaying in
time with the decanter, her dark eyes glittering with resolve. This
might be something that Clara would not recover from. She was
resigned to the Queen’s drunken rages, kept them secret.
    But she had not wielded an object
before.
    The chamber door burst open, causing
all to jump, except Ada, who was as calm as the dead when deep in
drink.
    “Who enters?” Her tone said, who
dares to enter?
    “It is I, Queen Ada; King Otto and
Prince Frederic.”
    Clara looked away from the Queen
(not always advisable) to see the two monarchs and should not have.
She felt the Queen’s hand sink into her hair piled with pearls and
was wrenched backward, the strand of pearls tearing. They broke free
like birds scattered in the fields Outside. A hundred shimmering gems
bounced and rolled across the glossy floor, pooling around everyone’s
feet.
    Clara’s neck was bent at a tortuous
angle, as the Queen held her lips above Clara’s ear. “Do not forget
who is sovereign here, my daughter. Now get ye gone from my sight.”
    And with a mighty push, the Queen
released Clara. She stumbled over the pearls, which ran like an
iridescent stream upon the burnished wood and tumbled into Olive’s
arms.
    The king rushed over to dispatch
assistance. “Do not touch her, King Otto. She needs help from no
one. Do you, Princess?”
    Leaning into Olive she whispered,
“No.”
    Ada’s gaze narrowed. “Olive, sweet
Olive, how you hate me. I see my abuse upon your face.” Olive
lowered her eyes, never able to hide her expression from the Queen.
“Best you not show your feelings, servant . Take her away.”
    King Otto said, “Is this not her
chamber?”
    Prince Frederic stood beside his
father looking at Clara with a contemplative expression.
    “It is,” she remarked, saying it
to the king but giving the full weight of her stare to Frederic.
“Your son understands discipline, do you not?”
    Frederic suffered another look at
Clara, dismissing her. “Yes, I think Clara and I have an
understanding of how things will be once we are joined.”
    Clara started fantasizing a way for
harm to befall him from that moment onward. A seed germinated inside
the dark recesses of her heart.
    She could not be under this man’s
authority.
    Her mother’s drunken ire was
something she bore because there was no choice. But his? She needed
to formulate a plan and did not yet know what. She would confer with
Charles.
    The king gave her a look that may
have been sympathy. However, he was
weak . H er
mother’s pearls meant more than Clara’s harm at the hands of the
Queen, and later, his own son.
    “Let us take our leave of her
chamber, Queen Ada. There is much for us to discuss. I have brought
some of my most prized grapes that I wish for you to sample,” he
wheedled.
    Clara watched Ada’s expression