She held out her hand and David took it hesitantly, stared down at the rings covering it. It was very warm.
His sister drew her hand away.
"Your hands are very cold," the Prince said, taking his sister's hand with one of his own, the two of them looking deep into each other's eyes. When he looked back at David there was a smile curving his mouth, a strange sharp tooth‑filled smile.
"And you're quite pale," the Princess said and the same sharp smile was on her face. "Perhaps you're feeling poorly? Very sickly and soon to expire?"
"Oh no, Your Highness, he's as healthy as can be," his nurse said. "Never ever even been sick, not one‑‑" The Prince looked at her and she fell silent, stared down at the floor.
"Insolent," the Prince said musingly. His eyes glowed bright green.
"But we have to go now," the Princess said, a hot thick regret in her voice that made David press back against the wall, skin prickling. Her eyes were very brown, endless dark. "Father is waiting for us." She looked at the Prince.
"Yes," the Prince said, as if answering a question that only he'd heard. He and the Princess walked down the hall together hand in hand.
***
David saw his father again as he entered his thirteenth year. He was in the cathedral sitting looking at the windows while his nurse prayed for a cure for her stiff joints. She'd been sleeping with an onion under her pillow every night but it hadn't helped. David tried to help out as much as he could‑‑making gingerbread, singing his nurse the same songs she'd sung to him when he was young ‑‑but he didn't think he was being very helpful. She moved slowly now, every step she took seeming to cause her pain. The second chamberlain's wife had come to visit recently bearing a container of strong smelling ointment that she'd made his nurse promise to use. She'd helped her rub it into her hands and David watched his nurse smile for the first time in days, watch the knot of her hands unfurl. The chamberlain's wife sat down next to his nurse's bed then, took her hand and said, "You could ask someone to come and help out, you realize."
"And who would come?" his nurse said tartly, smile fading, and the chamberlain's wife sighed and nodded. David had stared at both of them feeling helpless and miserable, and then he'd gone and gotten the broom that his nurse kept in the cleaning cupboard. He'd never swept a floor before but he'd seen her do it every day. It was easier than he thought it would be and he liked the sound the broom made as it scraped across the floor, a scratchy almost song he hummed along with. When he was done sweeping he bent down and lifted up a corner of the rug just like his nurse always did. He heard the chamberlain's wife's laugh.
"Clearly he learned to sweep from you," she said to his nurse, a twinkling smile dancing across her eyes and curving her mouth. She looked at him then, the same expression on her face. "I'm afraid you'll never be a housekeeper," she said, and although he didn't know what a housekeeper was he liked her smile and the way it filled her voice. He thought perhaps she was the only person besides his nurse who'd ever truly smiled at him. He knew she was the only person other than his nurse who'd spoken to him in years. He smiled back at her and she blinked, eyes widening.
"Goodness," she said, and a flush bloomed across her face, her voice faltering a bit.
"His mother used to smile like that," his nurse said. "Remember? Right before he was born she was the loveliest thing in the world, wasn't she?"
"She was," the chamberlain's wife said softly. A look flitted across her face, something surprised and perhaps a little scared. "She truly was."
He saw his father come into the cathedral, heard murmurs of "The King!" break the silence of the church and saw people turn away from their prayers and look. Even his nurse did, twisting back to look behind her slowly.
His father wasn't alone. David's brother and sister were with him, one on either side of the King, trailing just a little behind him.
His father walked straight to the front of the cathedral, brisk long strides, and knelt by the altar.
A priest immediately moved toward him, bent down and listened to his whispered request and then nodded, made the sign of a blessing. His father bent his head down under the gesture as if he felt it touching him. His brother and sister knelt too, their little fingers touching. They didn't bow their heads during their blessing.
His father stood up while the priest was making the final sign of benediction over his brother and sister, turned away and strode back down the cathedral briskly. He looked at everyone as he passed, eyes skimming over them. David held his breath, but his father's gaze flickered across him, right through him.
His brother and sister saw him when they left though. David watched them look at him and then at each other, their expressions a perfect mirror, right down to the arched eyebrows and quick amused quirk of the mouth.
Next to him his nurse let out a soft pained gasp. David looked at her. Her hands had frozen to the pew, rested curved into it and coated with ice. He tried to pull them free but the ice grew thicker under his hands.
"Look at the windows, love," she said, her voice tired and ragged. "Aren't they very pretty?"
They were. David thought he could see colors under the ice that covered them, imagined them swirling and filling the church. Far over their heads the cathedral bells tolled, singing out that the King had been to worship, had been blessed. David hummed along with their song. By the time the song was over his nurse's hands were free and she said she was ready to leave.
"Do you want me to help you stand up?" David asked.
"No, no, don't fret," she said, and he watched her lever herself up slowly, slowly, fumbling to wrap her shawl around herself. Her hands were blue all the way home.
"Do you think he saw me?" David asked later.
"Of course," his nurse said. "He looked at everyone as he was leaving, didn't he?"
"He didn't see me. And he doesn't‑‑he doesn't want to, does he?"
His nurse sighed and pulled the blanket she had wrapped around her knees up a bit, twisting it in her hands. "Did you know that once upon a time there used to be flowers and grass everywhere, as far as the eye could see?"
"I'm too old for stories," David said, and watched as she smiled a faint sad smile.
"There was. I promise you, there were all those things once back before you were born."
He saw what she didn't say in the way her eyes didn't quite meet his. "I changed things."
"Maybe," she said.
"I didn't mean to."
"Oh, love," she said, "I know. You can't help what you are."
"What am I?"
She didn't answer for a long time. But that evening, long after he went to bed, long after he was supposed to be asleep, he heard her shuffle slowly into his room, sit down next to him. "A curse," she said softly, sadly. Her hand touched his hair, stayed there till he could hear her shivering, teeth clattering together. When she got up and went to bed he heard her say her prayers and put a fresh onion under her pillow.
He asked the second chamberlain's wife what a curse was the next time she and his nurse visited.
She'd come and rubbed more of the strong smelling ointment into his nurse's hands again, said she'd try to get some more blankets sent to them. His nurse had smiled and said "Thank you,"
then fallen asleep looking almost peaceful.
"What's a curse?" he said and the second chamberlain's wife looked at him for a long time before she answered. When she was done talking she'd pulled her shawl tight around herself and her fingers had gone blue‑white with cold. She said she had to go and she'd come to visit again soon.
She didn't smile at him. When she was gone he sat watching his nurse, feeling his eyes prickle hot wet.