The princess in the ballgown

The clock hit seven. The maid knocked, the princess’ personal servant opened the door and ushered her in. He mumbled something about the princess taking a bath. However, the other could not hear the usual humming of the ever blissful gentlewoman.

Ten minutes past seven. The maid started growing worried, unable to shake off a feeling of betrayal. She could not think of anything else than that the princess might be in jeopardy. There were only one and a half hours left until the lady should appear at the ball to support the king during his world changing speech.

The maid looked around the too peaceful room, searching for the personal servant to make sure about the princess’ wellbeing, nevertheless, he was nowhere to be found. The maid knocked on the bathroom door. No answer. She slowly pushed the door open, revealing an empty, freezing room. She shivered, quickly shutting the window. Right when she placed her hand on the curtain to close that, too, she discovered a familiar silhouette climbing the wall surrounding the castle.

The guards raced to the shadow, fighting for the right to bring the princess back to safety, expecting a great reward from the king for their knightly deed. But the figure was only pillows stacked into a ballgown, being pulled by a grazing horse with a rope tied to the poor animal’s neck.

The king was furious for the disappearance of his daughter. That night’s ball was supposed to be the celebration of her engagement to the neighbouring country's prince, a marriage crafted by the two monarchs to link their lands through their children. The speech would have been the first time when the princess would have heard about the decision on her fate. Would have, if her servant, who was deeply in love with her, had not found out about it by sneaking into the king’s office.

The night before the disappearance, he confessed his love to her, influencing her into running away with him. The princess adored her freedom. She decided to follow him, to give up the luxurious royal life. The naive thing, bless her soul.

The bell of the little, wooden church resounded in the valley. The princess, in her only remaining gown knelt in front of the altar beside her new husband. She agreed on sealing her destiny in front of a sickly priest. Little did she know, she would be as trapped in this marriage as she would have been in the one with the prince, if not more.

Fülöp Csenge XII. H