Opulence oozed from every corner of the banquet hall. Frey scanned the room from top to bottom as she took her place at the high table. Grandiose chandeliers, burning real candles, hung from the vaulted ceiling. They cast a flickering golden hue over the rich tableau below.

“How did they light those candles all the way up there?” Frey mumbled to herself as a servant pulled her chair out. She stepped in towards the table and waited for the man to push the chair under her before lowering her bottom as delicately as she could.

“They winch them down, light them, and winch them back up.” The servant replied in a low whisper as he leaned over and spread a napkin across her lap. “You might see the pulleys attached to the cross beams if you look hard enough.”

Frey blushed, and chastised herself, this time without speaking aloud. She should be more careful. A proper princess would, of course, know how they lit the candles. Or more likely, she wouldn’t care.

Keep your mouth shut, silly girl!

Beneath the chandeliers, a dozen long tables were dressed with white linen. Their place settings of silver and crystal reflected distorted images of the diners taking their seats. Bedecked in their most exquisite fineries, the kingdom’s richest and most influential characters were already earnestly engaged in high society chatter and gossip. They canoodled and cackled, all the while waving their goblets at scurrying waiters.

Frey marvelled at the gowns worn by all the ladies. Fabric of any blue shade came at great expense, being the most difficult dye to procure from plants. Her mother, a seamstress, had told her that. There seemed a predominance of blues and indigo, violet and mauve on show. Clearly, these people enjoyed exhibiting their wealth. Almost as much as they enjoyed the King’s wine. But they were nothing compared to her own dress, an azure cloud of mulberry silk that floated around her. Without breasts large enough to hold the strapless garment aloft, handmaidens had used hidden tape, stuck directly onto her skin. Frey fought the urge to scratch her itching chest.

Her own table dominated the hall, rising two feet above the rest to give the royal family and their consorts a commanding view of their subjects. Its centrepiece, the King’s coat of arms in crystal. Two swans, either side of an artillery piece, their necks entwined, reaching upward. The same design adorned the colourful banners that hung from the grey stone walls. Frey had never understood what it meant. Her father, lost to the war two winters ago, joked that one swan represented taxes and the other represented death.

She tried to stop marvelling at everything, lest she gave the impression she’d hadn’t seen it all a hundred times before. After the slip-up with the waiter, she couldn’t afford another mistake. As she forced her gaze down to the table in front of her, she caught sight of the guard posted at the door to her left. His stare was icy, focussed tightly on her, and her alone. She shivered. Did he know? Had she failed already?

Of course, he knows, silly, he’s a royal guard. If the handmaidens are in on it, surely the guards are, too.

***

Earlier that evening, a royal escort on horseback had arrived at her cottage. He waved a decree from the King that required Frey to accompany him to the castle immediately. After hugging her mother goodbye, she’d been bundled onto the back of a sweating steed and galloped from the village, through the wheat fields and up to the castle.

Her escort had dismounted and helped her off the horse. He hurried her through stone passageways, up a spiral staircase, and knocked on a solid oak door. With that, he bowed and left. The door opened and three handmaidens pulled her inside, swarming around her like buzzing bees. The conversation was all one-way, with them issuing stern commands, such as “Arms up!” before her smock disappeared over her head. And “Legs together!” when they’d pulled her knickers down. The roughest of them made a tutting noise as she held Frey’s old clothes at arm’s length and dropped them in a bucket, as if they were poisonous.

Frey barely had time to be embarrassed. As they jostled her this way and that, she took in her surroundings. A palatial bed chamber. Velvet red curtains framed a four post bed. An expansive marble dressing table peeked from under piles of makeup and fashion accessories. The cream carpeting felt an inch thick under her toes.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Outside the chamber, an argument ensued. Princess Jasmine’s petulant voice rose above all others.

“This is ridiculous. There’s always threats against us. I don’t see why I should have to hide and miss the first feast of the season! I’m sixteen. I’m not a child anymore!”

And it dawned on Frey that the room she stood in belonged to the Princess herself.

Frey heard the Queen answering her daughter in a weary, but calm voice.

“I know that, dear. But your father’s advisors have received a specific threat. They’re not taking it lightly. And besides…”

Frey strained to make out what followed, but the Queen had reduced her voice to a whisper.

With her clothes gone, two handmaidens sponged the day’s farm work off her body. She was made to kneel over a basin while they washed her hair.

“It’s the same shade of blonde, but it’s not long enough.” Someone muttered while they were rubbing her dry with the most luxurious towels Frey had ever felt.

“It will have to do.” another replied. “Jasmine hasn’t been out for a few days. People will assume she had it cut.”

When they’d dried her off and furnished her with fresh underwear, the senior maid ducked outside to advise the Queen and Princess. The royals finished their hushed argument and came to see.

“Stand next to her, Jasmine.” The Queen had ordered.

The Princess, still pouting over the whole affair, did as she was told. Frey felt like a side of lamb hanging in the butcher’s window. No, she corrected herself, when she glanced over at Princess Jasmine in her pearl-white negligee. I’m the mutton, she’s the lamb.

The Queen circled the pair, handmaidens in tow like a string of ducklings.

“Well, she’s the same height, at least, and her face has Jasmine’s shape, like everyone said. Not much we can do about the hair, I suppose.”

“We could try extensions, Ma’am.” The senior maid replied, “But I fear that we’ll run out of time. We still need to fit the dress and apply her makeup.”

The Princess crossed her arms in a huff and scowled at Frey. “The dress won’t stay up. She’s got no tits!”

“Jasmine!” The Queen scolded her. “I’ll not have you speaking like a commoner. And you should treat this lass with more respect. She’s putting herself in danger for your sake.”

“Oh yes, don’t forget, little one.” Jasmine glared at Frey with an ironic glint of jealousy. “You’re more than just a princess for the night. You’re bait!”

“That’s enough!” The Queen grabbed her daughter’s arm and dragged her from the chamber.

Later, the Queen returned and explained some more. If Frey survived the evening, passing herself off successfully as Jasmine, her mother would be forgiven a whole month of taxes. It was a prize worth the discomfort. As to the idea that she was bait, to draw out a potential attacker, well, that much was true. But she needn’t worry, the King’s Guard would protect her. They were the best soldiers in the land.

Jasmine decided not to pose the question that if they were the best soldiers in the land, why was the King not trusting them with his own daughter’s protection?

***

The King and Queen interrupted Frey’s reverie when they entered the dining hall and took their seats to her right, amidst a din of applause from the tables below.

A waiter appeared at Frey’s side, and she gladly accepted the proffered glass of wine. Anything to help calm her nerves.

Don’t spill it on this dress, for the lord’s sake.

An ever-growing collection of steaming silver platters, pewter bowls and tureens were piled onto the table. Frey had never seen so much food in front of her at once. Or smelt such delicious, mouth-watering smells. And such a variety. Game birds, roasted, broiled and grilled, joined thick cuts of red meats, ribs and pork crackling. She thought she recognised venison from when a poacher had been selling it in the village tavern. Everything lay in beds of yellow, orange, and green vegetables. There was even a whole glazed fish sitting between her and the Queen. Frey thought its dead eye watched her every move.

No doubt you’re also aware I’m a fake. She thought to the fish.

Apparently, Jasmine’s parents paid little attention to the Princess during these occasions, as they mostly ignored Frey and got on with their feasting and accepting compliments from royal subjects left, right and centre. Thank goodness for small mercies. The King read a pile of notices put in front of him by his courtier.

When Frey emptied her wineglass, an arm appeared over her shoulder and refilled it. The waiter had been behind her the whole time.

Wait until I tell mother. I had my own waiter for the night!

She relaxed, the buzz of the wine no doubt helping.

At which point, all hell broke loose.