Twice Upon A Time (Unfinished Fairy Tales #2)(44)



The carriage stops at a handsome stone building. Again, the familiar jolt occurs in my head. It feels like another crack has appeared in the barrier that’s keeping my memories from me, and sooner or later, the multiple cracks will break down the barrier and I’ll remember everything.

I wander through the corridors as old memories spring in my mind, falling into place like jigsaw puzzle pieces. The Ugly Stepsister never mentioned the school, since the book ended at my marriage, but I do remember going down the hallway with Elle, discussing how to design the interior, how to implement the classes, how to advertise, etc. Princess College reminds me of Miss Minchin’s Seminary in A Little Princess, with an old-fashioned elegance that I find really charming.

Music is drifting from one room. I peek inside and discover it’s a room designed like a theater. Rows and rows of chairs are lined in front of a stage with red velvet curtains. A glossy piano sits on the right-hand side. A few students are on stage, singing, while another man sits in one of the chairs, his hands waving as though he is guiding them. For a moment, it seems like I’m attending one of Paige’s talent shows. I blink, and I realize that I’m at Princess College of Athelia, not Oakleigh Elementary School.

“Princess Katriona!” One girl shouts, pointing in my direction. All girls promptly drop into curtsies, and there’s a chorus of, Your Highness.

To be honest, it’s kind of cute. I grin and wave at them. “Good morning, everyone. Are you rehearsing for a play?”

A younger girl, about nine or ten, runs toward me, her eyes shining. “We’re doing a musical, Aunt Kat.”

Aunt Kat? Since when did I get a niece? I blink, trying to remember who the girl can be. She reminds me of a porcelain doll in her white frock and with pink ribbons in her hair.

Click. She’s the daughter of Philip, the Duke of Northport, Edward’s older cousin. The cousin who, according to Edward, is more suitable to be king.

“Hello, Rosie.” I ruffle her hair. “Are you having fun?”

She smiles up at me and nods. “I’m an elf, Aunt Kat.”

The man in front gives me a low bow. “We are putting up a fairy story that the headmistress selected, Your Highness. The show will be open to the public in a few weeks. The headmistress has very kindly entrusted me with supervising the children for the play.”

“Awesome,” I say, and at their slightly bemused expressions, I give them a thumbs-up and say, “Splendid. I look forward to seeing your performance that day.”

After talking to the girls for a while, the bell rings, telling me I need to continue on to the conference room.

When I pass one of the classrooms on the ground floor, a familiar voice stops me. “Good morning, dearies. We are going to try a new pattern today. If you would please take out your baskets . . .”

I can’t help peering through the back door. Luckily, it’s left wide open. There are about twenty girls in class, each of them with a basket on the desk. In the very front of the class is an old lady with silvery white hair. I squint. There’s something familiar about her face. I know that I have seen her before. But considering that most people I know are either around my age or around the king’s age, I wonder who the old lady might be. The only person that I know who is above sixty, I think, is Mr. Wellesley. So, who is this elderly lady?

I’ll remember soon enough. Although at least half of my memories have returned, there are still details that I cannot fully grasp. Hopefully, with a few more visits to familiar places, I will recover my memories completely. However, I’m still reluctant to think of what I should do after I remember everything. Can I really give up my life in the U.S. and my network of family and friends and live in this country that upholds so many ideas contrary to my beliefs? Can I give up everything I love for Edward?

Before I reach the headmistress’s office, which is just around the corner, a voice, shrill and angry, can be heard quite clearly in the hallway.

“I will not have my little girl participating in that vulgar show!”

“Lady Willoughby, if you could just let us explain—”

“I brought my daughter because I believed she would receive an education fit for a princess. And what did she end up doing? Jumping around like a monkey and displaying her bare arms in public! Mingling with girls way below her station! Simply preposterous! Have you heard the way those low-class people talk? Did you know that they taught my girl to cartwheel—exposing her petticoats to the world? Unacceptable. My girl will not associate with . . . any creature like that.”

There is the sound of the door opening and boots clicking on the floor. I peer around the corner. It’s a tall, slender lady in a fancy brocaded dress. How she manages to stand the heat in so many layers is beyond me. Her right hand has a firm grip on a girl in a dainty white frock. As they march down the hall, a few students coming in the opposite direction scuttle out of the way like startled kittens.

“Third student this week.” A voice speaks from my other side.

Liam leans against the wall, arms crossed. He’s dressed in a smart gray waistcoat that reminds me of Sherlock Holmes.

“What are you doing here?”

He holds out a thick leather-bound book. An Introduction to Human Anatomy.

“You’re a teacher here?”

He bows. “Since the Duke of Somerset left, there was a vacancy, so I went to Edward to ask him for a recommendation.”

Aya Ling's Books