More yeses followed. This time the ground shook with their cheers. Elea’s heart felt so full she thought it would burst. She was no longer the failure. The weaker princess. The unwanted daughter.
She was aqueen.
“Come, touch my hair and see for yourself that I am who I say.”
The blacksmith was next. Elea barely felt his touch. One by one, every person that had gathered touched her curls. Some only briefly touched her hair, others rubbed it between their fingers as if making sure it was real. She heard shouts telling people to come to the square. To come see their princess. The crowd around her quadrupled in size until every man, woman, and child in the city stood in line to touch her hair. There were hundreds of people.
The last person to stand before Elea was the old woman with the stringy white hair and she was still weeping.
“I never thought that it would happen in my lifetime,” she said, sniffing. “I never thought I would have the chance to be free.”
Elea reached out a hand to the old woman. The woman’s hand was weathered and gnarled with age. Elea lifted the hand to her hair. The woman’s weeping became full-bodied sobs. Elea released her hand. Looking around, she saw the entire population of the city waiting for her to tell them what to do. She should have had a plan, any plan, but she was too hungry to think.
Hunger.
She did not know what hunger was. Not compared to the starved and gaunt faces of those in the crowd. If she was going to lead them, she first needed to feed them.
“Follow me!” Elea called, and she traced her steps back to the main gate of the castle. The guards were still standing in front of it. They had not gone to help the villagers repair the damage of the earth shake. They had done nothing because the villagers were just serfs to them. Nameless, faceless individuals.
She stepped onto the drawbridge. “Stand aside for your princess.”
One of them pointed at her hair. Another swore when he saw Gerard in his Kaulish captain’s uniform. They shuffled on their feet, but they did not move. She breathed in deeply and could discern the scent of mint. They were unsure. If she had Nora’s strength and skill, Elea might have attacked them. But she didn’t. The best she could do was intimidate them.
Swallowing, she took one step toward them. Then another and another. When she reached their line, the soldiers stepped back and let her pass into the courtyard. Elea glanced over her shoulder. The villagers were waiting on the other side of the drawbridge.
“Put down your weapons,” she said loudly.
The soldier nearest to her set his bayonet down, but the rest gripped theirs tighter. The breeze blew past and the scent on the air was no longer mint, but the sweat and sulfur smell of fear. The soldiers feared her, and they feared the people. Probably for good reason. The soldiers were the enforcers and tax collectors. They were usually the second and third sons of aristocrats. They hated and feared the villagers almost as much as the villagers hated and feared them.
“No one will be hurt,” Elea said. “These people need food. Please set down your weapons.”
One by one, the soldiers set their bayonets onto the ground and then clumped together as if for protection, leaving the gateway open.
“Come!” She beckoned with her right hand.
Gerard was the first one across the drawbridge, followed by the blacksmith. The smithy picked up two bayonets before coming to stand near Elea. The rest of the villagers followed, and Elea noticed that every weapon had been picked up. A chill ran down her spine. If she wasn’t careful, this feast could become a bloodbath.
“Where are the stores kept?” she asked. “Where is the food?”
The soldiers remained silent, but she could smell the delicious aroma of smoking meat. Elea strolled across the green grass of the courtyard and tugged on the golden handle of a large door. She followed the smell to the castle’s kitchen. There were ten serfs in there, kneading and chopping. They stopped in the middle of their tasks.
“I am Princess Eleanora,” she said. “As of this moment, you are no longer serfs. You may go anywhere you want and do whatever you wish. You are owned by no one. But first, will you feed my friends?”
A plump woman covered in a dusting of flour bobbed a curtsy. Elea nodded in return. The woman began to direct the other servants in the kitchen on how to distribute the food. Elea watched as every loaf, vegetable, pie, and sausage was given to the hungry villagers. But not half of the number she’d brought had yet been fed. Elea moved through the people to talk to the plump woman in charge.
“Where are your stores?” she asked. “Everyone must be fed and have enough to bring home for their families.”
“This way, my lady, I—I mean, Your Highness,” she said, pointing a hand covered in flour.
“Everyone who has not eaten, please follow us in an orderly fashion.”
The crowd parted and the head cook led her down a flight of stairs into a large, cold cellar. It was full to the brim with bags of grain, barrels of ale, salted meats hanging from the ceiling, and fresh vegetables. There was enough food in here to feed an army, and yet the villagers were starving. Such unfeeling gluttony made her stomach turn again.
“Take enough for you and your family,” Elea said, “but do not be greedy. Everyone must be fed.”
The villagers didn’t push or shove. Nor did they take very much food. They did exactly as she asked, taking only enough to meet their current needs. She watched as the full room began to empty. The fresh vegetables were the first to run out, followed by the flour. Still, there were other sacks of grains and salted meat. The head cook continued to direct the people, calling them all by name.
The cellar was nearly bare when she heard the sound of someone yelling above them.