the shoes.”
“Indeed,” laughed the wizardess. “That is good.”
“Really?” asked Princess Conscia. She had feared her husband’s bluntness might have offended the wizardess. She poured them all a cup of coffee and sat down, feeling a bit more relaxed. She did not,however, want the wizardess to inquire further about where their conjectures had led, so she attempted to divert this by saying, “Have you questions you wish to ask about my…um, shoe problem?”
“My observations thus far have, in fact, been sufficient for me to identify the problem,” replied the wizardess.
“But, you have only just arrived,” the prince objected. “Perhaps you have missed something important.”
“Oh, I have missed nothing,” the wizardess told him with a smile. “Everything you will need is right here.” She shuffled through the contents of her bag and finally pulled from it a long, brown cylinder. “There it is,” she said, handing the cylinder to the prince. “I think its best if you delay the treatment—or even discussing it—until late in the day, when you are both ready to retire. Please follow the instructions to the letter,” she admonished him firmly, “and its magic will not fail.” She swallowed the last of her coffee and stood up.
“But…” objected the princess.
“You may see me out, Princess Conscia,” interrupted the wizardess.
With an anxious glance at the mysterious object in her husband’s hand, the princess reluctantly walked out with the wizardess.
“I don’t understand,” she murmured.
“You will in time, my dear,” the wizardess assured her. But the princess was not reassured.
The prince, meanwhile, had opened the tube and removed from it a roll of white parchment and a paintbrush. The parchment was made of a mysterious substance that shimmered as it caught the light. Several sheets were stacked together on a roll. As he unraveled the parchment he noticed that there were instructions on the back of each sheet, and he began to read. A low whistle escaped his lips.
“How strange,” Princess Conscia remarked, returning to the kitchen.
Her husband made no comment as he quickly put the parchment back on the roll and slipped it and the paintbrush back into the tube.
“May I see that?” she asked him.
“No,” he replied.
“What?” she cried in shock. “But I wish to see it.”
“I think not,” he replied.
“Do the instructions say that I can not see it?” she asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Then for heaven’s sake,” she said, “allow me to see it at once!”
“I will show it to you when the time comes,” he replied with a note of finality that made it clear he was not going to give in.
“Do you mean later this evening?” she asked.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“When we are ‘ready to retire,’” she quoted from the wizardess.
“Exactly,” he confirmed.
“Not before?” she pressed.
“Not a moment before.”
What a long day that was for Princess Conscia! Whatever was in the strange, brown cylinder must not be to her liking, she mused, for her husband to have refused to allow her to even look at it. And yet how objectionable could it be, when it was recommended by such a dignified figure as the wizardess? It was impossible to imagine that Harmonia Brist, who commanded so much respect, would suggest something inappropriate.
And yet, why was her husband keeping it from her? He would not do so unless he had reason. The princess quickly deduced that the cylinder must contain something to do with “it”. That was the only plausible excuse she could come up with that would explain herhusband’s behavior. He knew that would upset her. But why would the wizardess recommend anything to do with that? And what could it have to do with her shoes?
She now regretted her promise to her father, the king, that she would do exactly as the wizardess instructed. But having given her word, she supposed all she could do now was to submit to whatever it was until the week was over. She was not pleased by it, even though she still didn’t know exactly what it was. But she was certain that it must have something to do with their activities in the bedroom. She had glimpsed the paintbrush and the white roll of parchment. Obviously the paintbrush was for painting on the white paper. No doubt it was her who was to be painted. This would not be something unappealing to her, unless…so that was it! She was to sit nude for her husband to paint. The more she thought about it the more convinced she became that this was the case.
Once she accepted the situation, Princess Conscia realized the best way to deal with it would be to prepare for it. She would surprise her husband by being ready and uncomplaining. He no doubt expected her to object, which is why he did not want to tell her about it until the very last moment. She smiled when she recalled that he had not gloated or even shown pleasure over the contents of the cylinder. She knew how much he must love the idea of having her sit before him without clothing. She was grateful to him for not only accepting her as she was, but doing so with kindness and discretion. Thank goodness it was him who she was obliged to go through this with.
She contemplated the matter all day, and by the time her husband was due to arrive home she felt almost as much excitement over the event to come as apprehension. She had slipped into their bedroom twice during the afternoon and removed her clothing so that shemight find the most appealing angle at which to position herself forthe painting. The body was so impossibly horrible without clothing in her opinion, but there were ways to make it seem less so. The first visit to her bedroom was hurried and frantic; the second more relaxed. She was glad she had gone the second time, as she was able to enhance the position in which she planned to pose for her husband. She adjusted the candles all around the room so that the light would be more flattering to her skin, especially in places where it tended to bunch up into those horrible little clusters of fat. She disliked that intensely. But between the lighting and the posing, which by now she had perfected, she felt certain that the prince would be properly impressed.
Even so, the beating of her heart was almost painful as she finally joined her husband in their bedroom that evening, wearing nothing but a robe. He looked at her skeptically.
Thinking to surprise him, she removed her robe calmly and perched herself upon the divan in the pose she had practiced earlier that day.
To her shock, he laughed with genuine amusement. “You certainly are a sight,” he said.
She reluctantly turned from her perfect pose and faced him. “Do you mean to say I don’t have to be painted in the nude?” she asked, almost disappointed.
“Oh, yes, you have the ‘painted’ and the ‘nude’ parts correct,” he said, becoming more serious now.
“Well?” she prompted, unable to even conjure up further possibilities without his assistance.
“The position you
