Read Online Princess of Glass by Jessica Day George - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Day George
Tags: Fiction, General, Juvenile Fiction, Magic, Fantasy & Magic, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction, Witches, Science Fiction; Fantasy; & Magic, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Young Adult Fiction, Princes, Fairy Tales & Folklore, Royalty, princesses, Fairy Tales, Adaptations, Children's & young adult fiction & true stories, Fairy Tales & Folklore - Adaptations
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closed off, and now there was nowhere else to go but forward.
She made herself breathe deeply, in and out, and compose her features. Perhaps they wouldn't notice she was here ...
80
And then she corrected herself. The Under Stone she remembered was gone, killed by Galen with a silver knitting needle inscribed with the king's long-forgotten name. One of his sons was king now, and Poppy didn't know which one. That meant there were fewer princes to worry about as well. None of them had been as bright as their father, either, so it was very possible that she would escape detection.
She slipped into the ballroom and started to skirt around the edges of the floor. A tall and skeletally thin man grabbed her arms and swung her into the figures of a dance. She stumbled and would have fallen, but the other dancers pushed her back to her feet. They were laughing, their raucous voices slicing through her ears. They tossed her from partner to partner, their too-wide smiles and too-sharp teeth filling her vision.
"Stop!"
All eyes went to the dais.
Atop it a lean figure reclined on a black throne strewn with cushions that his father would have sneered at. The King Under Stone, who had once been Prince Rionin, looked down at Poppy with heavy-lidded eyes. He had been paired with Poppy's sister Jonquil, and was particularly cruel. Poppy's blood curdled at the thought of him possessing his father's power, and she hoped that Galen's chain was still holding the gate shut. But if it was, how had she gotten here?
Far more terrifying, at least from Poppy's point of view, was the young man standing to the left of the throne. It was her onetime suitor Blathen, and he was looking at Poppy as though she were a roast pheasant and he were starving.
81
"My dear brother pines for his lost bride," King Rionin said, putting a hand on Blathen's sleeve.
Poppy pulled the long hairpins out of her coiffure, and clutched one in each hand. "I'll kill you all first--I'll kill myself first!"
The figures on the dais just laughed at her.
"So dramatic," Blathen said, his voice caressing.
Turning her face away lest she be sick, Poppy saw the doorway that led out of the ballroom and to the entrance of the palace. She tried to get to it, but the courtiers blocked her way. She tripped and fell flat on the hard floor. The hairpins skittered out of her hands, and her hair tumbled over her face.
She clawed it away, frantic ...
... and found herself sitting up in her bed in the Sea-downs' manor.
Her heart was racing and her nightgown was plastered to her back with sweat, but she couldn't relax until she was certain that it had only been a dream. A nightmare, more like. She shoved aside the bedclothes and stumbled to the window, fumbling with the curtains to peer out the window.
There was the moon. She wasn't underground in that dark realm. She sagged against the windowsill, and her breath came out in sobs.
Poppy had nightmares quite frequently, but she had never shared them with anyone. She knew her family would find it alarming that tough, devil-may-care Poppy would still be haunted by the Midnight Balls. Only two of her sisters had
82
confessed to having nightmares about it: Pansy, who had been the most traumatized by their curse, and Orchid, who had been prone to night terrors anyway.
But this had not been like any other nightmare. Everything was so real: the feel of the gown, the floor under her feet, the music. Was it only because she was in a strange house, far from her family? Or was there something ... wrong?
Putting on her dressing gown, Poppy went downstairs to make a cup of tea. She had just put her foot on the top stair when she heard a noise from farther down the corridor.
"Hello?" She was embarrassed to hear that her voice shook. "Who's there?"
There was a scuffling noise, and the sweat that still dampened the back of Poppy's nightgown froze. Stepping away from the stairs, she held her long nightgown away from her feet with one hand and
She made herself breathe deeply, in and out, and compose her features. Perhaps they wouldn't notice she was here ...
80
And then she corrected herself. The Under Stone she remembered was gone, killed by Galen with a silver knitting needle inscribed with the king's long-forgotten name. One of his sons was king now, and Poppy didn't know which one. That meant there were fewer princes to worry about as well. None of them had been as bright as their father, either, so it was very possible that she would escape detection.
She slipped into the ballroom and started to skirt around the edges of the floor. A tall and skeletally thin man grabbed her arms and swung her into the figures of a dance. She stumbled and would have fallen, but the other dancers pushed her back to her feet. They were laughing, their raucous voices slicing through her ears. They tossed her from partner to partner, their too-wide smiles and too-sharp teeth filling her vision.
"Stop!"
All eyes went to the dais.
Atop it a lean figure reclined on a black throne strewn with cushions that his father would have sneered at. The King Under Stone, who had once been Prince Rionin, looked down at Poppy with heavy-lidded eyes. He had been paired with Poppy's sister Jonquil, and was particularly cruel. Poppy's blood curdled at the thought of him possessing his father's power, and she hoped that Galen's chain was still holding the gate shut. But if it was, how had she gotten here?
Far more terrifying, at least from Poppy's point of view, was the young man standing to the left of the throne. It was her onetime suitor Blathen, and he was looking at Poppy as though she were a roast pheasant and he were starving.
81
"My dear brother pines for his lost bride," King Rionin said, putting a hand on Blathen's sleeve.
Poppy pulled the long hairpins out of her coiffure, and clutched one in each hand. "I'll kill you all first--I'll kill myself first!"
The figures on the dais just laughed at her.
"So dramatic," Blathen said, his voice caressing.
Turning her face away lest she be sick, Poppy saw the doorway that led out of the ballroom and to the entrance of the palace. She tried to get to it, but the courtiers blocked her way. She tripped and fell flat on the hard floor. The hairpins skittered out of her hands, and her hair tumbled over her face.
She clawed it away, frantic ...
... and found herself sitting up in her bed in the Sea-downs' manor.
Her heart was racing and her nightgown was plastered to her back with sweat, but she couldn't relax until she was certain that it had only been a dream. A nightmare, more like. She shoved aside the bedclothes and stumbled to the window, fumbling with the curtains to peer out the window.
There was the moon. She wasn't underground in that dark realm. She sagged against the windowsill, and her breath came out in sobs.
Poppy had nightmares quite frequently, but she had never shared them with anyone. She knew her family would find it alarming that tough, devil-may-care Poppy would still be haunted by the Midnight Balls. Only two of her sisters had
82
confessed to having nightmares about it: Pansy, who had been the most traumatized by their curse, and Orchid, who had been prone to night terrors anyway.
But this had not been like any other nightmare. Everything was so real: the feel of the gown, the floor under her feet, the music. Was it only because she was in a strange house, far from her family? Or was there something ... wrong?
Putting on her dressing gown, Poppy went downstairs to make a cup of tea. She had just put her foot on the top stair when she heard a noise from farther down the corridor.
"Hello?" She was embarrassed to hear that her voice shook. "Who's there?"
There was a scuffling noise, and the sweat that still dampened the back of Poppy's nightgown froze. Stepping away from the stairs, she held her long nightgown away from her feet with one hand and
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