The following is a story from before Fie was forcibly hauled off to Orstoll to pad her daddy’s royal treasury—ahem, confined in her chambers. It was about a month after Fie and Fielle’s fifteenth birthdays. Fie celebrated her birthday alone, while Fielle’s birthday was marked by a grand celebration with her parents and all the kingdom’s subjects. But Fielle’s life wasn’t any more idyllic either.
“You know,” one passing maid servant said to another, “I saw Princess Fielle give her entire snack to a bird earlier.”
“Why, how kind of her.”
Fielle pretended that she couldn’t hear them singing her praises. I wasn’t feeding it per se, she thought. I let my guard down, and the bird snatched the doughnut right out of my hand. What a shame. I wanted to share it with Fie...
Fielle was well aware of her propensity for bungling things. On the inside, she was truly a very timid person, making mistakes in all that she tried. However, much to Fielle’s great displeasure, everyone around her kept interpreting those mistakes as good things! Compared to Fielle, her sister Fie had a much stronger character, quick-thinking mind, and an all around stellar personality. Fielle simply couldn’t comprehend why all the adults around them said bad things about Fie, but she was too much of a coward to speak up and correct them about either herself or Fie. Instead, she worked with her all her might to live up to everyone’s expectations.
To make matters even worse, Fielle’s popularity extended past the kingdom’s borders, and her parents kept accepting invitations for her to come visit foreign lands without ever considering if Fielle even wanted to go. That meant that Fielle needed to embark on yet another trip, this time to the neighboring kingdom of Kassandra.
Two days later, Fielle found herself focusing on the lump of clay turning on a pottery wheel before her. Fielle’s stay in Kassandra would include a sightseeing tour of various locations including the workshop of an expert pottery maker. The pottery maker had recommended Fielle try it herself, but she wasn’t immediately keen to do so. She was already sneaking out late at night after the maids were asleep to practice the basic things like manners and dancing. And then pottery? No way. She knew she couldn’t pull that off on her first try. However, once she actually tried it, she found manipulating the clay oddly calming, and it was fun to create something with her own hands. Before long, she was completely absorbed in it.
“Most young noblewomen would never want to dirty their hands like this, but Princess Fielle threw herself into the work without so much as a single objection. She truly is one of a kind.”
“Indeed, she must have a truly generous and tolerant heart.”
Fielle would normally hear these comments by accident but now paid no attention to them. She focused all of her concentration on the clay as it gradually took shape beneath her hands. Just a little bit more... However, in her excitement at being almost finished, she used a bit more force than she should have and accidentally warped the soft clay into some weird shape. Fielle screamed internally. (She was too anxious to make an actual sound. It wouldn’t have fit her image.)
Still, Fielle expected the people watching her to make some comment about how this was exactly what they expected (such was her understanding of how the world worked), but to her surprise, the aristocrats watching her did not sound impressed. One of them, a minister of Kassandra, asked, “Did she just make a mistake?” They had been told that Fielle could do anything, even make a perfect piece of pottery on her first try. Little did they know that her success up until now was the product of Fielle hearing about this trip days in advance and practicing like mad.
I’m such a klutz, Fielle lamented. However, it bothered her less that she had messed up in front of other people and more that she hadn’t been able to make a proper piece of pottery even after all of her practice. Apart from the cabinet ministers, some members of the royal family and various princes from foreign countries were also in Fielle’s retinue today. They weren’t here to see pottery as much as to see her, so her mistake unsettled them. They had deified Fielle in their minds. Everyone thought she was an omnipotent being.
Then, a dignified old man with a majestic white beard spoke up. “No, that is no mistake.”
“Are you certain?” said the cabinet minister. He was afraid to challenge the old man, for this man was none other than the famous pottery maker Purpoze himself.
Purpoze scrutinized Fielle’s deformed cup and then gravely proclaimed, “This curve. This shape. At first glance, it appears disorderly, and yet in this it achieves a perfect harmony. Observe it from this angle. Does it not look as if it was wrought by the hands of the Lord Plasse himself? Surely this must have been Princess Fielle’s intent all along. What a daring design for a teacup! Why, in all my fifty years as a potter, it never occurred to me to try such a thing in my work. What a masterpiece, Your Highness!”
“Oh! I see it now!” cried the minister.
“She must have put a flaw in the cup to represent our flawed society!”
“What brilliant workmanship!” the other watchers echoed.
Purpoze could not have been any more wrong, but that didn’t stop the crowd from once again singing her praises. Fielle watched them all uncomfortably, while deep down, she thought to herself, No, that really was just a mistake! All she wanted was to do a good job, not have everyone think her mistake was a grand success. But such was par for the course in Fielle’s life. At this point, her reputation had taken on a life of its own. Everyone thought she was a saint when she was really just a clumsy, ditzy spaz. It was too late now to confess the truth. If she admitted that she hadn’t done this on purpose, Purpoze would be put to shame in front of all these important people, so she followed his suggestion and added a handle to her weirdly shaped teacup.
“Ooh, what a fantastic design! We must hurry and spread this type of cup throughout the whole kingdom!” cried a minister.
“Absolutely. Let’s do just that!”
Purpoze and the ministers raised Fielle’s messed-up cup overhead and marveled over it. Then they rounded on Fielle. “If you’d be so kind, Your Highness, I’d love to sell this design in my shop!”
“Please, me as well, Your Highness!”
Fielle was mortified that they wanted to mass produce her mistake, but she ducked her head so they wouldn’t see her pained grimace. Just then, she noticed a young man crouching on his knees. He was clutched at his stomach and convulsed like he was in pain. What’s wrong? Is he sick? Fielle thought. Oh no, is he okay? She wanted to rush over him, only to be stopped before even rising when a suppressed snort slipped past his lips.
That was when she finally realized. The boy wasn’t having a fit. He was— Is he laughing at me?! His giggling grew louder and louder until everyone noticed it. Clutching his stomach, the man escalated into a full-on scream of hysterical laughter. Whatever he was laughing at was so funny it caused him to tear up, yet he was the only one laughing here by a long margin. All eyes in the room turned to him.
The prince of Atolia, who had come to Kassandra expressly to see Fielle, scowled at the man. “What’s so funny?” he barked.
The young man rose and, with a dramatic bow and a charming grin, introduced himself to the prince. “Forgive me, Prince Sanga, for that was terribly rude of me. I am Prince Tomas of Vorland, at your service. It is my absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His movements were metropolitan and his manner of speaking was laced with the refinement befitting a man of royalty, but the young man did not look the part of a prince. He wore an apron over a set of work clothes, making him look more like a laborer than an aristocrat.
“Vorland?” Prince Sanga repeated.
“Isn’t that the tiny kingdom next to Daeman?” one of the other princes asked. They, too, were surprised to find that this young man in the apron was actually a prince.
Prince Sanga looked momentarily taken aback before he steeled his face into a stern glare and shouted at the prince, “If you are the prince of Vorland, then what are you doing? I don’t believe Princess Fielle requested your presence!” (I didn’t request yours either, Fielle thought.)
Vorland was indeed one of the smaller countries that surrounded Daeman. It lacked any major industries or defining points in its history, especially when compared with Daeman. Other countries did not regard it highly. Even though it shared a border with Daeman, Vorland had little to offer in terms of cultural exchange, so Daeman, which was mostly interested in buttering up to richer countries, did not have much contact with it. Granted, Daeman was no large kingdom either. It could just as easily have been lumped into the same category as Vorland.
This Prince Tomas was a slender, kind-looking young man with green eyes and silver hair. Fielle found herself thinking he looked attractive, but perhaps due in part to his slightly vacant expression, she didn’t think he was the type to have a lot of girls fawning over him.
“Master Purpoze kindly granted me to learn the ways of pottery from him; thus, I have every right to be here as his apprentice. I apologize if this has inconvenienced you in any way, Prince Sanga.”
“What’s a prince doing learning to be a potter?”
This apparently made no sense to the others, but Fielle realized this explained why he was in an apron.
Prince Sanga, looking even more confused than before, glared at Tomas and made to snap at him again, but Purpoze stepped in. “My apologies, Your Highness,” he said. “Tomas here sometimes behaves very oddly. It’s just in his character. You’ll have to excuse us, as we must be off to fire Princess Fielle’s new creation. Come, Tomas.”
“Yes, Master.” Tomas followed Purpoze out the door, leaving the bewildered crowd behind.