The Kindness Curse

drudgery of sewing.
When she took a break midway through the morning, she sorted another pile of pages with ease, hardly paying attention to them as she listened to the judge speaking with a new visitor. Merrigan nearly dropped the bundle in the process of pinning them together when she heard the word "mill." What she had overheard before suddenly made sense. Right below her feet was the man who had cheated the miller's son.
For another half hour she stood right there, where the voices came up strongest through the floor and flue pipe. She sorted another pile of pages and listened. The oily glee of the man made her want to stomp downstairs and shout for the captain of the guard to come drag him away and throw him in prison for a year or two. What right did he have to take that mill? It belonged to the miller's son, just like the throne of Carlion belonged to her—she was the queen, wasn't she? So what if she hadn't given Leffisand an heir? She had earned it. Just consider all the frustrations she had endured, the whispering, the mockery from her siblings, the marriage proposals from second and third and fourth-born princes who might have been handsome and talented and brave and nice, but they weren't going to be kings.
Just like Bryan.
Merrigan sank down into the nearest chair, her heart thumping at an odd rhythm. She hadn't thought of Prince Bryan in years, and now twice in less than a week. She had been six when they first met, when he came to Avylyn with his father's delegation for the conference of allied kingdoms. He hadn't been old enough to go to the welcoming ball that first night any more than she had. Just like her, he had snuck out of bed and found a dark spot in the highest balcony looking down on the Great Hall to watch the festivities. They had spotted each other and crept through the darkness to meet halfway and sit. They had spent much of his visit exploring the palace, finding hiding places to listen to the conference, and exploring the countryside around Avylyn. She looked forward to him coming back with the delegation from Sylvanglade every year for the conference.
For a few years all had been fine between them, despite her mother dying and Nanny Starling being forced to leave. Nanny Tulip had been tactful, but she had made it clear that Prince Bryan was unacceptable as a future suitor, therefore he was not acceptable as a playmate. Despite her vow to never betray their friendship, Merrigan's attitude toward Bryan changed. She wasn't sure when it happened. Nanny Tulip was right, of course. Merrigan learned that Bryan's oldest brother had made an unwise marriage alliance. His promised bride was under a curse, made dangerous when her father tried to find a way to break it without following the proper order of things. Nanny Tulip was adamant that curses could not be rewritten or sidestepped. Those who tried to bend the rules or ignore them usually ended up even worse off than if the curse had been fulfilled. The bride's curse could damage Sylvanglade and extend to the royal family, and to the kingdoms of the brides of the royal brothers.
When Bryan stopped coming to Avylyn, Merrigan couldn't remember. That was all for the better, she supposed. As Leffisand told her, royalty did not have the luxury of marrying to suit themselves. They had kingdom concerns to answer to. Merrigan could not settle for anything less than a king, or a crown prince. Bryan, being the fifth-born son, simply didn't make the cut.
"Bryan," Merrigan whispered.
What was wrong with her? Why did she let thoughts of Bryan, no matter how much fun he had been, distract her from her entire purpose for being in this house?
"Bother," she said, a little louder, and went down on one knee to help her focus and listen to the voices below her feet.
The two conspirators talked about having dinner that evening. Then she heard the scraping of chair legs on the floor of the office. The dratted man was leaving.
"No more woolgathering," she scolded herself, and turned to stomp back to her chair to resume sewing.
Something caught her attention, from the corner of her eye. Merrigan looked and pressed her hand against her chest. Her heart thudded so fast and hard her breastbone felt bruised.
Every pile of torn pages had been neatly arranged and pinned. When and how had that happened? She was sure she was only halfway through the chore.
"Just proof that this peasant atmosphere is stultifying to my mind," she declared, keeping her voice low. "Spells of unconsciousness ... while continuing the work." A shudder worked through her. "Spells, indeed..."
How could she have been so oblivious?
"I won't be manipulated," she declared, bending down so her nose almost touched the closest pile of pinned pages. "I am here for a purpose, and you will not distract me. And you most certainly will not force me to spend any more time in this wretched, middle-class house than I absolutely have to."
She turned, stomped down the length of the table to her chair, and picked up the half-finished pair of trousers.
Wait. Hadn't she just cut out the pieces of the trousers this morning, right after breakfast? How could they be ready for the hems and reinforcing work? Merrigan shuddered as she looked down the length of the table and saw all ten shirts and five vests and three more pairs of trousers, all assembled and waiting to be fitted to Judge Brimble to make the necessary tucks and darts and hems. When had that happened?
"If there are any sprites or brownies hiding hereabouts," she said, pitching her voice to carry, yet stay soft enough that someone standing out in the hallway, on the other side of that closed door wouldn't hear her. "I think you should reveal yourselves now. It's very impolite. I am a queen, after all. Even