April 2022 Story - The Finger Curse (Chapter 2) (Patreon)

The festivities for Agnes’s twenty-first birthday party were the most extravagant that the kingdom had ever seen or heard about. Noble guests from other kingdoms and far-away countries loitered in the main foyer, rich with tapestries and chandeliers. As dusk approached, they were herded into the ballroom, where every table was dressed in fine tablecloths and flowery centerpieces. The effect was almost like a wedding reception.

The night began with drinks and dancing. Princess Agnes had been looking forward to dancing with Lord Filmore, the patron composer of Norwich. His romantic music stirred something in Agnes when she attended his concerts, and she knew she just had to be his. Lord Filmore was, however, known to be a bit of a bore. He was also fifteen years her senior, already showing some gray hairs peppered on his beard. Agnes did not mind that though. He was distinguished and rich and hailed from a noble lineage. He was as strict about etiquette as she was and saw marriage as a very traditional and respectable affair.

Their courtship had already lasted some four months. He visited her regularly and oftentimes offered her flowers and chocolate. Then they would walk in the garden and talk about royal things. There were rumors among the chambermaids that very soon he should propose. Agnes was aware of the gossip surrounding them and wanted to look good and be the envy of everyone.

Agnes was nervous when she danced with Lord Filmore. He was dashing and handsome as ever, with his black hair streaked back and his beard finely combed. She had made sure to look her best, tying her hair into an attractive knot and wearing the most flowing dress that caught the eyes of everyone.

“You look marvelous tonight, milady,” Filmore said, locking eyes with her as they waltzed.

Agnes blushed, she was about to reply when he added, “But then again, so do you every night.”

Would he choose that night to propose to her? She had yet to find out, for the dance ended and dinner was about to start.

Agnes sat at the head of the ballroom, with her parents on either side, being served food by the chambermaids. She sat through a massive feat dedicated to her. First there were appetizers of sausages, potato wedges, and a fruit salad. The main course was suckling pig, which was Agnes’s favorite. It was basked and dried in whiskey, which gave it a scrumptious taste. The sides dishes consisted of black beans, slices of pineapple, slices of ham, and rice. The dessert was nothing short of heavenly. Her birthday cake was nearly half the height of the room – a twenty-one-tiered cake! It was a dazzling white and gold vanilla cake with edible sequins.

As usual, Agnes dug first into the cake. She ended up devouring four large slices of the creamy, butter-filled cake.

All of this, by the way, was doused with finely aged red wine that the king had personally preserved in the cellar for her twenty-first birthday. It had been aging there in the barrels since the day she was born and preserved just for this occasion. The red blend had hints of raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries. It was dangerously tasty and did not go rough down her throat like alcohol usually did. She lost track of how many glasses she had, so she started to feel giddy and warm in the cheeks. Agnes stopped there because getting drunk was unbecoming for a true lady like herself. The only women who got drunk were prostitutes and whores on the streets of the slums.

By the time she finished what was probably the greatest feast in her life, Agnes was thoroughly stuffed. She suffered through the discomfort of her dress with its tight corset. But that was the price for dignity. She was used to holding in whatever wind she needed to break, either flatulence or eructation. Why, she once held in a belch for the entire length of a ball until she reached her chambers at midnight. It was a skill only a noble like herself knew how to do, and she was proud of her mastery in etiquette.

Even so, she did have to release some pressure, and she did so quietly. When she was done with her last slice of cake, Agnes covered her mouth with her napkin and emitted a low rumble that helped dislodge the pressure inside of her. There was enough noise around her with the music and the laughter that she felt comfortable enough to do this, otherwise she would excuse herself from the table.

The party resumed after dinner. People continued to dance or wandered around the halls conversing on various topics or played cards and backgammon. Oftentimes, these things lasted well into the night almost until dawn.

Lord Filmore walked up to Princess Agnes and bowed. He addressed her parents, saying, “May I borrow your daughter for a moment?”

Her parents were obliged. Agnes nearly stumbled getting up so suddenly. It must have been the wine. She tried to compose herself, but this was the first time she stood up since the dinner started, and her legs felt all tingly after all those glasses of wine.

“Pardon me, lord,” she said, needing his hand to help her.

The two headed for the balcony outside the ballroom. Agnes perspired and felt her corset get tighter. An uncomfortable bubble was stuck inside her esophagus. She ignored it and focused on the moment.

Nobody else was outside on the balcony. They stood in private overlooking the courtyard below. The night was clear and starry, with a waning moon looking down on everything. The voices from the party were distant, and they were able to hear the low chirp of crickets.

Filmore sighed as he gazed off into the distance. Agnes was not sure what she should say. For almost all her adolescence she was obsessed with preparing for the day that a man like Filmore propose to her. Now it was here, and she blanked entirely. The butterflies in her stomach grew, and she could not tell if it was wind or her nerves.

“Truly a magnificent night,” Filmore said, breathing in the night air. “Splendid. Beautiful.”

Agnes chuckled. It was getting warmer under her dress.

Filmore cleared his throat. He paced a little bit staring down the ground.

“Ah. Ahem. I am glad to be here with you. Alone. Yes. There is something I wish to talk with you about. Yes. Ahem.”

He cleared his throat a thousand times to the point where Agnes nearly grumbled something under her breath.

Get on with it, she thought. I am dying in this dress!

“You see, I am past a certain age where certain people, like my mother, expected me to have already completed a traditional ritual which I have so avoided for so many years.”

“And what ritual is that, my lord?”

“Marriage. Ahem. I know it is a different experience for a woman. By the time you reach eighteen years, you are expected to find a proper husband. You see, my path was a bit different. I did not--”

Agnes started to get hotter, and her stomach became more unruly. She gripped her stomach when he looked away, as if hoping it would somehow muffle the rumbling. This was the worst time for such foul unpleasantries to be acting up. But the discomfort became so great that Agnes was not paying attention to a word Filmore was saying.

“You understand?” he then said.

Agnes stared at him blankly. “No.”

“Pardon?”

She blinked twice. She was busy toying with the idea of loosening her dress, but she dared not let Filmore see, so she withdrew her hand from her sash. “I mean yes. Yes. Yes, I understand!”

Filmore seemed confused but continued beating around the bush by explaining his elaborate backstory.

Agnes felt her stomach shudder, and she feared the worst.

Not now. By God, now is the worst time!

In the midst of Filmore’s speech, she had no choice but to excuse herself.

“I-I am really sorry. Truly. I need to excuse myself. I will be right back!”