of course I got assigned Her Highness, because I was the least qualified for the job.
i had stood there in my best clothes (course spun wool, good for a farmer’s daughter but not court in front of Her Majesty) along with a thousand other girls from all around the Kingdom.
“you,” Her Princessness said, “how do you feel about base jumping?”
i looked at her. she looked at me. a tender moment passed wherein i smelled of goat and she smelled of fine soaps.
“well,” i choked, “that depends….off… what base?” i asked. and that was it. i was officially Her Good Princess’s Official Handmaiden, because now she wanted to pick my brain for what bases should be jumped off of.
Her Heavenly Self eats only food from places her mother’s never heard of. A Princess who purposefully tests for poison. and i’ve gotta be there. right there. literally right there, on her right side, in the event she Does Die In Some Way. Her advisor is Very Worried, All The Time. I know because i hear about it almost as frequently.
“Is She really going to Eat That?” he worries now, on her left side, his pale face narrow and his neck all full of stringy tension.
i glance up from my knitting. “yeah, seems about,” i say. a pink something resting on Her plate. She grins at me, raises her tiny silver fork in a little salute.
i grin back and raise my little knitting needles. i’ve heard that what she’s about to eat is extremely toxic if not cooked well.
“that,” gulps her advisor, “is Extremely Toxic if it Was Not Cooked Well.”
she takes a bite, doesn’t Die (much deep breathing on his Advisor’s part), tilts her head to the side. “not bad,” she says to me, while around her the High Table is all aflutter with her behavior, “but chewy?”
“gross,” i tell her. “that raspberry Death Tart you had that one time is still my favorite.”
“surprisingly low in Death,” she says, and gestures for her next plate, even more (from what i hear) Deadly.
“How can you Let Her,” her advisor hisses, “On the Night before she Goes on Journey,” he says, “Eat that Stuff.”
well, i don’t let her, not really. she’s an adult, after all. her birthday is coming up (three months, by our reckoning) and since her Gracefullyness has used her Invincibility so far to Protect and Serve (the Demon vanquishing was the last time I really worried), I am sort of more worried about the Journey.
I knit her a blanket to keep her warm, but that’s about all I can do, you know? we head out at dawn and she forgets that Invincible doesn’t mean “can’t feel pain or discomfort.”
we ride for days, occasionally stopping to Vanquish whatever is Plaguing Ye Old Towne of whatever. I don’t fight well, sit back with my bow and arrow, pick off the Evil if i can. what i do is sit by her, on the right side, looking at her. watching her smile at a bird overhead. the slight furrow of her brow when she’s thinking. how her oak skin looks in the sunlight. how she always manages to spill a little down her front. those brown eyes - those brown eyes. their light haunts me, a song that never stops singing.
it is a month before her birthday. we lie under the stars that ache of things we cannot say. our hair, undone, in the grass, shifts until we become half-tangled, one, a being together. “this is the best life,” she tells me. i laugh and chew a stalk of grass. we count cricket chirps. “a warm night,” she says. shifts onto her side to look at me with those sun eyes. i have to look away. “when i get married i shall have to spend all my life doing Queen Things in the castle and there will no longer be warm nights next to pretty girls. it will be next to Nice Young Men.”
i feel the breath collapse in my lungs. she flops back onto her spine. somewhere, a coyote yelps.
in the darkness, she reaches out and takes my hand. “it’s dark and i’m scared,” she whispers.
she is scared of nothing, i think. but i don’t correct her. we lie there, the moon a slim budding crescent over us, under one knit blanket, our fingers intertwined. after a while, i am almost asleep, a smile on my lips.
“i die soon,” she whispers, “i don’t go to death. it comes for me.”
a chill runs through me. i don’t know if it was something i was supposed to overhear.
i lie awake. in the morning, making her breakfast (Deadly), my hands shake. i wash my hands but cannot get them clean.
one month. one month. one month.
dededos
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
2087
germansingergirl
stormborns
blakekathryn
