There was a knock at the door of the small stone cabin. Lenia looked up, surprised. She had asked for some eggs to be sent over from Poultry Farms, but they shouldn’t be so soon, it was half a day’s ride away.
“Delivery is getting better and better these days,” she said aloud. She wiped her white hands on her whiter apron and went to open the door. She was in the midst of making a pie and she was coated in flour.
She swung the door open to reveal a tall, handsome young man. He stepped inside without permission.
“Oh!” began Lenia. She had never had a stranger visit her before.
Rignald interrupted. “Are you Lenia of the hills of Bremia?”
“Some call me that. Who are you?” It wasn’t respectful, but Lenia was flustered, and she never thought when she was flustered. Her brown curls hung close to her head as if they were shy as well. Rignald failed to recognize their appeal.
“Prince Rignald of Bulima.” He looked regal with a wine-colored doublet and a purple cloak covering his shoulders. Lenia had never realized how short she was.
She dropped to her knees. “Your Majesty,” she whispered. “Please forgive my…disarray.” She was painfully aware of the flour coating her, and the interior of the cabin. She was not much of a cook.
Rignald rolled his eyes and pulled her sharply to her feet. He dragged her out the door roughly.
He had no need to be either sharp or rough, because Lenia followed him willingly enough. “Do you have need of my assistance?”
“No. You are to come with me to Richardo Castle.” He glanced down at her, then added as an afterthought. “I never need assistance from peasants.” He curled his lip.
“Are you sure you mean me?”
“Yes. Now climb on my horse.”
“Your Majesty, if you will forgive me to question you, why?”
“I do not give you permission to speak! Now climb on!” Rignald swung heartily onto the dancing stallion’s back.
Lenia hesitated. “May I first pack my belongings?”
“You will have no need of them in Richardo.” Sensing her timidness, Rignald added, “I am high above you. If duty didn’t ask for it, I would never even speak to you. I order you as your future ruler, to climb on this horse!”
Lenia came forward then and gripped the hand he offered. He jerked her on, and before she could even get comfortable, he kicked the black horse in the ribs and it galloped away.
Lenia looked back once at her little cottage. Daisy was still tied out front, and the door was swinging back and forth in the wind.
ΞΎ
This silly girl has been humming for three hours, thought Rignald irritably. There was no denying that she was comely—she did have rosy cheeks, and her hair was pretty. She had a shapely little figure clothed in a worn blue dress, but that wasn’t enough to forgive the humming. It was the same song—the Ballad of the Battle Lost—the same lilting melody over, and over, and over, and over. Only an hour more and then we will never have to ride together again…I hope.
They pressed onward.
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