The Prince Problem

by Vivian Vande Velde

  Following her don’t-show-yourself instruction, Telmund dove low into the water, then bobbed up again to the surface with just enough of his head peeking out that he could see.

  It was a hunting party that came out from among the trees: four men, with horses and falcons.

  Though Telmund hadn’t seen King Humphrey in ages, this man in the expensive and finely cut clothes was clearly not him. But, just as clearly, he was royalty. That left—assuming Princess Amelia’s geography wasn’t at fault—Prince Sheridan.

  This impression was strengthened by the way the man talked, complaining bitterly that one of his companions had gotten the party lost and that he would be beaten soundly once they got back.

  “But see, my lord, here is the river. We’re almost within hailing distance of the southernmost hunting lodge.” The man pointed in the direction that lodge must be. “We can water the horses here, spend the night at the camp, then head off to the castle tomorrow morning.”

  “I wanted to be there this afternoon, you incompetent fool. Stop talking, or I may decide to press your family into servitude to make up for your blunder.”

  One of the other men dismounted and examined the mud on the riverbank while the horses drank.

  Prince Sheridan said, “If you’re going to tell me the stag passed this way, so I should show mercy to this dolt, don’t even think about it.”

  “Not a deer,” the man said. “A person. Someone with small, delicate feet. A woman, by my estimation.” The man started following the footsteps in the direction Amelia had gone.

  What should I do? Telmund thought frantically. Should he call out—well, he couldn’t call out, but should he bark out—a warning to Amelia to run? But maybe it was better not to. Maybe the man couldn’t make sense of the jumble of foot- and flipper/flapper-prints, and wouldn’t be able to track her unless she broke cover and ran.

  Stay where you are, Telmund mentally urged her. You’d never be able to outrun them. Maybe he won’t see you.

  Telmund heard the snap of a twig. She must have decided there was no way the hunter couldn’t find her. A moment later she was running into the woods.

  The man ran after her.

  Still hiding in the water, Telmund could hear the scuffle. It was short-lived. The man came back into view, holding Princess Amelia under his arm as though she were a sack of onions. Amelia kicked and slapped at his arms and legs, and used words most princesses would not.

  Telmund swam closer to the shore. But what could he do? There was no way he could surprise the men, not if he had to travel on the ground. And once they saw him … Well, they were hunters. Whether they knew about seals, he was still a big catch. A big, lumbering, good-for-nothing catch. He paddled back out to the center of the river.

  Prince Sheridan was laughing at the antics of Princess Amelia trying to escape her captor. But then, suddenly, he realized who she was.

  “Can it be?” he crowed. “I sent three of my men to fetch you and bring you to my castle this afternoon, and just as I learn I will miss that appointment, here you come looking for me!”

  He got off his horse and approached, which Telmund had to admit was taking a risk, what with her arms and legs flailing.

  Prince Sheridan snatched her hand and kissed it. “Well met, my prize, my bride-to-be!”

  “Never!” Amelia shouted at him.

  Prince Sheridan laughed. “We’ll see.”

  “Stay!” Amelia commanded the seal who was really a prince, lest he try something foolhardy and get himself captured or killed.

  Well, that was presumptuous of me, she thought a moment later, assuming that he’d endanger himself for my sake. Still, he’d been following her as a rabbit and a dog and a person for a couple days now, and even if that wasn’t putting himself in danger, it certainly had to be an inconvenience.

  Meanwhile, Prince Sheridan was looking puzzled and, truth be told, a bit put out. With no one in sight that she could have been addressing, he had to suppose she was taking that tone with him.

  To take attention away from the fact that his just-proclaimed bride-to-be may well have addressed him as though he were a disobedient lapdog, he turned away and remounted his horse. But then he asked his men, “Is there any sign of anyone else about?”

  The two men who weren’t holding on to her dismounted to examine the riverbank.

  They conferred about the marks in the mud.

  “Well?” Prince Sheridan demanded impatiently.

  “No sign of another person,” one of the men said. “Some creature appears to have come onshore then returned to the water. Perhaps an enormous turtle … ?”

  Hesitantly, the other said, “Or maybe a really fat otter?”

  It was obvious neither of the men knew anything or even believed what they themselves were suggesting. They were just taking wild guesses.

  With a dismissive shrug, Prince Sheridan declared, “If it came from the water and returned to the water, it’s of no interest to us.” Apparently he didn’t have an inquiring mind, and that was one more reason to dislike him.

  Another reason was the way he patted his thigh in a gesture Amelia associated with her father beckoning one of his hounds to sit by him.

  The man who’d caught Amelia hoisted her up in front of the prince. Sitting astride would be unladylike, of course, so he placed her with her right side to the prince, rather than her back. It was uncomfortable, as well as precarious. But Amelia would not put her arm around him to make her seating more secure.

  Prince Sheridan took hold of her by the hair, not exactly yanking, but not gently, either, and pulled her head back. “We’re not going to try anything foolish, are we, my dear?” he asked.

  She was frightened, but even more than that, she was angry. Still, neither reaction would help her now. What she had to be was brave. And smart.

  She could bide her time. Telmund would have heard where Prince Sheridan was taking her—toward his southernmost hunting lodge. Once Telmund turned back into a person, he could either follow the river back to her home to tell her father what had happened, or he could continue on to Fairhaven and enlist the help of their ally, King Humphrey.

  Assuming Telmund didn’t get lost on the way. Given the ease with which she’d been able to shove him out of both straw wagon and boat—not to mention that he was a prince whose family’s castle was on an island and yet he had never learned how to swim—Amelia didn’t have much confidence in his abilities.

  He’s young, she reminded herself. Still, she suspected that even a year or two ago, when she’d been his age, she’d had more common sense.

  For now the prudent thing for her to do was not to enrage Prince Sheridan.

  “Nothing foolish,” she assured him from between clenched teeth.

  He gave her a light kiss on the throat as though to seal the bargain.

  She knew that—in the way of marriages arranged for diplomacy and alliances—there often was a big difference in the age between the partners. That knowledge didn’t help. Prince Sheridan was her parents’ age, and his intentionally menacing yet flirtatious manner was unsettling. She rubbed her wrist over the spot as though she could wipe the kiss away.

  He laughed and dug his heels into his horse’s sides with a suddenness that caused the animal to lurch forward and Amelia to fall sideways into his arms. His men scurried to mount their horses, lest they get left behind.

  A moment later, as they rode into the woods, the prince complained, “You’re damp.”

  “I was swimming with the mysterious creature from the river,” she said.

  The prince snorted.

  “You better not have let anything come out of your nose and onto my hair with that snort,” Amelia scolded, going for an I-am-a-princess-so-I-can-say-whatever-thought-crosses-my-mind tone.

  “What?” the prince asked. “No.” He pouted, though he probably would have called it a glower. “You say strange things.”

  “Stranger than: ‘Ooo, I think I want to marry this princess I’ve nev
er met before, even if it means sending some dim-witted ruffians to kidnap her, putting her very life in danger’?”

  “I never actually used those exact words,” Prince Sheridan informed her. “What I said was: Bring her to me—however you can.”

  Evidently, he was trying to be on good behavior for the princess he planned to marry. Good. She could probably get away with a certain amount of needling.

  “Close enough,” Amelia snapped, ready to be a thorn in his side.

  Prince Sheridan shrugged. “Don’t whine,” he said.

  Whine? WHINE? He had the nerve to think she was whining?

  Amelia took a deep breath. “So, why so eager to marry me? Have you heard tales of my great beauty and sophistication? My sense of style? How well I dance? What great company I am, and how likely I am to be meek and deferential and give in to my husband’s wishes?”

  If he had troubled himself to learn anything about her, she knew those would not be the things he’d heard. And she could only imagine that by now she looked even less princesslike than she had to the henchmen who’d been so unimpressed with her appearance. Amelia had been without the ministrations of her maid, Constance, for two days now. She’d slept first in a wagon hauling straw, then on the ground, then in a rowboat, and then she’d jumped into the river to rescue the young sometimes-an-animal-sometimes-a-human prince.

  As for Telmund, she was beginning to think more highly of him ever since starting this conversation with Prince Sheridan.

  Once again, Prince Sheridan snorted. He ignored the way Amelia reached back and ran her hand over her hair as though to check nothing had gotten on it.

  He said, “It’s nothing to do with you personally, and everything to do with politics.”

  “Ah!” Amelia said as though this explained all. “You need a likable wife so that your own people will give up their plans to rise up in rebellion against you.”

  “What?” demanded Prince Sheridan. “My people aren’t plotting rebellion.”

  “Oops.” Amelia placed a hand over her mouth, as though she’d committed a faux pas. “Well, if we’re lucky, maybe the rumors aren’t true.”

  “What rumors?” Prince Sheridan demanded. “What have you heard?”

  “Nothing,” Amelia answered in all truth, knowing that her tone and his suspicious mind would make him believe she was simply refusing to say.

  He tightened his grip on the reins. “I can easily quash any rebellion,” he told her.

  “That’s the spirit!” she declared encouragingly. “Think positive thoughts! Meanwhile—given that there is obviously no rebellion planned in your realm or you would have heard about it—please explain to me what you meant about our marriage having to do with politics.”

  Prince Sheridan hesitated, perhaps trying to sort through what might have been concealed in her words. “Your father is allied with King Humphrey of Fairhaven.”

  At the mention of her father, Amelia felt her heart was likely to break from missing her parents—from worrying about them worrying about her. She wanted to slap Prince Sheridan for daring to hurt them so.

  Be brave, she reminded herself, but smart, too.

  Prince Sheridan didn’t react to her silence. Perhaps he thought she was too foolish and frivolous to concern herself with matters of politics and alliances. He explained, “I want King Humphrey’s lands.”

  Of course he did, the greedy man!

  “And he doesn’t have a daughter?” Amelia knew very well that he did. Princess Gabriella of Fairhaven was older than Amelia, so they weren’t exactly friends. But Amelia knew Gabriella was happily married to someone from the fairy realm.

  And Prince Sheridan knew this, too. “She’s already married,” he said dismissively. “Her father didn’t choose wisely in permitting an alliance with someone who brought no lands or prestige with him.”

  As if King Humphrey would ever have consented to let his daughter marry a villain like Prince Sheridan!

  “There’s only so much,” she murmured as though agreeing, “that can be said for mutual love and respect.”

  Prince Sheridan obviously thought she was too silly to be able to put such matters together. “If I marry you, then your father won’t dare oppose me when I march on Fairhaven. He’ll have your safety to consider. Then, when my father dies, as he must sooner or later, and your father dies with you as his only heir, I’ll have control of three kingdoms. That’s worth more than mutual love and respect any day.”

  “You’re very good at plotting things out,” Amelia said. “A little slow to come to your conclusions, but I suppose it’s the getting there that’s important, not how long the journey takes.”

  “You dare to speak to me so impudently?” Prince Sheridan demanded, so angrily that Amelia worried she might have pushed too far.

  “I only meant that if you had come up with this plan ten years or so ago, you could have married Princess Gabriella rather than me, then overrun our kingdom without worry of reprisal from King Humphrey.” Amelia lowered her voice conspiratorially, though none of the prince’s men rode anywhere close enough to overhear. “I do understand that she is lovely and, generally speaking, the epitome of what a princess should be. There’s no doubt that your unsettled masses would have fallen in love with her and there’d be none of this talk of rebellion.”

  “There is no talk of rebellion,” Prince Sheridan insisted. “No one would dare risk my wrath!”

  Amelia turned to give him a wink. “We’ll say no more about it,” she told him. “I’m just saying: If you had been smart e—” She cut herself off as though this had been a slip of the tongue. She started again more slowly. “If you had been cunning enough … No, wait. If you’d seen the opportunity ten years ago—”

  “You talk too much,” Prince Sheridan said.

  “I’m usually not accused of that,” Amelia said. “I’m just saying: If you need help thinking things out—”

  “I do not need help thinking things out!”

  As annoying as she was being, Amelia trusted that Prince Sheridan wouldn’t let her fall off the horse—certainly not with people watching. She extended both hands out, palms up, as though weighing two stones. “I’m just saying: Me. Princess Gabriella. Me. Princess Gabriella. M—”

  “Stop talking!” the prince commanded.

  “Just trying to help.”

  “I don’t need help,” Prince Sheridan said. “I couldn’t marry Princess Gabriella when she was available because …” He cut himself off.

  Amelia smirked. “You’ll think of some excuse eventually.”

  “I’m not trying to think of an excuse. It’s just none of your business.”

  “Good one!” Amelia cheered. “Ooo, I’ve got another one you can use in these situations: You wouldn’t understand. Isn’t that a good one, too? Or how about this? I WOULD tell you, but it’s in the best interests of the country that I don’t. I think that’s an excellent one. Versatile, too. Depending on the circumstances, you could change it to the best interests of the family. Or …” She gestured expansively to include the prince’s men. “The hunting party. Or the welfare of the world as we know it. Or—”

  “Stop,” Prince Sheridan commanded, “talking.”

  “Or, yes,” Amelia told him sweetly, “you can just use the power of your I-am-the-prince-and-you-must-do-my-bidding voice. Nobody will accuse you of being as witless as a slug and incapable of coming up with a rebuttal. So just leave it at that.” She deepened her voice to sound more commanding. “I couldn’t marry Princess Gabriella because I am the prince, and I didn’t want to.”

  Clearly, Prince Sheridan didn’t want anyone—even a princess who wouldn’t stop talking—thinking of him as witless. “I needed time to get out of a betrothal my father had made for me.”

  “Really?” That was a surprise. “With whom?”

  “Never mind.”

  “Didn’t you love her?”

  “I never met her.”

  “Then why did you not want to marry her?
”

  “Because I knew I could do better.”

  Amelia considered. Not that she’d wish Prince Sheridan onto anyone, but to break a betrothal was serious business, and he was lucky the aggrieved father hadn’t declared war. “That wasn’t nice,” she said.

  Smugly, Prince Sheridan said, “But it was smart.”

  That just about said it all.

  “So who was she?” Amelia asked.

  Prince Sheridan shook his head.

  “Why won’t you tell me?”

  “You wouldn’t know her.”

  “I know a lot of people.”

  “You wouldn’t know her.”

  “My parents like to give balls, and I’ve met—”

  The prince pulled up on his horse’s reins. “Galt,” he called over his shoulder.

  One of the men drew closer. “My lord?”

  “Would you take this damp and annoying princess off my hands?”

  The man held his arm out to take Amelia over onto his horse.

  Amelia left him waiting while she tapped her finger to her lips conspiratorially and said to Prince Sheridan, “My lips are sealed. I won’t tell this man anything about the rebellion.”

  “There is no rebellion!”

  “Good gracious! Certainly not!” Amelia let herself be transferred to the other horse and didn’t speak a word to the man Galt all the rest of the way to the hunting lodge.

  Amelia had told him to stay, and really, there was nothing else Telmund could do.

  But, on the other hand (or rather, on the other flipper), How can I possibly just lie down and go to sleep when the exact thing I’ve been trying to prevent has happened? Telmund asked himself. There were no stories Telmund had ever heard that said, “Watching the villain carrying the princess off, the hero settled himself down for a nap.”

  But no story he had ever heard had the hero changing from one creature to another in between naps, either. He was useless to Amelia as a seal and needed to hasten his transformation into a person.

  After Prince Sheridan and his men left, Telmund crawled out of the water and onto the riverbank.

  It was late afternoon, but the sun was still warm and Telmund worked hard at emptying his mind rather than letting it swim around in circles. He gave himself up to enjoying the sensation of the sun evaporating the water from his furry skin and wouldn’t allow words to bubble up into his brain—especially ones like useless and coward and shameful. He only thought of images: the sun in the sky, the sparkles on the water, the fish darting close by. (Because, even if you aren’t currently hungry, it’s nice to know there’s a ready supply of food swimming around waiting for you.)