Charming, Volume 1

by Jack Heckel

  “Do not give me false hope,

  But tell me that you have a rope.”

  He smiled. He had regained ­couplet.

  “Surely, you’re joking. A rope? I would not have thought you were into that sort of thing,” she said with what might have been mockery had it not been directed at him.

  He stared at the woman and her cursed hair, and quite suddenly an idea formed in his head. Discarding ­couplet altogether, he shouted (though she was right next to him), “My lady, I need your hair! The kingdom needs your hair! Just twist it and it will be long enough for me to descend to the ground below.”

  “Oh, I’m sure it’s long enough,” she said in an acerbic voice, “but there is no way—­”

  He cut her off.

  “Dear Lady, do not be slow,

  Throw your tresses out yon window.”

  He had regained ­couplet. She would do anything for him now.

  “Are you mad!” she said in disbelief.

  He could delay no longer; explanations had never been his strong suit anyway. He grabbed as much of her hair as he could carry in his arms and hefted it out the window. The lady jumped up and held out her hands.

  “Your Highness, stop! It won’t support your . . .”

  He interrupted with a bit of hastily conjured doggerel:

  “Alas I must swiftly away,

  Cherish the memory of today.”

  With that, he grabbed two thick handfuls of hair and leapt out the window. There was a shriek from above, and then he hit the ground and his already injured foot collapsed beneath him from the force of the impact. He tried to cover his scream of pain with a whoop of victory as he fell to the ground clutching his ankle.

  “My Prince, are you all right?” the squire called, rushing over.

  With a grimace, Charming rolled to his feet, or rather to his one good foot. He forced a weak smile as he hopped toward his horse. “Just a bit of dashing bravado and derring-­do on my part. We must away.”

  “I’ve never seen hair like that,” said the squire. A large mass of blond strands had fallen to the ground beside them and lay in a tangled clump.

  “Doubt you will again,” muttered the Prince as he mounted. “Let’s go. She was remarkably unmoved by my ­couplets.”

  “Hard to imagine,” offered the squire with an unnoticed roll of his eyes.

  “My hair!” shrieked the lady from the window of the tower. “My beautiful hair! You madman! You fiend!”

  Charming winced under the increasingly colorful curses that rained down from above. He looked to the squire and whispered, “You don’t by any chance remember her name, do you?”

  “Rapunzel, My Prince,” the squire said in a stunned whisper.

  “Rapunzel, of course.” Charming cleared his throat.

  “Rapunzel O fair maid, please hold,

  I will send you hair spun of gold.”

  He doubted she heard him amid her hysterics, but duty demanded the attempt be made. He looked to his squire and shrugged. “Let’s away.” In a moment they were galloping long the road to Castle White. “So, what has happened?” he asked.

  “Sorry, Your Highness, but all I know is that the Princess was rescued by a peasant, the dragon was killed by a pitchfork, and your father is praising this young man as the great hero of the age. And . . . and—­” The squire suddenly stuttered to a stop and began intently studying the road ahead.

  “There is more. Out with it,” Charming commanded.

  “Understand, Your Highness, that this is only rumor, but . . . well . . . I’ve even heard it said that perhaps elves exchanged you with the true Prince of the Realm as a babe—­and you are of peasant . . .” The squire’s voice trailed off again as the Prince’s face turned an unpleasant shade of magenta.

  “Treason, blasphemy, heresy,” he shouted aloud. “What is wrong with ­people? How can they possibly doubt me? I’m Prince Charming!”

  How the squire would have answered the Prince will never be known, as in his outrage, Charming had dropped the reins of his steed and stood in his stirrups, arms upraised in a dramatic gesture. Upon doing so, he promptly struck a low branch with his forehead and fell backward out of his saddle. It was an experience completely foreign to him, as he had never fallen at the lists in tests of chivalry. Then, the back of his head struck the crushed gravel of the road, and he stopped thinking altogether.

  Chapter 4

  At First Sight

  CHARMING BECAME AWARE of the interplay of light and shadow and the sounds of muffled voices. He thought that he saw the castle with its gleaming white towers, billowing banners, and deep red pennants, but it was all topsy-­turvy, as if the world was upside down. Then he had a hazy recollection that the dragon was dead and thought that perhaps the world really was upside down. Time passed in fits and starts. Then he heard the voice of a lady of high rank, which he identified because it held that particular tone of command that would brook no disrespect.

  “Move aside, don’t any of you know how to care for a wound?”

  Charming became aware that his head felt like it was aflame, and there was a hot wetness trickling down the side of his face.

  “We are waiting for the Royal Chirurgeon, milady,” came a woman’s voice.

  “Why would you wait for a chirurgeon? And the name is Liz. Elizabeth, if you need it. I may not be a chirurgeon, but I know how to attend a wound to stop it from swelling.”

  Suddenly Charming felt a blessed coolness on his burning forehead, and he smelled the comforting scent of lavender.

  “Milady, that’s the Prince,” came yet another voice.

  The Prince opened his eyes and gazed on a most lovely woman. She did not have the alabaster skin of the ladies of the court, but instead was faintly kissed by the sun like a beautiful flower. A perfect set of auburn tresses fell across her shoulders, and her hazel eyes were gentle and kind, and, for just a moment, the Prince’s heart stuttered and he felt something deeper than mere attraction. He had time to wonder what this feeling was, then her eyebrows raised and she pulled back.

  “You’re Prince Charming?” she asked with a mixture of uncertainty, surprise, and something else.

  She blurred, and the Prince blinked away the double image of her, and croaked:

  “The Prince I am, Tis plain to see.

  And who art thou, fair lady?”

  He was proud of himself for having attained ­couplet in his condition, and he followed the verse with a smile, which, though dashing, was marred when he winced in pain. He raised himself upright, resolved not to show weakness in front of the lady, and then stood and steadied himself against the wall. He was somewhere within the castle proper, but in poor quarters.

  With a shock he realized that this was the room of some servant, a terrible insult. It was that damned squire of his. It was just the sort of thing the man would do. Well, he’d gone too far this time! He’d have the warped little brute thrown in the dungeon for this. Yet, despite his anger, he could not help but feel the fire in his blood ebb as he gazed on the face of the Lady Elizabeth. He took a moment to pose and try to recall her from the lists of nobility.

  He prided himself on knowing all of the names of the nobles in the land. In fact, his memory for names was legendary. Obviously with the occasional failure such as with Lady Rep . . . Rap . . . Well, whatever her name had been. Oddly, this Lady Elizabeth was also unknown to him.

  He was in the midst of composing another line of verse in her honor when she snapped sternly. “What do you think you are doing?”

  The serving women gasped. Taken aback, the Prince nearly dropped the hand supporting him, and he had to recover quickly to prevent falling. The look of disapproval she was giving him should have infuriated him, but it had such authority that he suddenly felt rather small. No one had ever—­ Then in a great rush, he felt his righ­teous ire coming to the fore.
He was Prince Charming and she, this Lady Elizabeth, was not a lady of the court. He had never seen her before, nor heard her name in the lists. Despite her grace and dress, she must certainly be of lesser birth. And he had blessed her with ­couplet! Yet she dared to speak to him in such a manner. He clenched his left hand on his hip and found the strength to remove his other from the wall and raise himself up to nearly his full height, though the room tilted ever so slightly.

  The woman Elizabeth looked around at the other women and dropped her gaze slightly. “Sorry, Your Highness, but please get back in bed.”

  Despite her efforts, she didn’t look the least bit properly intimidated. Then her discipline broke and she laughed, and it should have made him even more angry, but it was really a most pleasant sound, and he found himself fighting the desire to make her laugh again. He was at a loss for words, which was really an unknown condition for him.

  The woman, Elizabeth, reacted for him, finally mastering herself by biting her lower lip and smoothing her skirt with her palms. “Please lie down before you hurt yourself, Your Highness. You can barely stand.”

  She might have meant well, but he would not be ordered about by a—­a woman. “Stand aside,” he commanded, and he thought his exit redeemed a bit of his former dignity as he pushed past to the doorway. The other ladies scattered before him like doves on a parade ground, and he wobbled unevenly into the hall beyond.

  As he emerged from the room, Charming saw his unctuous servant leaning against the far wall of the passage. The squire’s eyes bulged and he rushed to the Prince’s side. “You damned foo—­ I mean, Your Highness, you can’t be up yet. You nearly took your head off on that tree. You need to be on your back not strutting around the halls.” He turned to the woman Elizabeth, “Why can’t you women do your bloody job? Didn’t I tell you hens to sit on him if you had to till the chirur—­”

  Liz cut him off before he could finish. “You sit on him! He won’t listen to reason. If you ask me, he’s acting like a complete—­”

  “SILENCE!” Charming shouted. “I have had ENOUGH!” His head was pounding. He swiveled to face his squire and nearly collapsed from the effort. He took a ­couple of deep breaths to gather himself. Finally, his head cleared enough for him to focus. “I will deal with you later. That you would dare . . . put me down here . . . with the servants . . . instead of bringing me to my own quarters . . . borders on treason! I should have . . . have you put in the stocks for a week!”

  The Prince reflected that his admonishment would have had more effect had he not needed to pause every ­couple of words to catch his breath. Still, if he had not brought the squire to his knees, at least it had quieted him. Charming used the time to orient himself toward the Great Hall. He was in a servant’s passage in one of the outer hallways in the eastern wing of the castle. The Prince took a deep breath and steeled himself for the inevitable confrontation he would have with his father, the King, and the charlatan who was deceiving his kingdom. Charming marched off, as steadily as he was able, past the suits of armor, shields, and crossed weapons that lined the walls.

  The movement seemed to break the squire’s silence, because he shuffled along at his side pleading, “But, Your Highness, I brought you here so no one would see you. I mean, look at the state you’re in. You are always so bloody particular about your appearance, and—­”

  Charming was deeply engaged in composing a stunning speech denouncing the dragon-­slaying fraud, and so paid no attention to the man. Besides, at this point the gnarled hobgoblin would say anything to save his skin. Then he passed one of the open windows and was stunned at the sight. The pennants and the personal crests of knights from across the realm lined the open courtyard. A great feasting table was being set with silver platters laden with meats and fruits of every description. Every surface in sight was being festooned with flower garlands, and there in the center of it all a sculptor on a ladder was chiseling the features of an oafish-­looking fellow out of a block of marble.

  Charming stopped and nearly collapsed as the world tilted violently in response to the movement. He reached out an unsteady hand and caught himself against the window casement. He turned to the squire, “Wait! Squire, what were you saying? What is going on?”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you, you. Your Highness. The King has proclaimed a week of celebration. There is to be one of those damnable balls. The whole court is either already here or will be as soon as they receive word. There’s more silk and feather walking around the palace than in all the houses of ill-­repute in all the kingdom combined.”

  The Prince felt his head swim. He doubled over, gasping again for breath. “This is a plot! A plot to usurp me! Mark my words!”

  The soft but firm voice of the woman Elizabeth interrupted his tantrum. “Your Highness, please calm down. There is no plot.”

  He took a deep breath. He decided to dispense with civility for once, not to mention ­couplet. “I am Prince Charming. This is my kingdom. There is a villain here who is perpetuating a terrible lie for foul ends, and I am going to put an end to his charade. You, Lady Elizabeth, whom I have never before seen in the courts, are unknown to me. While I appreciate your concern, I have a kingdom to save from a lout and liar.” He made this speech in his most commanding voice, giving the merest hint of the anger he felt. The woman would probably be reduced to tears, but sometimes even chivalry had to give way to necessity.

  He was quite unprepared for her reaction. Her cheeks flushed bright crimson and her lips thinned almost to nonexistence. As her hands clenched at her sides, she stepped up to him, much too close for his comfort, and looked him right in the eye.

  “I’ll tell you who I am. I’m the sister of William Pickett, whose pitchfork pierced the Wyrm of the South through the heart. I did not see you around when the dragon was burning up our village, and I don’t remember you saving me with your noble steed and flashing blade and bright pennants.” She paused and smoothed her skirt, then continued. “Or the Princess either. What I do remember is listening to fairy tales about you when I was little, and I’d rather not have you crack your skull open staggering through the hallways in a misguided attempt to discredit my brother. So, will you please lie down”—­she paused for another breath and then added—­“Your Highness?”

  No one had ever talked to him like this. Had the world gone completely mad? He tried to think of an appropriately devastating response, but all he found in his head was a dull throbbing roar, layered over with the lovely smell of lavender that seemed to follow this woman, and the happy sound of the children outside singing, “The dragon’s dead, the dragon’s dead.” So, he said the only thing he could think of.

  “No.”

  He turned and shambled as quickly as he could toward the Great Hall. Behind him his squire pleaded with him to stop. This was a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. Yes, a nightmare. She was the sorcerer’s sister so, of course, she would want to stop him, and of course she would be immune to his charms—­charms that would cause any ordinary woman to swoon. Most likely his initial misguided attraction to her was some devilish enchantment meant to ensnare and distract him from his noble purpose. She’d likely also put a spell on his weak-­minded squire. Given the man’s lack of breeding, it would have been child’s play.

  He saw the towering doors of the Great Hall ahead of him. He picked up his pace so that he rushed through the crowds and burst into the chamber at a half run. Everyone in the Great Hall stopped, mouths agape, nobles, courtiers, guards, and servants alike. Momentarily, the swirling pageantry of the court, the mingled perfumes of the ladies, the clashing velvets of the costumes, the echoes of whispered entreaties, overwhelmed his reeling senses and he skidded unsteadily to a halt on the polished floor. But standing there on the inlaid white marble, beneath the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall with its alcoves of statues and suits of armor and the family crests dating back centuries, he felt a surge of strength. This was hi
s home. He was dimly aware that ­people were shuffling into the hall behind him. They must have realized that their prince, their savior, was here, and that things would be set to right.

  The King rose from the throne, resplendent in his blue and gold robes, his white beard catching the light from the high windows above and the great crown glittering here and there with the reds and greens of inset rubies and emeralds. Worry was etched across his face. Yet it was not his father, the King, who drew his attention, but the man standing beside his father, the King, a lanky, slouching buffoon with brown-­red hair that sat in a great unkempt mass atop his head. It had to be the usurper. How anyone could believe that this lout was a hero, a dragon slayer, was beyond the Prince.

  “You!” he shouted, marching forward and pointing accusingly as the crowds dispersed nervously to the edges of the Great Hall.

  The peasant looked confused. “Me?” he said, turning his head from side to side, then pointing at his own chest. The man swallowed and, looking uncomfortable, lifted a hand to his mouth as if he were about to bite his nails.

  “Yes, you!” shouted the Prince again, continuing to advance on the dais. The fraud was clearly unmanned knowing that his deception was revealed.

  King Rupert leaned forward and whispered something into the man’s ear. “Oh,” the pretender said as his face widened into a big goofy grin, “Um . . . yes, Your Highness, I suppose I was the one that rescued the Princess.” He made a clumsy bow and rising said, “Well met.”

  In the shock that followed, Prince Charming stumbled, nearly lost his balance, and had to windmill his extended arm out until it found a column. His father, the King, walked over to the peasant and clasped the man’s hand. Then he looked at Charming with a warning glance.

  “Edward,” he said sharply, “this is Lord William Pickett, newly appointed Protector of the Realm and the Dragon Slayer. And I see you have met his sister, Lady Elizabeth Pickett. Now, my son, what has happened to your face?”