by Patti Larsen
Prince Nameless
Kindle Edition
Patti Larsen
© 2015 Patti Larsen
Purely Paranormal Press
Find all of my books (there’s over 85 of them!) on Amazon!
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Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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The warrioress rides over the crest of the hill and pauses, her black horse snorting white puffs of breath as he paws the dirt of the road. The shield strapped to her back has seen many battles, her well-used sword hanging from her hip as if a part of her body.
It's been a long and empty road for her, and loneliness finally calls her to seek out others, a short break from her adventures and a chance to rest. The walled city below looks to be a likely place. She urges her weary mount forward again, his heavy hooves raising dust as he picks up speed.
The guards at the gate offer her no conversation, ignoring her as she rides inside. Just past the large iron barrier she sees it—a statue, perfectly shaped and painted, the image of the most beautiful man she has ever seen. Tall, dark haired with rugged good looks any maiden would swoon over, the placard at his feet proclaims he is Prince Nameless, the ruler of this city.
Her heart is lost, the road forgotten in a moment of absolute attraction. Fate has brought her to him, surely here then is the destiny she's been seeking her entire life.
She has felt stirrings before, moments of affection toward the men she's met. But she has never known love. Until now.
As she sits there, gazing up at him in adoration, she hears the sounds of horns. And, to her utter delight, the object of her desire appears in a parade of pomp and circumstance.
Not thinking or considering her actions even for a moment, she spurs her horse forward, smiling, pulling her helmet free, extending her hand toward the Prince and her future.
His shock at her approach is apparent as he pulls back from her in horror. His guards act instantly, roughly jerking her horse aside, clearing the way for the Prince and his followers to continue on.
She watches him go, her heart yearning as it has never before.
He doesn't look back.
She was sure he would.
When she turns away, she looks down into the puddle of water at her horse's feet and understands. Her hair is a squashed mess, face sweaty and filthy from her ride. No wonder he wanted nothing to do with her!
She must make him notice her, to see past the harsh leavings of the road. Something flutters in her peripheral vision and she dismounts to examine the sheet of parchment tacked to the side of a squat stone building.
A wanted poster. A giant threatens the peasants who raise crops for the Prince. There is a monetary reward offered, but that’s not the part to attract her interest. The boon is to be personally granted by the man himself.
She's faced worse before. And she knows once she's proven herself, he'll love her for certain.
Settling her helmet in place, she remounts and wheels her steed back the way she came.
She has a giant to slay.
***
I was always an odd child, though I had no idea what odd was, really. Being raised in a family just like me meant I had no clue I was different. My father was an avid reader, as was my mother, though it was Dad's passion for fantasy and science fiction that drew me in, far from Mom's love of romance novels.
I knew I wanted to be a writer by the age of twelve, having soaked up most of my father's extensive library. The few friends I maintained in my country-living neighborhood didn't consider my bookish nature strange. And considering most of them gathered at my family home every Saturday and Sunday to play Dungeons and Dragons with Dad presiding as Dungeon Master, my life seemed to me absolutely ordinary.
I buried myself in books, horses and anything to do with make-believe, happily exploring worlds and people real only in the pages of novels and in my head. We never did have much money, but even that didn't seem strange, since no one I knew did either. Besides, my life was rich and full of the imaginary.
Always very good in school, I found myself, in grade five and six, suddenly aware of the other children and how different their lives were to mine. Not everyone had a big red half-draft horse who waited at the fence for them every day, nor did they have made-up friends and adventures that sometimes seemed as authentic as the 'real' world.
Thanks to one friend in particular, I found boys. I wonder still if I would have remained oblivious for a few years longer, so wrapped up was I in the happy places of my own making. But she drew me to her because she was so very different, a come from away, her house new and possessing all the fancy clothes and makeup that baffled and fascinated me.
Because of her, for those two brief years, I found myself ensconced as one of the cool kids with no clear perception of what it really meant. I had lots of people who wanted to hang around with me, boys who wanted to kiss me. My first, second and third boyfriends happened in those years and I still remember them fondly. Not because they were really boyfriends in the technical sense, but because they were my friends at all.
It was a magical time. I had no idea being in the middle of such things was even possible for me. I became lost in my need to maintain what I had found and drifted away from my love of books and fantasy.
And then, out of the blue, it was over.
***
She finds the giant resting under a huge tree, hands folded over his rounded belly, eyes closed, humming a tune that makes the ground shake beneath her horse's hooves.
“Ho, Giant,” she calls out, pulling her sword free. “I've come to save the peasants from your evil and receive the reward the Prince has promised.”
The giant sighs and opens his eyes, meeting hers as he sits forward to examine her more closely.
“You seem a smart girl,” he rumbles, his breath ruffling her horse's mane and the folds of her cloak. “And yet you willingly believe the worst about a total stranger without seeking the truth.”
His words make her hesitate. “You claim you are innocent of your crimes?”
“I am falsely accused,” he says. “But there is a more important question to be pondered here. Ask your Prince why he fears strength in others.”
At the mention of the Prince, his face comes into her mind, and she finds her heart hardening against the giant.
“Do not try to deceive me,” she says, sword swinging. “I will have the reward he promised from his own hands and shall save the innocent peasants both with one stroke.”
The giant bends his head to her. “Kill me then,” he says. “If he means so very much to you.”
She pauses one more moment, not sure why guilt rises as she finally lets her sword fall to slay him.
Task complete, she ties the giant's head to her saddle and rides back to the city, a smile growing on her lips, all concern vanishing as she thinks about the Prince and her reward.
***
The moment grade seven started, I was a nerd again, just like that. Only now I knew what a nerd was, and that I'd been one all along without understanding the terminology or the implications. The shock and hurt at my sudden ostracization hit me like a blow. Junior high was a wake-up call as I found myself mixing in with new kids from other schools, all brought together in a place far bigger than I was used to.
My confusion at my sudden loss of status forced me to retreat
back into the imaginary worlds which sustained me. Though now I used them as a retreat, not a joy, and felt guilt every time I tapped into my creativity.
I felt like I'd lost two precious things—my joyful, embracing make-believe worlds and all the incredible adventure they brought and the cool-kid status and experiences I'd only just begun to accept as my norm.
It didn't take long for sensitive, expressive and creative me to retreat from everyone, to hide in melancholy and growing hurt. My nerdy nature was confirmed because of my reaction to being rejected. Told I was weird, different and left out in the cold, I was taught by others my age the passion I had for the creative was wrong and was to blame for my being outcast.
There were moments I railed against the injustice, watching the pretty girls in their beautiful clothes and their perfect hair while I wore the same jeans I used to ride in. How did it happen? Where did my popularity go? How did the switch get flipped and who flipped it? It was openly, painfully apparent I was no longer one of the in-kids. My fleeting days of coolness were gone and I was driven, for reasons I was unable to comprehend, back into my world of weirdness which, ironically, only encouraged my condition, as though it were a disease, to worsen.
***
She returns triumphant to the gates of the city. This time the guards take notice, but only to snicker at her, to point fingers and talk about her as if she has done something wrong. Not that it matters to her. She's acted as the Prince commanded and now she is ready to accept her reward.
Odd how the nasty man at the front door to the palace doesn’t want to let her in. But she isn’t taking no for an answer. The giant's head hanging from her hands, she drags the bloody mess down the main hall and to the Prince's chambers.
He is busy when she arrives, still breathless and full of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.
“Yes, yes,” he says, not looking at her, too enraptured by his reflection in the mirror as three tailors fit his shining new clothing. “Just leave it at the door.”
“My reward, your Highness?” Her voice cracks and warbles as her heart speeds up at the thought of receiving his adoration.
His sigh is long and deep and full of suffering. He alights at last with great grace from the small riser, coming to her side, though he seems more intent on stroking the soft fabric of his new clothing than paying any attention to her whatsoever. The Prince snaps his fingers, to which a young man leaps into action, handing him a small, worn leather bag.
Nameless's smile glitters, perfect white teeth shining in the light as he gestures to the boy who drops the bag at her feet.
He turns away from her, already moving off. She has to stop him! This isn’t at all what she'd dreamed, hoped, expected. Her bloody hands reach out before she can stop herself and latch onto the back of his perfect new tunic.
She's never been kicked out of anywhere before. Especially not by the man she loves, he so red faced and unable to speak from rage she is sure his head will explode.
Her heart sinks as she is ushered out of the palace and shoved into the street, the door slamming shut behind her.
Her heart, still hurting, but more determined than ever, yearns for the Prince and drives her to find another way.
There has to be another way!
***
I met him for the first time that initial fateful year of junior high, shortly after my lack of position made itself known, but too soon for me to realize just what my fall from grace actually meant when it came to possibilities. He shall remain, as always, nameless, but in my teenaged heart, he was Prince Charming. Tall, dark-haired, with the dashing good looks I'd come to expect from descriptions of heroes and knights, he was the epitome of everything I'd dreamed about.
He was as new as I was to the school, but seemed to arrive with his influence intact and even elevated. My instant love for him was shared by most of the girls, though I was absolutely sure none of them felt for him what I did.
At first I tried what I'd done in elementary school, rushing in to greet him, to know his name. Only to crash and burn when my greeting was met with disdain and rejection. That was the moment I understood my place and put him, very firmly, on a pedestal I could never rise to no matter how hard I tried.
My turning in was, from that point, inevitable, shyness taking over where open hearted honesty once lived. I find it so sad now, in many ways. Both of my older sisters are outgoing and charismatic women, and always were. But I learned my first year of junior high my advances weren't welcome and it was better if I just watched from a distance and let the fantasy of what I needed fill in the holes.
Hello, weirdo. And yes, I was one, I know it, fair enough. But the reveal was the kicker, the painful unveiling I wasn't good enough, didn't have enough, wasn't able to fit in even when I tried.
I was in the throes of first love, followed him like a nerdy shadow, obsessed over him in my writing and imaginary creations and pined every day for one simple, single acknowledgment from him he'd taken notice.
***
The second wanted poster makes her shudder. A mighty gryphon has attacked the Prince's cattle. Again, a reward is offered, but this time the creature's pelt is to be brought back. Only then will she receive payment. And wonder of wonders, it includes dinner with the Prince. Dinner! Even better. She will have the chance to talk to him, to make a real impression.
Her horse sighs his long-suffering, but canters off with her on his armored back. The gryphon is easy to locate, sunning itself on the banks of the river.
She draws her horse to a halt, sword out again, ready to do her Prince's will.
“Ho, Gryphon,” she says. “I've come to slay you by order of the Prince!”
The gryphon lifts his head, eagle beak clacking together as he speaks, lion's tail twitching in the grass. “Warrioress,” he says in the voice of a soaring bird of prey, “I have done nothing to summon the Prince's wrath.”
This is the second time she's heard such. “He demands your death.” It sounds weak to her. But dinner! How can she not act?
“I beg of you,” the gryphon says, “ask yourself why it is the Prince wishes my skin. What is it about how he looks he despises so he needs what I have to make himself pretty?”
She can’t listen though her soul weeps and pleads with her to stop. The gryphon is soon dispatched and his glorious golden hide drapes over her horse's withers.
This time when she rides through the gates, she is acutely aware of the stares and whispers and feels herself becoming self-conscious and uncomfortable with the attention. She reaches the palace gates quickly, though the servant at the door takes the hide from her, not the Prince.
“My dinner!” She's done things that have shamed her. She is not about to leave without her reward.
“Very well,” the man says. “Return tonight. You shall have your dinner.”
Feeling much better and now excited by the prospect, the warrioress leaves, though with plans to woo her Prince by more radical means.
***
The saddest part, really, was how painfully obvious it was to everyone else. I did my best to hide my attraction to him while being noticed by him. It was clear to the entire student body I was hopelessly in love.
Grade seven ended and I pined away for him all summer, for my one true love, lost in the romantic fantasy I'd created. The story of US grew bigger and brighter and more elaborate with every sunny day that passed, though I spent my summer, totally unlike me, locked inside my house with thoughts of him. Gone was my childish playfulness, my daily jaunts to the local beach, innocent pleasures of country living and exploring ignored in favor of my total embrace of what I created around him.
As the first day of grade eight grew close, I carefully prepared, now so deeply into him it was truly pathetic. I'd decided the only way I could attract him was to be one of the cool kids, to do what I could to shed my weirdness and act like the popular crowd did.
With the carefully hoarded money I'd made working here and there all summ
er, I bought what I felt were trendy clothes and my first makeup. I even had my sister's friend cut my hair, though she sheared it almost boy short.
I'm sure my few friends shook their heads at me, already bored to tears by my endless obsession. It was a wonder really they were still my friends at all. Why didn't one of them take me and shake me? I'm sure I wouldn't have listened.
My first day of grade eight, I walked into school with a fresh outlook and so much optimism. I was sure I'd done it the way I was supposed to, gotten it right at last. Only to understand, the moment I tried to fit in, I'd only made matters worse. I was now a weird girl trying too hard.
If anything, my attempts to be one of 'them' made me all the more pathetic.
He continued to ignore me. And my failure drove me deeper inside.
***
The warrioress stares at herself in the mirror of the local beauty garden, shocked at what she sees. The dress she wears is a little thread-worn, but she loves how it swings around her feet. Her hair is carefully arranged though she frets it's too plain. Her eyes and lips are coated in cosmetics and fake jewels sparkle on her hands and around her neck.
Here then is the woman who will sweep the Prince from his feet!
She chooses to ignore the nasty giggling from the other women in the garden or the eye rolls and whispers about her appearance. She's done what she can, and it will be enough, she's sure of it.
As she leaves, she straps her trusty sword to her side, patting its familiar weight before, whistling and smiling, she goes off to meet her fate.
The man at the palace door stares at her, eyes huge and she takes it as a good sign. She must look splendid if he's staring at her so. She is led down the long hall to a huge dining area, the walls covered in beautiful tapestries, heavy wooden table and chairs carved with intricate designs. She spots the Prince, sees him at the far end of the room, starts to head for him only to be shown to her seat all the way down at the other end, between a snoring old man and a jittery little girl wearing thick-lensed glasses.
