The Unromantic Prince

Here's a humble tale I haphazardly composed today "just for fun." It's been a long time since I've written a story for pleasure!

"Quiddlyoomph," a miniature booming voice squeaked from my breast pocket. Please don't ask me how a voice can boom and squeak at the same time. If you knew my gecko friend, you would know.

I blinked in mild surprise at my pocket. "What did you say?" I asked.

"You heard me," was the terse answer. "Quiddlyoomph. It is my new expression to convey annoyance. Much more eloquent than 'humph,' I dare say." Martin, my friend and constant companion, blinked his beady eyes at me as if to say, "Just you try to argue with me." I didn't even want to try.

"Oh, very well, old chap," I replied. "'Quiddlyoomph' all you want, I suppose, though I must say it's a trifle distracting. I could have fallen over backward into that chasm I was just leaping over, just from the mere shock of the thing. I hope you weren't too badly jarred from the leap, old fellow."

Martin's black eyes looked like they went through a reverse clay baking process. That is, one moment they were hard and beady, the next they were moist lumps of clay. "Oh, if you must shake me up a bit in here in order to save lives, I suppose I can try not to complain. I'll limit myself to minor tits of 'quiddle'; now how does that sound?"

"Capital," I answered, and smiled. Now back to business. Casually I strode toward the ancient castle before me, whose broken bridge I had just leaped over. The whole premises was a perfect specimen of fossilized magnificence. If it weren't for the broken bridge, huge masses of overgrown brambles, and the faint sound of rusty chains grinding, I would have supposed the place was in its prime, not unlike my own castle, where I lived with my parents and twelve sisters.

I drew my sword (a hag had given it to me before coming here) and slashed easily through the brambles. The average branches were only six inches in diameter so I had no trouble.

"You know, you might be disappointing that hag by how easily you're cutting through those," Martin observed from my pocket. "She was quite convinced that these brambles would be impossible for you unless you wielded her magic sword. I'm afraid you're not allowing the magic enough time to kick in."

"Oh, sorry," I said, and paused my slicing. "Do you suppose I should wait a bit and do this more slowly? Would that be the kindest thing to do?"

Martin rolled his eyes. Don't ask me how one can tell that a gecko with no irises is rolling his eyes. Friends just have a sixth sense about these things.

"Don't bother," he said. "We may as well get on with it. The king and queen, in fact, the whole royal family is quite anxious that you don't blow it this time."

"I know," I replied, a little embarrassed. "I truly wish I could give everybody satisfaction, but you see it's rather difficult to do that and maintain my convictions of kindness and chivalry."

"I know, I know," Martin sighed. "But you don't have to be quite so concerned for the well-being of others. Like the time when the queen arranged it for you to be turned into a frog. Why, that maiden actually wanted to kiss you, and you had to spoil everything and run away from her!"

I was a little hurt. "I told her quite positively that she would get warts if she touched me, and it was only for fear of her own safety that I fled so I wouldn't have to inflict such a hardship on her."

"But then she chased you," Martin pointed out. "Didn't that kind of give you a hint that she actually didn't care if she got warts or not? And besides, frogs don't give warts. The myth is that toads do, so your excuses were extra erroneous."

"Oh," I said, a little crestfallen. How stupid I was! Perhaps I should have let the poor girl kiss me after all.

Martin chuckled, "I must say, however, that it was quite the amusing sight to see that prim and proper maiden chase you about the swamp through mud and slime. She was so determined to marry a prince!"

I smiled at the recollection. "Yes, that was kind of funny, wasn't it? And I rather enjoyed having such springy legs, enabling me to always be one hop out of her reach." I sobered a little. "But the queen was furious with me afterwards."

"She was," Martin agreed. "But then she always is. Especially after that whole situation with Rapunzel. That was really pathetic, you know, and especially embarrassing because Rodrigo, your old rival, ended up with the prize! Was climbing up the girl's hair really that hard to do?"

I was a little offended this time. "How could you say such a thing, Martin? Of course the actually climb would have been nothing, but when she offered me her tresses as a climbing device all I could think of was Sanders."

"Sanders?" Martin asked skeptically. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"Sanders, as you know, was my tutor. One of my more strict tutors," I grimaced. My scalp just tingled at the thought of him. "And he had a habit of pulling my hair, yes, and even dragging me by my hair, even insisting that I not walk so that it would hurt all the more."

"Oy, no wonder your father got rid of him," Martin winced sympathetically, which was quite remarkable considering the fact that he'd never had any hair in his life. I nodded. "But," Martin persisted, "what does Sanders have to do with Rapunzel?"

"Everything," I told him. "When her long hair hung down by me all I could think of was Sanders, and I couldn't imagine bestowing such excruciating pain on this fair damsel by hanging my whole weight on her lovely locks. I knew those locks were still attached to her scalp, you see."

"I never thought of that," Martin said quietly, apparently touched. "But how come she didn't appreciate your thoughtfulness?"

"Well, after working for two hours to climb up the face of the tower (there were hardly any footholds, you know, and what crevices there were never exceeded an inch in measurement), I finally arrived at Rapunzel's window. She was rather frightened when she first saw me, and then she grew very angry. 'What? You mean I've been waiting and growing my hair this long for nothing?' Then she pushed me out the window. I managed to scrabble at tiny nooks in the wall enough to break my fall so I wasn't too badly injured."

"You mean you only took two hours to climb up practically bare rock face? And then she was foolish enough to not see your heroism and shove you out the window? Quiddlyoomph! Sounds like she wasn't worth it anyway."

I shrugged and continued. "As I was surveying the damage done to my body (only a couple broken bones, nothing to be too concerned about), Rodrigo appeared. He would have liked to think that he appeared in magnificent splendor, but I knew he was just appearing so he could one up me. He had watched the whole episode, and so he came and asked Rapunzel to let down her golden hair. Down it came, up he went, and the rest is history."

"Good riddance," Martin snapped. "Sounds like they deserved each other."

I said nothing. I had allowed my sword strokes to slow down to let the magic kick in (the sword must have been magic because the weapon still sliced the thickest brambles even though I was only using an ounce of my strength), and now the path to the main gate of the castle was open. I stopped, taken aback, but then I realized that I shouldn't have been. Wasn't my mother always trying to come up with some extraordinary way for me to find a bride? And didn't I overhear her say that this castle was enchanted? Asleep, would have been the better term, for sitting a few paces in front of me were two guards in heavy slumber, leaning against their spears.

And then I knew what the noise I had been hearing was. What had at first sounded like rusty chains grinding was in fact the sound of snoring. Lots of snoring.

After trying to awaken the two guards, ("Dear sirs, you must awake!" "Open sesame, oh eyes!") I managed to open the heavy, half-rotten gates and the sound of snoring only heightened. It was not a continual sound, but a continual sporadic jumble, quite like the sound of popcorn popping. Only, as I walked into the courtyard, this popcorn was all around me as if I were in a surround-sound amphitheater of frogs. Here was a guard I had just passed, letting loose an ominous growl from deep within his barrel-like chest. Here was the high-pitched chortle of a stable boy who must have been crossing the yard on some errand. And there was the delicate, pinched snore of a scullery maid, or the faint sighs of a grand young lady leaning against the dilapidated steps of a carriage. Everywhere were people scattered here in there in noisy repose, dreaming dreams of thunderous splendor. Sometimes, by chance, certain snores came in unison, other times in harmony.

"Looks like we have a choir," Martin remarked dryly. "This might be your most interesting adventure yet. Let's go find the princess."

I gazed at my friend, not surprised by his attitude. A feeling of dread filled me. Did I really want to go through with this? A part of me so longed to do the right thing, to be accepted by my family and even a lovely girl, but I felt like I was going about it in the wrong way. Why did finding a bride have to be something wrapped up in glamor and excitement? Wouldn't it be just as romantic if I met an ordinary girl that I loved, asked her to marry me and she said yes? No bells or whistles?

"Martin, I have a feeling I'm going to mess up again," I told my friend. He looked sharply at me. I sighed. "But I do so want to do the right thing."

"You always do the right thing," my gecko friend's emphatic words pounded into my skull. This time I was astounded, and I searched his green little face for sarcasm but saw none. "Never mind the fact that you don't always do what pleases your bossy mother, or your father, for that matter. And forget your silly sisters. You've always done the most gracious and most right thing anybody could have thought of, unlike some princes I could name."

"Martin, I can take disparaging comments about Rodrigo, but if you're talking about Michael I won't have anything said maligning him," I said.

"Oh, I know you won't," Martin retorted, exasperated. "But you were so close, Jed! You had the glass slipper in your hand, you had the sweet little lady's trim foot in the other, and all you had to do was slip the thing on and ask her if she would marry you, but you didn't."

"I was thinking how uncomfortable a glass slipper must really be," I answered calmly. "I looked at it and saw that it was not shaped to fit the contour of one's foot, and judging by the size of the shoe and her foot, I could tell that the shoe was one centimeter too small. I couldn't bear to jam it onto her like that. Oh she would have pretended that her tears were tears of joy but I would have known better. I just couldn't do it to her."

"So you handed the shoe to that Michael instead," Martin said.

"My friend Michael," I corrected him.

"Oh yes," Martin replied. I could tell his head was practically bulging with sarcasm now. "Your nice friend who stole the closest chance you'd ever had to happiness! Why did you do it, Jed?"

"I could tell that she liked him," I replied stiffly. "And I could tell that he liked her. I knew it wouldn't make much difference to her which prince she married, so I figured that two people may as well be happy because I knew that in my case we could not."

"Yes, yes, I know," Martin nodded, resigned. "But I don't think she got the real Prince Charming, in my opinion."

"Thank you, Martin," I still spoke stiffly, but I was really grateful for his regard. "But I know that you're a little biased."

Martin snorted. "Let's get this over with, shall we?"

I nodded, and proceeded to enter the castle. Up and down the long passageways and great halls we traversed (rather, I traversed, Martin enjoyed the view from my pocket), brushing aside the many cobwebs that obstructed our path. I didn't even bother to use the sword on them, although I suspected that the "enchanted" sword would do an extra good job. It was beneath me and my sword to use it on cobwebs.

"I saw Katherine the other day," Martin remarked. He looked slyly up at me.

"Really, where?" I tried not to sound too eager.

"Out tending the goats."

I smacked my head. Of course, I should have checked the fields!

Katherine was the daughter of one my mother's former ladies in waiting. We had grown up playing together, but as we got older my mother had decided that it was unfit for me to associate with someone so far below my station, so she had removed Katherine from our royal presence. It wasn't until I was in the kitchen dutifully calling on a princess (my mother had persuaded her to disguise herself as a scullery maid--it was another of my mother's romantic schemes) that I discovered that Katherine was also employed as a scullery maid. The princess ended up marrying another prince (a friend of mine who was visiting at the time), but Katherine had disappeared. I had searched all the servant halls and even the village; I had even entreated my mother to let me see Katherine again, but all my efforts had proven fruitless.

I wrenched my mind to the task at hand. This had to be the room. We were in the tallest of towers, and I was quite sure the princess would not be in a dungeon. I reached the top of the stairs (I had scaled 123 of them mindlessly and effortlessly) and here was a door. I nodded at Martin, then pushed the door. It opened slowly with a shrill and ponderous creak.

Inside there was a bed, and on this bed lay a beautiful princess. I was hardly dumbfounded. Her golden curls (not nearly as long as Rapunzel's) were spread so as to delicately wreathe her pretty face, and her hands were gently clasped over her (her hands weren't as grasping as the princess who wanted to kiss a frog), and a trim little foot peaked out from under her full pink dress (the foot wasn't quite as small as Cinderella's). I would have thought she was dead except for the giggly snore that resounded all around her, as well as the faint trace of fresh drool that trickled from her rosebud lips.

"Well?" Martin asked.

"Well?" I pretended to look clueless.

"Well?" Martin was not famous for patience. "Aren't you going to kiss her?"

I involuntarily recoiled in horror. "Kiss . . . a beautiful maiden . . . invade her personal space without her permission . . . before we're even engaged?" I was incredulous to say the least. How could anyone expect this of me? The thought of kissing her was not quite so abhorrent to me personally (although I eyed the line of drool a little distastefully), but I couldn't imagine crushing this girl's poor innocence or going beyond the realm of propriety for her sake. Why, her reputation could be ruined by such a foolish action! I would just as soon destroy her virginity.

"Well, at the very least you could administer some CPR," Martin pointed out. "She looks like she could need it."

Sure enough, the snoring had ceased, and her frame lay very still with no gentle heaving. "You're right," I said. "It would be most inconsiderate to not help the poor girl when I know she's in distress." Glancing rapidly around the room (my eye took in the spindle and a bed of straw), I picked up a fat piece of straw and examined it. Having been assured that it was hollow, I carefully placed one end in the girl's mouth and gently closed her lips around it. Then I blew forcefully through the other end, administering CPR in such a decorous manner that I knew it could in nowise be offensive to any lady being treated by a strange man. I was only glad that I had brushed my teeth that morning.

Minutes later, the princess's breathing resumed and her eye lids fluttered open. Startled, she stared at me peering down at her at the other end of the straw. Then her eyes crossed as she took in the straw. I quickly removed it, and backed away to give her space, bowing slightly.

"Wha--" she looked very confused. "You were supposed to kiss me! Oh, this isn't the LEAST bit romantic!" And with that exclamation, she burst into tears.

****************************************************************

"I'm not happy, Prince Jedidiah," my mother informed me coldly. "Not happy."

"I'm very sorry about Princess Aurora, Mother," I said. "But I must tell you that I am very happy. Exceedingly happy. You see, Mother, I'm finally getting married."

The queen sat down abruptly in her chair, looking like she was about to choke. "And to what kingdom," she stammered as she regained her composure. "Does this princess belong?"

"To this kingdom, dear Mother."

She looked shocked, "Jedidiah, you know that marriage to one of your sisters is quite out of the question!"

"Of course I know that, Mother," I laughed, although I was very relieved. I'm sure if it hadn't been wrong both morally and legally my mother in desperation WOULD have made me marry one of my sisters. I love my sisters, but not in that sort of way. "No, and this lady isn't a princess yet."

"Not a princess?" Again, shock and horror.

"No, but she will be when I marry her," I stated.

"Oh," this had obviously never occurred to the queen before now. "And what, pray, were the circumstances of your engagement?"

"Quite romantic enough for everybody concerned, Mother," I assured her. "I proposed to her on the manure pile and after falling over and sliding down to her feet she said yes."

My mother fainted, but I decided not to be too concerned for her. I knew she would get over it.

You see, for the first time I realized that the kindest thing wasn't to keep on agreeing to these "bride schemes" of my mother's. Not only were they disappointing to everybody concerned whenever I failed their expectations, but I realized that even if I did succeed it would be discourteous to the princess I had won. Because, you see, my heart had long belonged to another, and to pretend otherwise would have been abominable behavior indeed. So I married Katherine, and the circumstances of our engagement were certainly romantic enough for both of us. Who needs to come up romantic circumstances when there's already romance between two people?

As Martin would say, "Quiddlyoomph."