Chapter Three: The Winner

The rest happened in a blur. A guard took the squirming piglet from Throp’s hands and the announcer declared him the winner to a round of cheers. He was ushered out of the corral and past the hollering crowd. A few people slapped him on the back in congratulations as he went by. He followed a set of guards through another archway and into the foyer of the castle,  where he was told to sit on a bench in the window. He could see the herd of people slowly dispersing. He tried to take it in, but he was still in a daze. He had just won. He didn’t even want to win. He wanted to make a good showing and go home, where a mountain of chores would be waiting for him. That was fine. It was better than going to Portsmith.

But he did win.

What a terrible day, he thought.

After nearly an hour of sitting in the foyer, with two guards standing watch over him, a man in a fancy gray tunic approached and introduced himself as Chancellor Ingram. The Chancellor explained to Throp exactly what was expected of him as he led him through a maze of corridors.

“The princess,” the Chancellor said. “Is to arrive in Portsmith tomorrow evening and board the Trident. You are to hand her over to Captain Augustus and give him this letter.” The Chancellor held out an envelope sealed with red wax. “He gives you a letter in return, you come back to the castle and we send you home with your reward. Any questions?”

“Uh, how do I get to Portsmith?” Throp asked. It was to the southeast but that was as much as Throp knew. The castle was the farthest he had ever traveled from home.

“We’ll set you on the road,” the Chancellor said. “Then it’s a straight shot to the coast. It’s true there is the occasional assault by bandits, but the number is greatly exaggerated.” Throp opened his mouth to ask just how exaggerated the reports were, but the Chancellor stopped in front of a large, ornate wooden door.

“Ah, here we are,” he said. He pushed the door open and they entered a large drawing room. And there were the king and queen, no longer silhouettes on a high balcony, but standing fifteen feet away, looking handsome and regal. Throp thought he might pass out.

“I would suggest,” the Chancellor said to Throp in a whisper. “That you try to keep your mouth closed when you meet the princess.” Throp looked at him.

“What do you mean?” he asked and the Chancellor nodded back toward the royal family. The princess stepped forward, out of the shadow of her mother and into the shaft of light that streamed in through the nearby window. Her green dress swirled around her feet and rose up to hug the curve of her waist. Thick auburn hair fell loose against her bare collarbone and when she smiled at him her green eyes sparkled and Throp felt his heartbeat double in pace.

“That’s what I mean,” the Chancellor whispered back. But Throp didn’t hear a word.

* * *

“So she’s pretty then?”

His mother had needled him for every detail but the one-two punch of winning the competition and meeting the royal family left him in a mental fog he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to shake and she ended up doing most of the talking. “But you’ll be meeting lots of pretty girls. They’ll be lined up to greet you when you arrive home.” Throp blanched at the thought and his mother shook her head.

“Not literally,” she assured him. “I don’t think, anyway. But maybe after spending a day with a princess, the village girls won’t seem so scary.” She ladled soup into a bowl for him, although he didn’t have much of an appetite. She made a bowl for herself, then put a plate of scraps on the floor for the piglet. They had sent it home with Throp. It still had a slight limp from its stint in the corral.

“She’ll keep us fed all winter!” his mother cried when she saw. He couldn’t remember ever seeing his mother so happy. Between the pride for her son, the unexpected windfall of the piglet and the promise of more to come, she was practically bursting with joy.

“I saw her once when she was younger,” his mother said as she sat down to eat. “The princess, I mean. She sneaked out of the castle and was wandering the market. Didn’t even know it was her until the guards came running.” She chuckled at the memory. “She was a gangly, awkward thing back then. Glad to hear she grew into herself.”

That night Throp got a scant three hours of sleep before his mother was waking up him again. They were to leave the castle at dawn, giving them ample daylight for making it there, although Throp worried that no matter how quickly he pushed he would be coming home in the dark. The Chancellor had offered to pay for the night an an inn at Portsmith but Throp declined. He didn’t want to be gone any longer than necessary.

His mother sent him off to the castle with a satchel full of apples and a flask of water.

“I’m not going to be gone that long,” he argued but she insisted.

“Oh! And take Nib with you,” she said, plucking the errant ferret off the back of her chair where he was taking a nap.

“Why would I take Nib?” Throp asked.

“Company of course,” his mother said. She stuffed Nib into the satchel. “You don’t want to get lonely on the walk back." Throp knew he wouldn’t. The solitary trip back was the only part of the whole thing Thropp was looking forward to. Throp sighed and tightened the strings on the satchel, trapping Nib, who thrashed for a moment but then gave up and was probably eating one of Throp’s apples.

“Oh, Winthrop.” She put a hand on either side of his face and beamed. “I am so proud of you.” She kissed him on the cheek and bid him farewell.

Throp arrived at the castle when he was told to, but it was another two hours before they left. First he was given a change of clothes. It would do no good for the princess’s escort to show up in town wearing ragged, too-tight clothing and shoes with worn soles. He was outfitted in a new pair of trousers, a loose-fitting linen shirt and a pair of shiny rigid boots. Then there were long, tearful goodbyes between the princess and what seemed like every member of the castle staff. Finally they were taken to the inner courtyard, the corral and all evidence of yesterday’s contest cleared away, and put on horses. Throp hadn’t written a horse in years, since their mare Clover died, but this stocky royal gelding was so well-trained, Throp barely had to tug the reigns for it to understand what he wanted. They were escorted by a small party of guards on foot, past the castle grounds and through the small village that surrounded it. Peasants waved them goodbye and the princess waved back.

She was anything but awkward now, Throp thought. She wore a simple but flattering lavender dress and sat straight and proud on the back of a beautiful white filly, smiling at the villagers and accepting their adoration in a way that didn’t seem haughty. Demure is how his mother would describe it.

Where the road disappeared into the forest, the guards stopped and they continued on their way alone. They didn’t speak for two hours. Throp hadn’t been given any instruction in that regard. He didn’t know if he was expected to entertain her or remain respectfully quiet. She never spoke, so he just followed her lead and they rode side by side down in a silence, punctuated by the occasional chirping bird or snapping twig.

“Throp?” The princess spoke for the first time and Throp turned, startled. She had stopped her horse, so he drew his up. “It is Throp, isn’t it?” Her voice was high and clear and she spoke slowly. Throp swallowed thickly. He nodded.

“I don’t wish to alarm you, Throp,” she said. “But there appears to be a rat in your satchel.”

Chapter Four >