Chapter 3: Puffy Dress and Bony Hands

An enormous billowing dress covering me, over a girdle and a slip, gloves and slippers, a bunch of hopping, smiling young girls surrounding me, in a large canvas tent, the heat of the sun beating down on it. Breathing in slowly, releasing, trying not to panic. Or feint. Or do whatever it is girls do when it’s hot, stuffy, and uncomfortable.

Staring at me, the dowager-regent said, “This is how you get back to normal. Not by playing at being a soldier, but by being a lady. I will hear no more protests.” She held up her hand as I was going to speak, “After you have been shown to the command tent and after lunch, you will be able to wear a more comfortable and less formal dress. Until then, you are the princess who was rescued by our great and grand wizard.”

“Fuck.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” But I glared, I glared so strongly and vilely that the old hag tilted her head, raised an eyebrow.

“Alright girls, give us some time.” They obediently left without a word, but maybe a giggle or two. She sat down beside me, looked away, then put her hand on my arm. The elderly woman’s wizened and grey eyes bored into me. “What you went through . . . it was hard. It’s a harsh welcoming to adulthood. You’re lucky to have escaped with your womanhood intact and you’re lucky to have escaped at all.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I nodded.

“Men are rough and nasty and men are cruel.” She put her hand under my chin, lifting it to lock eyes with me. “We women are tougher and nastier and crueler. Never forget that. You are not some little, weak girl. You are the princess. Don’t look away!” Her bony hand squeezed my jaw to the point of pain, forcing my eyes back to her unceasing gaze. “Listen! This is important. If you are weak, you will be married to a monster. And you can surrender to him and he will hurt you. If you are strong, you may yet become the queen. And if you become the queen, you will fight every day for every breath to rule these men.”

“I see.”

She released my chin, looked away. “Do you, child?”

“I am no child.”

She didn’t laugh, mirth didn’t reach her eyes. “Good. Now go and be princess to our men. For they have lost all hope and hope is a gift you and few others have to share.”

“Dowager,” I said as she stood, “thank you.”

Those terrible eyes narrowed at me, a touch menacing, and she walked out, calling for the girls, who came running back in, happy and giggling in contrast to her, these young, teenage girls.

The red-haired one pulled me to my feet, linked her arm in with mine, smiled from lips to eyes, and we headed for the exit, stopping there. Of course, of course, they weren’t done. The brunette knelt to add a bottom layer to my shoes, a kind of sandal she strapped on, and one of the blonds passed me an umbrella. I took it and they all gasped as I opened it.

“You never open a parasol inside! That’s bad luck,” said Sapphire.

“Ah. My mistake.” I closed it. Unlike the nylon and plastic ones I’m used to, this was heavy paper-like fabric of some kind. It had a wooden frame and thin poles that pushed out the paper. I felt like I was in a pageant or dress up show.

The boy I appointed bodyguard was standing at attention outside the tent. Almost didn’t recognize him. Someone had upgraded his armor and weapons. Dark chainmail adorned his body from head to toe, a belt tying it at the waist, a clean, steel-grey helmet capping it at the top, with new tan-brown leather underneath. It had to be padded because he was considerably thicker than when last we parted, filling out a shape less boy-like. His spear went well above his head, oiled wood shaft, unscratched metal tip. A small shield on his left arm. A longsword hanging off his dark brown belt, dagger on the other side. The weapon handles matched. I hoped his confidence now equaled his arms.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Unlinking from Sapphire, I went over to Tread, “Hey.”

“Your Highness,” he bowed low.

“Wow.” I couldn’t help myself. Never seen a medieval soldier dressed in armor before. Except, I guess, the guys at the bridge, but they were dirty and my focus was elsewhere at the time. I let my fingers run along the darkened metal chain links. Each small metal circle was connected to four other small circles, forming a kind of fabric. “Is it heavy?”

The girls giggled from behind and Tread tried to step back, but ran into the large bodyguard, who was barely containing a smile. “Uhm, milady, ah . . .”

“Oh! Sorry,” I mumbled, realizing what my hand fondling his chest must look like to the girls, “yeah, looks good on you. Nice change. Anyways, never mind all that, where’d you get this stuff?”

“They, uhm, after you declared me your personal guard, took me to get fitted.”

The speed with which they armed and armored him was impressive. They must have extra sets stored away. It gave me an idea. “All this morning? That’s very quick. Show me the armorer and weaponsmith, take me to them. I have something in mind.”

The much larger guard beside him, wearing the same colors, had a bemused look to his face, but it told a frightening tale. A scar ran from ear to chin, cutting a nasty path through his lips. He moved silently, not a ring from his armor, and bowed slightly, “Your Highness. We are first instructed to escort you around the encampment and then to the command tent.”

He was nearly as tall as the prince but not quite as wide and was sporting an enormous sword on his back. The big man looked fit to lay waste to anyone who so much as glanced at me strangely. I guess they didn’t think too much of my choice for guard, but I rather liked the contrast between the two. Boy and man. Maybe he’d teach the kid how to fight. And that gave me an idea.

“I see. What is your name, sir?”

“I am Morrentz.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Morrentz, of my guards, you are in charge. I expect you to lead and to teach Tread here. Arms, combat and whatever you see fit.”

“Yes, my lady.” His eyes filled with a dangerous glee, “It will be a joy to pass on such knowledge.”

“But don’t, like, kill him or anything.”

“Oh, it will be a great pleasure not killing him.”

I didn’t know what to do now. Never having had a bodyguard and all that. The blonds were whispering to each other behind their hands and the brunette giggling. El, blond, Sapphire, ginger, the others, blond and brunette, as of yet unnamed. I had only hair color to go by. Sapphire seemed to be the leader. She stood by them, but slightly out from them, and gave most of the orders. Ultimately it seemed everyone was waiting on me, though. Was I up to the task of leading five young teenagers and a big, scary man around the encampment?

“Uh, ok, yeah, let’s head to the command tent.” Something I was looking forward to – finding out exactly what was going on here. What royal family was I part of and who were the enemy? What would our response be? Rather important information to have, if I was to make decisions.

The ginger walked up to me, put her arm in mine, and we set off. She had a deeper timbre than you’d expect, looking at her young frame. “Look at all these glorious men!” She smiled and whispered into my ear, “if only one were brave enough to visit our tents come nightfall.”

I’m sure a look of horror arose across my face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Your misadventure. Well, you survived it and here you are, protected by an entire army.”

It was then that I realized I could use the capture as a personality changing traumatic event. How far would someone believe that a young girl could mature in just a few, awful, strenuous days? I mean, this poor princess’s parents were killed, her castle presumably overcome. Perhaps this would be enough to throw off the girlishness that they all ascribed to me. I would try it.

They paraded me about the camp. We walked through it and around it and where the mud was too deep, on horseback side-saddle. I waved at the men, I smiled at them, they clapped and cheered, and I wondered how much of it was forced. Common soldiers surely wouldn’t love their royalty? Royalty were their oppressors. Yet some seemed genuinely happy, a few older men even teared up at my appearance.

It was unnerving. I wasn’t better than anyone here. Unless this really was a video game, in which case, they weren’t even people, but programs. Yet if this was real, I was undeserving of this attention. Guilt beat me up just then. An imposter, on exhibition, here to cheer you up. Look at the pretty dress!

Eventually we came to the command tent. The prince, my brother in this story, was meeting with his generals and, I don’t know really, dukes or earls or whatever titles they were called by, maybe.