THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA
Prince Martin was bored. His parents, the King and Queen, would never let him do anything, go anywhere or drink any alcohol. His clothes, dating back to the late Middle Ages, made him a laughing stock among his mates; and he was becoming increasingly less popular as he wasn't allowed to go to parties, not even the big end-of-A-levels bash at the end of next month. One evening, sitting there not doing his maths homework, he decided to approach his parents about the issue.
"Mum ... why don't you let me be normal for once?"
The Queen looked up from her cup of coffee. "Whatever do you mean?"
"I mean, I'm never allowed to have a *life*, am I? Most of my mates go out every Saturday night to The Tavern and get trashed; and what am I doing? Bugger all, that's what, hanging around this stupid castle. And if I don't go to this A-level do, people are going to think I'm some sort of sad idiot who basically can't be bothered!"
"Less of the language, young man!" the Queen exclaimed, quite shocked.
"And when are you going to let me go out with girls?" the prince went on.
"When you're ready!"
"Mum, I'm eighteen years old! Eighteen!"
The King and Queen gave each other a knowing look.
"Listen, Martin," the Queen said gently, "when you were christened, your father and I swore that we would protect you until you grew up, and then we'd find you a nice princess so that you could settle down in a pleasant kingdom somewhere. Wouldn't you like that?"
"Oh, but, does it *have* to be a princess? I mean, there's a girl in my technology class who -"
"That's quite enough of that, Sunshine. But you're right. You're old enough now. It's about time we started looking for a princess for you."
"I believe that King Ralph of the neighbouring kingdom has three daughters," the King suggested.
"Look, Dad," Martin protested, "I know those girls, I've met them. One of them's married, one of them's gay and one of them's six. I don't think I should go there."
"Well, until we can find a suitable princess, Martin, you're to stay here in this castle apart from school; no parties, no drinking, and certainly no girls from technology!"
"And after you've found one?"
"You can move out. Get a nice castle together."
"Cool."
Martin spent the remainder of the weekend devising a cunning plan. In the technology lesson on Monday morning, he approached Emily.
"Listen, Emily ... I think I've worked out a way we can get past my parents."
"Oh, brilliant! How?"
"Well, basically, you basically have to convince them you're a princess."
"Oh. Right. Cool."
"I've thought it all out. There's a big storm forecast for tonight, isn't there? Well ..."
That night, the weather forecast for once proved reliable. Window panes rattled, rain hit the battlements like a shower of bullets, wind howled through the woodlands of the castle grounds. Meanwhile, the King, Queen and prince were sitting by the fire, playing a nice quiet game of knockout whist.
Suddenly, there was a loud rapping at the castle door. *Emily's bang on time,* the prince thought, glancing at his watch.
The King pulled the door open, and there stood a very attractive girl drenched from head to foot.
"I..I've lost my way ... m..may I come in?" she shivered.
Given the King's unusually charitable nature, within half an hour the girl was dried out, dressed up warmly and talking to the family by the fire.
"I actually come from a very wealthy family," she told them. "In fact, I'm a princess, but I've no hope of getting back to my kingdom tonight, so is there any chance I might stay here?"
"But of course, my dear," the Queen beamed.
"So," the prince said, "What's your name, Emily?"
"Emily."
The King and Queen gave him an odd look.
"Lucky guess," he said hastily.
The Queen excused herself at this point, and returned after half an hour. Emily and the King were getting on like a house on fire, and the prince was looking on, beginning to think that they might just pull the wool over his parents' eyes after all.
"Martin," the Queen interrupted, "may I have a word?"
Martin joined his mother in the corridor. "So," he said hopefully, "Emily seems nice, doesn't she? And she's a princess, too. Just the sort of person we've been looking for, in fact ..."
"Oh, I think this Emily is nice, all right," the Queen said coldly, "but I'm not convinced she's a princess. She didn't curtsey to me when she came in."
"Oh, Mum, why do you have to be so old-fashioned?" the prince groaned.
"Better safe than sorry," the Queen stated. "Come with me. I've devised a test for her. By morning we shall know whether or not she has been deceiving us."
Anxiously, Martin followed his mother to the spare bedroom. His jaw dropped as she opened the door.
Piled up in a huge tower on the bed were twenty-two mattresses of assorted colours, at least forty duvets and a heap of fluffy white pillows.
"What the Hell is that?"
"Emily will be sleeping here tonight," the Queen explained. "There is a dried pea under the last mattress, and if she is a princess she will be sensitive enough to detect it."
The prince gazed sceptically up at the pile of mattresses. "Come off it, Mum, you can't seriously expect anyone to feel a pea through that lot?"
"A princess could," the Queen insisted.
"If princesses are so ultra-sensitive, then how come they don't scream in pain every time a mosquito brushes past their shoulder?" the prince asked.
"Tomorrow morning," the Queen went on, choosing to ignore her son's observation, "I will ask her whether or not she slept well. If the answer is yes, she will be executed on the spot. If the answer is no, you have my permission to marry her. Deal?"
"Yeah, I guess," the prince faltered.
Before they went to be that night, Martin waylaid Emily outside the Royal Bathroom.
"Emily, you're doing great, I think you'll have them fooled -"
"Thanks."
" - but promise me one thing."
"What?"
"When my Mum asks you if you slept well, just say 'no'. Long story ... don't ask. Goodnight, Poppet!"
He gave her a swift kiss, and disappeared to his room, while Emily climbed into bed by means of a stepladder.
In the middle of the night, a soft 'thud' could be heard from Emily's room. When the royals arrived on the scene, it transpired that Emily had fallen out of bed; and, being that this was a distance of about seven metres, she had landed hard and cracked her back.
*Perhaps this was a bad idea*, Martin reflected, as he watched Emily being loaded into a wailing ambulance and carried off to the nearest general hospital. *I wonder if she'll still go out with me ...*
A week later, there was another knock on the castle door. This time, when the king opened it, he found a very attractive girl in a wheelchair.
"Emily!" the Queen exclaimed. "Are you all right?"
"I could sue you," Emily said bluntly. "The doctors say I may never walk again. You could stand to lose everything - your money, your castle, your kingdom, the lot."
The King and Queen were terrified at the prospect - even more so after seeing the threatening look in Emily's eyes. "Oh, Henry, what shall we *do*?" the Queen cried.
"I suggest you leave the country while you still can," Emily said darkly. "If you're lucky, you could get across the channel before my lawyers find you."
There was a very awkward pause.
"Come on, Martin, we're leaving," the King said at last.
Martin looked at his parents, then at Emily. She beamed at him.
"No, I'm staying," he announced. "The deal was that I could do what I liked once I found a decent princess, and I think I have. I'm staying here with Emily, thanks."
The King and Queen emigrated shortly afterwards, and Martin and Emily
lived happily ever after, once the castle had been rebuilt with wheelchair
access.
THE END!