A/N: Yes, Fiddler's Green is still going. In theory. I got writer's block for it, and what's good for writer's block? That's right: starting a new story!
This idea has been kicking around for a long time, and like with most of my ideas, you have Gleefully Wicked to thank for it getting written.
There are some references to various things in here, including Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella, Addams Family Values, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. If you can find them all, you get a cookie.
Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince.
The carriage hit another bump in the heavily-pitted road, and the entire royal family of Calliopa involuntarily jumped a few inches into the air. A cloud of dust blew into the window whose red velvet curtains had been pulled aside to let in refreshing breezes. And the small fly now buzzing around the sumptuous interior- small, but very loud, particularly in the silent little space.
It was not the kind of carriage designed for bumps. Indeed, its entire being seemed to suggest that any road containing bumps should be ashamed of itself.
The exterior was made of exotic woods imported from the East, but that was hardly obvious. Over the wood, a layer of gilding had been applied; it was designed to shine like the very sun, to symbolize the king's role as the light of the land. Each door was adorned with the family crest, etched into the gilding. Beneath the crest, similarly etched scrolls bore the family motto: Lux Aeterna. Pulled by four pure white horses of flawless pedigree and driven by a coachman in livery that would cost a farmer a year's wages, it was the sort of carriage that implied burning at the stake- at minimum –as punishment for allowing a road to get bumpy.
Cows stared at it as it passed otherwise-empty fields. They didn't seem impressed.
"How bucolic!"
The silence was broken by a young woman seated near one window. She plied her purple silk fan and leaned slightly forward, observing the unobservant cows. It was her third attempt at conversation in the past hour, and she peered at her family with aggressive cheer to see who would take the bait.
Clever and lovely, Crown Princess Lauren always gave the impression that she'd tragically received too much attention as a child. She had recently wed a biddable man from a country where hunting woodland animals was more or less a religion.
After a minute of her family avoiding each other's eyes, the queen gave a slightly strained smile.
"Yes, dear," she replied, pulling thread through the handkerchief she was embroidering. "Quite bucolic."
And the fly was the only sound again. Lauren frowned. When coughing, feigning a yawn, and rearranging the satin skirts of her gown produced no effect, she tried again.
This time, the relentless smile fell on her brother. "Lucas?"
"Mmh?" The laces of his vest were partially untied again. Her lips thinned, but remained curving upwards.
"What do you think of the land?" Lauren asked with a gesture toward the window. The road chose that inopportune moment to take them past what looked like- and, judging by the stench on the breeze, was –some peasant's outhouse. Her elegant nose wrinkled a bit.
"Well," the prince replied, clearly stifling laughter, "it's certainly memorable."
Lauren shot him The Glare, a patented expression of hers which promised serious unpleasantness to the recipient. Few people, let alone ladies, could threaten with a look while maintaining a calm countenance. Lauren was a master.
The hiss of silk thread through cambric paused. Queen Alice glanced up from her sewing.
"Lauren," she chided, eyeing her daughter reproachfully. The latter patted her neat chignon with practiced idleness.
"Mother?"
"Your brother can hardly help what scenery we were passing, dear."
Having assured herself that no strands of chestnut hair had escaped their silver pins, the princess replied, "I said nothing unkind to him."
"No," Alice said calmly, "but I can feel that glower of yours. The temperature must drop five degrees when you narrow your eyes."
"Lauren." This from the king, seeming to notice his wife and children for the first time. "Apologize to your brother."
For a moment, just a moment, the grand and gracious lady disappeared. Replaced by a frustrated, quite human young woman who stared at the older man in disbelief.
"But father-" she began, only to be cut off when Mal raised a beringed hand.
"A lady shows no unpleasant emotions," he said.
"Father, I merely-"
"I thought you old enough to be done with tutors, child," her father interrupted. His much lined face was like stone. "You are a woman grown and wed. No more childishness. Apologize."
And Her Royal Highness Lauren Celeste Aurora Magdalene, Crown Princess of Calliopa, was back in all her frosty glory. With a rustle of skirts against velvet upholstery, she turned to Lucas. He shifted uncomfortably as she smiled, noticing that the smile didn't reach her eyes.
"I beg your pardon, brother. I do not know what came over me."
"It's quite alright," he mumbled. A little nod, and Lauren resumed watching the so-bucolic countryside pass by outside the window.
She had, the prince thought, been preferable when they were children hitting each other with wooden swords. At least that had been honest.
After an hour of silence, unbroken but for Alice's sewing and Lucas' fidgeting, the brilliant sunlight filtering in through the windows began to break up. Golden beams on the red cushions were interspersed with periods of deep gloom. Upon leaning out the window and nearly being hit in the face by a pine branch, Lucas discovered why. The carriage was driving through a forest, one that was growing denser with alarming speed. All that lay ahead, as far as he could see, were more tall trees. They grew close together, with the road winding like a ribbon through their ranks. At midday, he supposed, the dim, cool space would be pleasant. With evening fast approaching, it just seemed sinister.
Mal, too, looked out the window. With a grimace, he pulled shut the curtains.
"Lauren," he barked. Not even looking up from her improving novel, his daughter did the same.
In the darkness, a tiny flame flared and grew. Alice had struck the small flint intended for just this purpose and lit the interior lamps. Even the flickering of the flames in their glass sconces could not disguise the way her face had gone white.
"Mother?" Lucas asked hesitantly. The queen gave a wan smile and smoothed the veil covering her red curls.
"Night comes so late in summer." But her voice trembled.
Something was wrong. But glancing at Mal and Lauren, Lucas discerned nothing but annoyance. Finally, the king sighed heavily.
"Woman, calm yourself," he said gruffly. Alice lowered her eyes, but her brow remained knitted in concern. Mal sniffed and turned to Lucas. The heavy chain of office across his chest clanked as he leaned forward.
"What do you know of Schwartzwald?"
Lucas blinked. "Nothing, sire. Even the name is unfamiliar."
"Consider this an education, then." Mal shifted on the seat. He had been handsome once: tall, muscular, broad-shouldered, but his girth was increasing with age. "We are presently driving through it."
"With the curtains shut."
The comment earned him a stern look. "One need not see it to learn from its errors."
Lauren sighed, and her father looked across the carriage at her. "Daughter? Is there something you wish to say?"
"Oh, sire," she said lightly, "I thought only of how right you were. Proud Schwartzwald." A little shake of the head consigned the land and its pride to a cautionary tale.
Mal sat back against the cushions and waved a hand at her. "Then by all means, educate your younger brother on its folly."
With a nod, she began, "The county Schwartzwald has ever been kept alive by sin. The dark arts of magic nourish its vast forest…and it is all forest."
"They say," Mal took over smoothly, "that the count and his family practice unholy rites. In particular, it is rumored they consort with the dead." He snorted. "Stuff and nonsense, if you ask me. Superstition to frighten women and children. But the county keeps to itself. I believe none of the ruling family have been seen for years."
"There's a daughter," Lauren supplied, dark eyes cooler than usual. "I met her once at the Gendian court. She had a lover there, I believe. Ugly girl. Didn't say much. Just sat in a corner scowling at the world all day."
"Perhaps she was pleasant if you got to know her," Alice murmured. Both her husband and daughter regarded her dubiously.
Waving his hand, the king dismissed the Lady Whatever-her-name-was as if brushing away the fly from hours earlier. "Doubtful, my dear. The apple never falls far from the tree."
"Well, there are certainly enough trees to fall from, aren't there?" Lucas said, and waited. It was a disappointment, but not a surprise, when no-one responded to the quip. Mal even looked dangerously close to rolling his eyes.
"Lucas," he said wearily, "if I wanted amusement, I'd have brought along the court jester."
"Perhaps your new wife won't have one, and you can entertain her," Lauren added with a small, decorous laugh. A parlour laugh, though they were alone in the enclosed space.
Slumping in his seat, the prince ran a hand through his already disheveled brown hair. His sister had been larger once, more of a person. Even now, she was a gifted stateswoman and speaker. Enough to inspire Mal's one breach of convention in naming her, rather than Lucas, as his heir. The princess would be queen, and a capable one. Her burly, doting husband would only be prince consort. And yet, the creature perched demurely on the seat in her blue satin dress acted more like a simpering china doll.
Alice, too, who the minstrels said had enchanted a young King Malcolm with her spirit as well as her sweet face, had fallen. Some of that spirit had come through in Lucas' childhood, when she composed silly poems on the spot to make him laugh at dull court events. But as he grew, she shrank to just The Queen Mother. Just as Lauren became The Gentle Princess. And now…
Lucas pulled the gold chain hanging around his neck over his head and opened its locket pendant. Inside was an expertly-done, miniature oil painting of a woman about his age. Her hair was the bright yellow of the sun; her skin the perfect white of fresh milk. Her blue eyes sparkled like the diamonds set in the tiara on her head. Her rosebud, rose-colored lips were turned up in a soft smile.
"Lucas." Lauren's voice brought him back to Earth. When he looked up, he saw a knowing expression on her face.
"Dreaming of your betrothed?"
Because that was the point of this journey. To unite His Royal Highness Lucas Benedict Lancelot Herman, Prince of Calliopa with Her Royal Highness, Amanda Emmanuela Lucinda Rosamunde, Crown Princess of Evermere in holy matrimony.
Years of going largely unnoticed in Lauren's shadow (and the bustle of court) wasted. Now it was time for him to shrink and take his place in the story-book illustration. The Prince Consort, like Lauren's husband. He'd sit in the background, day after day, until-
"What is the meaning of this?" Mal thundered. It took a moment for Lucas to realize that he was being spoken to.
And that he'd been speaking, too. Aloud. To the portrait.
"Ah…" he began, but some merciful cosmic force spared him having to answer. Because, at that moment, the carriage began bouncing and shaking alarmingly. Mal cursed under his breath and, with some difficulty, opened the small door used for communication with the driver.
"Jenkins!" he shouted- for the wind had picked up, and howled through the darkness outside like a wild thing. Rain blew through the little door in small bursts. "Jenkins, what's going on?"
The driver's voice was barely audible. "I don't know, Your Majesty. This blasted storm came up out of nowhere, like some sorcery!"
"Will you stop talking nonsense, man?" the king roared, but Jenkins either didn't hear or didn't care.
"I can manage it, Your Majesty, not to worry. But I would advise not opening doors or windows for a while."
Lucas could never explain it, not for years to come. Something seemed to call to him in that moment, urging him to open the door. Open the door and live, or obey orders and die slowly, a little cut-out prince. Without stopping to think, he reached out, grasped the Rococo, gold-alloy handle, and pushed the door open.
At first, it seemed like the cloudy night sky had switched places with the ground. He stared into blackness broken in places by swirling mist. Then, a few pebbles tumbled down from the road beneath them, and he realized what he was looking at.
The carriage was bouncing like a storm-tossed ship along the edge of a vast ravine.
In the moments after this realization, several things happened. First, Mal jerked around and stared at him angrily.
"By god, shut that door, boy!" he yelled over the amplified noise of the storm. "Do you mean to drown us?"
Lauren began to snap abut her dress getting spotted and her book ruined. The wind wailed on, carrying buckets of rain into the carriage and snuffing out the lamps. And strangest of all, the prince could swear he heard a child's laughter somewhere in the deep forest.
It took only one good jolt. A stone under the wheels, perhaps, or a horse frightened by the lightning. Whatever it was, the carriage tipped sickeningly to one side, out over the ledge, and Lucas found himself dangling over empty air.
His hand must have slipped. There was no reason for him to let go on purpose. But the outcome was the same regardless.
Lucas fell from the tilted carriage, over the cliff and into nothingness. The last thing he registered, before the impact with the ravine floor, was Alice's scream.
A/N: Cliffhanger? No, cliffFALLER. I'm so witty.
