Chapter 4: Little Tiny

"Clear!" The whispered call echoed in the chamber.

The prince glided past Calcifer, smacking the back of his head on the way. "You trying to alert the whole castle?" he hissed. "Use the hand signals we practiced, loudmouth."

Cal glared and used a very impolite hand gesture in response, earning him another smack from the ever faithful Sir Michael.

"Manners," the knight whispered.

"Just keeping in character," Calcifer muttered. "Treating him like a commoner and all that."

Finding it beneath his dignity to respond, Howell concentrated on moving swiftly and silently to the next column. Magic would make this so much simpler ... but then the old witch would be all over me. He took a deep breath. Hard way, it is.

Fate seemed to be on his side. Everybody was in a tizzy about something or other. Howell didn't care what it was, so long as it distracted people from their creeping figures.

Howell smiled in triumph as they neared the last major hurdle between him and an evening of blessed anonymity: the Great Room. A straight march down the middle would take him through the Outer Gates and into an evening of revelry and admiration. He turned the corner, breathless with anticipation ... and then stopped cold.

Cal and Michael crouched in the shadows next to him.

"Oh boy," Cal said, not even bothering to lower his voice. "That's a looooot of people."

The entire upper class must have conspired against their prince's happiness, for they filled the room with their smells and their sounds and their noise.

Howell punched the ground lightly. Stupid ants. Teeming mindlessly between me and my goal.

Sir Michael leaned between the prince and his friend. "This is bad. With so many jewels on display, the guards will be keeping a special eye on commoners."

Fancy, overdressed ants!

"New plan. Since this room is take, our next best option is the gate near the western waterway," Sir Michael continued. He pointed left to a dark doorway just inside the Great Room. "That's our next target. If we hug the walls and stick to the shadows, we should be able to make it unnoticed."

"Should?" Calcifer sounded outraged. "I've put up with too much for this night to bank on a should. Any way to up those odds?"

Howell tuned out their bickering, instead watching the crowd as one observes the tides. A bobbing green item caught his attention. A woman had entered the Great Room from the right and was making her way through the crowds unnoticed. She made it look effortless.

"Boys," Howell interrupted the two. "Follow the green one's lead. She's our ticket out of here."

"Huh?"

The two followed Howell's finger. Cal scoffed.

Michael narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "She does seem to be headed our way."

"Here we go," Howell muttered. Without another word, he straightened and entered the fray one step behind the passing green figure. The next few minutes required more concentration than most of his spells. The prince grimaced, for both focus and disguise.

I am a floating blue suit. I am a plain person, slipping through the crowd. I am just another ant, pay me no mind.

Mantra after mantra flitted through his mind, hoping to divert even the mental attention of the crowd. He focused on the slim back weaving through the crowd before him, with its perfect posture and unfashionable hair style. A glimmer of admiration wormed its way through his tense emotions.

She does have the advantage of plainness on her side ... he mused. Though only since she tries so hard to cover her natural beauty. Howell prided himself on being able to differentiate the unpolished diamonds from the rocks.

Fragments of conversation distracted him from his contemplation of the green-clad noble.

My name seems to be on everyone's lips. Just another typical evening, I suppose. Mentions of "letters" and "bride" confused him, however. I wonder ... are they fighting over me?

Howell remembered to think "plain" a fraction before his smug look gave away his disguise.

Focus, prince. You can accept their love letters later.

The woman successfully made it to the other side and ducked into a passage, Howell and his two companions close behind.

The three regrouped inside a doorway, quietly shaking hands in congratulations. Michael pantomimed that he would take the lead. The other two nodded.

The three friends smiled in exhilaration as they expertly navigated the twisting castle passageways. Hearts pumping, breath quickening, feet running ... years of childhood games had prepared them for higher stake games such as this one.

Howell was grinning at a silly face Cal was pulling at him when Michael grabbed the commoner's collar and yanked him to a stop. Signaling silence, he pointed ahead. A green figure was pacing the passage before them.

Cal's face asked the same question the knight and the prince were wondering: How did she get ahead of us?

Cal signaled a question: Go around?

Michael shook his head grimly: No other choice. Wait?

Howell shrugged. Rolling his eyes, Michael changed the signal to an order: Wait.

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Sophie forced herself to admit the obvious. She was lost.

"Shameful," she muttered. "You call yourself a courtier? You were practically raised here."

The words from the letter started to echo through her mind again. Sensing its opportunity, despair began to creep from its dark corner ... wrapping around her throat, stealing her breath, freezing her heart ...

"No!" she shook herself and started pacing. Movement would keep it at bay. That's right, dear. Just keep moving.

"Think!" she commanded herself. "Intelligence is supposed to be your strong point."

Ok. I got lost because I'm upset. Blinded by emotions. Which is ridiculous, because this will all be over after tomorrow. I'm so plain - it's obvious we're a bad match. Just like the story...

"Little Tiny!" she voiced, laughing at the connection. Except Prince Howell is the beautiful one, and I'm the toad or the mole. He'll fly away on a sparrow, find a flower princess, and live happily ever after with the pretty people.

She turned on her heel, her skirt flaring as she faced the other wall.

But what if they have some nefarious reason for choosing you ... what if the prince was afraid of his bride outshining his own beauty ...? and what if they force you to marry because you're plain?

The force of the argument froze her mid-stride. She thought of the many times she had seen the prince - always in glittering finery, always sporting an arrogant expression.

"Great Fires of Mantle, it's possible."

She forced herself to draw a deep breath and begin pacing again.

Sophie, she reasoned. This just confirms your course of action. Find Sir Michael. Give him a message for the prince. A collaborative objection at tomorrow's meeting should free us both from this dreadful possibility.

Newly inspired, Sophie stomped her foot and recited her sister's advice, "Be quick! Out with your toes! Bow your neck and say, 'Quack!'"

The last word echoed embarrassingly through the corridor, bringing Sophie back to her senses.

She looked around sheepishly, desperately hoping no one had heard her improper outburst. Her face flamed red as she caught sight of some dark figures peeking around the bend. Instinctively, she turned her back to them, desperately hoping she had not been recognized. How long have they been standing there?

Trying to hide the fact that she had discovered them, Sophie stiffly walked around the corner to the nearest doorway and entered the room. As soon as the door closed behind her, she crouched, pressing the right side of her face to the floor. In this position, she could see the hall's floor through the thin gap under the door.

Indignation began to replace embarrassment, making her feel uncomfortably hot. How dare they! Common courtesy dictates at least a polite cough to signal your presence. Let's see how they like it ... Sophie felt a momentary rush of humor as she pictured herself: head to the ground, rear saluting the sky. If only those meddling royals could see me now. They'd beg me to not marry their precious prince!

She stilled her breathing as the shadows of three pairs of feet paused by the door.

"Finally! I thought that crazy gal would NEVER leave!"

"Well, my impatient ignoramus, you must admit that display was worth the wait! Most entertaining." Sophie squirmed in embarrassment.

"I guess so," the first voice replied. "Wow! What an odd bird."

The second jerk is well-educated, Sophie reasoned, desperately attempting to ignore the muffled laughter.

A pair of the feet suddenly stepped forward, planting themselves confidently. "Come on, you two," the second man whispered fiercely. "All our planning is finally coming to fruition. Time to get rid of Prince Howell and embrace the common man! To the Western Waterway!"

The sound of the footsteps gradually retreated, leaving a very disturbed young maiden to think in the ensuing silence.

... someone was planning to assassinate the prince ... and only she knew about it.