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Prince Charming POV
I had to admit, I felt sorry for the Vermin fellow. I stood patiently beside the throne, hands behind my back, while Father berated him. It was hard to meet his eye, especially considering he was a prince. No, wait. He was a king now. His father was dead. I understood how it felt to be under obligation to behave princely at all times, even when a man as boorish as my father was insulting you. Let's just say I could emphasize, as I was not considered quite satisfactory and was often yelled at in a similar manner.
Finally, he was dismissed, and although my father missed it completely, I saw Vermin's long finger as it ran across his neck in a threatening gesture. He knew I was watching him even as he did it, but I suppose when you're a swineherd, you take your chances. I smiled at him, as it were our private joke; because SHE liked him.
The servant girl. The prettiest serving girl in the castle. No, the prettiest serving girl in the world. Correction - the prettiest GIRL in the world. She had a bright, glimmering smile that dazzled me with its radiance. Her gorgeous blue eyes sparkled like stars. No - those eyes outshone the stars that tried in vain to mimic her perfection.
I saw her dashing through the halls after father dismissed me. For some reason, I felt a pulsating need to call her over, and call her by the name of the angels - Ella. "Serving girl!" I barked, flinching inwardly at my own callous remark. But she was oblivious in her kind disposition. "Yes, my lord?" she replied docilely, turning around to look at me. And she spread her rose red lips.
Her smile was radiant. It nearly glowed, flashing at me in all its heavenly glory. That was it. She was officially perfect. "I -I -----" my tongue flapped uselessly in my imperfect mouth. "Oh, dear!" she cried suddenly, tearing towards me. "Look, you have been cut!" She touched me, and I went numb for a few moments. You could have stabbed me through the heart and I would not have noticed.
She released me, watching my face cautiously, as if I should strike at any moment. I stared down at my hand. A long crimson slice ran down my hand in a jagged line, as if it had recently been sliced by someone's pocket knife. Nearly everyone carried one in these imperialistic times. But this seemed so recent, as if it had been delivered but a moment ago.
"Come, my lord," she murmured, taking my unscathed hand in her own. "You must allow me to tend to your wound."
"Of - of course, girl."
She beamed brightly at me and then dragged my semi-conscious body towards the serving quarters. Once we were inside the shabby attic room, she gently forced me onto her straw mattress. There were numerous identical mattresses strewn about the floor, each claiming its own small territory. Ragged shawls and spare smocks scattered the territory of some servants, while others had useful items littering their area. There were drawings and scribbled names pasted on the wall, and some torn portraits scattered amongst the wreckage.
Around Ella's mattress, there was the typical shabby shawl, the single spare smock, and in a spare kerchief, some medical supplies. A dagger was sticking from the underside of her mattress, warning thieves. And, wait, there was something else hidden under her mattress. It was a ball gown! I was sure of it, looking at the sleeve. An old one, to be sure, but still---
"Now wait but a moment," she interrupted, following my gaze nervously. She stood from her search and brandished poultice material. With a few deft movements, my hand was bandaged. "There!" she cried exultantly, beaming that seraphic expression. I grinned foolishly in return for a moment, basking in the glow of her grin. Suddenly, I realized where I was and whom it was I smiled at. I forced the grin that cried to appear off of my face. "Thank you, serving gi--- what was your name?"
"Ella, my lord."
I had thought that speaking that name would be the most heavenly sensation on earth. But I was wrong. Hearing and watching her perfect lips form the perfect name was totally and infinitely superior to my own pronunciation. She stood back up and gestured towards the door. "Come, your majesty," she murmured. Standing up, I wondered what type of stories she enjoyed. Humorous? Adventure? Romance? I wanted to know, so that next time I saw her I could casually drop an anecdote of that particular type and impress her - if ever so slightly. Maybe then she would reply, and we could have another conversation. We had had one more before - one day in the library. My father had given me a particularly insulting lecture/berating, and I was sulking among the books that comforted me. She had been cleaning the shelves, humming to herself as she went about her work. And, for no reason at all, she had asked what book it was I read. I had replied. And we had still been talking four hours later when my father came into the room.
I stood near her now, basking in her radiant glow. I wanted so badly to talk to her again. But Father would never approve. I looked down at her ragged dress in despair and secretly thought that she would look much better in a ball gown than the other ladies of court. So much better. And that was when I saw the dagger hidden in her apron pocket, stained with VERY recent blood.
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A/N: I wasn't planning to update until the weekend, but my server is acting up, so I figured - better safe than sorry, right? Just a few notes:
Okay, when I said be gentle, I didn't mean you couldn't criticize. Open minds are often the fullest. I just didn't want anyone to be TOO harsh with the criticism. Any help is welcome. And thank you SO much for reviewing! And if you've guessed what fairy tale Vermin is from, don't tell! It's going to be my little secret, okay? Thanks beforehand.
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Prince Charming POV
I had to admit, I felt sorry for the Vermin fellow. I stood patiently beside the throne, hands behind my back, while Father berated him. It was hard to meet his eye, especially considering he was a prince. No, wait. He was a king now. His father was dead. I understood how it felt to be under obligation to behave princely at all times, even when a man as boorish as my father was insulting you. Let's just say I could emphasize, as I was not considered quite satisfactory and was often yelled at in a similar manner.
Finally, he was dismissed, and although my father missed it completely, I saw Vermin's long finger as it ran across his neck in a threatening gesture. He knew I was watching him even as he did it, but I suppose when you're a swineherd, you take your chances. I smiled at him, as it were our private joke; because SHE liked him.
The servant girl. The prettiest serving girl in the castle. No, the prettiest serving girl in the world. Correction - the prettiest GIRL in the world. She had a bright, glimmering smile that dazzled me with its radiance. Her gorgeous blue eyes sparkled like stars. No - those eyes outshone the stars that tried in vain to mimic her perfection.
I saw her dashing through the halls after father dismissed me. For some reason, I felt a pulsating need to call her over, and call her by the name of the angels - Ella. "Serving girl!" I barked, flinching inwardly at my own callous remark. But she was oblivious in her kind disposition. "Yes, my lord?" she replied docilely, turning around to look at me. And she spread her rose red lips.
Her smile was radiant. It nearly glowed, flashing at me in all its heavenly glory. That was it. She was officially perfect. "I -I -----" my tongue flapped uselessly in my imperfect mouth. "Oh, dear!" she cried suddenly, tearing towards me. "Look, you have been cut!" She touched me, and I went numb for a few moments. You could have stabbed me through the heart and I would not have noticed.
She released me, watching my face cautiously, as if I should strike at any moment. I stared down at my hand. A long crimson slice ran down my hand in a jagged line, as if it had recently been sliced by someone's pocket knife. Nearly everyone carried one in these imperialistic times. But this seemed so recent, as if it had been delivered but a moment ago.
"Come, my lord," she murmured, taking my unscathed hand in her own. "You must allow me to tend to your wound."
"Of - of course, girl."
She beamed brightly at me and then dragged my semi-conscious body towards the serving quarters. Once we were inside the shabby attic room, she gently forced me onto her straw mattress. There were numerous identical mattresses strewn about the floor, each claiming its own small territory. Ragged shawls and spare smocks scattered the territory of some servants, while others had useful items littering their area. There were drawings and scribbled names pasted on the wall, and some torn portraits scattered amongst the wreckage.
Around Ella's mattress, there was the typical shabby shawl, the single spare smock, and in a spare kerchief, some medical supplies. A dagger was sticking from the underside of her mattress, warning thieves. And, wait, there was something else hidden under her mattress. It was a ball gown! I was sure of it, looking at the sleeve. An old one, to be sure, but still---
"Now wait but a moment," she interrupted, following my gaze nervously. She stood from her search and brandished poultice material. With a few deft movements, my hand was bandaged. "There!" she cried exultantly, beaming that seraphic expression. I grinned foolishly in return for a moment, basking in the glow of her grin. Suddenly, I realized where I was and whom it was I smiled at. I forced the grin that cried to appear off of my face. "Thank you, serving gi--- what was your name?"
"Ella, my lord."
I had thought that speaking that name would be the most heavenly sensation on earth. But I was wrong. Hearing and watching her perfect lips form the perfect name was totally and infinitely superior to my own pronunciation. She stood back up and gestured towards the door. "Come, your majesty," she murmured. Standing up, I wondered what type of stories she enjoyed. Humorous? Adventure? Romance? I wanted to know, so that next time I saw her I could casually drop an anecdote of that particular type and impress her - if ever so slightly. Maybe then she would reply, and we could have another conversation. We had had one more before - one day in the library. My father had given me a particularly insulting lecture/berating, and I was sulking among the books that comforted me. She had been cleaning the shelves, humming to herself as she went about her work. And, for no reason at all, she had asked what book it was I read. I had replied. And we had still been talking four hours later when my father came into the room.
I stood near her now, basking in her radiant glow. I wanted so badly to talk to her again. But Father would never approve. I looked down at her ragged dress in despair and secretly thought that she would look much better in a ball gown than the other ladies of court. So much better. And that was when I saw the dagger hidden in her apron pocket, stained with VERY recent blood.
*** *** *** *** ***
A/N: I wasn't planning to update until the weekend, but my server is acting up, so I figured - better safe than sorry, right? Just a few notes:
Okay, when I said be gentle, I didn't mean you couldn't criticize. Open minds are often the fullest. I just didn't want anyone to be TOO harsh with the criticism. Any help is welcome. And thank you SO much for reviewing! And if you've guessed what fairy tale Vermin is from, don't tell! It's going to be my little secret, okay? Thanks beforehand.
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