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Prince Charming POV
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"Of course, Archibald," I murmured, watching my father. My cousin, six years my elder, was reviewing the list of musicians for the ball, and which waltzes would be played. Waltzes? Eugh! And I was going to have dance one of those awful things with every single girl in the ballroom. I sighed. "How about some more lively dances? Like the ones that the peasants use?" I suggested, looking at my cousin, and NOT my father. Archibald raised an eyebrow. "Why ever would Your Highness wish for one of those?" he asked, dripping with revulsion. I instinctively backed off. But then I remembered - I was the prince! And he was just a lord. Ha-ha. Bite me. You lose. "Because a good queen would understand the rituals of both the peasants and the nobility," I replied, quite courteously, considering the circumstances.
I raised both eyebrows at him and allowed a snide smile to flicker across my face. Yield, my amphibious nemesis. He sneered in response. "Of course, milord, but we must consider our elderly guests when planning a dance." Danged scaly resilience.
"They do not take part in the waltzes either, so it would hardly matter if we were slow about it or not!" I was getting ticked off. Who was he to correct me, the condescending simpleton?
"Charming, stop," my father ordered, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. In every particle, I wanted to shove him off and tell him that I was going to marry a serving girl, and that I would spit upon every noble woman in the ballroom. But I complied like I always do, and let him have his way. "Yes, father," I muttered docilely. Archibald sneered at me, and I made a mental note to sic the enchanted evil frying pan on him later. After all, it had teeth. Sharp, pointy teeth - quite nice.
"I knew you would see things my way, cousin," Archibald said. I glowered at him. "Your Highness to you, slime." My father gave me one of his "you worthless whelp" looks. I looked down at my feet, which I am told are too large, the only flaw about me. Sometimes I wished I was flawed - you know, pock-marked, ugly, clumsy, hit myself with a sword before I struck my opponent, whimpered over paper cuts. Unfortunately, I was from a long line of Dashings and Charmings and all other manner of ridiculously presumptuous names. How did my father know I was going to be charming? Wait - am I charming? How did his father know he was going to be dashing? But he isn't really dashing! My head was spinning.
But I knew one thing - my children were going to have normal names. No daughter of mine was going to be called Buttercup or Rosebud. And I would certainly not name one of my sons Dashing or Brilliant. Please. No foresight in those titles. What if my daughter were allergic to flowers? Or my son was ugly and a horrible scholar?
I caved like I always did, and Archibald leered boastingly at me. Sometimes I wished that someone would throw him off a bridge. Heck, maybe I could.
Just then, Ella passed by, carrying a heavy load of laundry. My eyes followed her slender form instinctively as she edged passed Archibald. My cousin grinned wickedly and stuck his foot out. Ella tripped over it and the freshly washed clothing flew everywhere. Her gorgeous elbows skidded on the marble, and she began to bleed. Archibald laughed obnoxiously.
I shoved him viciously. He staggered and fell down the stairs. Sadly, he did not sustain any life-threatening injuries. My father glowered at me, and I knew what that look meant. I was to take Archibald's hand and help him up. Over my dead body.
I bent down and helped Ella to pick up her baggage. My father tried to compensate for my rudeness by helping the worthless Archibald. I completely ignored my own audacity, and bent to help Ella. She smiled gratefully at me, and gathered the washing into another bundle. I folded what I lifted, but I must admit I did quite the clumsy job of it.
When there was no more fabric on the floor, she looked over at me and smiled that heavenly smile. The clouds must have opened up and spilt sunlight somewhere, that smile was so seraphic. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she murmured, pushing her hair behind her ear as she stood. I stood as well, and for a moment, we remained that way, staring at each other. Her blue eyes were sparkling, and her perfect lips were upturned in a gentle toothless smile.
She leaned forward the slightest touch, with the grace of an elf, and kissed my cheek. With a last tiny wave, she set off down the hall, carting her bundle cheerfully. I had never really understood why the ladies of the court swooned, but right then, I understood how the urge came.
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I admit I took the enchanted frying pan from Patricia C. Wrede's Enchanted Forest books. But I couldn't resist. And thanks for your reviews!
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Prince Charming POV
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"Of course, Archibald," I murmured, watching my father. My cousin, six years my elder, was reviewing the list of musicians for the ball, and which waltzes would be played. Waltzes? Eugh! And I was going to have dance one of those awful things with every single girl in the ballroom. I sighed. "How about some more lively dances? Like the ones that the peasants use?" I suggested, looking at my cousin, and NOT my father. Archibald raised an eyebrow. "Why ever would Your Highness wish for one of those?" he asked, dripping with revulsion. I instinctively backed off. But then I remembered - I was the prince! And he was just a lord. Ha-ha. Bite me. You lose. "Because a good queen would understand the rituals of both the peasants and the nobility," I replied, quite courteously, considering the circumstances.
I raised both eyebrows at him and allowed a snide smile to flicker across my face. Yield, my amphibious nemesis. He sneered in response. "Of course, milord, but we must consider our elderly guests when planning a dance." Danged scaly resilience.
"They do not take part in the waltzes either, so it would hardly matter if we were slow about it or not!" I was getting ticked off. Who was he to correct me, the condescending simpleton?
"Charming, stop," my father ordered, placing a heavy hand on my shoulder. In every particle, I wanted to shove him off and tell him that I was going to marry a serving girl, and that I would spit upon every noble woman in the ballroom. But I complied like I always do, and let him have his way. "Yes, father," I muttered docilely. Archibald sneered at me, and I made a mental note to sic the enchanted evil frying pan on him later. After all, it had teeth. Sharp, pointy teeth - quite nice.
"I knew you would see things my way, cousin," Archibald said. I glowered at him. "Your Highness to you, slime." My father gave me one of his "you worthless whelp" looks. I looked down at my feet, which I am told are too large, the only flaw about me. Sometimes I wished I was flawed - you know, pock-marked, ugly, clumsy, hit myself with a sword before I struck my opponent, whimpered over paper cuts. Unfortunately, I was from a long line of Dashings and Charmings and all other manner of ridiculously presumptuous names. How did my father know I was going to be charming? Wait - am I charming? How did his father know he was going to be dashing? But he isn't really dashing! My head was spinning.
But I knew one thing - my children were going to have normal names. No daughter of mine was going to be called Buttercup or Rosebud. And I would certainly not name one of my sons Dashing or Brilliant. Please. No foresight in those titles. What if my daughter were allergic to flowers? Or my son was ugly and a horrible scholar?
I caved like I always did, and Archibald leered boastingly at me. Sometimes I wished that someone would throw him off a bridge. Heck, maybe I could.
Just then, Ella passed by, carrying a heavy load of laundry. My eyes followed her slender form instinctively as she edged passed Archibald. My cousin grinned wickedly and stuck his foot out. Ella tripped over it and the freshly washed clothing flew everywhere. Her gorgeous elbows skidded on the marble, and she began to bleed. Archibald laughed obnoxiously.
I shoved him viciously. He staggered and fell down the stairs. Sadly, he did not sustain any life-threatening injuries. My father glowered at me, and I knew what that look meant. I was to take Archibald's hand and help him up. Over my dead body.
I bent down and helped Ella to pick up her baggage. My father tried to compensate for my rudeness by helping the worthless Archibald. I completely ignored my own audacity, and bent to help Ella. She smiled gratefully at me, and gathered the washing into another bundle. I folded what I lifted, but I must admit I did quite the clumsy job of it.
When there was no more fabric on the floor, she looked over at me and smiled that heavenly smile. The clouds must have opened up and spilt sunlight somewhere, that smile was so seraphic. "Thank you, Your Majesty," she murmured, pushing her hair behind her ear as she stood. I stood as well, and for a moment, we remained that way, staring at each other. Her blue eyes were sparkling, and her perfect lips were upturned in a gentle toothless smile.
She leaned forward the slightest touch, with the grace of an elf, and kissed my cheek. With a last tiny wave, she set off down the hall, carting her bundle cheerfully. I had never really understood why the ladies of the court swooned, but right then, I understood how the urge came.
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I admit I took the enchanted frying pan from Patricia C. Wrede's Enchanted Forest books. But I couldn't resist. And thanks for your reviews!
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