Duke had never won a joust before, even while training at Ye Olde Knight School, but this exceeded his dreams! To beat Otis the Elevated was grand enough, but to have done it all as the champion of Sweet, Sweet Petunia was like having a plate full of gingerbread. (They had that in the Middle Ages, and it was one of Duke's favorite things.)

With the cheers still ringing in his ears, Duke left the tournament field with his company, hopping toward his apple orchards to escort Petunia and Nona (who was Duke's second cousin, twice removed) back to their cottage in a tree.

"Wonderful work back there, sire," Lucas, Duke's tomato chamberlain, was saying at his side. "They'll be talking about this for years to come!"

"Gildersleeve would have been commended you, mon cher Duke," Nona declared. The blueberry's late husband was the only other knight known to have ever bested his brother Otis. "You were so brave."

"All part of a knight's duty," Duke said modestly, but his heart swelled inside him. He cast a shy glance over Nona's head at the slim, red-haired figure hopping along. He hoped to receive an admiring look from the fair princess, but Petunia, curiously, seemed miles away. Her large eyes did not focus on anything in particular, and her lips had contorted pensively into something almost like a frown. That took Duke aback; she of all people ought to be celebrating right then.

"How do you feel, Petunia?" he asked, concerned.

Petunia snapped out of whatever brooding reverie that had held her, and she blinked once. "Me? Oh, I am fine. Thank you, Duke."

She cleared her throat and looked away.

"Okay." Duke wished he could press the issue, but he did not want to do so in front of Nona and Lucas. Instead, he decided to change the subject. "I was thinking of throwing a little banquet tonight. You know, to celebrate. Would you ladies like to attend? Say, eight o'clock?"

"Oh, oui!" Nona nodded eagerly.

Duke glanced over to gauge Petunia's reaction. She formed a fleeting smile, then looked quickly down at her dress.

Was she too tired for a banquet? Today had been hard for her as well, sitting up anxiously in the big pavilion, so close to a crowd filled with Otis fans, not knowing if Duke would win the tournament in her honor.

"I'd enjoy seeing Ducky Manor again, Duke," Nona said companionably. "It's been so many years since I visited your mother for holidays and festivals."

"Well," said Duke, getting an idea, "maybe when you guys are settled in your new castle, we can start exchanging more visits. Feasts and balls and all that stuff."

"Magnifique!" Nona beamed, raising herself up a little. "Petunia is quite a dancer, I'll have you know. Maybe you could teach her the latest steps, dear Duke."

"I don't mind," smiled Duke, gazing at the pretty princess. "Ever tried Ye Olde Chicken Dance?"

Petunia barely glanced at him. "Well… that might not be the best idea at the moment."

Duke tilted his head. "No?"

Petunia turned away slightly. "Observing proper protocol and all, it might be better to sort out a few details first before we talk about dancing."

"Protocol?" Duke repeated.

"If you mean the thing with Otis, Duke won fair and square," Nona pointed out. "The second half of the crest is his to do with as he wishes, and he's given it to us, dear."

"All yours," Duke agreed, smiling.

Petunia's gaze shifted briefly toward Duke, then away again. "I simply think certain things must wait until everything is made clear. Don't you, Duke?"

"I guess?"

"Good," she returned, quickening her pace a little.

They soon reached the cottage inside the tree, and Petunia bade Duke a quick farewell.

"I really must rest," she said simply.

"Long day for all of us," Duke said cheerfully.

She gave him a little nod and closed the door behind her. Nona lingered outside, thanking Duke profusely both for his hard work and his kind invitation. Then she also went inside the tree, and Duke and Lucas made their way through the apple trees back toward the castle.

"Lucas," Duke said abruptly, "do I have something on my tooth?"

His chamberlain slowed his hop, glancing up in mild confusion. "Pardon, sire?"

"Any zits?" Duke asked, bending to let the tomato examine his verdant complexion. "Black eyes?"

"No…" said Lucas, a red eye shifting in a manner similar to raising an eyebrow. "For a guy who survived the Obstacle Course of Peril, you seem in pretty good shape."

"How about my breath?" Duke pressed.

"What's this about, sire?" Lucas returned, perplexed.

Duke stopped hopping, glancing back back down the orchard path. "It's probably nothing, but… did Petunia seem uneasy back there?"

"Because she didn't accept your invitation to dance at your castle?" Lucas guessed with a knowing look.

Duke nodded. "We're family now, so I thought she'd accept. She's Nona's daughter-in-law, after all, and a princess."

"And a young widow," Lucas said softly.

Duke blinked at him, feeling an uncomfortable twist in his insides. "Well, yeah…"

Although he had fond memories of Nona from his childhood, he had not really kept in touch with that side of the family even before they moved to the Kingdom of Rhubarb. He had not remembered Nona had a son named Ryan, and he certainly had not known that his third cousin, once removed, had married the kindest (and prettiest) princess Duke had ever encountered. Technically speaking, Petunia was his in-law, which gave Duke an obligation to take care of her when Nona's brother-in-law refused to help the two ladies. Even so, Duke had a hard time remembering Petunia had been married — and widowed.

If Duke had had shoulders, he would have rolled them, so he settled for uncomfortably shifting the area around his neck.

"But it's like I told Petunia after the joust," Duke went on. "We're going to be family from now, and I'll take care of her."

Lucas looked at him sharply. "Were those your exact words, sire?"

"More or less," Duke shrugged. "I might have put a 'forever' in there somewhere."

"That explains it," Lucas returned dryly.

"What? Too cheesy?" Duke asked anxiously. "I thought it sounded good at the time…"

As soon as he had pied Otis and jumped off his wooden horse, Duke's first instinct was to rush toward the smiling princess. She had been so happy — and so relieved — that he had safely won, and those sparkling eyes had made him want to promise the absolute best he could give her.

"Was I too bold?" Duke guessed.

Lucas exhaled slightly, shaking his head. "The orchard path is really not the place to discuss this, sire. Let us get the preparations for this evening's banquet underway first. Your guests of honor have already RSVP-ed."

Mystified, Duke nodded, allowing Lucas to lead the way to Ducky Manor in the distance.

While Lucas oversaw the food preparations, managed the staff and sent out additional invitations, Duke took a hot bath. That normally made him feel better after a long day at Ye Olde Knight School, especially with autumn making his castle drafty, but he could not relax today. He barely acknowledged the yellow rubber ducky floating between the mounds of bubbles. His mind kept wandering down the orchard path to the hollowed-out tree, and the pretty princess he had been willing — and ready — to take a pie for.

"Did I sound too silly?" he sighed more than once. Although he had known Petunia only a handful of days, he thought he had a good grasp on her personality. She was so kind and tender, sacrificing a life of luxury in her family's palace to take care of Nona, and Petunia was appreciative of the things Duke had done for her. Surely, she wasn't the kind of girl to disdain him for saying something silly after he had put life and limb on the line to get Nona's husband's castle back.

…Not to mention Petunia's husband's castle back.

Duke sloshed in the water, reached for his scrub brush, and realized most of the bubbles had disappeared. After rinsing off, he climbed out of the tub and hopped across the stone floor to a wardrobe marked Ye Olde Bath Towels, where he pulled out a white one decorated with a border of yellow ducks. Then he went into his bedroom, deliberating which of his clean tunics worked best for a banquet fit for a princess. Since this was the Middle Ages, he had a limited amount of clothing to choose from, but it seemed like he spent hours standing in front of his wardrobe before Lucas knocked on the door. With a sense of relief, he threw on a tunic and granted Lucas entrance.

"How does this one look?" he asked in lieu of greeting, spinning as he modeled it.

"Fine, sire," said Lucas.

"Or," said Duke, scooping up the other garment and hurrying over to change behind his privacy screen, "maybe I should wear this one?"

Lucas' eye ridge shifted. "Are you worried about how you'll look in front of all your guests," he began, "or how you'll look in front of a specific guest?"

Duke peeked out from behind the screen. "Well… I did win a joust today… for her."

"Oh, she knows that," said Lucas.

Duke frowned, puzzled. "And I want her to feel welcomed and part of the family."

"But there are different kinds of family, aren't there?" Lucas remarked, hopping toward the fireplace.

"I guess." Duke crossed over to the ornate chair which sat beside the desk where he composed silly sonnets to amuse his friends at Ye Olde Knight School. He slumped against the backrest and sighed.

Lucas gave him a look which mingled sympathy and exasperation. "Sire, after Nona told us about Gildersleeve the Invincible and Ryan the Only Slightly Less Invincible, I took the liberty of doing a little digging into the matter."

Duke blinked at him, wondering where the two noblemen came into the matter. "Yeah?"

"I sent word to a friend of mine who works as a clerk in the Palace of Scone, and I asked him to look into the records of the fallen. Did you know Petunia's husband was struck down by a cherry pie less than two moons ago?"

"Well, I figured it would have been pretty recent," Duke admitted. "Is it too late to send a fruit basket?"

"A nice thought, but not what I meant," said Lucas. "For almost two moons, Princess Petunia has been a grieving widow. In leaving the life of a princess to take care of Nona, her options have been limited. No one in the village would probably hire her as a maid or seamstress. Their little garden is still weeks away from a harvest. In allowing them to gather leftover apples, you are quite possibly the first person to show them kindness since they arrived in Scone."

"I guess," said Duke. "But now that I won the key to Gildersleeve's castle, they'll have a nice roof over their heads, and they'll have access to the vault."

"Quite a prize for a young widow," said Lucas.

Duke shifted, wishing Lucas would stop using that word to describe Petunia. The tomato seemed to be hinting at something else, and Duke wasn't sure if he wanted to find out what.

"So why would Petunia act so strangely after today?" he asked. "I just said we'd be family and that I'll take care of her."

"I shall endeavor to put this delicately," said Lucas, with the air of someone about to load a catapult with the largest battle pie in existence. "How do two people who aren't related by blood typically become family?"

"Well, there's adoption," Duke mused, "or you find out the guy you're jousting is now your step-brother because your mother remarried to his dad without telling you…"

"Or you get married," Lucas pointed out, "and your wife is now your family."

"I guess that's true…" Duke trailed off, and heat flooded his green face. "Say that again?"

Lucas's serious eyes met Duke's flustered gaze. "It's quite possible that you, after winning a tournament for the honor of a recently widowed princess, accidentally gave Petunia a proposal of marriage — or something that could be construed as such."

Duke nearly fell out of his chair. "W-What?"

"From the princess's perspective, it must have been quite a shock," said Lucas.

"But I didn't mean—that is, she's incredibly nice, and I—well, she and I aren't—"

If it were possible for cucumbers to blush, Duke would have resembled a turnip right then. He jumped up, beginning to pace. Lucas watched him quietly.

"She's awfully nice— and I wouldn't mind— I mean, who would? But I wouldn't just say it like that!" Duke insisted. "Not out of the blue!"

"Mmm-hmm," nodded Lucas. "With no mention of courtship or asking Nona for permission as her closest relative — geographically speaking, anyway."

"So that's why Petunia was acting so funny!" Duke cried, close to pulling out his hair (if he had any). "I was just trying to reassure her, not — that!"

"Well, she's coming to the banquet tonight," Lucas pointed out. "You'll have ample opportunity to clear up any misunderstandings."

"Great!" Duke jerked a nod, beginning to feel a trickle of relief. Just a few words with Petunia would sort everything out. He would take her aside, explain he meant what he said in a strictly respectful, strictly platonic way, and she would smile at him, full of understanding, and they'd laugh together over the whole mixup, and her tiny green nose would crinkle, and her pretty eyes would shine…

Duke was suddenly aware of his stomach twisting a little.

Ever since Duke's mother had moved south for her health, Ducky Manor had not had a lady to preside over banquet preparations or anything of the sort. Lucas, however, did an excellent job on short notice, sprucing up the tapestries in the great hall, setting up candlelight, and adorning the great, big fireplace with garlands of autumnal flowers.

As the sun began to set, the first of the guests began to arrive, veggie knights and ladies in grand carriages. Duke stood near the door to greet each one, and many asked after Petunia. After Otis had shown his true colors, his Knight School classmates had taken Duke's side, and they were now willing to give the Rhubarbarian princess a chance.

"She should be here soon," Duke kept saying before anxiously darting a look toward his orchards. He had sent Lucas to escort the ladies safely to the castle, but that seemed like hours ago. Just as he was considering charging down the path himself, the long-awaited silhouettes emerged from the twilight.

"Oh, good," he breathed, sending up a silent prayer of thanks. As the three figures hopped into the torchlight, Duke met the gaze of Petunia, and she smiled briefly before she glanced away.

Was she shy because she thought he had proposed? Or was she upset? Duke couldn't tell, and his heart gave a worried thump.

A little pea in a purple hat cleared his throat and announced the ladies in order of rank as they approached Duke. Nona greeted him heartily, pausing to comment on the beautiful old tapestries that had been in the family since the Kingdom of Scone was founded. Then she moved aside to allow Petunia her chance to be received by Duke, not too subtly hopping toward the great hall to allow the two a few minutes alone.

Duke tried to form his best smile, but his lips seemed to spasm every which way.

"Welcome, milady," he managed to say, sweeping off his hat.

Petunia gave a little curtsy, though Duke thought her eyes looked momentarily uncertain. "Thank you for having us."

"My pleasure," he said at once. "In fact, I was wondering if I could—"

But the next set of guests were coming toward the door, and Petunia quickly slipped inside the great hall. Duke reluctantly returned his cap to his head, resisting the urge to sigh.

As lord of Ducky Manor, Duke sat at the center of the high table, which was on a dais next to the fireplace. Nona and Petunia sat on either side of him as his guests of honor. His friends sat at the parallel tables on the lower floor. When everyone was assembled, Duke led them in saying the blessing. Then Lucas rang a bell, and the big doors threw open. A procession of peas and carrots marched in with delicious platters and began to serve the guests.

Duke offered Petunia the gilded salt cellar and found himself sneaking a peek at her trencher — the round slab of stale bread which served as a plate — and he was pleased to see her enjoying his favorite dishes.

Maybe we can sup together more often, he thought.

"A song, a song!" a few knights began to chant. "Bring in the minstrels!"

"Duke, why don't you sing one of your silly sonnets?" boomed a carrot named Knight Before Last, lifting his goblet of juice.

"Yes!" cried Silent Knight, louder than he usually would. "I am particularly fond of the one you sang last month: 'O, Where Art Thou, Mine Hairbrush?'"

"Maybe later," said Duke, glancing at Petunia.

Petunia, however, formed a faint smile. "Do you write sonnets, Duke?"

He nodded. "Sometimes."

"He always had a talent for music," Nona put in, "even when he was a tiny gherkin."

"Kinda like Ryan," Petunia mused.

"Artistic talent runs through our family," Nona said with a pleased look. "Duke, I hope you'll let us hear some of your creations tonight."

"Well, maybe…" Duke hesitated. He searched his mind for a song that would entertain Petunia. While he had plenty in his repertoire, like "Barbara of Manatee, Thou Art the One for Me" and "Ode to My Lips," he felt suddenly shy about sharing them. If she thought he had proposed to her (which he hadn't), she might think he was being insensitive if he belted out a song about lips or hair brushes instead of something, well, romantic. (He really ought to clear the air with her first.)

"Sire," said Lucas, coming up to his side, "we do have that traveling bard stopping the night with us if you don't feel like singing."

Duke turned to look at him. "The one with ballads, songs and snatches of dreamy lullabies?"

Lucas nodded. "Mmm-hmm, his catalogue is long through every passion ranging."

Duke nodded gratefully. "Send him in."

In moments, a peasant with a lute was ushered into the great hall, and the rafters soon rang with the catchy strums of serf music. The knights clanked their goblets on the table with each successive tune. During the performance, Duke kept glancing toward Petunia — and hurriedly looked away whenever she glanced toward him.

I took on Otis the Elevated today, Duke chided himself. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves. I can talk to Petunia about this misunderstanding.

Boldly, he spun toward her, opening his mouth — and quickly whirled away when Petunia turned her head curiously. Heat flooded Duke's face, and he took a few more breaths.

A knight has to be brave, he told himself. He glanced toward Petunia again, and it was then he saw she had taken out her handkerchief and was fanning herself. Although it was autumn, the giant fireplace was roaring with oaken logs, and as the guest of honor, Petunia was sitting very close to the flames. Duke instantly had an idea.

"It's kinda stuffy in here," he noted, leaning toward her. "Would you like to step out on the balcony with me?"

She gave herself an uncertain fan before tucking her handkerchief away. Slowly, she said, "Of course…"

Together, they discreetly made their way toward the big arched doors on the side of the hall, undetected by most of the guests, though Duke thought he saw Nona shoot them a little smirk.

The starry night was chilly, and Duke considered running back inside to ask Lucas to get a fur wrap for Petunia, who no doubt was used to the warmer climates of the Rhubarb Kingdom. The princess, however, daintily crossed over to a carved bench overlooking the village of serfs under Duke's care, and she sat regally without a word of complaint.

Duke sucked in another breath and closed the door. Just get it over with, and we can all laugh about it later.

Straightening the cucumber equivalent of shoulders, Duke hopped as close as he dared, trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach.

"Petunia, about earlier, uh…" He cleared his throat.

"Earlier?" Petunia returned mildly.

If he had feet, he would have started shuffling them right then. "I hope I — I wasn't too forward about saying we'll be family. I mean, we are in-laws, but…"

He cleared his throat again, wishing he had thought to bring a goblet of juice with him so that he could have an excuse not to talk. Petunia looked at him in brief surprise before she gave him one of those kind smiles which he had come to value above jewels.

"It was very sweet of you, Duke, and you were right. You are Nona's cousin." She paused. "And you're Ryan's cousin."

The hint of a glow that had risen to her eyes faded again. A somber, wistful twitch overtook her pretty lips. Duke wished he could do something for her, but his mind drew a blank. He looked at the floor of the balcony, then back at her.

"What was he like?" he asked. He hopped onto the bench beside her. "Our families didn't get together much because Gildersleeve was always out training with Ryan to make him Only Slightly Less Invincible, but I would've liked to have met him."

Petunia smiled sadly. "Ryan was sweet, kind, and brave. And he had the most beautiful grin."

"He must have been quite a guy," Duke said and stopped himself in time from adding, Especially if he caught your eye.

Petunia nodded. "Not unlike you, Duke."

"Guess it runs in the family," Duke said with a smile, though he could not quite meet her eyes. "How did you meet?"

"My family was invited to the Palace of Scone for a few months, back before the war," she said, turning her gaze to the starry sky. "Ryan was among the knights present for a tournament held in our honor."

"Oh yeah," Duke nodded, remembering. "My family was invited to that, but we all caught colds and had to stay home."

To think, I could have already met Petunia all those years ago, he reflected.

"It was an exciting day," Petunia recalled. "Ryan had won so many of the contests, and then came his turn for the joust. Oh, he looked so handsome on his wooden horse" — she let out her infectious giggle — "and maidens were throwing flowers and waving their handkerchiefs and scarves, but unfortunately one of the bouquets fell on the track, and he fell right into the dirt."

"Ouch," winced Duke, remembering all the times he had fallen in school.

"I rushed right out of the royal pavilion," Petunia went on, her face beginning to shine. "He was so out of it, he asked if I was an angel." Another giggle. "I had our guards carry him to the medical tent, and I sat with him through the rest of the tournament. When he felt better, I invited him to have supper with my family, and within a week, he asked my father for permission to court me."

"He already knew he liked you that much?" Duke asked.

"Yeah." She looked shyly down. "Sometimes you just know, you know?"

"Mmm," Duke returned, wishing his tongue had not chosen just then to cleave to the roof of his mouth.

"He would be pleased with what you did for Nona and me today," she went on. "Two widows couldn't have done what you did. We were beginning to wonder — I was beginning to wonder if… one of us would have to remarry before anything good began to happen."

"Remarry?" Duke squeaked.

"Well, I tried to find work as a seamstress in town," Petunia said quickly, "and I tried getting a job on one of the farms, but no one would take me. There's only so much a lady can do in the Middle Ages."

"I hadn't really thought about that before," Duke admitted, swallowing slightly, "but y-you'd really remarry if it came down to it?"

"If I had found a nice man who was willing to take care of Nona," Petunia said. She smoothed out her skirt slightly. "But now Nona and I can take care of ourselves, thanks to you, Duke."

She gave him a warm look. Duke managed a smile back. While he was certainly glad he was able to help the two ladies become self-reliant, he found he was equally glad Petunia didn't have to tie herself to some guy she barely knew. He pictured some strange knight swooping in and whisking her away to some castle where Duke couldn't see her anymore, and the idea made his heart knot up.

"Petunia, I—" He met her kind eyes, and his words began to tumble out. "Petunia, I know this is the Middle Ages and all, but I just want you to know I would have never let you be in a position where you felt you had to get married to put food on the table. And even though you have Gildersleeve's vault now, I'll still take care of you because that's true love, and — and if you find a knight worthy of your love, then I'll help you out. I'll be there for you because— because I think you're amazing, and I want you to be happy!"

He broke off, panting a little. Her eyes widened at his little speech, then averted their gaze. Just as Duke began to feel silly, Petunia suddenly nodded.

"Duke," she said softly, "I think you're amazing too."

Duke cleared his throat, searching for something to say, but he felt too happy to form a coherent word. A warm, comfortable silence replaced the previous awkward one, and Duke would have liked to have sat there for hours next to her, but a gelid breeze picked up, causing them both to shiver.

"Uh, maybe we should get back inside?" he suggested.

"Y-Yeah," she tittered.

He led the way and held open the door for her. The muffled sounds of serf music and voices grew at once louder, but Duke barely noticed. He guided Petunia to her seat, and he took his place beside her. She gave him one of those looks that made his heart feel kinda funny (in a good way), and he fiddled shyly with his spoon, glad that things seemed to be cleared up between them.

As Petunia turned her attention back to the bard, Duke couldn't help noticing how naturally she seemed to sit at the head table, exactly in the spot where his mother used to sit beside his father back in the day.

This old castle could use a lady in residence, he thought, glad that cucumbers could not blush.

THE END

A member of my family lost his wife to cancer, and about ten months later he remarried. On his wedding night, his second wife had to comfort him because he broke down crying over his first wife. This same family member had lost the tip of his ring finger due to a work-related accident. When he would put his hand into his pocket, his brain at first kept expecting the missing fingertip to touch the fabric, which was a jarring sensation. He compared that experience to losing a spouse.

Although that might be a little heavy to explore for VeggieTales, this is a large reason why I write about Princess Petunia processing her grief for her first husband. The episode didn't have time to focus on her widowhood, but fanfics let me do just that.

Ducky Manor — If you look at the road signs when Duke and Lucas are heading toward the orchards, one of them says Ducky Manor, which I take to mean is the name of Duke's home. (A Duchy of Ducky? Dukedom of Ducky?)