The Amazing Adventures of Princess Peridot

by Lynne Roberts

The Amazing Adventures of Princess Peridot

  By Lynne Roberts

  Copyright 2014 Lynne Roberts

  ISBN 978-1-927241-09-7

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 1.

  Once upon a time, in the far off kingdom of Sarscabel, there lived the Princess Peridot. Actually, there lived a lot of other princesses as well, seventeen of them in total. They all had the same father, King Balthazar, but all had different mothers.

  When King Balthazar married his first wife, Queen Vashti, everyone in the kingdom rejoiced. She was a young and beautiful princess from a neighbouring kingdom, and in their first year together she and Balthazar ruled wisely and well. They were a very happy couple and the king was delighted when his wife gave him the glad tidings that they were about to have a child. No expense was spared in decorating and preparing the royal nurseries and every effort was made to ensure that the baby would be showered with gifts and good fortune when it finally arrived. King Balthazar had his advisors draw up forecasts predicting the fortune his son would have, for he was certain the baby would be a boy. Everyone in the kingdom looked forward to the day of the baby’s birth, as the king had promised to provide extensive feasts and gifts of gold coins to all his subjects. But no man, even a king, can control Fate. And Fate decided that the baby was not in fact a boy, but a girl.

  ‘You have a beautiful daughter, Sire,’ the court physician informed the king nervously, as he entered the anteroom where the king had been awaiting news of the birth.

  ‘What?’ bellowed the king in amazement.

  ‘A daughter. She is very beautiful. Fair of skin and dark of eye,’ stammered the physician. In fact the princess, like all babies, was red faced with crying and looked beautiful only to her doting mother, but the physician decided it would hardly be tactful to point this out.

  ‘A daughter!’

  King Balthazar was taken aback. He could not believe that that this had happened to him. Never before, in the course of his pampered life had something gone so expressly against his wishes.

  ‘A daughter!’ he said again in disgust. He duly inspected his child and was even less impressed. He recoiled in horror at the suggestion he should hold her and stood looking down at his wife with barely concealed annoyance.

  ‘Itzy, bitzy baby, then. She is so sweet,’ cooed his wife, as she stroked the fine downy hair on her daughter’s head. ‘What shall we call her?’

  ‘Call her what you like,’ snarled the king, losing his temper completely. He had a list of boys’ names already chosen but had given no thought to any girls’ names.

  ‘I’ll call her Ruby,’ murmured Queen Vashti. ‘She is a precious jewel to be treasured.’

  If she hoped to convince the king of this she had badly misjudged her husband. He was furious. He snarled at his advisors, threw a boot at his valet and stormed off to his hunting lodge in a right royal sulk. In an effort to drown his sorrows he broached a cask of wine he had been keeping for a suitable occasion and spent the next three days getting disgustingly drunk.

  At the peak of this drunken spree, while he was still able to stand and before he became so fuddled he couldn’t see straight, he convinced himself that it was all his wife’s fault.

  ‘She must have secretly wanted a girl and that’s what did it,’ he mumbled to himself, with a fine disregard for the principles of reproduction. ‘She knew I wanted a son and heir. It’s not fair. It’s all her fault.’

  He glared at the unfortunate serving man who refilled his wine cup with a trembling hand. The king drained the cup in one swallow.

  ‘What’s more,’ he went on moodily, ‘She’ll probably do it again if I give her the chance. What I need is another wife, one who wants a boy as much as I do. Isn’t that right?’

  He turned to the serving man, who backed away hastily and nodded in agreement.

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ The king hiccuped gently. ‘Another wife. That’s what I need. My own father had seven of them and my Uncle Aleric had fourteen. The more I think about it, the more certain I am that I need another wife. Well?’ He frowned at the serving man who quickly changed his snort of surprise to a cough.

  ‘You are right of course, your majesty,’ he murmured.

  ‘Of course I’m right. I’m the king.’

  King Balthazar sipped his wine slowly then thumped the cup down on the table with a crash.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he decided. ‘I’ll take another wife.’

  ‘What, now?’ The serving man was ill advised enough to remark.

  ‘Yes, now. What’s wrong with now? Now is a good time.’ King Balthazar was pleased. Things were moving at the right speed for him. ‘Bring me a wife,’ he commanded.

  The serving man looked the king in amazement. ‘Er…’ he began nervously.

  ‘Now, I said,’ thundered the king. ‘And bring me something to eat while you are at it.’

  The serving man bowed and backed his way out of the room.

  ‘What do I do?’ he wailed, as he explained his predicament to the kitchen staff.

  A couple of the young serving girls began to giggle, but the cook was made of sterner stuff.

  ‘Tell him he is being totally unreasonable,’ she said firmly, as she deftly chopped an onion and tossed it into a simmering pan of stew.

  The serving man gulped. ‘I know he’s being unreasonable,’ he said gloomily, but it’s hopeless trying to tell him anything when he’s in this sort of mood. Oh, and he wants some food as well.’

  ‘That, at least, is no problem. Take him a slice of pie to go on with, and tell him the meal will be ready in another hour.’

  The cook sliced a large wedge of a meaty pie topped with golden pastry. She slid it onto a napkin and handed it to the serving man as an assistant hurried up with a small platter. The serving man heaved a sigh and returned to the king, who ate the pie with evident enjoyment before looking expectantly up at his servant.

  ‘Well, then? Where’s my new wife?’

  The serving man coughed. ‘Er, there doesn’t appear to be anyone suitable in residence, Sire,’ he explained. ‘There is no one of royal birth nearer than the kingdom of Talasiar, and that is a three day ride from here.’ Three days ought to be long enough for him to sober up and change his mind, he thought.

  The king was furious. ‘I want a wife now,’ he thundered, leaping to his feet and grasping the unfortunate serving man by the front of his tunic. ‘Royal be damned. There must be some females in this cursed place.’

  ‘Only the cook and some serving girls,’ croaked the serving man, whose eyes were beginning to bulge as his face turned purple.

  The king released his grip and rubbed his hands together. ‘Bring me the wench who made this pie, she’ll do,’ he ordered.

  The serving man scuttled from the room and into the kitchen, scattering the kitchen maids who had been listening at the keyhole.

  ‘He wants you to be his wife,’ he gaspe
d to the startled cook.

  ‘Does he now?’ The cook snorted. ‘Thinks he can order a wife the same way he orders a cup of wine, does he?’ She took off her apron and patted her hair into place. ‘Right! That king has a big surprise coming.’

  She marched purposefully into the dining room, followed by the gaggle of kitchen maids, and stopped abruptly. King Balthazar was striding around impatiently and he was a magnificent sight. Tall and broad shouldered, with eyes gleaming and dark hair tossed back from his noble brow he turned to face her. It would have taken a stronger woman than even the cook not to have been impressed. Even the drink had done no more than give him a heightened colour, and he seized the work roughened hand of the cook and took it in his.

  ‘Ah! My new wife,’ he said with a chuckle, pressing the hand to his lips.

  The cook started to protest but she could see that nothing short of unconsciousness would divert the king from his intentions. As she had an understandable reluctance to walloping her lord and master with a rolling pin, she had no option but to listen in horror as the king made his announcement.

  ‘I, Balthazar, in the presence of these witnesses, do take you – what’s your name?’

  ‘Desiree,’ whispered the cook.

  ‘Take you, Desiree as my royal wife and consort. There, that’s it. All legal, and above board.’

  The cook’s heart sank. She knew with rising panic that she was now officially the king’s second wife. She gave the manservant an anguished look but he fixed the table leg with a stony stare and avoided her eyes. The cook was a practical young woman and decided that there was nothing to be done but to make the best of things. Fixing a smile on her face she took a seat beside her new husband and commanded the kitchen maids to serve the dinner.

  By the time the king had finished the cask of wine and enjoyed the feast that his new wife had prepared, he was ready to retire.

  The next day saw him with a terrible hangover, a newborn daughter and two wives. Some men may have found this a trifle daunting but King Balthazar took it all in his stride. But a year later, when the cook gave birth to a daughter, his rage was indescribable.

  ‘I’m calling her Pearl,’ Queen Desiree murmured lovingly, as she nursed her tiny child.

  ‘Think of it as two gems in your crown, Sire,’ the royal physician suggested. He retreated quickly as the king showed signs of murdering anyone foolish enough to come close to him.

  This, alas, was the last straw for the king. He had quite enjoyed having two wives. The meals in the palace had improved dramatically and by keeping his first wife quite separate in a newly built extension to the palace, he had managed not to think about her or his daughter. But two daughters were too much. He promptly gave an order for his second wife and child to be housed in a yet another addition to the palace, to be built immediately. Then he rode off with those unfortunate members of his retinue who hadn’t had the forethought to arrange grandmother's funerals or other good reasons for not being around when the baby was born.