Pretty Pretty Princess

by McKenzie, Shane

  The tavern was filled from wall to wall with the most dangerous-looking, vile human beings Francis had ever seen, and seeing so many of them bunched up like this, violent and belligerent energy burning in the air, nearly made him turn tail and go running into the deep Dark Wilderness—it was probably safer than The Moist Maiden. As he walked by, eyes followed him, mouths curled into snarls, growls rattled from throats.

  The knights he had walked in with stormed a table, drawing their swords and cutting down the group who was sitting there—three men, all too drunk to realize they were being killed until they were in pieces and their blood was adding to the already crimson-soaked wooden floor.

  The knights laughed and patted one another on the back as if murdering three strangers was nothing more than an inside joke. The other thugs and warriors in the tavern didn’t seem to find this all that surprising or interesting, most only glancing quickly before going back to their drinks or slurred arguments.

  “Throat sure is dry, little lord,” the speaking knight said. “Better hurry before we add you to the pile, yeah?”

  This brought on an explosion of laughter from the other knights.

  “Of course,” Francis said.

  “We should’ve run off while we were still outside,” Gavin said as he trotted alongside Francis on the way toward the bartender. “I’d say we’re pretty much fried and fucked at this point.”

  Francis felt the same way, but he knew that these types of men fed on weakness. If he showed his fear, even a slight bit, his limbs would be scattered across the floor or nailed to the wall. He took one quick look back toward the table. Another man, just as ugly as the bartender, swept up the body parts as nonchalantly as if he were sweeping up spilled peanut shells.

  “Just stay calm,” Francis said. “We’re simply a couple of travelers thirsty for ale. Just like any of these men.”

  “Yeah?” Gavin oinked. “Anyone else in here wearing a puffy shirt or got a corkscrew tail spinnin’ outta their ass?”

  The men seemed to grow bored of Francis and Gavin, at least for the moment. They were too busy emptying their mugs and fighting with one another to give a skinny prince and his pig much attention. Every one of them—just like any knight or warrior Francis had ever met—wanted to prove he was the best. The most deadly. And you did that by challenging the biggest, meanest-looking man occupying the same space as you. There was nothing to be gained by killing Francis other than a good laugh—that’s what he kept telling himself anyway. That is, until he pulled out his gold.

  The only thing that mattered more than being the champion of ferocity was gold. And though Francis didn’t have much, it wouldn’t matter. One coin would be all they needed to see. Francis would be halved before he could slap that coin down on the bar. Or even worse, he would be kidnapped. He had known certain knights to fancy boys just as much as girls. Especially little lost princes. Their own personal royal fuck hole to carry around for whenever their cocks got hungry.

  “Ehh?” the bartender said as Francis stepped up to the bar. His voice sounded like a wet cough thick with mucus.

  “Yes, my good sir,” Francis said, laughing nervously. “I’ll take—”

  “Troll shit,” the man beside Francis said and slammed his empty mug so hard on the bar he cracked it in two. “Anyone’s gonna claim that reward, it’s me. You ain’t got the stones for it.”

  “The gods I don’t,” the man beside him said. “Those goblin cocksuckers don’t scare me. I’ll fuck ’em in their green asses, I will.”

  “Ehh?” the bartender said again, one eye pinched, the other stretched so wide it looked like the corners were splitting, red and irritated with pebbles of brown crust.

  “They say she’s the most beautiful princess in the history of the realm, they do,” another man said.

  At this point, it seemed every man within earshot was chiming in on the subject, and Francis turned away from the bartender and faced them all.

  “And the richest,” another said. “Kingdom of Trulia. The most gold of any kingdom in the realm.”

  “And it’ll be me who saves her. That’s right.”

  “You? The bravest and strongest have tried for the last twenty years, and not one of them has succeeded. It’ll be me who does it, I tell ya. Me.”

  “I’m the knight’ll save her. Been trainin’ for years, I have. She’s mine. And all the gold that comes with her!”

  “Ehh?”

  The men began fighting, throwing punches and kicks, a few weapons swinging through the air. Bodies flew in all directions, one man soaring over the bartender into the wall behind him, breaking glass and shattering wood. A few severed limbs, and even a couple of heads, spun over the horde as they thrashed and fought, spraying fresh, hot blood over the entire bar. Francis ducked and narrowly avoided a splash of blood, but still got some of it speckled over his shirt.

  “Gentlemen?” Francis said, but the shouting and roaring was too loud for anyone to hear. “Excuse me!”

  They still ignored him like he was nothing more than a stool.

  “Ehh?” the bartender asked again.

  There was a tugging at Francis’s leg, and he looked down at Gavin who was trying to speak, but his words were swallowed up by the ruckus. The pig nodded his head upward, and Francis knew he was asking to be picked up. Francis scooped up his friend and set him on the bar. Gavin spun around so his backside was facing the flailing congregation of large and scary men.

  His tail straightened, wiggled a bit, and then slowly curled back up. As it curled, a verdant cloud of gas seeped from his red, puckered anus, along with the thunderous explosion of a fart.

  Francis quickly spun away from it, but that didn’t save him from the odor. A splash of vomit sprayed the back of his teeth, but he forced it back down his throat.

  The knights and thugs stopped fighting, all their attention now on Gavin as the last bit squeaked out of his rump hole. He turned to them, snorted once, then hopped off the bar and stood beside Francis.

  “Now what?” Gavin said.

  “Ehh?”

  Francis finally turned to the bartender who still had one eye pinched and one eye widened. He hadn’t moved at all, just scowled at Francis, his crooked, palsied mouth hinged open as if to unleash another Ehh.

  “A tankard of ale for all.” Francis reached into his pocket and pulled out one golden coin, slapped it onto the bar.

  Everyone shifted their attention to Francis, their hard eyes swinging from his face to the coin and back again. Some glared down at Gavin. All had hunger in their eyes. A hunger for gold, pork, and violence.

  “You’re a pretty little princess, aren’t you, boy?” one man said, then reached out and ran his thick, callused fingers through Francis’s hair.

  “My name is Prince Francis of Granada—”

  “The banished prince? I hear you fancy a set of balls dipped down the gullet. That true, lad?” one man said, sparking a loud burst of laughter from the others.

  “That’s not . . . Who I am doesn’t matter! Who is this Princess of Trulia you speak of?” Francis tried to keep his voice steady, but it still puttered out from between his trembling, wet lips.

  Before anyone could answer, a heavy hand slammed down on his shoulder, nearly bringing him to his knees. The bartender was lining up cups of ale for the men, that permanent scowl still distorting his face.

  Francis was spun around so he was facing the massive knight who had escorted him in. The man had his teeth bared, eyes red and shaking in their sockets.

  “You promise me and my men a drink, and then you go and offer it to this lot instead?” A purple slice of tongue slithered out and wetted his lips and the fronts of his teeth. “Bad lil’ lord. Bad, bad, indeed.”

  “Now just wait a second,” Francis said, backing away only to run into the wall of bodies behind him. Hands seized him from all over and squeezed, holding him in place.

  “How much more gold this little pecker got in his britches?”

  “I bet
he’s gotta asshole tighter than a skin pore, I bet.”

  The knight unsheathed his sword, pressed the tip to Francis’s throat.

  “Please . . . I only want to—”

  The door swung open and slammed against the wall, breaking to pieces. A knight in black armor stood there, one hand on the hilt of his sword. The armor shone like oil, its surface scratched and gouged from countless battles, no doubt. The hilt was golden, sapphires and rubies glimmering from between the knight’s fingers.

  There was a collective gasp from the other men who had all forgotten about Francis and were now facing this mysterious warrior as he strolled into the bar and took a seat in the corner, facing it. He removed his helmet to reveal long locks of golden hair that fell below his shoulders, some of them dreaded with mud and blood.

  Like a herd of stampeding bulls, the men rushed out the door, scattering into the Wilderness. None of them looked back as they fled, some in such a hurry they left full mugs and weapons behind.

  There were still a few men left, and from the looks of it, they were the scariest, most intimidating. Not the type to be scared off by anyone or anything. And they all still stared at Francis.

  Among the remaining was the thirsty knight, who after taking another second to study the black knight swung his blade back up to tickle Francis’s throat. “Now where were we, lil’ lord?”

  “There’s no need for this, sir. I beg you. I only want to help. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Francis’s knees shook and his puffy pants clung to his leg as warm piss ran down and soaked them.

  “Help? You fancy fuckin’ royalties don’t help nobody but yourselves. It’s knights like me and my boys there who do the helpin’. Just who is it you think you’re helpin’, lil’ lord?”

  “Princesses. The poor girls whose own parents lock them up and abandon them. It’s unethical and terrible, and I—”

  A hearty laugh belched from the knight’s throat. “What, you think it’s you who’ll save the Princess of Trulia from the Goblin Dragon and its horde? Is that it?”

  Francis nodded and forced a smile.

  “You’re a cute lil’ thing, aren’t you? Maybe I’ll cut your cock and balls off and carve a fresh cunt on you instead, yeah? I could use my own personal lil’ princess. I bet you squeal louder than your pig friend. I bet you—”

  The sword fell away from Francis’s neck, clattered to the floor. Gavin squealed and jumped out of the way just in time.

  Francis didn’t know what had happened until the knight’s head slid off his neck and a fountain of blood sprayed into the air, raining down over the bar. The bartender who muttered under his breath as he started wiping the stuff up.

  The black knight stood there, his face lowered, hair hanging over it so Francis couldn’t get a look at him. The black knight spun and faced the table full of the beheaded knight’s men just as the dead knight’s body folded in on itself and collapsed to the floor.

  The men jumped to their feet and ran for the door, saying nothing as they abandoned their dead leader’s body.

  The black knight strolled back to his corner and took a seat where a chalice of wine waited for him.

  “Fran,” Gavin said. “Time to go.”

  “You say you are a prince from Granada?” said a voice from across the bar. The man stood, the top of his head nearly touching the ceiling. He was as wide as an ox, his body covered in plates of muscle. “I heard it told the prince of Granada was banished. Heard it told he likes his women with a long cock on her.”

  Francis sighed and nodded, saw no point in reciting his history. He pulled out his sack of gold and emptied it onto the bar. Every man—except for the black knight—stood and watched as the coins settled.

  “I am the prince of Granada, and though I may be banished, I have more gold than you could ever imagine. This is nothing but ale money. There are mountains more. And it’s all yours. All of you. If you help me.”

  “Help you?” said another man covered in tattoos and piercings. He was tall with hard wiry muscle stretched across his torso.

  Francis glanced at the black knight, but he still had his full attention on his corner.

  “What I said was true. It is my mission to stop the mistreatment of princesses. These women should be worshipped, not imprisoned. And any man who will assist me, who will escort me to find this Princess of Trulia, will live the rest of his days a rich man.”

  “What in the fuck are you doin’?” Gavin whispered. “Mountains? Of shit maybe.”

  “Quiet, Gavin.”

  The colossus approached him, lip curling, muscles bulging and twitching. He lowered his head so he was eye to eye with Francis, noses nearly touching.

  A smile cracked his face open just as the music began to play.

  THE KNIGHTS’ SONG

  They call me Titan!

  I’ll take your gold

  And I’ll stomp those goblins into paste and use their gore to lubricate

  My cock!

  There are legends told

  Of how I shoved it hard right through the grass and fucked the devil in his ass!

  (Cheering)

  I am the Shadow.

  I am the night.

  I’m quiet and invisible, one bad ass fucking criminal.

  I’m deadly!

  I’m out of sight!

  Killing is my business, I’ll butterfly their penises!

  (Drunken Applause)

  Prince Francis: My God, you knights have all gone mad, perhaps this whole idea was bad.

  (Laughter)

  I am Wendeego

  I’ll eat their flesh.

  Deboned and fried, a dash of salt, I’ll even share the tender part!

  I’m starving!

  Oh goodness yes!

  Don’t be scared, Prince, you seem startled, goblin meat is very marbled!

  (Shouting and stomping)

  My name is Gwarp!

  My axe is yours.

  I’ll tie them up with strands of rope, and shit right down their goblin throats!

  Their women!

  Those evil whores!

  I’ll gather all the runts and stuff them back into their mothers’ cunts!

  (Fighting and hollering)

  Prince Francis: And you, Sir? Yes you, right there! You look like you are capable. You sword seems quite insatiable.

  (Gasps)

  I have no name.

  No need for jewels.

  But in a world so full of misery, it’s nice to see some chivalry.

  These men.

  All thugs and fools.

  But you, young prince, are different, let’s go and get belligerent!

  (Cheering and hollering)

  (The knights hoisted Gavin and Francis over their head, marching toward the forest, singing in unison.)

  We will destroy them!

  That goblin scum!

  We’ll save the princess, do it fast,

  so you can tap that royal ass!

  Franics: What . . . ? I . . .

  Gavin: About fuckin’ time!

  All: We’ll save the princess, do it fast,

  so you can tap that royal ass!

  4

  Francis never imagined he would find himself so deep within the Dark Wilderness. His dreams were overpopulated with ghastly, monstrous images of every shape and size, snarling at him with dripping jaws, reaching for him with clawed hands and talons. Ripping him to shreds as they fought over his body, stripping the meat from his bones, howling at the moon as they swallowed him down piece by bloody piece.

  But it was nothing like that. As far as he could tell, the Dark Wilderness was just trees. A forest like any other. Of course, he still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched from every direction. Creatures hiding in the limbs or ducked down behind the bushes, pursuing him, licking their chops and waiting for the right moment to pounce and maul. The Black Knight strode so confidently at the front of the group that Francis imagined even the monsters were scared of him, and it w
as his presence alone keeping them at bay.

  Francis and Gavin made sure to keep themselves in the center of the congregation of knights as they journeyed through. The men didn’t seem the least bit scared as they trudged forward, weapons in hand. They hungered for violence—that much was obvious. If they didn’t reach the tower soon, Francis feared they would grow bored and turn on one another. Or worse, turn on him and Gavin, shove a stick up their asses and roast them over a fire. Wendeego had cast more than a few ravenous glances their way.

  “Are we close now?” Francis asked, his voice coming out more of a squeak than anything.

  Nobody answered. A few grunts, some hard stares, but nothing more.

  “Will you please quit whinin’?” Gavin oinked. “Should I start calling you Princess Francypants? Shit, maybe we should lock you in the fuckin’ tower.”

  Francis’s legs ached, and he desperately wanted to take a break. Just sit down and rub his throbbing muscles and knees. He started to say something, but held his tongue. Clouds of body odor wafted off the knights and hit him in the face like swarms of feces-dipped flies.

  “Gavin,” Francis whispered. The pig snorted in response. “Let me ride on your back. Just for a short while.”

  “No offense, Fran,” Gavin said. “But you can suck my summer sausage.”

  “Please. What do you want? Anything at all.”

  Gavin furrowed his pink brow, ears flopping as he trotted along. “Next stop, you set me up with a nice sow. Fattest one you can find. And slop. Not that rancid leftover shit either. I want quality. Finest slop you can get your soft, royal hands on. Deal?”

  “Yes. Deal. Now lower your head so I can—”

  Francis’s face was flattened against the warm armor of the Black Knight’s back. His lips smashed into his teeth, filling his mouth with the taste of blood. He stumbled backward and would have landed ass-first in the dirt if he hadn’t collided with the short, stocky one called Gwarp. The bearded half-pint warrior growled and twisted his massive fists over the handle of his battle axe.