Pretty Pretty Princess

by McKenzie, Shane

  “A pig could get used to this,” Gavin said.

  Both guards stood on either side of the portcullis, each holding a thick golden chain. The men began to pull, hand over hand, and slowly the portcullis rose, its precious metal surface alive with dancing, reflected moonlight.

  Once the gate had been fully raised and locked into place, the guards faced Francis and the princess, stomped their feet once, then lowered their heads.

  “I bet they’ve got the tastiest flies here. And beetles. Beetles are my favorite.” The princess giggled as she skipped past the guards.

  “My princess, you are home now. Or what was once your home. You no longer have to suffer through . . . insect morsels. You can eat whatever you like.”

  “I like beetles. And sometimes the rats will give me their young. So soft and pink. I haven’t had a pinkie in a while.”

  “The last time you shat blood until your face turned white,” Tessa said.

  “Still worth it. Those delicious little—”

  “My princess,” Francis said. “If you please. Do you think it wise to wake the king and queen at such an hour as this? Perhaps we should wait until morning, just for courteousness’ sake?”

  “What the fuck would we wait for?” Gavin snorted. “We’re buddied up with the long lost princess. I’m ready for my royal treatment and my fat sow herd. We’ve been roughin’ it long enough.”

  The princess smiled at Francis dumbly, batting her eyelashes, head slightly tilted. When she had conjured her flies and rats back at the tower, she spoke with a confident and powerful voice that had chilled Francis to the marrow. It was as if, for that brief moment, she had become the queen she was always destined to be, but the years of solitary confinement had eaten away at her mind. She was now the simple, demented girl again, scratching at the wounds of her scalp and picking the diseased, scabrous meat from beneath her cuticle with her tooth. Her other arm was bent at the elbow so that Tessa could be at shoulder level, the rat’s face dripping with putrescence and fresh avian blood. The empty sockets where eyes once sat were pointed right at Francis, and though he knew it was only a dead rat carcass, he looked away.

  “Don’t you think we should . . . clean her up first? Make her presentable?”

  “What in the fuck for? You saw those guards. All she’s gotta do is flash her necklace, right?”

  “I suppose so. But her odor . . . ”

  “Fuck these royal assholes. They’re the ones who locked her up in the first place. Let them smell her. Why pretty her up for those fucks anyway?”

  “That’s a fair point. You’re absolutely right. But even all of that being so, I am exhausted. A good night’s rest would help get my thoughts in order so that I can talk with the king and queen with—”

  There was a sound so sudden and loud that Francis’s first thought was the Goblin Dragon had been resurrected once again and had followed them to Trulia. But the night sky was empty but for the stars and the sliver of moon.

  The sound grew in volume, seemed to come from all around them. That’s when Francis noticed the guards standing atop the golden walls above them, each of them blowing into a long, twisted horn. The sound sent violent tremors through Francis’s body, making it feel like his ears would squirt blood.

  They stood in the middle of what appeared to be a marketplace. Men and women emerged from the various shops, squinting and rubbing their eyes as they peered out of the darkness. These were the commoners, Francis knew, but not like any he had ever seen. They were dressed as proper as the royalty in Granada, not the starving, grime-coated folk he was used to seeing roam the streets.

  The scowls began to transform into smiles and hanging jaws as the people studied the princess and spotted the red ruby pendant hanging from her scrawny neck.

  “Can it be?”

  “Our princess has returned! Praise the gods!”

  “A miracle! The princess is home again!”

  “Prince?” The princess wrapped her arms around Francis’s waist and pressed her body against his. “Make the shadow monkeys go away. I don’t like them.”

  Francis gasped, found it hard to breathe. Not just because of the princess’s scent, but because he had never been so intimate with a woman before. Never felt a woman’s body pressed so tightly against his own, and despite her madness and her wounded, withered body, it felt good to have the princess hold him this way.

  Hold yourself together, Francis. You heard her. She fed the last men who tried to win her heart to her rats and flies.

  Francis looked down into her frightened face and smiled. Peering into her eyes, he saw the princess she once was. The beautiful girl before she was sent to the tower to rot. His heart sped up and his palms spewed sweat as their eyes locked. Her fear melted away and a smile emerged. For a moment, they were alone, floating in the abyss of the night.

  “Prince?” she said, her voice whispery and sweet as fresh honey.

  “Yes, my princess?”

  “You have awakened a beast within your pants. I can feel it stirring. Should we let it breathe?”

  “That’s no beast, Princess,” Tessa said. “A field mouse maybe.”

  “I, um . . . It’s just that I . . . ” Francis quickly pulled himself away from her, hunched his back to hide his still growing erection. “Forgive me.”

  Francis feared that the princess would scowl at him, that she would call her minions back to strip the meat from his bones. But she only smiled and worried the soil with the toe of her left foot. Tessa whispered into her ear, and she giggled, never taking her eyes off of Francis.

  “Want me to kick you in the nuts?” Gavin said, then chuckled and snorted.

  “What?”

  “It’ll help to dull your sword.”

  “Quiet,” Francis said, then straightened his posture and cleared his throat. “Someone is coming.”

  They heard the rattle of armor before the knights became visible. The guards above them stopped blowing their dreadful horns, and now pointed crossbows down at them.

  They recognize her as their princess, yet they are still suspicious. We are not safe yet.

  The golden knights swarmed them, parted around them like metal water. Francis, Gavin, and the princess stood in the center of them, not moving, their eyes darting from face to face, each of them expressionless.

  “So!” The voice erupted from the armored men, breaking the silence like a mace through glass. “My sister has returned! Move out of the way, you idiots! You’re ruining my dramatic entrance . . . ”

  The knights parted slightly, and a tall, husky man forced his way through, thrashing his elbows as he came. His long, pock-marked face was a dark red, and when he finally freed himself of his men, he turned to them, stomped his feet, and raised his shaking fists.

  “I told you that when we got here, you were supposed to turn sideways so I could walk through. Sideways! You ruined it. Guards!” The man had his back to Francis and the princess, and he stomped his feet every few seconds.

  “Yes, m’lord!” the guards all said at once.

  “Not all of you! Shit! Cunt and shit and fucking balls!”

  Francis shot a quick look at Gavin who was watching the man, clearly royalty, throw his fit. Gavin sat on his haunches and oinked as he enjoyed the show.

  “You, you, and you,” the man said, pointing to three random guards. The men took one strong step forward, then stood straight again. “Kill those three there. Do it! Do it now!”

  The summoned guardsmen hesitated, exchanged a few glances, then raised their lances and pointed them toward their fellow guards. The three whom this man had just condemned spun in place, searching for an escape, but found only a wall of golden armor.

  “M’lord, please,” one guard said. “My children—”

  The man’s words were cut off by sharp metal piercing his throat. Blood sprayed into the air and rained down on all of them as the guard fell to his knees and clutched the wound.

  The other two tried to fight their way through, bu
t were cut down and thrown to the ground, kicking their legs and gurgling as the blades entered their flesh.

  Then there was a long silence, the lord still with his back to Francis. There was a sigh, a clearing of a throat, and then the man spun on his heels, a smile spread across his blood-spattered face.

  “Now where were we?” The man had both hands behind his back as he strode forward, his clothes flowered with golden thread. “You! Are you the one who has brought my sister home?”

  The fancy man strolled toward Francis, then lowered his head so they were nose to nose. Francis smiled, though his knees were shaking.

  “Not quite what I expected. But that is not important. Tell me! Where is my big sister? Show her to me! I was still sucking the milk from the queen’s royal teat when my sister was sent away. I have been looking forward to this . . . day my whole life!”

  This is the prince of Trulia, Francis thought.

  “My prince,” Francis said and bowed his head. “Your sister, the princess, is here. It is my honor to escort her back home, your grace.”

  “Please. Call me Balthazar. The brave warrior who has slain the Goblin Dragon need not worry about titles. We are brothers now.” Balthazar raised his arm as if to hug Francis, but then seemed to change his mind when he took a long look at Francis’s clothes. He chuckled and patted him on the shoulder instead. “And this is . . . This is her? Are you sure you rescued the right princess? Forgive me. I am Balthazar, son of Thorn, and heir to the throne of Trulia. And you are?”

  “Francis. Prince Francis of the kingdom Granada.”

  “Granada? You are the banished prince, aren’t you? Tell me, Francis. Why save my sister if its princes you fancy? Was it all some grand scheme so that you could meet me? I wouldn’t blame you if—”

  “I do not fancy . . . men. No offense, Balthazar. False rumors, all of them. I heard tales of your sister’s beauty, just as we all have. And I knew it was my destiny to rescue her.”

  Francis knew better than to express his true motives to Balthazar. He would probably find himself bleeding on the ground with the dead guards if he mentioned it.

  No, he thought. Better to play along. At least at first. Once I am before the king and queen, I will speak to them truthfully.

  “It’s Prince Balthazar.” Balthazar stepped around them, eyes narrowed, as he studied the princess. His lip curled as he studied her, a finger now pressed against the underside of his nostrils. He shot Francis a poisonous look, raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I’m a fool, Banished Prince? You bring this mutant to my kingdom and parade her around as my sister? How dare you! I’ll have you flayed for this, you hear me? The both of you!”

  “My lord, please. I am not deceiving you. This is your sister. This is the princess of Trulia.”

  “If you say the name of my kingdom aloud again, I’ll cut out your tongue and pin it to my shirt. Guards!”

  The princess had remained silent through all of this, clinging to Francis’s arm. But at the sound of the clanging metal of the guards, the heavy footsteps closing in on them, she released the fabric of Francis’s shirt and faced them, that hard look in her eye again.

  “Great plan, Fran,” Gavin said, now wedged between Francis’s legs.

  The princess tilted her head back, opened her mouth. Francis and Gavin both covered their ears.

  “Enough!” The voice was strong and deep like a bear’s roar.

  The guards all took a knee at once, and Balthazar shuffled nervously in place. He cursed under his breath, shot Francis one final sharp look, then also took a knee. Francis could see all the commoners standing in the street now, watching with wide eyes.

  A short, broad man stomped past the guards, the crown on his head tall and sharp like antlers, shimmering with gold and jewels. He held a scepter to assist in his walking, his back arched into a hump. Though he had a strong, wise face, he had the body of an old man nearing his final years.

  “Father,” Balthazar said, and started to rise to greet the king, but the scepter dropped and knocked the prince on the head, then was pressed down on his shoulder until he winced.

  “Did I instruct you to stand?” The king glowered down at the prince, then his old eyes coasted to the three dead guards. “This was your doing? What did I say about this, Balthy? Answer me!”

  “The guards are not my play things. But father, they embarrassed me! I gave them strict instructions, and they ignored—”

  “To your chambers. Go. I will deal with you later.”

  Balthazar gasped and started to rise to his feet, already stomping and pouting. The king slammed the scepter back down on the prince’s head, dropping the smug man back to his knees.

  “Ow!” Balthazar rubbed his head and began whimpering.

  “Go to your chambers! Now!”

  Balthazar slowly rose to his feet, one hand still pressed to the top of his head. He glanced toward Francis and the princess, bottom lip trembling, then ran through the kneeling guards, disappearing around a corner.

  The king’s scowl tightened into a warm smile as he approached Francis. “My boy. I apologize for my son’s antics. He is not the brightest star in the sky, yes? One look at her and I knew she was my daughter. My sweet Princess Pretty. That’s her name, you know. Pretty. I told her mother the queen that she needed a nobler name, but she could not be swayed.”

  “I . . . I see.” Francis was at a loss for words. He was not sure he was out of danger quite yet.

  “Sweetheart?” The king raised Pretty’s face by the chin with his fingertips. “You are home. You are finally home.”

  “Who are you?” Pretty said. “And how many of you are there?”

  “My dear,” the king said as a tear crawled down his weathered face. “I am your father. This is your home.”

  “Father?” She stepped toward the old man, picking at her scalp.

  “It’s him, all right,” Tessa said. “The years have beat the shit out of him.”

  The king glanced at the rotting rat carcass fused to his daughter’s hand but held his smile.

  “Is it really you, Father?”

  “It is,” the king said, and dashed forward, wrapping his arms around Princess Pretty and weeping into her shoulder. “Will you ever forgive me?”

  7

  Gavin followed close behind Francis as the king led them toward the royal castle. The princess muttered nonsense under her breath the whole way, catching strange looks from the people as they passed. The king kept sniffling and clearing his throat, shoulders jumping every now and then. From where he stood, being so low, Gavin couldn’t see the old man’s face, but knew he was crying and doing a damn awful job of hiding it.

  Gavin had his attention on the king, so when Francis stopped in front of him and turned to face him, he ran into the prince’s shin.

  “What the fuck, Fran?”

  They were right outside of the castle now, the guards lifting the gate to allow the king and his guests to pass through. Gavin glared up at Francis, then snorted and started to trot between his legs, but Francis reached down and grabbed hold of his tail.

  “Just wait a moment,” he said. “Don’t you think . . . you know, you should wait outside?”

  “You serious right now? After all the shit we went through to get here?”

  “Things could get a bit touchy. You know I have no problem with you, old friend, but let’s respect the king’s home. Perhaps a pig trotting through his castle isn’t the best—”

  “The goddamn princess is covered in more shit than I am!”

  When he squealed this, the guards pulled their swords from their scabbards and pointed them at him. Gavin bared his teeth and growled.

  “First one that pokes me gets a hoof print on his nutsack.”

  “No need for all this.” The king wiped his face and forced a smile, knelt down in front of Gavin and patted his head, scratched behind one of his ears.

  Gavin almost shoved him off, but goddammit, it felt pretty good. His back left hoof kicked and knock
ed against the stone floor. He leaned into the king’s hand as he scratched, grunting involuntarily.

  “It wouldn’t be a problem whatsoever if you’d like to join us inside. Any friend of Pretty is indeed a friend of mine and all of Trulia.”

  Gavin almost stumbled forward when the king pulled his hand away. He shot a look at Francis. “Thanks, King. At least someone around here appreciates me and how I risked my rump to get Psycho Princess home.”

  “However,” the king said and pulled a golden necklace from around his neck. “We have just had our monthly washing of the kingdom walls. The ground is thick with mud at every turn. Not to mention the royal hog house. Full of the fattest sows in all the realm.”

  “Mud? H-hog house?”

  “Yes.” The king smiled and hung the necklace from Gavin’s neck. Gave him one more quick scratch before standing. “All at your disposal. Please. Enjoy yourself. Do as you wish. Roll through the mud. Eat anything you like. Visit the hog house and . . . well, you understand. And with this necklace, you will not be harmed. You are under my protection. So, if you’d like to come with us, you are more—”

  “See ya, Fran!” Gavin spun on his hooves and darted away from the castle, back toward the vast kingdom surrounding it. He thought he heard Francis yelling for him, but didn’t stop or even slow down. Far too much fun to be had to waste another second talking about it. And besides, Francis needed a chance to claim his own prize. Rules were rules after all, and the rule said that the person who brought the princess home got the princess all for himself. Not to mention the whole kingdom.

  Don’t puss out now, Fran. You did it. We’re here. Now go do your fucking duty!

  Every inch of his pink skin tingled as he stormed forward, oinking through his grin. A well-dressed man with his arm around the shoulders of a woman—pretty in the face but far too scrawny for Gavin’s taste—spat at Gavin and threw a kick that missed by inches when they passed each other.

  “Watch where you’re goin’ there, pig, before I slice off your hide and make a washrag out of it to wipe the sweat from my nether parts!”