Pretty Pretty Princess

by McKenzie, Shane

  “It was him!” Francis cried. “Balthazar murdered your father! And he means to—”

  One of the blades at his neck pierced his skin, twisted as it was driven in deeper. Francis grimaced and growled, kicking his legs as the pain intensified.

  “I saw him, Princess. Escapin’ out the king’s window. He was spittin’ pig shit moments later, just like he’s been spittin’ bullshit all mornin’.”

  “I would argue that they are lying, sister, but you already know that, don’t you? Of course you do. You know I didn’t kill our father because you came back to Trulia for revenge. Not for a family reunion, but to assassinate our father the king!”

  She whispered to Tessa, and the rat nodded, its putrid sockets aimed at Balthazar. Pretty tilted her head back and arched her back until Francis thought her skull would touch her buttocks. And as she did back at the tower, she began to sing. Sweet at first, some of the guards even cracking small grins as they listened. Then it lowered and grew frenetic and harsh.

  A fly buzzed by Francis’s ear, zoomed through the air toward the princess. From the other end of the room, the rapid click-clacking of tiny claws grew in volume, and in moments, the furry bodies began to flood the hall.

  “Oh, Balthy. My sweet baby brother.” Pretty was lifted by the rats so that she appeared to be floating, gliding toward Balthazar who kicked at the rodents and backed away, panic pinching his expression.

  “Don’t call me that! I hate that name! Don’t you dare call me that! Not ever, ever, ever!”

  The guards began to stomp and flail, making it look like they were dancing as more and more rats poured in. The air became so thick with flies, it was almost impossible to see, as if the night itself had come alive and invaded the castle.

  “A witch! She’s a witch! You see? I knew it!” Balthazar’s voice had that high pitch to it again as he swatted and stomped. “She cursed my father! And she will burn for it!”

  Francis squinted, spitting as flies landed on his face and scuttled across his lips. The coarse fur of the rats scraped against him as they ran by, the hair like loose rope fibers and as sharp as needles. He couldn’t see Gavin anymore, and though the blade had been pulled from his neck once the pests had arrived, Francis was too scared to turn and search for Sonia. He kept still, hoping the princess would remember who her friends were as she forced her minions to rip these men apart.

  Balthazar was just ahead of Francis, and as Francis watched him, delighting in the new king’s growing panic and terror, a face emerged from the blackness of the flies. Like the pale belly of a dead fish floating to the surface of a dark pond.

  Once the princess was nose to nose with Francis, the flies dispersed from them. The winged insects created a personal bubble just for the two of them, their buzzing tickling Francis’s flesh.

  “Don’t be afraid, Prince Francis.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “Death.” She grinned wide, maggots dropping from her gums, then leaned forward and planted a grotesque, yet sweet, kiss on Francis’s lips.

  And then she was gone, carried away by her pests.

  It took a few moments for the last of the flies and rats to vacate. Once the buzzing and screeching halted, the hall grew intensely quiet. The floor was littered with rat droppings and wriggling larvae.

  Francis expected to find Balthazar and his guards stripped of their flesh, red skeletons scattered across the stone floor like discarded pheasant bones. But they were whole. Rising to their feet and dusting themselves off as they realized the threat was gone.

  Gavin was unconscious, blood dripping from his snout. A guard held him in his arms as he stomped on the maggots. Sonia, wearing a satisfied grin, was still on her feet, a guard on both sides of her gripping her arms. The guard who had molested her lay on the floor in a puddle of his own blood.

  Francis was lifted to his feet, and before he could utter a word, had a blade’s edge pressed to his throat.

  She left us. She abandoned us.

  She told me not to fear death because she knows I’ll be killed. How could she?

  Balthazar danced in place, brushing every inch of himself. He snapped his fingers. “My hair! Check my hair, damn you! Are there any in there? I can feel them, I swear I can feel them . . . wiggling around . . . eeeeeeyyyyyy! Get them out of my fucking hair!”

  “What now, m’lord?” the guard holding Gavin said.

  Balthazar spun in place as a few of his men brushed his hair and body.

  “My sister displays her witchery and flees. Proving her guilt. We will find her in time. But for now . . . ” He grinned and clapped like a boy about to dig into a bowl of custard. “Take the pig to the kitchen. But not to be killed. He will watch his precious sow be slaughtered for our dinner tonight. And tomorrow, once the other kings and armies from every kingdom in the realm have arrived, he will fill their bellies.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” the guard said, and marched away.

  “The gods will stop your heart for this, Balthazar,” Francis said, trying to hold his composure but quickly losing all hope.

  “The gods are nothing more than devices to make children and simpletons behave themselves. But if they were real, and if they are watching, they would only smile upon me. A son avenging the death of his father.” Balthazar limped across the hall until he bumped chests with Francis, then winced and readjusted his groin. “We will have a feast tomorrow. To honor my father. And your beheading, Prince Francis of Granada, will be the entertainment. The main attraction. Preceded by the flaying of this treasonous whore, of course. And the king of Granada will have a front seat.”

  “Please. Don’t do this. You say you did not kill your father, and I believe you. But it was not me and my pig. We are innocent. We only came to bring the princess back to her home.” Francis wished he had braver, fiercer words, but couldn’t conjure them.

  “Perhaps you tell the truth. But it was still you who brought my devilish sister back here. And whether or not you knew about the darkness in her, I need something to help me cope with my anxiety. I am a grieving son, after all, with a brand new set of responsibilities. I’ve never done well with stress. And watching your head roll from your neck will help ease my pain, if only for a short time.”

  “Invite the kings and their armies across the realm,” Sonia said. Her eyes were like sword tips as she stared at the new king. “So they may watch you die.”

  Balthazar chuckled, but as Sonia continued to peer at him, his resolve melted away and he cleared his throat and averted his eyes. He waved blindly in her direction. “Take them both to the dungeon. Together. I hear the prince of Granada has no taste for female flesh. I’m going to my father’s chamber. To say my final goodbyes.”

  Francis wept as he was dragged away. He tried to beg, but his words were drowned in slobber and muted by bawling.

  “Collect yourself, Prince,” Sonia said, smiling as she was led by the guards just beside Francis. “This is not a good look for the brave warrior who rescued the legendary Princess of Trulia.”

  “She left us. After everything . . . she left us here to die.”

  “Will a song cheer you up?”

  Francis didn’t answer. He couldn’t help but picture the satisfied grin that would be plastered to his father’s face as the axe swung toward Francis’s unworthy neck.

  10

  The screaming ripped him from unconsciousness.

  Gavin had woken up once since that fucking guard sucker punched him in the hall when he was distracted by the flies and rats and the demonic princess. That time, it was fists and boots that woke him, raining down on him, tenderizing his flesh. He stayed tough at first. Fought back the best he could. Called them names and laughed through the pain, asking them if that was all they had.

  The tough act only lasted a few minutes at the most. The longer the guards pummeled him and the more blood that gushed from his face and body, his aggression turned to desperation. His insults into grunts and whimpers.

  He had been on h
is side, legs twitching, watching the pool of blood beneath him creep out wider across the floor. The guards stood above him. A circle of scowling and grinning faces, speckled with swine blood. They had removed their helmets and armor, wanting to feel the meat soften under their knuckles, they said, though they still wore their golden boots.

  “I bet that pork’s nice and tender now, yeah, boys?”

  The others had laughed. The shortest one, his head almost a perfect square, squatted and wrapped his fist around Gavin’s tail.

  Gavin panted and tried to lift his head but couldn’t manage it. When the short man yanked his tail and dragged him across the blood puddle, Gavin begged his legs to kick, to smash that son of a bitch across the face and knock every tooth he had down his throat. But his legs stayed motionless.

  When the asshole braced his foot against Gavin’s hind quarters and pulled his tail so damn hard he felt it tear, felt fresh warm blood ooze across his puckering anus, he found the energy to squeal. And not his normal squeal, with character and attitude. But the squeal of a helpless piglet yanked away from its mother’s teat to be bashed against a wall and boiled for stew meat.

  Gavin could only gasp, blood spraying from his snout with every exhalation. Being on his side, only one of his eyes was pointing up toward the men smiling down at him, their knuckles swollen and painted with his blood.

  “See ya tomorrow night, pig,” one guard said, and stomped down on Gavin’s head.

  The lights had mercifully gone out then.

  And now he was waking again. At first, he thought the screaming followed him into the conscious world from his nightmare. Gavin couldn’t remember the details of his dream, but he remembered blood and suffering and screaming. So when his eyes cracked open and he realized he was in the real world again, he shook his head to rid it of the nightmare noise.

  Then he saw her. Across the room. Hanging upside down by her back legs. The weight of her was almost enough to pop the legs out of the socket and rip the flesh at her joints. She didn’t thrash or wiggle around, just hung there motionless, screaming with everything she had. Blood, steadily dripping from her snout, tapped the floor in a maddening rhythm. A pig skull hung on the wall just in front of her. A trophy from a past feast.

  He remembered her from the hog house. She had been his first. Had invited him willingly and showed him affection after years of loneliness. He knew he meant nothing to her, and at the time, he didn’t think she meant anything to him either. Just two hogs enjoying each other’s company.

  But when he saw those men—the same men now sharpening knives across the kitchen from him—carrying her across that hall, something in Gavin’s mind snapped. He knew where they were taking her, could sense the desperation in her tone. He knew he couldn’t let them do it. Knew he had to stop them.

  And here I am. Gonna die right along with her. And now maybe Francis too.

  A lot of fuckin’ help I ended up being.

  Metal bars striped his vision, and when he tried to stand on all fours, his back slammed into the top of the cage. It wouldn’t have mattered if it was roomier because his battered body throbbed with agony, and to stand on his legs was pure torture. He slowly lowered himself back to his belly and stared at the sow. She couldn’t see him, her underside facing him, all twelve teats like sightless eyes.

  He noticed the pot of boiling water beside her then. The steam billowing out like dragon’s breath.

  And then one of the cook’s faces appeared just in front of the cage. Seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Gavin squealed and flinched, slamming his left side into the metal bars. He grunted as fresh pain thrummed over his bruised and swollen body.

  “This one here’s awake now, he is. And he looks right pissed. You all right, you fuckin’ shit?”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Fuck me? I’ll fuck you instead. Let me just carve a cunt on your back there, and we’ll get to it, yeah?” The cook slid a knife free from his belt, ran its edge across the bars so it scraped and made the hairs on Gavin’s back stand, then he stuck the blade between the bars. It wasn’t quite long enough to reach, but Gavin backed up and wedged himself to the rear of the cage to make sure. “Stay still, you swiney bastard.”

  “What’re ya doin’ that for?” the other cook said, strolling toward the boiling pot and wiping his hands on his apron. “Pigs’re smart enough to know they’re about to be killed. That’s why they’re always screamin’. No need to torture the poor fuckers.”

  “I can talk, you idiot,” Gavin said.

  “You see? Now leave him be. Help me with this one.”

  “The talkin’ one kicked me in the head. Gave me a bump bigger than my cock. I need to stick him once to make myself feel better, I do.”

  “At least you’ve got you something to fuck your wife with now, don’t ya?”

  “Ay. That I do. And I’m willin’ to bet, that crazy twat, she’d be up for it. Long as she knew I was in pain, she’d do it, she would.” He pulled a chair over, stood on it, and jammed his blade through the top of the cage. It wasn’t long enough to get too deep, but the tip slid into Gavin’s back a good inch, and he growled and snorted, flakes of dried blood puffing from his snout. “Gotcha, ya fucker.”

  “Enough already. Put your sticker down’n help me, goddammit. This bitch is big enough to cause us a problem or two. Come on, then.”

  “Leave her alone!” Gavin ignored his aching body and rammed the front of the cage, hooking his tusks around the bars and pulling, thrashing his head. The only thing he managed to do was rattle the bars and open up new gashes across his face.

  “Didn’t you say you was wantin’ to stick it to this one first before we do her in?”

  “Just shit talk, that’s all. Tryin’ to get a laugh out of ya. You didn’t really think I’d shove my cock through a pig, did ya?”

  “Don’t know. Can’t be any worse than that wife of yours, it can’t.”

  “Watch your tongue, ya bastard. No matter what shit I talk, it’s me who does the shit talkin’ when it comes to my wife. You want to go talkin’ about yours, and me mine, me and you’ll get along just fine. But don’t you be insultin’ the mother of my children.”

  They wheeled over an iron cauldron until it was just under the sow. Her screams erupted fresh, and this time, she wiggled and fought the rope wrapped around her ankles.

  “I’ll kill both you cocksuckers! You hear me? Both of you!” Gavin tried to spin around so he could kick at the cage’s bolted door with his hind hooves, but the space was too confined. His head got stuck between the bars and his body, the back of his ear wedging up against the metal and locking itself there. Folded that way, he struggled to breathe, and his cursing became oinks and grunts as the panic started to build.

  “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it. Only brought it up ’cause I figured I could dip into her. You know. Before we dip her in here. You mighta been talkin’ shit, but I’m serious, I am. This here sow is as beautiful as the long lost princess was s’posed to be, she is, compared to my wife. So if you’re not mindin’, I’d like to—”

  “You sick fuckin’ bastard. Fuck animals on your own time, ya? Let’s get this over with so I can get the fuck outta the castle and back home. Not feelin’ safe with that snot-nosed brat claimin’ the crown the way he is. So let’s get on with it, ya?”

  “I s’pose your right. I was only kiddin’, too, I was. You know that, don’t ya? About fuckin’ the pig. I was only foolin’, I was.”

  “I’m sure. Now let’s get this over with already.”

  The sow whined and shrieked, the ropes creaking as her weight flopped and fought.

  Gavin clenched his teeth and pulled his head, squealed when the skin behind his ear tore and cried blood down the side of his face.

  There was a metallic shink sound, followed by more panicked squeals.

  Gavin roared as he gave his head one more hard yank, ripping the skin open and splashing blood over the cage’s floor. He turned just in time to watch the knife-happy co
ok slide his blade over the sow’s throat, sawing across the pink skin. Her blood sprayed him in the face, which only made him laugh harder, his teeth and lips dripping red.

  “Nooooo!” Gavin launched himself forward, fueled by a fresh injection of adrenaline. His face hit the cage door, then again and again. Blood flowed from multiple lacerations and gouges, but he just kept hitting it. “Fuckin’ sons of bitches! I’ll rip you apart!”

  “Take care of that one there, would ya? He keeps it up, he’s gonna kill himself before tomorrow. And you know King Cockgobbler will have a fit if his prize pig spoils before the feast.” The cook, the one who had defended his wife, pulled his own knife free and jammed it into the sow’s gut, yanked it down and unzipped her torso. Her innards rolled free and plopped into the cauldron, splashing in the blood.

  The second cook, his knife dripping, stepped forward and grinned at Gavin.

  “Oh, I’ll take care of him, all right, I will. Just one more thing.” And he spun and drove his knife into the other cook’s neck, just under the jaw. The point of the blade stuck out the other side and quivered as the stabbed man convulsed, clawed at his throat and made a choking sound as blood cascaded from his mouth. “Tell me to watch my mouth, will ya? Fuck pigs on my own time, will I? Maybe I’ll pay your wife a little visit, eh? Show her how a real man can fuck?”

  He pulled the knife free and kicked the cook to the ground. Then he rose to his tiptoes and lifted the pig skull from the wall, holding it through the eye sockets.

  “Hey, pig,” he said and nodded at Gavin. “You see that? That fat sow got loose, bit the poor fucker on the neck before I could pull her off him. Tragedy, it is. And with such a lovin’, beautiful fuckin’ wife at home.”

  When the cook dropped to his knees, opened the skull’s jaw, and started slamming it shut again and again over the dead man’s neck and throat, Gavin’s bloodstream got another heavy dose of energy, and he rammed the cage with everything he had. This time it moved. Not much, but some, and it scooted across the table.