Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin...
Once upon a time in a land far, far away there lived a very spoiled young princess.
She was the fairest young lady in all the kingdom and had large blue eyes the colour of the evening sky and long, golden hair that spilled over her smooth, pale shoulders. As her mother had died several years earlier and she had no siblings, she was terribly spoiled by her father, the King. He doted on her and gave her everything she wanted. The Princess had never had to lift so much as a finger as her servants met her every whim and need, and as a result she had become listless and bratty. The King lamented that as she already had everything, no gift or act of kindness seemed to bring her joy, her plump, rosebud lips set in a permanent pout.
She was twenty now and it was said that she had little experience with men, perhaps believing that none of her many suitors were ever quite good enough. She should really have been courting some dashing captain or well-bred minor royal, thinking of marriage and eventually providing children to prolong the family line. Indeed, for some time, the King had been searching for the right man, but no matter which Lord or Viscount or Earl that he casually invited to dinner there was always something wrong. Too tall, not tall enough, too talkative, too quiet, faint smell of cabbage, one leg slightly shorter than the other: the excuses flowed from her sweet, pouty lips with well-practiced ease.
And so as her twenty-first birthday approached, and in some desperation at ever finding an exciting gift or more suitable suitor, he decided to give the kingdom's single men one last chance to impress. Come to the castle for a ball to celebrate, he told the young Lords and Majors, the Dukes and Captains, and the man that brings the present most liked by the Princess will be rewarded generously and will accompany her to the summer ball.
And look, here we are at that very day and we find a long line of eligible young bachelors all dressed in their finest clothes, snaking through the castle's great hall, all looking up hopefully at the throne where the Princess sat to the right of the King, looking mildly bored. For no matter what glittering tiara, fabulous dress, exotic perfume or sparkling necklace was laid before her they were dismissed with a bored wave of the hand. Too garish, too old-fashioned, already have one, the Princess would say, barely stifling a yawn as the King and his advisers shook their heads miserably.
Eventually, there was only one man left. Unlike the other suitors who were all young, good-looking and dressed in their best clothes, he appeared older, his posture hunched, and wearing a grubby brown cloak with a hood that cast his wrinkled face in shadow. He was also empty-handed.
"Well now, peasant," the Princess asked. "Have you forgotten to bring a gift?"
"Ah no, your highness, it's just that it's rather big and heavy so I had it brought to your chambers by the guards."
"My chambers? I see, well I think we're done here and we're off to have dinner now, so perhaps I'll look at it later," she said, as she got to her feet and looked over his bowed head towards the huge wooden doors that led to the dining chamber.
"Begging your pardon, ma'am. I've come a long way, I'd be much obliged if perhaps I could show you now, it won't take long," the hunched figure said.
"Oh, very well," she said with an exaggerated sigh.
---
The guards accompanied the odd couple down the long hallways and up narrow winding staircases, their armour rattling noisily, stopping outside when they arrived at the Princess's private chambers, at the very top of the largest of the castle's turrets. It was a large formal room designed for receiving guests with a stone fireplace and imposing oil paintings of her ancestors crowding the walls. It was dimly lit by gas lamps and candles and on the right, a door led to her private bedchamber.
The guards had pushed the chaise longue back towards the window and her writing desk against the other wall to make room for the large object that stood in the middle of the floor covered by a silk sheet.
"Well, come along then," the Princess said, hands on slim hips, tapping her foot impatiently as the strange man fiddled with the sheet. Apparently satisfied, he tugged at the corner and the cover slid off revealing a wooden rocking horse, its front legs stretching forward and its back legs trailing behind as if frozen in mid-gallop.
"Ta da!" he exclaimed, his arms outstretched dramatically at the sight of the large, handsome rocking horse, the rich mahogany polished to a high shine and complete with a leather saddle, reins and stirrups.
"A rocking horse! You brought me a rocking horse!" she exclaimed, instantly regretting humouring the odd little man and wrinkling her perfectly pert nose in disgust. "I'm not eleven, you imbecile!"
"Ah, but your highness, 'tis a very special rocking horse," he said, proudly running a hand along the smooth curve of its flanks. "Please do try, I promise you'll not regret it. It'll just take a minute, then I'll leave you to your banquet and I'll be on me way."
"Oh very well, peasant," she said huffily, running a hand through her blonde locks. "I'll try it for size, but this had better be worth it."
As it was her birthday, she had worn her favourite dress, a knee-length, frost blue satin dress with a neat row of pearl buttons at the front that hugged her willowy figure. Clutching the hem of her skirt and twisting sideways, she perched awkwardly on the burgundy leather saddle.
"Ah, apologies, your ladyship, but to get the full effect I believe it's best if you sit astride the saddle," the man said, wringing his hands nervously.
"Astride the saddle! Like a commoner?"
"Yes, your ladyship, I believe you'll find it much more, erm, satisfying," he insisted, fetching a small stool.
"Oh very well, peasant," she said, huffing in exasperation as she stepped on the stool and swung a leg across the horse. "But this had better be worth it, there's plenty of space in my father's dungeons for those who disappoint."
He stared as she mounted the horse, her skirts riding high, revealing shapely legs clad in white silk stockings then turned away as she fixed him with a steely stare.
"There," she said, settling into the saddle and demurely tugging her skirt down over her knees as she watched him scuttle away with the stool. "Hmm, well you know it is rather comfortable."
He turned and nodded at the rare compliment, watching as she sat up, her posture ramrod straight and proper, hardly surprising given that she had been riding since she was eight and had her own stable of ponies.
"Now then, does it move back and forth?" she said, wriggling her hips.
"Ah, it's been locked for travelling, didn't want it rattling around on the cart on the way 'ere, it took us months to build, you see."
"Hmm," she said, sounding unimpressed. "Well, come along then, unlock it so I can try it properly."
"Well first let's strap your feet in, shall we?"
"Is this really necessary? I am an experienced rider," she said haughtily as he grasped one of her fashionable suede ankle boots and placed it into a leather stirrup, tightening it with a short, sharp tug.
"Well, you're very precious, we wouldn't want you falling off and hurting yourself, the King would have my head," he explained as he strapped in the other foot.
"Yes, he certainly would," the Princess said, her pink lips curling into a sly smile.
The thought of his severed head impaled on a spike by the drawbridge, a surprised expression on his stupid face amused her, and momentarily distracted, she didn't notice him grasp both her slim wrists, drawing them together as he slid them through the loop in the reins and pulled a small leather toggle upwards, so that her wrists were tightly bound together.
"What are you doing? I can't part my wrists," she complained as he adjusted them so that there was only a few inches of slack.
"It's for your own safety, ma'am."
"I don't think I like this," she said, grimly trying to pull her wrists apart but finding them
bound securely. "Come along, let's get on with it, so I can get off."
"Wait, there's one more thing..." he said, his voice suddenly sounding different as he slid his hood back.
She watched with puzzled amusement as he pulled off the thin mask, to reveal a much younger face, with a strong jawline and a shock of blonde hair. He straightened, losing his hunch and drawing himself to his full height as he cast aside his cloak to reveal a smart royal fusiliers uniform, a deep navy blue with its white sash and shiny brass buttons.
"Yes, 'tis I!" he exclaimed dramatically, his voice sounding clear now, with no trace of an accent. "Captain Dickerd! Of the fourth royal fusiliers!"
"Captain Dickhead?" she giggled rudely, watching as he spun around and bowed with a well-practiced grace. "Are you sure we've met?"
"No, it's Captain *Dickerd* and yes, I came to visit many times last year. Remember the pink ballgown I bought you, the walks along the river, the dance at the winter ball?" he said, his strident voice sounding tetchy as it echoed off the stone walls.
"Oh, was that you? Well, I'm sorry, but one meets a lot of people," she said huffily.
"A lot of people,eh?" he said, grinding his perfectly white teeth and she watched as he knelt and removed a thick wooden bolt from the rocking mechanism that sat beneath the horse.
"Yes, so many," she said, as he pushed the horse and it began to rock smoothly.
"I see. And you never replied to any of my letters either."
"Well, one gets so many letters."
