The Frog

A Fictional Goodnight

     Deirdre showed a sheepish smile, ignoring the scene that had unfolded itself in front of her and taking soft strides towards Ambrose. He watched Deirdre's Prussian blue skirts sway and swish, dreading each moment they came closer. His world seemed to move slower than molasses in winter, it felt as though the world was staring down at him.

     Ambrose extended his hand, his body moving without him. Deirdre happily accepted, ignorant to the distant look in Ambrose's eyes. It was as if he wasn't even there, despite his leading steps as they danced.

      "Ambrose, are you in there?" Deirdre smiled, squeezing his hand.

     "Hm?" Ambrose blinked, "Oh yes, my apologies, Princess."

     "What thoughts are taking you from me?" Deirdre's voice seemed soft, almost flirtatious. The romantic undertones put Ambrose on edge, refusing to project a relationship that could never be.

     "Just my mother." Ambrose wanted to be vague with his answer, hoping the conversation would end there.

     "What about her?" Deirdre inquired, oblivious to Ambrose's discomfort.

      Ambrose hesitated, eyeing Deirdre, deciding if this was worth sharing. He was aware he would have to speak out eventually but he couldn't be obvious. There were several precautions to be taken before he could answer.

     "She used to be very vocal about how she loved me." Ambrose began, thinking of his words.

     "It was annoying to me then, how she would pepper kisses across my nose and cheekbones, up and down my temples and then my forehead. But now I seem to miss how it felt then." Ambrose sighed, avoiding Deirdre's gaze.

     "It's different now that you're older?" Deirdre asked, gently running her thumb over the back of Ambrose's hand, causing him to take a quick glance at their hands.

     "Yes..." Ambrose attempted to ignore the sensation on his hand. "Now that I'm older there are much more ways to disappoint her. To anger her. What if I were to do something wrong and she were to no longer love me?"

     Deirdre forced an uncomfortable smile. She was not prepared to deal with such emotions during this dance. She'd expected to be charmed, to be swept off her feet by this dashing young man. She'd wanted a romance to be had between two strangers who knew nothing of each other. A handsome young prince trapped by his professionalism and the sweet, gentle princess could assist him in finding himself amongst his duties. Deirdre couldn't have predicted such a boy as the one in front of her.

     "I'm sorry..." Deirdre couldn't find the words. "I'm not sure what to say."

     Ambrose felt himself tense, it was obvious he'd shared too much.

     "My apologies, I should have held my tongue."

     Deirdre wanted to disagree, tell him he was free to speak as he wanted. She wanted to comfort him and tell him he had nothing to fear. However, she was distracted by her disappointment in the dance.

     "Am I what has caused such discomfort?" Ambrose asked after seeing the expression on Deirdre's face.

     Deirdre shook her head, forcing a smile.

     "No, no, I was just thinking of how I could help you, that's all," She lied.

     "No need to help me, Deirdre," Ambrose felt himself grow dizzy with the dance. "I'm grateful you allowed me to speak."

     Deirdre quietly nodded, her head clouded by her disappointment again. She'd been raised with fiction, books of magic and true love put her to sleep at night. Her expectation for love was wrongfully created by books that lacked reality, clouding her judgment with wishful thinking. Her life had been exceptionally easy, never needing to work a moment in her life. She was spoiled, given every privilege and delicacy she could ask for, as parents often spoil their only child. There was only one thing she hadn't been given and that was an unromanticized life. Love was just another storybook to her and she didn't have any clue on how to treat it as if it weren't.