Once Upon A Princess

1: A Normal Day

PART ONE: THE FROG IN THE POND

"You need a better grip on the handle here, see?" King Harold of Avenor said to his only child as he guided her hands to a more comfortable position on the hilt of the blade. Her red brows were furrowed, a sure sign she was concentrated on the task at hand. The king stepped back and faced his daughter again, raising his own wooden sword with a smile. "Ready to try again?"

She nodded, a big smile lighting up her face, which was already smudged with dirt; there were streaks across her long sleeves from where she'd wiped her face off. Who would notice the dirt anyway, she thought, when the hundreds of freckles spattered across her face would disguise just how much she was willing to rough herself up. These lessons were the favorite part of her day, no matter how strenuous (or dirty) they were.

The swords came together, wood meeting wood with a sharp, solid crack. The king had a distinct height advantage over his preteen child, so his hand was lowered, making it look like he was almost lazily practicing.

"Amelia, your feet are too heavy. You can't plant them so hard, or else you won't be able to anticipate your opponent's next movements."

He swatted at her legs, tapping on her knees gently with his fake sword. She looked down, watching as her skirt ruffled under his insistence. She almost felt it, how her feet were glued to the floor. She was too afraid to move; worried that he'd catch her too easily and that she'd fall.

Her father laughed then, a deep rumbling sound that rang through the air.

"You're thinking too much about it, Amelia."

She looked up at him, watching as his eyes crinkled at her incredulous look.

"You just need to feel it."

She laughed then. "How do I feel it, dad?"

He pondered the question. The princess saw her opportunity then, while he was looking up and away from her. She thrust her sword forward, poking him right in the belly. He grunted at the surprise contact, his hands immediately going to this stomach. He dropped his sword, and it made contact with the grass with barely a sound. He keeled over, his face contorting in fake pain. Amelia laughed, running to him the short pace as his knees hit the ground. She wrapped herself around his head, her delighted giggles ringing out in the garden.

"I got you, dad!" She clung to him, her triumphant laugh drowning the sound of his faux groaning.

"Or, do you?" he whispered, suddenly clutching on to her as he went for her ribs. Now he was the one with the triumphant laughter, and her laugh was defeated but happy. So sword practice usually went.

That's how Queen Rowena found them when she came out into the garden. Her husband nearly on top of their daughter, tickling her with a truly delighted ferocity. She nearly snorted at the sight.

She cleared her throat loudly to get their attention, and they both stopped their merriment to look at her. They nearly looked frozen there, their clothes grass stained and dirty.

"Dear, the council is waiting for you in the hall. Something about an emergency in Gell," she announced, folding her arms in front of her, a sure sign she wasn't happy. Amelia usually saw her this way; the thin lip, rigid posture, and furrow between her brow a sure sign that Amelia was in her sights.

Harold stood up then, scrambling up and rubbing off whatever he could from his clothes. The queen clicked her tongue.

"That won't do. You'll have to change before you see them." She raised a disapproving brow.