The Princess and Her Whipping Boy

The Crossing of Past and Present

(Nine years later)

Cronan rose, straighening his back and stretching his arms behind him. Then with a weary sigh, he bent to shuffle and arrange the straw once more. It was barely set in place, when two large hound dogs bounded through the doorway, panting and sleek with sweat. Carressing their silky heads, Cronan crouched before them, letting them cover his face with wet kisses. He could feel Archer's sharp stare behind him but he ignore it.

Archer spoke. "Tis not wise to attach yourself to the beasts, Cronan. Palace beasts do not live to old age."

Cronan signed, but this time for a different weariness. "They can sometimes, Arch." He rose quickly, as the doors swung open wide, the bright sunlight streaming through. Silhouetted in the doorway, was the elegant figure of a tall graceful girl.

Cronan and Archer bowed low as she entered. His long pale hair curtaining his face, Cronan did not dare to steal a glance. He had barely seen the princess these last few years. She had traveled the kingdom with her father, the king, and trained at the royal camp over the mountains. And though he still bore the title of Royal Whipping Boy, he had not traveled with the royal escort nor had he ever been summoned in the passing years. He flinched violently as a hand gripped his face and jerked his head up so that the light fell upon it. He squinted his eyes shut, though not for the sun's burning glare.

"I thought I knew you" murmured an eerily familiar yet strange voice. A voice that had haunted his every sleep, accompanied by a young girl's laughter. "You have changed much while I was away."

The curiousity overcoming his fear, Cronan slowly opened his eyes. As have you, princess. She had changed. Not just in her age and maturity, but her every way. She was tall, with a strength her slim figure concealed. Her once golden curls had been dyed black and pulled taunt into a high bun. Her rosy skin had been tanned and smeared with dark lotions. But for all the products and disguises, there was nothing to cover those eyes of brilliant blue. Becoming aware he had stared for too long, Cronan quickly lowered his gaze once more.

The princess smiled at his fear. "Maybe we both changed." Her hand dropped to her side and she turned away. As she stepped out into the sun once more, she paused and looked back. "Rub the dogs down well, slave boy. They mean more to me than you." With those last cutting words, she was gone.

Cronan let out a loud breath as he sank to the floor, his legs feeling weak. There was a soft thump as Archer threw a clean cloth at his feet.

"Enjoy the quiet of the hound shed while you can" Archer muttered beneath his breath, as he took a second cloth and began rubbing down one of the two hounds. "I heard fear grows where ever the princess's shadow is cast. For you most of all no doubt."

Cronan said nothing, silenced by the loudness of his own mind. He remembered well how Archer had raged and cursed upon seeing Cronan's wounds that night so long ago. He might even have caused enough trouble to have himself killed, if Cronan hadn't begged on his knees until Archer had promised never to leave him. And he had been utterly faithful to that promise. Cronan could not count the scars Archer had taken in his place, whenever the kitchen steward had been in a particulary foul mood. Grateful as he was, Cronan sometimes wished it were not that way. For it only left Archer more bitter than before, and Cronan felt his heart burdened with guilt and self-loathing at his own weakness.

Rising to his feet, Cronan gave the hounds a final pat and slipped out the door.  He found himself wandering through the palace gardens, despite knowing he would be punished if caught shirking his duties. At least if the steward caught him here, he could recieve the punishment himself without Archer knowing of it. Hearing the sudden pounding of hooves, Cronan reached up, pulling himself up on to a thick bough, hiding himself among the foliage of its green leaves.

A large black stallion pounded through the garden, its wild eyes rolling and its ears laid back. It reared high, trying in vain to lose its reckless rider. But the rider stayed on with ease, letting out a merry laugh. It was Rosalina.

Cronan peered the leaves, climbing higher to gain a better view of her. Gripping tightly to the thin swaying branches of the trees top, Cronan watched them gallop back towards the royal stables.

"Its not white" he whispered softly. "Nor has it the temperment of a gentle kitten." He blinked his tears back as he slowly climbed back towards the ground. As he swung down, dangling and ready to drop, a hard hand closed about his tunic, jerking him abruptly from the tree. He crashed heavily to the ground, his foot bending awkwardly beneath him, and his hands grazed and cut. Despite the fear in his heart, Cronan gave a half-hearted laugh. He had an eery sense of deja vu as he turned to face his assailant. The day he had become the whipping boy.