The Nine Princesses Revised Edition (Volume One)

Chapter 13: Saddle Sore

He would have to get used to the road. Being a messenger, you spent relatively little time at your destination, or your place of origin. Most of your hours were spent on the road, alone, with only your horse for company. Willow remembered the way Rowan used to speak to his black stallion Glorious – as if they were best friends. Willow had once thought it so odd. Now here he was.

"I don't understand it, Rupy. He's got nothing to hate her for, that I can see. But he's made her wait ten days for this reply. Plus another three as I travel. All out of spite."

His mare plodded on without remark, the sun glistening off her reddish coat. She was a fine listener. They were crossing a long stretch of fields and farmland which would offer nothing new for many hours.

"She must have done something. Perhaps unintentionally. I'd wager King Jarrod is easily offended, he looks the type. Too swollen with his own importance to tolerate offence. I don't dislike him, though... perhaps I should. Probably will before too long. But right now, he's a puzzle to me. They all are."

Rupy made a congenial nickering sound.

"Even the son, did you see him? No, of course not – you were outside. Almost forgot he had a son, to be honest. I'd just gotten the reply for Princess Maelyn and was leaving the castle. And the son came out of... nowhere, it seemed like! Just drifted out of a dark corner like a bear creeping out of hibernation." Willow laughed. "He looks exactly like Jarrod – only younger. I bet he's not much older than me. He must shave twice a day to keep the beard from coming in. But his eyes were... troublesome, weren't they?"

He wasn't sure how to explain it. Prince Roald had emerged and asked if Willow was the new messenger to Runa. When Willow affirmed, Roald reached inside his tunic and brought out a roll of parchment. "Please deliver this to Princess Maelyn and say nothing to my father," he said in a soft, yet richly deep voice. Willow, caught unawares, took the parchment speechlessly, and by the time he'd recovered, Roald had slipped away, like some kind of....

"Tormented spirit," Willow said to Rupy. "Seems like everyone connected to King Jarrod looks that way. Except the new wife... but she probably will, before too long." The thought made him sad. Rupy offered a light snort and Willow imagined she was asking if he was curious about Roald's message.

"Definitely. But he sealed it with wax, which means if I opened it, someone would know. Why can't more people use cords? Nobody trusts."

Probably was an interesting read, too. Willow thought of the Old Ogre Inn where he'd be spending the evening. The innkeeper – Roke - had gone to the same grammar school as Willow. Roke claimed he knew how to crack a wax seal, then repair it seamlessly with a hot knife. But Willow couldn't risk that. This was King Jarrod's son, after all.

"Not that bold yet,"Willow said to Rupy. He'd be a good messenger this time and deliver the documents properly.

**********

He thumped the door of the princesses' castle, weary and wincing in pain. No, this was too much. He'd have to tell King Jarrod he couldn't be the royal messenger. He wasn't made to live in a saddle. Let Alder do it, Alder actually wanted this post. Willow just wanted to return to his chamber at home, and write.

He waited a minute and thumped again, harder. Barely able to stand straight, he leaned against the doorframe on one arm, his head bowed, dangling the satchel from his fingertips. He wasn't just saddle sore, he had actual sores in embarrassing places. This was all too much.

"Is she not coming?" said a gentle voice. Willow lifted his head. A young woman stood just behind him, wearing a gown of bright turquoise, and a shy face. She had such fiery-red hair it was all Willow could notice, at first. A crutch of polished wood was tucked under her right arm.