The Princess, the Witch and the Pirate

Leopard in Chains

Five nobles gathered in the courtyard. It consisted of a manicured rectangular lawn at the center of the castle, framed by its shaded stone walkways flanked by crude wide columns in all directions but east. The green was livened by rose bushes about its perimeter, and curved stone benches at each corner. A crow floated above to the rooftop terrace, landing on the south wall ledge to spectate from above. The teens waited for the Princess Bride in a neat little row at the south end of the sunlit garden. Olivia tried not to look over at Serge, but she could not help it. He looked a brutish, weathered man already at 17, and she could not picture herself taking him on in any competition demanding physical strength. Her father's words came back to her about one single contender winning each and every duel.

As Olivia poured over her circumstances, a girl appeared from the shadows, escorted by a pre-pubescent esquire and followed by six mature guards in antiquated, yet charming, pristine uniforms. All at once Olivia's heart arrested, leapt, and sank. Jewel-eyed, olive skinned, and lithe in white linen, the Princess Bride was a surreal apparition. Despite the fluidity and self-possession of her movements, she retained a childlike appearance. The girl's wild, wavy black hair cascaded past her shoulders but did not quite hide a delicate, golden hoop which matched a set of thick, glinting gold bracelets accentuating her fragile wrists. The bridge of her nose was sharp and the high ridge of bone beneath each large emerald eye called to mind a stalking feline in some distant, unexplored jungle. She looked decidedly foreign; more mystic than royal, haunted and haunting, like a leopard in gold chains. Everyone bowed as she neared; everyone except Katia, who curtsied. Olivia didn't know how to curtsy, so she imitated the boy's manner from the night before. The moment passed and the princess disappeared, escort and all, into the shadows.

That evening, across the dinner table, two tall boys spoke in near whispers, Arthur more than Serge. Olivia turned to Mikael and urged, "Eat! You're going to need the strength."

"Wasn't she beautiful?" was all Mikael could say, staring off into the distance.

"The princess, you mean?"

"The Princess Bride," corrected Katia. "There's more than one princess in this castle."

"I don't really think of myself that way."

"She is so delicate, her eyes are...so green, she's so...different," continued Mikael, eyes glazed.

"Forget him, he's bewitched. Look at those two," whispered Katia, leaning into Olivia and looking over at the tall boys across the table. "We shall henceforth call them Gullible and Daft."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this whole thing is utterly ridiculous, and they are actually serious."

"Yes, ridiculous! You think so too?"

"Absolutely! I mean, magic? As if there's such a thing. She's not a lamp or a... sorceress...even if she does look like an Arabic princess."

"Magic?"

"You mean to tell me you don't know?" asked Katia, staring at her companion in disbelief.

"Know what?"

"Those two idiots," disclosed Katia discreetly, "believe whoever takes possession of the bride will harness her power."

"Her power?"

"The power to grant a single wish; the champion's deepest desire realized." Katia delivered this in mock solemnity, hand to her chest.

"Wait, what?" Olivia glanced over at the boys who continued their secret exchange, then returned her attention to the redhead. "That. Is the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life. Why would they think that?"

"It's a sort of fairytale that's been passed on. I believe there's a poem about it. I don't know. It doesn't really matter. Just know, those two actually believe it. That's why they're so keen."

"But you don't believe in it?"

"Are you kidding? I'm not a child. Fables don't interest me."

Olivia stared at Serge, sure to be the victor, and recalled the words: full possession. It would be despicable if he dared take advantage of the rules. Her thoughts morphed from disdain to marvel the more she looked at the rugged teen. Arthur glanced over at her and winked. Caught, Olivia averted her eyes, feeling girlish.

Olivia joined the other duelists in the shadowed courtyard after dinner. The armory had been set like a buffet of murder on a series of racks serving daggers, clubs, and an assortment of swords against the west wall. There were options for armor as well, from plate, to chainmail, to leathers. At the center of the garden, a wide circle had been marked with pulverized marble which, even under the moon, contrasted sharply against the dark, green grass. The bride, silent and reposed, observed from one side, while the remaining participants stood at the other. Mikael looked infantile and puny before Serge.

The objective was to knock the opponent out of the arena. Forfeiting would be as simple as exiting the delineated space or calling out the word. Neither contender moved for half a minute, until, hoping to take his contender by surprise, Mikael made a brave attempt and lunged forward with his rapier. Serge moved to one side, gingerly tossing his broad sword, grabbed Mikael by the wrist, and swung him to the boundary line before letting go. The boy landed on hands and knees. Serge waited for Mikael to move. Olivia anticipated the boy would crawl past and forfeit, but Mikael got up, keeping his footing inside the line, and turned towards, shaking his head to one side to get his blond locks out of his face. Before he could regain his balance completely, Serge pushed Mikael with both hands, throwing him out of the circle entirely and on his bum. A tower bell rang somewhere in the distance.

Olivia ran to Mikael, offering her hand. The boy wasn't injured physically, though he looked rather shaken. She helped him to his feet, then turned her attention towards the other end of the courtyard.

The winner held his damsel by the arms. He beamed down at her like a footballer clutching the World Cup trophy. "I claim my prize," he announced, pulling her towards him brusquely before sweeping her off her feet and cradling her in his arms. The girl seemed momentarily startled by the sudden motion, but quickly settled into his grasp, one arm about his neck, the other draped about his chest, two dainty hands clasped at his body, a blank expression on her face. "I bid you all good night." His eyes were shinning, and he looked deranged with joy as he walked off the field.

Olivia was horrified. Arthur and Katia observed Serge but did not respond to the ungentlemanly handling of his small captive with a single gesture of reprove. Olivia stepped into the ring to yell after them, but it was too late. The engaged had disappeared into the night.