The Princess and The Reluctant Knight

Episode 30

King Dave enjoyed his evening walks through the castle's water garden with Elana. Today, as the setting sun filled the sky with playful colors, shining a warm light on the ponds with lilies and fancy marble fountains, she was not with him. It was Lord Heathcliff who trotted with his face stuck in a frown that would have been comical if not for the gravity of the news he bore.

"Your Majesty, tidings from The Sea of Madness have graced our ears. Sir Alvin and Sir Theodore have survived their sojourn across its treacherous waves."

Dave, who had been admiring a particularly pompous peony, turned his attention to Heathcliff. "And what of Sir Simon?"

"No even a whisper, Your Majesty."

Dave's gaze lingered on the horizon, where the sun dipped like a giant fiery coin slipping into the celestial slot machine of night. "Curious," he mused, "why did you not send half the knights in the opposite direction? That could have doubled our chances, or so my logic suggests."

"I agree. But Grand Master Gus himself advised against it. He claimed splitting our forces would be akin to shearing a sheep already thin on wool - both cold and inadvisable."

King Dave hummed, a sound that seemed to mingle with the evening chorus of the garden's crickets. "Skeptical I remain, Lord Heathcliff, for Gus's counsel often reads like riddles wrapped in enigmas, swathed in the finest mystery."

"Indeed, sire, the Grand Master's wisdom is often as clear as the mud at the bottom of this very pond."

"If it pleases Your Majesty, I shall dispatch another set of riders at first light. We shall find Sir Simon, even if it means combing The Sea of Madness strand by strand."

Dave eyed a statue of a cherub whose expression suggested it had been modeled during a particularly taxing bowel movement. "No, let the knights rest. We shall not cast our lot with haste, for The Sea of Madness respects not the desperate."

Heathcliff sighed. "As you wish, Sire. Your wisdom outshines the brightest star."

Dave smiled. "And let us hope it guides us better than the stars that led our dear young knights into the Sea of Madness, hmm?"

As the final sliver of sun surrendered to the night, the king made a gesture that looked as though he were poking Heathcliff's silhouette. "Tell me, Heathcliff, do you ever tire of the game?"

"What game, Your Majesty?"

"The game of courts and councils, of knights and narratives. The constant dance around truth and deceit."

For a moment, Heathcliff appeared to ponder the question, as though it were a chess move posed by a sly opponent. "One might as well tire of breathing, sire. The game is life for those of us entwined with the fate of kingdoms."

Dave chuckled. "Aptly put, my lord. Yet even a jester seeks to remove his bells at day's end."

The king gazed out over his water garden, a realm of controlled chaos, a world within a world. The air hung heavy with the scent of evening blooms, and the soft light from the lanterns began to flicker.

"If the morrow brings no news of Sir Simon, we shall convene with the council," Dave declared, his voice now imbued with the steel that had won him his crown. "We shall plot a course through this Sea of Madness that vexes us so."

Lord Heathcliff bowed. "Your will is the compass by which we navigate, Your Majesty."

As they parted ways, the king stood alone, contemplating the ripples spreading across the pond from a solitary dropped pebble.

It was in the solitude of the twilight, with the laughter of his subjects a distant murmur beyond the castle walls, that King Dave allowed himself a moment of unguarded thought. Was Heathcliff a cunning serpent in his garden? Or merely another flower, albeit one with thorns?