A Forgotten Legend: Anaivere the First

Special Chapter: A French Rose

An extraordinary chapter to promote the sequel of A Forgotten Legend, to honour the second-born in the Trio and to celebrate the seventeenth birthday of the Author.

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25 May 1201... Nottingham...

It had been well a year since that fateful meeting, exactly one year. She could not imagine it was true, Anaivere thought. A child who declared to be her creator, strangers who looked pretty akin to her, and those people— those people from faraway... Anaivere knew well she had no siblings other than Marionne, the little princess who had been betrothed to Scotland royalty in order to maintain their alliance. Then, a group of distant strangers appeared and claimed to be her "sisters"...

Being the crown princess, Anaivere had been really busy since. From strolling down towns to be acquaintance with her people, to meeting the Merry Men in the Forest. The latter was a— rather serious affair. The outlaws had been loyal to the Crown Princess since they knew she was an extraordinary royalty; they had many times seen the princess, dressing as a commoner, without the lady-in-waiting nor any guards accompanying her, riding down the towns and join the humble yet merry life of the other commoners. On her seventeenth birthday, Anaivere again went for a stroll in the towns, joined her laughter with her friends and people, against the protest of Lady Walther who always worried that the princess could have been in danger somewhere out of the castle's walls. She didn't know, her little princess was always protected, not by royal guards, but loyal outlaws.

Nottingham town...

"Are they this year coming?", wondered Anaivere. She was wandering in a crowded market, trying to find her favourite rose tarts in some of this town's bakeries. "No, they cannot just simply appear in such a crowded place...", she shrugged, denying the former thought.

"Milady Anaivere, care for some freshly-baked, crispy tarts?"

A stout, friendly-looking baker called. He looked merry all the time, it might be because his name was Merriweather. The baker was always seen in his old, powdered apron; worn pair of linen pants, worn brown linen tunic; no gloves in his habit of career, and a head of messy grey hair. The young princess was a frequent customer of his, and he saw her as a daughter of sorts, though he also knew she was the king's niece. The better part was there was the king's niece in his shop, not bothering herself about being a royal.

"Please, just Annette", greeted Anaivere.

"Annette...", the baker corrected, "Still thou prefer that commoner's name?"

"An unworthy royal such as myself should not be deserved to be referred by such a graceful name", smiled she.

"Yet thou still downplay thy own values, Ana— Annette...", joked the old baker. "It is thy birthday to-day?"

"It is. How surprising it is for you to remember my birthday!"

"Not a townsperson doth not know, my child. I made thee a special treat this morning, in that basket!", said the baker playfully, kneading his dough. "I may bake a special tart every year, for thee to remember this ol' baker in town when thou art the ruling monarch of this kingdom"

"Needn't you do it, dearest uncle Merriweather", smiled Anaivere while came to fetch her "special treat" in the basket. Her spirit livened as she saw her favourite - a round, pretty, crispy half-rose half-cherry tart.

Anaivere stared dreamily at the tart in the basket, wondered how long would these wonderful days last, when she was already crowned queen. Then, in all of a sudden, she snapped back to reality as she heard that voice calling her name. A voice that belonged to neither her overprotective nanny nor Helena Wilson, neither of an English nor a French.