The Art of Perseverance

The whole town, seemingly the entire kingdom, was in the streets, the citizens decked out in their finest clothes, their brightest smiles. Music could be heard streaming from every direction; color and warm light met Duck’s eyes everywhere she looked.

“Wow!” She gasped, grinning widely. “I’ve never seen anything like this! Isn’t it amazing, Fakir?”

“Yeah,” the dark-haired young man by her side agreed, a smile on his own face. “I’ll say this for Mytho’s storybook kingdom: they don’t hold back when there’s celebrating to be done.”

Duck laughed. “Well, of course not! Their prince just came home, after all, and with his future princess, too. What’s not to party abou—Oh, that looks so good!” She waved her index finger at a street stall brimming with all sorts of baked goods. “Let’s get some, Fakir!”

“Okay, okay, just wait for me,” he chuckled, following her eager scampering at a more sedate pace.

“Why, ‘allo there, young miss and mister,” the stall-keeper beamed at them from beneath his bushy brown mustache. “What’ll it be on this fine day of Prince Siegfried’s Festival?”

Duck wasted no time in loading her arms with all the sweets she could carry. Turning to Fakir, she chirped happily, “Wow, I can’t hold any more; I guess this is it.”

“That will be ten gold crowns for the lot,” the stall-keeper informed Fakir, his eyes almost hidden by his round, ruddy cheeks.

Fakir visibly paled. “Ten gold…? I don’t have that much! Mytho only gave me—”

The stall-keeper’s smile diminished somewhat. “Well, if you can’t pay the full price, then I’ll have my pastries back, if you please.”

Duck’s shoulders visibly drooped as she prepared to return the goods in her arms. Just then, however, a hand dropped lightly onto her shoulder.

“That won’t be necessary, good sir,” a familiar voice spoke softly from behind her. “Will these crowns do?”

The stall-keeper turned red and bobbed his head up and down. “Y-yes, Your Highness Prince Siegfried! Absolutely. No, wait, these are friends of yours? Then by all means, take the lot free of charge!”

“That would hardly be fair.” Duck saw Mytho’s slender hand drop a small leather pouch into the stall-keeper’s palm. “That should cover it. Have a good day.”

“And you as well, My Lord!”

Fakir smiled and shook his head before turning away; Duck felt Mytho’s hand steering her from the stall, too. “I’m glad I found you, although I honestly wasn’t looking for you quite yet. You came early.”

“Duck wanted to see the festival before we went to meet you,” Fakir said. With a jolt, Duck realized Mytho’s hand was still on her shoulder. Jumping away, she nodded furiously.

“Y-yeah, Fakir’s right! We decided to come a few hours early so we could look around; I mean, you don’t see royal festivals like this every day!”

She was being awkward and she knew it; she wanted to clobber herself over the head. Why couldn’t she be more ladylike and refined like—

“Duck? Is that you?”

“Rue!” Duck’s eyes lit up as she saw her friend approach. Completely forgetting about the pastries in her arms, she went in for a hug, almost spilling the baked goods in the process.

The raven-haired girl laughed. “Here, let me help you with that.” She took a few sugared rolls from Duck, causing her to turn red.

“Oh, no, Rue, you don’t have to… I mean, you’re a princess now. I can handle myself, see?”