Which way should I go?

The streets are filtering out.  The venders had gone home and all that’s left are a few drunks stumbling out of the pub.  I get to the stables to find the handler is fast asleep on his stool.  I leave a piece of silver in his dead hand and untie Dash from his stable.

                “I didn’t think that the women around here would get so darn pretty.”

                The voice that stirs me is slurred and menacing.  I hold tight to the saddle as I stand there, getting ready to mount Dash.  Through the light of the latern that hangs above Dash’s stable, I can see the shadow of a man, sneaking up behind me.  I reach for my dagger and hold on tight to the handle. 

                “Women like you shouldn’t be left alone like that.  Didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

                I turn to face him.  He’s tall, with black hair, yellow teeth, and one eye.  His drool is practically foam, his foul odor is of endless bottles of whiskey and too many bottles of perfumes rubbed off the breasts of prostitutes.  He’s stumbling towards me, saying how pretty I am, how he never thought he’d ever get a chance with a woman like me in a million years.

                “I just might have to take advantage of this opportunity.”

                He stumbles towards me and reaches out for me, grabbing me around the waist.  Everything is happening so fast that in a panic I try reaching for my dagger, but my hands are shaking.  The drunk throws me down into the hay and tries to pin me to the ground.  Swinging my arms at him, I do whatever I can to fight him off of me. 

                He doesn’t seem phased by my kicking and screaming and has me leisurely pinned down with his body.  He starts ripping my husband’s shirt off and puts his filthy, disgusting lips on my body.  I close my eyes tight, praying for it to be over and done with, while I try to release one of my arms from his grip.  His grip suddenly loosens as he gets more in to touching me and I’m finally able to reach for my dagger. 

                The next thing I know, blood is pouring down on me.  My dagger is jabbing into his face, his neck, any place that will get him to stop from touching me.  And I’m doing it over and over again.  He’s screaming, but I still don’t stop.  It isn’t until I finally snap out of my trance that I realize that his lifeless body is deprived of his disgusting soul.  I killed him.

                I push the dead drunk off my body and scatter to stand to my feet.  I am in shock, looking down at this bloody scene and I’m not sure what to do. 

                “What the hell happened in here?”

                It’s the stable boy.  He heard me screaming and it woke him up.  He comes into Dash’s stable to see me standing over the drunk’s dead body with a bloody dagger in my hand and blood all over my clothes. 

                “Don’t move!”

                He runs off to get a royal guard, but before he can return, I quickly mound Dash and burst through the village.  As I ride by the tavern, I can see Gefen standing outside when he spots me.  He tries flagging me down but I dare not stop.  I keep riding until I am as far away from the village and the palace as possible.

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or...
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I return to the palace and sneak up to my room using the vines.  When I get inside from my balcony, the younger maid, Ilta, is laying in my bed.

                “What are you doing in here?”  I demand to know.

                She sits up straight, her face in a bit of a panic.  She nervously pushes back her black silky hair and stands at attention.

                “Forgive me, your highness.  Elma told me I had to pretend to be you, your highness.”

                “She did?”

                “It was for your own safety, your highness.  I did not mean to offend.  I was only doing what I was told.”

                I toss my husband’s hat on one of my chairs and jab my hands on my hips, pacing around the room.

                “Where is she?”

                At that moment she comes bursting in, in a rage.

                “Are you trying to get me killed?  I just committed treason for you.  I had to lie to your husband, told him you were ill.”

                “You’re supposed to address me as, your highness.” I say to her.

                I’m standing firm, looking over her with my stern face.

                “I beg your pardon?”

                “Show me some respect,” I say. “I’m sick of you speaking to me as if I were a child.”

                “I don’t have to show you any kind of respect because you are a child.  You’re worse than a child.  You’re a peasant who fooled the prince into marrying you.  You don’t deserve any respect.”

                After she finishes with her rant I summon the guard outside my door. 

                “Please show her the meaning of the word, respect.”

                “What would you like me to do, your highness?”

                I march straight up to Elma.  She’s looking at me with a smug grin, showing little to no respect for me.  I fling my hand hard across her face and a second time with the back of my hand.

                “Lock her up for the night.”

                The guard takes her by the arm and she struggles to break free, screaming and hollering at me.

                “I’ll tell your husband what you did if you send me down there,” she cries.

                “Stop!” I command the guard.

                “Perhaps my punishment is too harsh,” I say hesitantly. “I’ll cut your wages in half.”

                With my command, the guard takes Elma away.

Freedom

It feels liberating to be walking around the streets of Stylianos, feeling like a regular person.  I tied up Dash in the stable and stroll through the small village.  There were venders trying to push freshly baked bread, cuts of meat, freshly picked fruit and vegetables from their garden, and even fresh flowers.  I couldn’t resist the urge to buy atleast one thing from each vender.  I was lucky I had a husband who not only stuffs money in his pocket, but also doesn’t count it.

Even after I married my husband, I hadn’t spent much time beyond the walls of my step-mother’s or the palace.  I had never experienced the village like any normal person would.  This was my first experience of being out completely on my own and it felt good!

A small ensemble of men with fiddles, pipes and drums are playing a jig in the center of the square where there stood a statue of the king (my father-in-law).  Men and women not dressed in anything fancy, danced with one another and laughed gleefully.  I stood by along the outside, watching as these people enjoyed themselves and start clapping along to the music. 

I can’t resist the urge to join in their dance as an elderly gentleman snatches me up from the sidelines and we dance in a chain in the middle of the square.  This is so much easier to do in pants!  I don’t think I’ve never felt this free.  I want to embrace every moment as if it will never come again.

                Evening approaches and I have no desire to head back to the palace just yet.  I come across a pub that is bursting with noise and excitement.  I peer through the swinging doors to see a smoked filled room with men hunched around tables, playing poker or drinking beers and bantering on about their hunt.  The bar maids were weaving their way through the tables, flirting with the men and having a good time.  In one corner a fiddler is playing a jig, completing this casual and relaxed atmosphere.

                It’s when I push through the doors that everyone stops to take a look at the stranger that just walked in.  I stand frozen, looking at everyone, hoping that they don’t recognize me as the princess.  I pull down the brim of my husband’s hat to shield my eyes and stay hidden from the public eye.  It only took a second before the bar crowd goes back to their cards and beer.

                “Are you going drink or what, pretty lady?”

                The bartender is standing there, drying a glass with his cloth and giving me a wry grin. 

                I’ll be honest, I’ve never had a beer before.  I’ve had Champagne, but never a sip of beer.  I have always been curious to try it and I was taking this as my opportunity.

                The barkeep shoots me a puzzling glare when I make my order.

“You don’t look like my typical customer,” he says.

“And what does your typical customer look like?”

“Like him!”  He points a chubby finger at the man sitting next to me.  He’s big, bald, and has the face of a clueless man.

“Are you giving me that free beer or what, Noshi?” He says to the bartender.

“Ah, shut up and drink your whiskey,” he replies, pouring him another glass of whiskey.

“That’s what my usual customers look like, lass.  They’re not young, beautiful women.  Women usually work for me.”

“Look,” my voice gets stern as if I were talking to Elma again. “I don’t need a lecture on what kind of customer I ought to be, just give me the damn beer.”

Taken back by the sudden edge, he smiles impressively and pours me a stein of foamy beer.

“You are one aggressive woman, I’ll give you that.” The bartender says.

“I’m not aggressive, I’m just tired of people telling me how I ought to act.  I apologize if I seem rude.”

I pay him in my husband’s silver.  He throws his hands up as if he doesn’t want to touch my money.

“It’s on me, lass.  I only ask for your forgiveness.”

I shake my head smiling.

“There’s nothing to forgive, but thank you.”

He kindly smiles back and tends to his usual customers.

                “I bet you two silver she can’t finish your brew, Noshi.”

                Another young man, sitting at the end of the bar, is glancing over at me and has a smirk on his face. 

                “Ah, leave’er alone, mate.  She’s had enough teasin’ for one day,” The bartender says.

                The young man chuckles and comes over to sit next to me, waiting to see the results.

                “Aw come on, we both know she couldn’t.”

                “What makes you think I won’t chug this beer?” I say to him.

                “You look like you escaped from a tea party.” He says.

                “I’ll take that bet, Gef.”

                “Better pay up now,” the young man says to the bartender.

                With that twinge of an insult, I clutch the cold, frothy beer in my small, delicate hands.  With a deep breath, I take the rim on my lips and chug the beer as much as I can, without even thinking about it.  It’s bitter-tasting and a bit sour.  I can barely stand the taste of it as it flows through my veins and fills my delicate belly with its alcohol, but I don’t stop drinking it.  For once I don’t want to act like a princess or do what my step-mother tells me to do.  I’m finishing this damn beer as if it’s the last drink I’ll ever have.

                The banchee of men are gathered behind me, cheering me on and encouraging m to keep going.  I’m only halfway through as I stop to take a breath. 

                “Give up yet?” The young man says.

                “You wish,” I say.

                I continue to drink the beer and gulp it down until I see nothing but the bottom of the glass.

                By the time I finish the whole stein of beer, I can already feel the alcohol hitting me, making me feel dizzy.  I slam the empty stein back on the bar, resting my head against it catching my breath.  The crowd goes wild, though I wish I could feel more victorious about this.

                “It looks like I lost,” the young man says. 

                Noshi snatches up his two silver from the young man and puts it in his pocket, laughing.

                “I’ll take that,” he says.

                The crowd of men cheer, raising their glasses and hollering for me.   The crowd dissipates and goes back to their ruckus of playing poker, drinking and having a good time.  I, on the other hand, am not doing so good.  It almost feels like my stomach is moving its way up to my throat. 

                “That’ll teach me to doubt a prissy-looking woman, such as yourself.” The man says.

                “I don’t feel so good,” I warn him. 

                Before I could utter another word, I head straight for the doors.  I don’t even make it to the street before I throw up.

                I never thought my first day of actual freedom would consist of me huddled over, puking in the streets of Stylianos over my first chug (not sip) of beer. 

                “Here.”

                A glass of water is handed to me by the young man in the bar. 

                “I had Noshi pour you a glass of water, we both knew that beer wouldn’t last long.  Your stomach seems too delicate for that.”

                I breathlessly thank him, sipping the water and holding my head down.

                “I’ve never seen you around here before, are you new?”

                I’m not quite sure what to tell him.  Do I tell him that I’m a princess or do I stay incognito? 

                “I don’t get out very much,” I say.

                “My name is Gefen.  I own this bar.”

                “Idola.”

                I’m still catching my breath when announcing my name to him. 

                “Like the princess of Stylianos.  That name has become quite popular with newborn baby girls in the last few months since the prince married her.”

                It’s on the tip of my tongue to reveal my true identity to him, but I don’t. 

                “Thank you for the water.” I hand over the glass.

                I push back my autumn-colored hair and shake the man’s hand. 

                “Leaving so soon?”

                I glance at the clock in the middle of the village square and realize that it is getting pretty late.  My husband will be looking for me if Elma hasn’t said anything. 

                “I have to get home,” I say.

                “Will you ever make your way back here?”

                At this moment, I wasn’t sure what fate lies ahead of me.  If I would be sentenced to my room for all of eternity or if the prince will be off with my head.  Either way, my punishment isn’t looking very alluring.  I don’t answer the bar owner and I boost up onto my feet and make my way back to the stables. 

After the "Happily Ever After"

Inspired by the Cinderella story and any other fairty tale that ends with "And they lived happily ever after" I came up with an idea that asks the question: Do they really live happily ever after?  Anyone who has been married or is married knows that the fairy tale of dating doesn't always last well after the honeymoon.  In this case I've taken my own twist based on Cinderella and started a story about life in the castle after the royal wedding.  And fyi, I've changed the names of the characters.  Enjoy!

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Those damn trumpets are sounding off again!  If I have to listen to them toot their horns in the morning one more time I swear I am going to command them to their death!  I don't think I've slept a wink ever since Prince Kieran and I have gotten married.  I swear I have had more sleep in my -sister's house than here.

 "Tell me why we have to be woken up by trumpets again," I say to him at breakfast.  More like shout to him.

He barely acknowledges my question and shrugs it off and says, "Why not?"

 We sit at the that's quite possibly a mile long.  The Prince sits at his end, hunched over his food, digging into it as if he hasn't eaten in years with his handkerchief dangling from his shirt. The table is cluttered with pounds of food, meant just for us.  The servants stand aside and watch silently.  All except for my round-bodied maid, Elma, who is always hissing in my ear like a snake.

 "Sit up straight!"  She snarls.  "Don't eat your food all at once."  She's always reminding me how to behave like a princess.

"He's eating his food all at once," I gesture to my husband.

 "You're a princess.  Princesses don't devour their food like an animal."

"Just princes," I mumble as I delicately eat my food.

 I regally sit up straight and stick out my chest.  As if the dress hasn't stuck my chest out far enough.  My bosom is practically a whole new size since I've been married.  I had breasts I didn't even know existed before.

 "I'm going hunting," my husband says.

He carelessly drops his fork and knife on his plate and darts from the table, not even walking over to give me a kiss good bye.

"What shall I do with the left overs," The cook asks.  He's standing by in his cook's hat, his belly round and his persona jolly.

 "Toss it.  Give it to the pigs."

 Immediately I step in.

 "Darling," I say. "Don't you think this would benefit those less fortunate than us.  Shouldn’t we give this to the hungry?"

 "Why should I give a damn about those peasants?  They don't pay their taxes."

 "I give a damn," I say.

 He chuckles, throwing his head back, his raven black hair bouncing back with him.

 "Why?"

 "Because I used to be one of them, remember?"

"Right," He's emotionless.  Not a hint of sympathy or sincerity comes from his response.  He just stands there, glancing around the room at his servants.

"Like I said," he says quickly. "I'm going hunting."  He jabs a finger callously at the cook and commands him to toss it.

"You mustn't question his highnesses commands, you know that."

Elma is kneeled beside me, speaking nervously.

My husband certainly wasn't the way he is when we first met.  He was charming, polite, a good conversationalist.  It has only been a few months since we've been married and just within a short amount of time I've noticed he's changed quite a lot.

After the excitement from the royal wedding and everything finally started to calm down, I notice a sudden change in him.   He gave me my own separate quarters, we no longer sleep in the same bed unless it's warranted by him.  He doesn't allow me to attend public events unless it's a ball or anything to do with his parents.  On top of all that, I have been unable to produce an heir for him.  He expected me to get pregnant immediately, but so far I haven't shown any signs of a child in our near future.

My husband doesn’t get back to much later in the evening.  During that time I spend most of the day trying on expensive gowns and modeling jewels in front of the mirror, while Elma criticizes and continues to teach me how to be poised and regal like a princess. 

“You want people to respect you,” she says. “They don’t need to see that you were once a peasant girl.”

I shake my head as the only attempt to protest the way she handles.  I sometimes feel like a show horse wearing all these gowns, going to these balls and not having any kind of opinion about anything my husband decides to do or say when he’s with the people.  There have been so many times that I’ve wanted to scream, it’s frustrating to keep quiet.  I’ve been quiet for too long. 

“Stand up straight, always nod your head, never curtsy.  They curtsy and bow to you.  Make sure your dress is as prim and perfect as your smile.  They need to look to you and know that things are perfect.”

Elma goes on and on with her do’s and don’ts list.  It’s beginning to drive me crazier and crazier the more she continues.  I’m finding myself in a daze, tuning her voice out and hearing nothing but the echoes of her same lectures over and over again for the next twenty years or so. 

I couldn’t take it anymore.  Elma drapes a heavy piece of diamond necklace around my neck and before she could fasten it around my neck as she goes on, I jerk her hand away from me, forcing her to drop the necklace.

“You fool!  Do you know how much this cost?”

“Don’t touch me!” I cry out.  “Just get out!”

“Your highness, you’re tired.  Perhaps it is time you took your nap.”

My stern voice surprises me.

“Stop treating me like I'm a damn child!  I’m not taking a nap.”

“You must.  A good princess needs her-“

“If you don’t get out of my room than I will.”

I storm off the platform, pulling my enormous gown up off the floor and dragging it behind me towards the dressing room.  Another younger maid named, Ilta, helps me unfasten my dress and loosens it up.  I rummage through my closet, looking for the least formal thing I could find.  Dresses are all that hang in my closet. 

I pull on my silk robe and I storm out of my room, pushing aside Elma. 

“Your highness, you mustn’t leave your room!”

I brush off her annoying voice, heading straight for the west wing where my husband’s room is.  Standing by his door, a guard stops me.

“I command that you let me pass,” I say.

“You shouldn’t be out, my highness.  You must return to your room.”

“Move aside!” I bark.

The guard shakes nervously and allows me to pass. I breeze through my husband’s empty chamber and head straight for his closet, and slip into one of his most rugged pants and shirt.  In his bureau I reach for a harness with a dagger strapped inside and strap it around my waist.  I wasn’t about to head out without being armed.

I let my auburn-colored hair free from the tight bun and twist it up in a braid that drapes over my right shoulder, tucking it under one of my husband’s hats.   

A horse is all I need right now to get away from this prison!  I spot my horse, Dash; I brought over from my step-mother’s house and saddle him up quickly, smoothing out his black fur.

“Hey, you can’t ride that horse!”

The care taker of the stables is unaware of who he is yelling at when I turn around.

“Forgive me your highness; I did not realize it was you.”

“It’s an honest mistake,” I shrug.

I reach into my husband’s pocket for a piece of gold he always has stashed away and hand it to the caretaker.

“You didn’t see me,” I bribe him.

I mount Dash and take off towards town.

“Idola, please come back here!” Elma calls out for me.

I don’t turn back.