The Runaway Princess (2 page)

Authors: Kate Coombs

BOOK: The Runaway Princess

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Garald probably wrote the speech, Meg decided. He looked very proud. Was he mouthing the words under his breath?

“We can put an end to this slight yet worrisome economic slowdown even as we rid ourselves of the baleful
scourges upon our fair land,” the king continued, “freeing up valuable real estate with a great deal of potential.”

What scourges? Meg wondered. Some of the courtiers whispered to one another, probably asking the same thing.

“In addition, the events embodying the solution to these blights will generate much-needed income as an influx of spectators with their pockets full of gold flock eagerly to spend their money in the noble city of Crown.”

Spectators? “What is Father talking about?” Meg asked.

“Shh,” said Queen Istilda.

Garald was definitely mouthing the words.

The king raised his hands dramatically. “A dragon darkens our dells. A witch haunts our woods. Bandits roam our moors.

“It's not that bad,” Meg whispered.

“
Shh
,” Queen Istilda said with a severe expression that seemed out of place on her porcelain face.

Meg slumped in her chair.

“But with the help of our fair daughter”âMeg straightenedâ“we can transform our beleaguered kingdom into a new and shining realm.”

Meg looked at her mother, utterly baffled. The queen avoided her eyes.

King Stromgard swept on. “In the great tradition of so many monarchs, I offer my daughter's hand in marriage
and half my kingdom to the prince who can rid us of these evils, restoring peace and prosperity to our realm.”

The crowd burst into applause, covering Meg's horrified response. “I won't!” She jumped to her feet. Everyone smiled up at her, still clapping. The king stood, too, and put his arm around her. The entire court cheered, calling Meg's name, as the king led his bristling daughter out of the room.

THE ROYAL FAMILY OF GREEVE DISCUSSED THE matter in the king's studyâif you could call a loud quarrel a discussion. The family portraits looked pained.

“It's for the good of the kingdom,” her father said for the seventh time.

“It's crazy and old-fashioned and I won't do it!” Meg yelled.

The king turned to his wife. “You tell her.”

“Margaret,” Queen Istilda said softly. “You're fifteen now, of an age to be married.” She stepped to her daughter's side.

“You weren't married till you were twenty!” Meg blazed, moving away.

“I was an old maid,” the queen said, stricken.

“It's for the good of the kingdom,” her father said again.

“I'm sure your clever prime minister can think of a better plan,” Meg told him nastily.

Garald and the king shook their heads.

“I'm sorry,” Garald said, “but it's forâ”

“âthe good of the kingdom?” Meg inquired.

“I was going to say timber and tract housing,” Garald explained. “Replenishing Greeve's sadly depleted treasury.”

“Is that all?” Meg inquired sarcastically.

The king's brows lowered. “Enough of this mollycoddling!” he roared. “You are a princess, and you will act like one!”

“I quit!” Meg told him. “Find yourself another princess!”

“You can't quit our family,” the queen said, her eyes filling up with tears.

“Oh yes I can,” Meg muttered, heading for the door.

Her father blocked her. “Margaret, I offer you one last chance to play willingly the part that life has assigned you.”

Meg glared up at him. “No,” she said.

The queen wiped her eyes.

“There's more,” King Stromgard told his daughter, folding his arms. “Tradition suggests that the princess be sequestered in a tower until her hand is won.”

Meg gaped.

Queen Istilda turned pale. “Our own daughter? A prisoner?”

The king drew himself up. “It would not be necessary had our own daughter seen fit to fulfill her royal duty.”

“But the only tower we haveâ” the queen began.

The king stalked to the window. Across the east meadow, a single stone tower jutted against the dark green of the forest. “It will do.”

“It's filthy!” Queen Istilda objected, weeping still more.

Shaken, Meg stepped to her father's side. “You're going to lock me up?”

“It's sequestering,” he insisted gruffly, patting her arm. “I suggest you have the tower cleaned,” he told his wife. To Garald he said, “Have Hanak guard her till it's ready, or she might just run off.” King Stromgard swept out of the room.

“I told him he'd have to take measures,” the prime minister said with a smarmy smile.

“Do be quiet!” the queen snapped.

That night Meg slept in a little bedroom without any windows and with only one door. Hanak, who was usually rather grim, seemed sorry for her, but he did his duty, as always. She wasn't even allowed to see Dilly.

“But Dilly's my maid!” Meg protested.

“She has other responsibilities at present,” the captain of the guard said uncomfortably. He looked around and lowered his voice. “Truth be told, she's cleaning that tower for you.”

It was a long night. “At least the tower will have a window,” Meg said to the stones.

As it turned out, she spent a whole week in that room. Her mother brought her some embroidery, but she threw it against the wall and wouldn't talk.

“My dear, your father means you no harm,” Queen Istilda said, sounding doubtful. Meg closed her eyes to block out her mother's anxious gaze and flopped onto the bed.

The queen sat down beside her daughter. “We would have seen you married in a year or two even without thisâthis contest.”

Meg lay still.

“And isn't it a tiny bit romantic to have handsome young men travel from far and wide to vie for your hand?” her mother asked. Meg refused to answer.

The queen stood. “Margaret, you're just going to have to get used to the idea,” she said. She left with a disappointed sigh.

Later, Meg found the embroidery and stitched at it simply because she was so bored. After that she pretended to sword-fightâher opponent the prime minister died very bloodily.

Then it was time for the prisoner's next meal. At least it was Meg's favorite, chicken pie with carrots and blackberries. Cam had no doubt grown the carrots, Meg thought, biting into her dinner.

Ten minutes later, Meg was snoring heartily, her nose in the last bit of pie. The door opened.

“Are you sure she's all right?” the queen asked, rushing to wipe the pie from her daughter's face.

“Quite sure,” Hanak said.

When Meg woke up, sunlight streamed in through a window. She ran to look out, to look down. She was in the tower. They must have put sleep drops in her dinner. “So I wouldn't make a scene,” she remarked coldly, going back to the bed and reaching under it for the chamber pot.

Next she went to the window again and leaned over the ledge. Below her she could see the pale top of someone's head. Hanak had black hair like Dilly's. “Hello,” she called.

Whoever it was stepped away from the tower wall. “Nort?” Meg said, shocked. “What are you doing down there?”

Nort held up an oversized spear. “Guarding you. What does it look like?”

“You are
not
my guard!” Meg cried.

“Am too.”

“Are not.”

“Am too.”

Meg paused. “Where's Hanak?”

“He's busy at the castle,” Nort said. “You've got me. Royal orders.”

“I'll give you a royal order, Nort the Short,” Meg announced. “Go shoot yourself in the knees with a crossbow!”

Nort laughed. “Come down and make me.”

With a furious strangled noise, Meg withdrew into the tower. She took a deep breath and surveyed her new domain.

Dilly had done a good job. When Meg and Cam had explored the tower last summer, it had been bare of everything but cobwebs and bats. They were planning to use it as a spies' den, but Hanak found out somehow and locked the place up. Now the curving stone walls were clean and hung with tapestries Meg thought she recognized from one of the guest rooms in the castle. Bed, chair, a little divan, a table. On the table, a noxious pile of embroideryâit followed her everywhere! A pitcher and a glass. A plate with a knife and spoon. A candle in a brass holder. Two extra candles. A flint and steel. Ah, and books. Meg hurried to pick them up.
Proper Etiquette for Princesses, 500 Years of Royal Weddings, Fine Stitchery for the Noble Fairâ¦
Meg shuddered, dropping the books.

She went to the door, already knowing how sturdy and locked it would be. Beyond it, she knew, a steep stairway wound down to another door below. It, too, would be locked.

Meg returned to the window and gazed out over the meadow at the castle, imagining her father and mother at their noontime meal, surrounded by conversation, able to come and go as they pleased. Soon another picture crept into her mind, one of dozens of princes riding their horses along dozens of roads, over high mountains and through low valleys, past the city and up to the castle gates.

Meg sighed gloomily. It wasn't that she minded princes, as long as they stayed out of her way. No, what she felt was envyâshe wanted to be riding a horse herself.
She would travel across the mountains and into the next kingdom, and the kingdom after that, her faithful squire Cam by her side â¦ He could ride a mule or something.

Meg went over to the bed to stifle her tears so Nort wouldn't hear her. Then she lay dry-eyed, considering. There had to be a way to get out of this place.

After a while Meg woke to a noise. When she remembered where she was, she hurried to the window. Meg smiled for the first time all day. Cam was below the tower, arguing with Nort. As anyone would be.

“Cam!” she called, waving madly.

Cam waved back at her. Nort made a grab for the basket Cam was holding, but Cam swung it away.

Nort shook his spear in what was meant to be a threatening manner. “I'm the guard, and
I
give her anything she's to get.”

“No,” Cam said firmly, “you're the guard and you guard. They sent me with her food, and I'm supposed to deliver it. I was told how and everything.”

“Says who?” Nort tried to loom over Cam, but Cam was half a head taller.

“Says Hanak,” Cam explained. “Who do you think pulled me away from my weeding? He told me you're too busy with your new duties, or you'd be running errands still.”

Nort couldn't help looking pleased at that. Cam took advantage of the moment. “There's a little pulley up top,”
he said. “She's to lower it, and I'll pop her food in and send it back up. Ready, Princess Margaret?” he asked her solemnly.

Meg smiled again at Cam's use of her formal name. She found the mechanism beside the window and began to wind it downâa metal basket like a birdcage on a fine chain descended, clattering. She stopped it partway. “Can't you just bring my meals up the stairs?”

Cam shook his head. “Hanak's orders. Besides, he says your father has the only key.”

It was not good news, but it was useful information.

“Enough chatter,” Nort said, trying to take charge.

Meg wound the cage the rest of the way down. Cam placed the wicker basket inside, and she pulled the contraption up again.

“Be off, now,” Nort proclaimed instantly.

Cam ignored this. “Are you all right, Princess?”

“Not really,” Meg said. “Thanks for asking.”

“Tomorrow you're to send down the chamber pot, as well,” Cam added.

“Ugh.”

Then Nort really did chase Cam off. Or at least, Cam let him think so. Meg's friend waved goodbye and loped cheerfully across the meadow. Finally he was gone. Meg felt a pang of loneliness without him.

“That boy is far too familiar with you, Princess,” Nort observed.

“
You
are far too familiar,” she told him, pulling the basket inside the tower.

Meg sat down to eat. She lifted the cloth, noting its exquisite embroidery with disdain. She took out the food. It must be meant to last the rest of the day: half a baked chicken, a loaf of bread, three boiled eggs, a dish filled with squash and peas, a little pot of plum preserves â¦ She saw a small note tucked under the eggs. Meg opened it quickly, forgetting her hunger.

It was written on a scrap of parchment in Cam's scrawl.
I'll com bak.
Nothing more. But Meg beamed. She
would
get out of the tower. She just needed a little help.

Newly hopeful, Meg passed the afternoon as best she could. She ate some bread and watched the birds. She ignored both Nort and the embroidery. She managed to read a bit of the book about royal weddings. When she found an account of a princess who ran away the night before her marriage, Meg thought it was a very good sign.

Much later, Meg heard a strange sound outside. She went to the window. Cam was grinning up at her. Nort lay on the grass, his spear placed neatly beside him.

“What did you do to him?” Meg asked, alarmed and pleased.

“He tripped,” Cam said.

“But if he tellsâ” Meg began.

“He didn't see me. I came around through the woods and snuck up behind him while he was practicing being a daring knight with that spear of his.”

“Good. Now get me down.”

“How?”

“With a rope, silly!”

Cam nodded. “And then what?”

“Then I can run away!”

Cam looked worried. “If you don't pull the food up, they'll come to the top to see what's wrong.”

“So?” Meg said scornfully.

“Everyone will go out searching for you.”