A Most Charming Prince

Nineteen: The House of Il Répoute

The Queen's Jouster reached the docks at Il Répoute's summer palace, at the same time as the man himself came galloping over a hill, son in tow. He reached the stables, not far from the river.

The King of Maskulinia removed his pilgrim's cape that hid his royal apparel and took a firm stance at the prow. "Master Il Répoute, a word with you, sir!"

"Not now, I'm busy!"

"I'm afraid it will not wait. We must ask you to join our party on this neutral territory for a matter of international diplomacy."

"I said I'm fucking busy, you fluffed parakeet!"

"Ready to fire the canons, boys!" yelled Captain Hips.

"Belay that order! Know this, all of you! I am King Mortimer of Maskulinia. I ask you to parlay, Master Il Répoute on an urgent matter. You must not enter your house!"

The knight appeared, cresting the hill. Il Répoute dismounted and shoved poor Rebec at his son Seth for him to take her inside. By now, a brigade of soldiers was pouring out of all the nooks and crannies where soldiers hide when not needed for target practice by the heroes of stories.

"Must not enter my own house, you say?"

The queen clutched her husband's arm. "For our son, my darling husband!"

"Indeed, you must not," the king shouted.

"In that case, this is war. Darndiddle will darken your borders and invade your countryside. It will—oh, shit on a stick, here he comes. To arms and fight, my good men!" Il Répoute took off running after his son as the king of Maskulinia gaped in horror.

He had plunged his country into war because of his son.

"Goodly king, though I was born of Darndiddle, I beg your permission to swear fealty to you and your lineage," Captain Hips said.

"Then kneel." The king took a sword from a nearby pirate and bade her kiss the blade.

"Permission to fire the canons?" she asked. Soldiers were jumping into row boats, swarming the hillside behind the house, and mooning them from the safety of the bulwarks.

"Fire at will!"

***

The prince realized his path would soon be blocked by the unwashed masses of soldiers coming from Il Répoute's house. He swerved off the main drive to the stables and rode across the green lawn for a side door. A dozen guards stepped from the shadows and drew cold steel.

***

Madame's carriage crested the hill, revealing the knight on the cusp of being overwhelmed by a dozen guards.

Her stable hand who was clearly not up for heroism this early in the morning (hi-speed chase on the highway for the object of his employer's lust, yes. Facing swords, cross-bows, and spears, no.) blanched and tugged on the reins to stop the carriage. She knocked him off the seat and shouted, "Hiyah!" Urged full speed ahead, the horses barreled into the group of attackers. Bodies flew.

The knight gracefully disarmed and knocked out the few who managed to avoid Madame's carriage, and damn, that boy was fine in a fight and then dashed onward.

"Let's go, girls!" Not one to be left behind, Madame waved her purple handkerchief like a flag and her troops piled from the carriage.

A gap-toothed, greasy-haired low-life foot soldier charged them from a guard tower, his halbert swinging wildly, as if he were a rabid wood cutter, working long distance. Madame stepped in front of her girls—he'd have to go through her. The long ax arced in the air. She winced, ready for the worst.

A garbled scream and the foot soldier hit the dirt in a tangle with another man—a muddy, dripping wet man, wielding a loose pirate hand-hook and an electric eel from the river.

"Nigel! You've come back to me!" she said. Affection for the skinny bilge-rat thief swelled her heart.

"Always, my squeezable love-muffin who smells sweeter than frosted peach tarts," he said. "Now, to save that boy from himself. Ladies, to the chapel! 'Tis hence the villain will fly!" Twirling the electric eel above his head (no eels were harmed in the writing of this story), he led the charge to the palace and side-door, which conveniently was a few hallways away from Il Répoute's neglected, private chapel.

*** Knuckles to teeth, what will happen next? I might need more of Chris Hemsworth on a horse from now on... ***