A Most Charming Prince

Twenty one: Complete Surrender

The prince dashed forward valiantly. The queen fainted daintily. The king let her fall heavily (but to be fair, he drew his own sword and waved it over his head). The pirate jumped to a bench nimbly and shouted, "Come and suffer the fates of tyrants, ye curs and sea slugs! We'll hang ye from the gallows 'til yer tongues go purple and crows pluck yer juicy eyes from the sockets! Argh!"

But it was the brothel ladies who threw themselves head first into the fray. Each lady, being well-trained in the arts of disarming and vanquishing hordes of uncouth men, sprang into action, using the weapon of her choice: rolling pin, ink pen, door-stopper novel, ropes, spanking paddle, martial arts, high heels, wits, whips, and more. Chaos ensued.

The knight dispensed with one soldier and then a second, and a third cowered at his sword point. "Surrender!" he bellowed with bone-shaking power.

All weapons clattered to the floor.

"Take me, I'm yours," cried Belle, Ruby and Nigel, before they realized he meant the enemy.

Il Répoute's chest heaved with effort of sparring Julia and her rolling pin.

"And you, assassin, despot, conniving onion," said the prince. "Surrender."

"I will die fir—"

Thump. Il Répoute hit the floor, knocked out cold. Madame stood above him, beer tankard in hand.

"I believe there is a marriage to conclude," she said. She took the prince and princess by the hands, hauled the trembling priest out from under a bench, straightened the altar cloth and smiled. Hankies were produced, and the queen was revived.

The priest cleared his throat. "Do you, Princess Anne Phoebe-Anne, rightful heir to the throne of Darndiddle, take this man to be your husband?"

"Yes."

"Do you, I don't know your name but you seem to be the prince of Maskulinia, take Princess Anne Phoebe-Anne to be your wife?"

"Yes."

"Then by the power vested in me by our Lord in Heaven, I proclaim you to be married."

Sniffles and muffled crying echoed in the chapel, mixed with moans of pain by the soldiers. Even Nigel and Captain Hips each had a tear in their eyes.

"That's one woman's wildest dreams," sobbed Nina. "But what about our wildest dreams? Today was supposed to be the day, he said so this morning."

"Indeed," said the prince. "Perhaps, darling wife, you could pass an edict to comfort your fellow country women?"

"Oh, I don't need to pass an edict right now, I went to the restroom earlier," said Anne Phoebe-Anne.

"Then allow me, my bride, for the sake of the women of Darndiddle to try and satisfy their greatest desires."

Winds of destiny swept the room, blowing ruffles and short skirts. The ladies rallied themselves, visions of ecstasy beyond human endurance playing out in their particularly creative minds.

"This is it!" shouted Maggie.

"Hold my hand," begged Ruby, grabbing Vivi.

"Eeep!" squeaked Nina.

"I can't...I can't..." whispered Aurore and went limp in Captain Hips' arms.

"Hold up! Not so fast, it isn't for you to do such a thing," the queen stormed to her son, waving her arms as though clearing thick smoke. But basically, she just fed the flames of his determination.

"You are quite right, my lady mother. 'Tis not for me to decide on a solution for satisfying all the women of Darndiddle. What do I know of their desires?"

"I can make a list," offered Delilah. "Complete with financial requirements, statistics on satisfaction and potential return on investment."

"Which is why," he said, "I must ask Julia to repeat what she told me this morning as churned a little butter in the storeroom."

"Churned butter, as in churned butter?" Nigel asked, impressed.

"That's my boy," replied Madame and she winked.

"Ya know to churn butter?" asked Anne Phoebe-Anne. "Can ya show me? I can ne'er get it creamy enough."

"We shall spend our honey-moon making dairy products, my love. But first, Julia, do you remember what you said?" the prince asked.

"This had better be about a tour of the nation before settling down," Ruby stage-whispered.

"Or hot-tub night every Friday at the castle," hissed Nina.

Julia pursed her lips and frowned, the plump cook having completely forgotten there was conversation involved in the butter churning. "I might have said something along the lines of Oh, yes, I can feel it coming as you pumped your wooden rod most vigorously."

The queen squawked and swayed, eyes in the back of her head, but the king caught her.

"Right, so we all get to churn butter with him?" asked Vivi. "I'm ready. I even have my Provocative Milkmaid costume."

"Nay, good cook, before that part."

"I said, I've never had a barrel wedged just so between my thighs."

"Now she's just trolling us, isn't she?" muttered Maggie.

"Ah, you said, and I quote your very words: what I wouldn't give to run a culinary school, as I wished before the rat's ass Répoute declared all women must be protected, and as such must pay 105% taxes on all ventures not appropriate to our fragile, feminine bodies."

"Cooking and whoring, the only jobs available to free women," said Madame.

"Aye. An' piratin', may crabs dig though his bellybutton and pull out his gallbladder whilst he watches, tied to a rock and screamin'," said Captain Hips.

"Therefore, for all the women of Darndiddle, I declare the fairer sex shall indeed have fair opportunity to commerce, trade, and studies. As laws apply to men in business and private life, so they apply now to women. My edict."

"An' a right lovely edict, ma darlin' husband, but I should get to tidying up the place a bit, do you not think? Quite unsightly what with all the bodies," Anne Phoebe-Anne said.

But all around the pair, came a ringing silence. One by one, ladies hit the floor—on their knees in stunned amazement, or on their backsides in weak shock.

*** And that takes us almost to the end of our fairy-tale not like the others... ***"