LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      “Am I really that boring?”

      Frederic was back in his room, sitting slumped on the edge of his cashmere-covered bed, while Reginald, rigid as ever, stood next to him, awkwardly patting the prince’s head.

      “There, there, milord,” the valet answered. “I don’t think the Countess of Bellsworth would call you boring. Do you remember how elated she was when you taught her how to cha-cha? You have many, many admirers, sir.”

      “Yes,” Frederic said sorrowfully. “But Ella is apparently not among them.”

      “It seems that Lady Ella simply seeks a different kind of life than that which you can provide for her here at the palace,” Reginald said.

      “Poached eggs! How stupid can I be?” Frederic smacked himself on the forehead.

      “There will be other women, milord.”

      “I don’t want any other women. I want Ella. Reginald, what do you think I should do? And be honest with me; don’t just tell me what you think my father would want you to say.”

      Reginald considered this request. He’d been caring for Frederic since the prince was a child. And he’d never been more proud of Frederic than when he saw the young man stand up to his overbearing father. Frederic could use someone as feisty and fearless as Ella in his life.

      “Don’t let her get away,” Reginald said, dropping his overly stiff posture and speaking in an unusually casual tone.

      “Wow,” Frederic gasped. “Did you just get two inches shorter?”

      “Never mind me,” Reginald said. “Did you hear what I told you? Get a move on! Go after Ella.”

      “But how?” Frederic asked, still bewildered to hear his longtime valet speaking like a regular person.

      “We’ll put you on a horse. Charles can show you the basics. You don’t need to be the world’s best rider; you just need to be able to get around. Stick to the roads and you’ll be fine.”

      “But—”

      “I know you’re scared, Frederic. But here’s my advice: Get over it. Ella wants someone as adventurous as she is. A real hero.”

      “Then I’ve got no hope.” Frederic sulked. “I’m a fantastic dresser. My penmanship is top-notch. I’m really good at being a prince, but I’m pretty lousy at being a hero.”

      Reginald looked him in the eye. “There’s a bit of courage in you somewhere. Find it. Go catch up with Ella, wherever she is. And just see what happens. She might be impressed enough that you’ve left the palace.”

      “There’s no way my father will allow me to do this.”

      “We won’t tell him.”

      “He’ll notice I’m gone eventually. And when he does, he’ll send his men to retrieve me.”

      “Whichever way you go, I’ll send them in the opposite direction.”

      “I’m still not sure I should. It’s really dangerous out there.”

      “That’s your father talking,” Reginald said. “Look, if you go on this journey, you’re not just doing it for Ella, you’re also doing it for that little boy who once wanted to try everything.”

      “You mean my cousin Laurence, who broke his leg trying to fly with those wax wings?”

      Reginald looked at him soberly. “Frederic, you don’t really remember your mother, but I do. And I know what she’d want you to do.”

      Frederic stood up. “Okay, I’ll go.”

      “That’s the spirit,” said Reginald.

      Frederic marched out of his room. A second later, he marched back in.

      “I should probably change into something more appropriate for the outdoors,” he said.

      Reginald put his arm around him. “You don’t own anything more appropriate for the outdoors,” he said with a smile. “Come, let’s get you down to the stables.”

      

      The next morning, after several hours of secret, intensive riding lessons, Prince Frederic trotted out through the palace gates on horseback, with Reginald and Charles the groom waving him good-bye. His eyes were tightly closed, his arms wrapped around the horse’s neck. Then something dawned on him.

      “Wait,” he called back to Reginald. “I don’t know where I’m going.”

      “Ella’s note said she was going to find that Rapunzel girl,” Reginald said. “Those bards are never very good about telling you exactly where their stories take place. But based on the clunky rhymes, I’m pretty sure ‘The Song of Rapunzel’ is the work of Lyrical Leif, the bard from Sturmhagen. Humph. With a name like Lyrical Leif, you’d think the guy could come up with better lines than, ‘Her hair was real long, not short like a prawn.’ Anyway, I’d try Sturmhagen. Head south.”

      “But Sturmhagen? Isn’t it supposed to be full of monsters?” Frederic said, his eyes growing wider by the second.

      “Ride fast,” Charles the groom called out. “With any luck, you’ll catch up to Lady Ella before you reach the border.”

      “I can’t ride fast,” Frederic said. “I’m trying hard to make sure I ride forward.”

      “Then so far you’re succeeding,” Reginald yelled. “Stay strong!”

      Frederic gripped his horse tighter, wondering what in the world he’d gotten himself into. Within twenty-four hours, he would be sniffling through a rainstorm, wishing he’d never left home. In a little over a week, he’d be quivering in the shadow of a raging giant. Another week after that, he would end up at the Stumpy Boarhound. But for now, he was on his way to Sturmhagen.

      Sturmhagen wasn’t a big tourist destination, mainly because of all the monsters. The kingdom’s thick and shadowy pine forests were crawling with all sorts of horrid creatures. And yet, that fact never seemed to bother the people who lived there. For most Sturmhageners, the occasional troll attack or goblin raid was just another nuisance to be dealt with, on par with a mouse in the pantry or a ferret in the sock drawer. These are tough folks we’re talking about. Take the royal family, for instance: King Olaf, at age sixty, was seven feet tall and capable of uprooting trees with his bare hands. His wife, Queen Berthilda, was only two inches shorter, and once famously punched out a swindler who tried to sell her some bogus “magic beans.”

      Prince Gustav, who stood six-foot-five and had shoulders broad enough to get stuck in most doorways, was nonetheless the smallest member of his family. Growing up as the “tiny” one among sixteen older brothers, Gustav felt a desperate need to appear bigger and more imposing. This usually involved puffing out his chest and speaking very loudly: Picture a six-year-old boy standing on top of the dining room table, posing like a statue of a war hero, and shouting, “The mighty Gustav demands his milk cup be refilled!” This didn’t make him look impressive—it made him look strange. His older siblings mocked him mercilessly.

      The more people laughed at him, the more distraught Gustav became. He stuffed balls of yarn into his sleeves to make his muscles look larger (and sadly, lumpier). He tied bricks to the bottom of his boots to make himself taller (and clomped around like a sumo wrestler in a full-body cast). He even grew his hair long, just so he would have more of something. Unsurprisingly, his brothers continued to tease him.

      In his later teen years, Gustav became a frustrated, angry loner. For as much

Скачать книгу