The Picky Princess
Once upon a time, not too far from here, there lived a King and a Queen who wished for a daughter. Very suddenly, all at once, they were blessed with four.
As the girls grew in age and beauty, it became abundantly clear that special care would need to be taken to find suitable suitors for them all.
This worried the King deeply, but his wife assured, “I have a plan.”
So, it was decreed that any man wishing to win the hand of a princess must produce a rare treasure to impress her.
The Princesses spent their days in the castle gardens while waiting for their would-be husbands, which is how it was that one Princess caught the eye of the castle Gardener.
The Gardener saved his wages for three months and used the money to purchase a modest silver ring with a small blue stone. He presented the ring to the first Princess who, happy to have been considered at all, accepted his proposal without hesitation.
The two were wed soon after and the Princess joined him in his cottage. They had a simple yet peaceful life and would in time raise a large family.
Next came the Huntsman, who brought with him a vast collection of furs and other trophies from his many expeditions.
The King found this particularly impressive. The second Princess, who had always valued her father’s wisdom, accepted the grand gesture and married the Huntsman.
She waved merrily to her sisters when, after the wedding, she rode off with him into the wilderness. Every so often she would send a boar’s head as a reminder of her affection.
The third suitor to arrive was a Prince. He was not the heir to a great throne, but a second son looking to forge his own path. While he would not inherit a kingdom, he did own a large and lavish manor.
He presented the third Princess with a painting of his home and told her, “All this could be yours.”
The third Princess, who had always been closest to her mother, saw how the Queen’s eyes lit up at the offer. Not wanting to disappoint her mother, she accepted the proposal and married the Prince. After the wedding, he whisked her away in a massive caravan and she was seldom heard from thereafter.
With three Princesses married, only one Princess remained and there was a problem. The fourth Princess was hopelessly picky. Nothing, it seemed, impressed her.
A Merchant appeared offering spices and teas from faraway lands, but the Picky Princess was not impressed.
Next came a Pirate who brought an entire chest of gold coins, but the Picky Princess was not impressed.
Then a Poet with tomes of eloquent verse, and a Sculptor with his carefully crafted marble figures, but still the Picky Princess was not impressed.
A Sea Captain arrived with his great naval fleet, a Scholar who spoke at length of his expansive library, and even a Wizard with a mysterious crystal ball that whispered secrets failed to impress the Picky Princess.
The King and Queen feared she may never marry.
Concerned also that his daughter would be lonely without the company of her sisters in the garden, the King appointed a Bard to entertain her.
Despite being very different from one another, the Picky Princess and the Bard soon became friends. There was an ease between them that made their time together particularly peaceful.
As the Picky Princess sat in the shade of her favorite oak tree, the Bard would quietly play his lute. Every so often the Picky Princess would look up from her reading or sewing and ask a question.
In response to her questions, the Bard would set down his lute and stretch his long arms above his head, almost as if he were plucking the answers from his memories.
“Bard, have you ever met a mermaid?”
“Bard, what’s the furthest you’ve ever traveled?”
“Bard, what do you know of dragons?”
“Bard, have you always been a bard?”
“Well, my Princess,” he began. “I was once a knight.”
“Oh?” asked the Picky Princess, surprised at his answer.
“It’s true,” he continued. “I wore gleaming armor and fought in many battles. I took great pride in my armor and polished it often. You would have been able to see your face in it, like a mirror.”
“Why did you stop being a knight?”
The Bard drew a deep breath and considered for a moment before answering, “I was tired of fighting. Many of my comrades said I was cowardly, but I didn’t want to hurt people anymore. So, I took off my armor and took up my lute.”
They were both silent for five heartbeats before the Picky Princess told him, “I think what you did is very courageous.”
Her response surprised him.
“Do you?”
“I do. It’s frightening to change. Perhaps that’s why I stay here in the garden. Perhaps if I were more courageous, I wouldn’t send away my suitors.”
“I think it’s courageous to say no,” he said.
“Do you?”
“I do.”
The following morning the Picky Princess waited for the Bard in the garden, but he did not come. She tried looking for him, but he was nowhere to be found. Not in the garden, not in the tower, not in the stables. The baker hadn’t seen him, nor had the guards who stood at the front gate. The Picky Princess worried for the Bard, but unsure what else there was to do she returned to the garden to wait for him.
As the Picky Princess sat in the shade of her favorite oak tree, the birds sang their gossip from the highest branches. Every so often the Picky Princess would look up from her reading or sewing and ask a question.
“Birds, have you ever met a mermaid?”
“Birds, what’s the furthest you’ve ever traveled?”
“Birds, what do you know of dragons?”
“Birds, what’s your favorite song?”
The birds always seemed happy to oblige. Perhaps, she thought, she had all the company she needed.
The birds were flighty friends, however, and while they were entertaining for a time they always flew away. Rarely did the Picky Princess see the same bird twice. Though she tried not to think of him, she missed the Bard.
Three months had come and gone when the trumpets sounded, marking the arrival of a suitor. It had only been a week since the Picky Princess had turned down a particularly entertaining Minstrel and she was feeling tired. As she made her way into the ceremony hall she heard whispers of a Knight.
“It doesn’t matter how much his armor shines,” one noblewoman remarked. “He mustn’t be a very good Knight if there’s a hole in it.”
It was a curious statement to be sure, but as the Picky Princess laid eyes on the Knight it was not the rectangular hole in his armor that captured her attention. It was his face. He wasn’t just a Knight, but her Bard in shining armor.
The Picky Princess felt many things. Excitement. Joy. Relief. Confusion. Sadness. Frustration. Hurt. Part of her wanted to run to him, but she resisted.
Sensing her hesitation, he approached her instead. When he was within arm’s reach she said, “You left me,” stopping him where he stood.
He hung his head. “Yes, and I’m sorry for that,” he sighed.
“Why?” she asked.
He shuffled his feet, took a deep breath, and lifted his eyes to meet hers. “I’m afraid I don’t have a good answer, my Princess. I suppose I simply needed some time to think.”
“About what?”
“My proposal,” he answered.
In his hands the Bard held a small wooden box – oak, like her favorite tree. All her favorite flowers had been carefully carved into the top. He offered the box to her.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Open it.”
The Picky Princess took the wooden box in her hands, carefully lifted the hinged lid, and looked inside. At the bottom of the box was a rectangular piece of metal, the missing piece of his armor, polished so brightly she could see her own reflection staring back at her.
“I spent a long time,” began the Bard, “Thinking about what could possibly impress you, but the truth is that it’s difficult to be impressed when you are the greatest treasure of all. You are far more precious than all the rings and furs and castles in any faraway land. You’re more valuable than a store of tea and spices or a chest of gold coins. No poem or sculpture could ever truly express your worth.”
The room fell silent. The assembled onlookers all seemed to be holding their breath as the Picky Princess contemplated her response. It had only been five seconds though it felt like five years, when finally, she spoke.
“I will not marry you,” she said to the surprise of everyone and no one.
The crowd erupted with laughter.
The Bard grinned.
“Good,” he replied. “That’s not my proposal. You’re my friend, after all, which is much more important.”
The Picky Princess was confused.
“What is it that you’re proposing?” she asked from beneath a wrinkled brow.
“Come with me,” he said. “Come with me and we’ll meet a mermaid. Come with me and we’ll travel further than anyone has ever traveled. Come with me and we’ll learn everything there is to know about dragons. Come with me and maybe someday you’ll find something worth saying yes to.”
The Bard extended his hand, and the Picky Princess took it.
“Alright,” she said. “But only if you take off that silly armor.”
Normally this is where I would say ‘The End,’ but for them it was only the beginning.
