A Most Charming Prince

Fifteen: The Dark Night of His Despair, Part One

Seth saw Rebec, too, and screeched in fear like nails on a chalkboard. "It's her, it's Toad! She works at the brothel. I knew there was something improper about her!"

"Calm yourself, man," the prince said. "Or you'll answer to me if you insult this frightened maiden or any others here!"

"Speak to my son again, and you'll find yourself in the nearest jail, waiting a guilty sentence," threatened Il Répoute. The look he received for his bravado wilted his already soft-stool spine. Luckily, though, he always had bigotry to keep his spirits up. "Lowly peasant!"

His life was spared by the fact that Julia burst through the kitchen door, shouting thief and waving a wooden spoon like a sword at the same time as Nigel bounced down the main stairs.

Nigel held up his hands. "Let's not be o'er hasty with our conclusion."

"I'm not a thief," cried Rebec. "I found this bread and wanted to return it to its owner." She lifted the loaf for all to see.

"Indeed, fair maiden," said the prince, "it belongs to the lady of this house and I should be honored to escort you to her."

For the first time, Rebec looked up at the face of her rescuer and realized the paragon of princely perfection she'd seen from the backside earlier was now holding her to his mountainous man boobs. Plus, he had called her fair maiden. She froze, bread held high, the whisper of a lilting love song on her lips, and a dozen birds, mice, rabbits, chickens and a goat came to the windows and open doors to bat their eyes with her at the object of her utter adoration. The prince took the bread gently from her hands.

And here, it must be noted, she did not faint. Where any other woman would go wobbly in the knees before losing consciousness completely, Rebec's brain circuits fizzled and popped like your favorite cereal when you add milk to it, but she kept her gaze steadily fixed to his.

"My servant, a thief?" roared Il Répoute (he practiced tyranny in front of a mirror every morning). He grabbed Rebec's arm in the most ruffian, disrespectful manner. "To me, girl, and we'll away at once to mete out your punishment."

The prince's eyes blazed with fire. "No man lays rough hands on a woman in my presence and lives to tell of it!" By now he had quite forgotten he was armed only with a loaf of bread, while Il Répoute and his son had strapped on their biggest swords that morning before heading out. Compensation, what can I say?

But, just between you and me, we know the prince could take the two bare handed, right? Right. Despite being the village idiot, Seth suspected as much. So instead of starting a fight, he played along.

"Indeed, father, unhand her. Now that we've seen her true nature—thievery, moonlighting in this place of unwholesome vice, and fiddle-faddle, let's leave her to the peasant and be on our way."

"Never!" shouted Il Répoute. "She returns home with us and you'll be joined in wedlock today."

Meanwhile, Madame, having recovered from the shock of Nigel ditching her on the stairs at the very moment things were getting, shall we say, stirred up in the skillet? entered the dining room. The first thought that struck her was that she knew the warty, unattractive lass being pulled away by Master Répoute, but she was dead certain she'd never seen her before.

The prince leapt nobly, gracefully as the ballet dancing hero in Swan Lake, in front of the door, blocking the exit. "You will unhand this lady, that was your last warning."

Répoute sputtered. "Why you insolent pup! Step aside. Do you not know who I am? And as for this strumpet, she shall indeed marry my son. 'Tis a question of honor. Last night, she bound my son to the four posts of his bed and had her way with him. My son! An innocent youth! I found him gagged and weeping. There. She bedded him, she shall marry him."

The prince gasped. "I cannot believe such a tale!"

"Alas, it's true," Rebec whispered, choking. "But 'twas not as he makes it seem. It was a medical procedure. To cure him of a hideously swollen member."

Gasps sounded around the room. However, Madame, in all her years of experience, knew the ring of falsehood and manipulation in a man's voice when she heard it. "Your servant bedded your son, so now she must marry him?"

"Hold up," piped Maggie. She clucked her tongue, wagging a finger. "That's not how it works."

"Nope."

"Uh-uh."

"Not a chance, mister."

"You've got to be joking."

"Bwahahaha! Oh, please."

Maggie shushed the other girls. "Trust me, I've bedded enough rich man-boys to know their fathers never show up the next day to force you into holy matrimony for their honor." A chorus of voices echoed the affirmative.

"And yet," Il Répoute hissed, "for the honor of my family, she will marry my son."

"Not unless she so desires it," proclaimed the prince.

"Does anyone care what I desire?" whimpered Seth.

The prince knelt at Rebec's feet and took her rough hand, worn raw with scrubbing. He gazed into her sapphire eyes.

Sapphire eyes and honey gold curls... thought Madame. I know this girl. But those warts, what a shame!

"Do you, fair maiden, take the son of this overblown, puffed-up peacock of a man?"

"Do I have to?"

"Of course not, why I won't allow—"

Crack. The prince toppled forward like an oak tree falling in the forest, and hit the floor with a building shaking crash.

*** What's this, you ask? Our prince has fallen? Can it be? Nay - you say and shake your fist to the sky! Not a chance...and yet, we did leave him on the floor... ***