Captivity.

Chapter 1

If you're looking for your typical "Once Upon A Time" that leads to your typical "Happily Ever After" fairytale, then you're in the wrong place, pal. This is going to be a story about a proactive protagonist, a genius, a mastermind villain with the perfect plan to finally take over the kingdom and live the lavish life of a King! At least... that's what Vincent thought of himself as he spied on the castle from the courtyard garden wearing the perfect disguise. A swan topiary. (Yes, you read that right.)

This was going to be easy, he thought. He'd bypassed the two gate guards by digging a tunnel from his lair- a derelict tower as opposed to the running trend in villain culture, a basement, a cave or something equally dark and mysterious- to between the royal shrubbery two weeks prior. He'd tested its effectiveness by standing dummies in front of the opening to see if the guards would notice, but no questions were raised about the silicon figure that was half charred from previous experiments. It seems that all you need to qualify to be a King's guard is the ability to wear a uniform. The observational skills needed to spot the grotesque, melted and blackened carcass of a dummy must've been considered excessive when included on one's resume.

Now in his Trojan foliage, all Vincent had to do was fire a few chloroform capsules into the moat that surrounded the regal structure. He pulled the trigger and the projectiles whizzed through the air and splashed into the water. A collective grunt of confusion emerged from all seven guards and one by one, they fell like dominoes as the vapor diffused.

This small success induced a proud smirk as Vincent unfolded his lanky but lean body from within his swan casing and casually strode up to the bottom of the ivy covered wall, stepping over the unconscious guards. At the foot of the wall, directly beneath the window of the princess's bedroom, three floors above him, he pulled a deflated, self-inflating-mattress from the pocket of his dark denim jeans and flapped it out twice as it filled up with air. Anchoring the red mattress with two of the limp bodies of his previous victims, Vincent began ascending the wall. He heaved himself up the thick and ancient vines until he reached the window ledge.

Now, Princess Mallory was truly a vision to behold. Even Vincent, the hardened, unaffected villain that he was, felt a sudden wave of wonder pass over him as he watched her, propped up by an exorbitant and seemingly uncomfortable pile of a dozen pillows in that ridiculous display of wealth most royal families tend to adopt, absorbed in a dark leather bound book. He shook the feeling and scanned the room from his position on the ledge like an awkward bird of prey, devising the easiest way to approach his target. Mallory's eyes flashed toward the window, catching sight of Vincent and matched his panicked expression with one of her vague curiosity. He had to act quickly. Vincent shattered the window with a forceful, and judging by the wince, painful, blow from his elbow and leaped into the extravagant bedroom like a startled parakeet, swiftly covering the princess's mouth with his right hand and sweeping her up with his left. She was light and petite, but shapely under the smooth fabric of her dress. Vincent seemed to be able to wrap almost his entire arm around her waist, triggering a sudden sensation of discomfort at the unexpected softness of her femininity.

With no hesitation he sprang back onto the ledge and stepped off into free fall, clutching Mallory tightly against his chest. With a thud and a bounce, followed by another smaller bounce they landed on the air mattress and Vincent's chin awkwardly collided with the top of Mallory's head and subsequently biting his tongue and cry out some lisped syllable that vaguely resembled a curse.

He took off hobbling past the gates and towards the sunset, rubbing his chin and readjusting the irregular lump of royalty thrown over his shoulder, until he reached an ash grey tower, decorated with hideous gargoyles that frankly, needed a good wash and another few coats of paint at least 5 years ago, but clearly, Vincent had more important things to deal with. "Hey Narrator, if you're going to be so rude then I think I'll just tell the story myself from now on, thanks."
Very well then, over to you.