Prince Cyrus frantically dug through his wardrobe, pulling and pushing fancy robes and coats aside. He had already ordered his servants to pack some proper clothes for his long journey, but there was one last thing he debated on bringing. He looked from side to side and reached his hands to the back of the closet where he retrieved a stuffed pink dragon. It looked antiquated with emergency patches here and there and a button eye hanging by a strand. He kept it well hidden from everyone, especially from the servants who he feared would mock him behind his back.

The dragon was a toy knitted by the queen herself when she was heavily pregnant and on bed rest. Having expected a girl, she had knitted it bright pink but she and her husband were equally surprised when the doctor held Cyrus in his arms that fateful day. Victoria worried the color of the dragon would put off a young boy like Cyrus, but much to her relief, he was inseparable from it.

One night, after a terrible nightmare, Queen Victoria held her child on her lap and told him, ‘I may not always be here, but whenever you feel the slightest bit afraid, hold on tight to your pink dragon. He is the color of my love for you.’ Cyrus always remembered her words, and when he grew too old to run to his parent’s room after a nightmare, he still hugged his dragon close.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” A familiar voice prodded the prince. Cyrus quickly threw the poor toy back in the closet, slammed it and turned around. There stood Archibald in his ridiculous get-up ready to laugh at him.

“Don’t you have any common decency, Archibald?” Cyrus shouted. “I ought to have you guillotined!”

“Hey, let’s not get a head of ourselves,” Archibald said with a chuckle. “Your parents want me to come along with you. And I’m going to break out the heavy artillery. All of my magic spells are at your command.”

Cyrus’ eyes lit up and he rubbed his hands together. Archibald had the largest array of magic spells and items anyone could own, but he didn’t share them with anyone. Cyrus hadn’t seen even an eighth of them. He immediately forgot his plans to execute the Majester and said, “What are you waiting for Archibald, lead me to your room!”

“Oh ho ho,” the Majester laughed again. “I won’t bring you to my room, because I have brought my room to you!”

He snapped his fingers and a tiny leather briefcase appeared in his hand. He opened it up and an array of burlap sacks, tokens, wands, crystals and mushrooms flew out, hovering right before the prince’s eyes.

“What is all this stuff?” Cyrus asked, recognizing only the dragon powder. “You only let me use that dragon powder and some simple spells.”

“Hey, big adventures call for big spells,” the Majester said proudly. “And feast your eyes on a small fragment of my collection.”

“Hey, what’s that shiny green coin?” Cyrus said and grabbed a large coin that fit in the palm of his hand. It was emblazoned with the face of an ugly pimply toad with bulging eyes.

“Careful with that,” Archibald said waving his hands. “That’s the medallion of Toad-o Annihilation cursed by Pimplelips herself.”

“Pimplelips?” Cyrus asked with an eyebrow raised.

“The great Frog Witch from the Sinister Swamp. She had a thing for old Archibald and gifted me that token. When cast it can turn a group of heavily armed foes into harmless warty toads.”

Cyrus tossed the coin back at Archibald who carefully caught it and restored it to its regular position. He then grabbed a mushroom that scared the Majester even more. It was reflective, and neon purple.

“What is this? I’ve never seen a mushroom like this before? Not even in the head chef’s mushroom stew.”

“That is not a mushroom you want to be ingesting unless you’re an extreme insomniac. That’s a Winkle Shroom from Winkle Woods and anyone who ingests it, sleeps for 20 years.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t need that,” Cyrus responded, carelessly flinging the mushroom back at Archibald. “I have the steward’s lectures for that anyway.”

Cyrus pointed at a few stalky plants banded together by leather. They were tinted rainbow. “Ah yes,” Archibald said “Rainbow Rhubarb. It is edible and has laxative properties like regular rhubarb, but I’d advise against eating it. It has been known to cause intense multi-color hallucinations. It’s a favorite of Roy G. Bivion, the Rainbow Wizard, and while I’ve had some fun with him back in my days of youth, I don’t think I’ll ever have it again.”

Cyrus’ youthful attention span shifted again to a skull that floated alongside the spells. “Why do you have that?”

“Oh that?” Archibald laughed. “That’s just to make my collection look more esoteric. That, and holding it is great for existential monologues. I am a thespian you know.”

“No idea what that means,” Cyrus said. “But I am in awe of your collection. Will I get to try it out?”

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“Yes, in time,” Archibald responded. “But I’ve showing it to you for another reason.”

“What is that?”

Archibald held out his hands like he was making a big dramatic statement. “There’s a great big kingdom out there--and by adventuring through it--I discovered all these trinkets and treasures that captivate your mind. Most importantly, you never know when these treasures can come in handy. I’ve had some of these nifty tricks pull me out of some tight spots. Let that be some more motivation for you to go on this adventure.”

“You know,” Cyrus responded. “I could just have our merchants go out and collect this stuff for me.”

Archibald hung his hands with an exasperated expression on his face. “Aww kid, you’re no fun. You children have it easy these days.”

Archibald snapped his fingers and all of his spoils shrunk and entered the briefcase. “Well, pack your last few things. Your parents are ready to see you off.”

The Majester strolled out of the room with the bells on his shoes ringing. Cyrus reached into the wardrobe, grabbing his pink dragon. He stroked it and said softly, “Today’s the day. I’m going to need all the help I can get. Please make me lucky.”

“Archibald…” Cyrus peeped.

The playful Majester stuck his head through the doorway. “Yes, princey poo?”

Cyrus bashfully held out his stuffed animal, causing the Majester to give a kindly and knowing smile.

“Uh can you carry this in your briefcase for me?” Cyrus asked with suddenly timid eyes.

“Of course,” Archibald responded. “I once had a stuffed dog. Or was he a hog? Maybe a frog? My mom wasn’t as good at knitting as yours.”

Cyrus’ eyes grew in shock. “How did you know my mom made this for me?”

Archibald gave a mischievous smirk. “Your folks and I go way back, princey poo. I was there when your dad sported a magnificent orange beard before it had any shades of gray!”

Cyrus watched as his friend magically levitated the dragon, letting it fly into the open briefcase. He knew it was safe in there. Archibald was his oldest friend and he fully trusted him.

“Just don’t mention it to anyone or you’ll find yourself in the dungeon!” Cyrus exclaimed.

***

The queen stood with bated breath in the front courtyard. Her vassals, servants and thirteen members of the royal guard gathered on the brick pathway that lay between mazes of neatly trimmed hedges. Some of these verdant bushes were carved into the regal wolfhound or figures of the king and queen themselves. The midday sun glinted on the silver circlet on her head, and made her look radiant even at the graying age of 50.

Cyrus emerged with Archibald and everyone immediately gasped at his outfit. He wore a furry white cape fastened with a golden button on the front. Underneath it was dark red tunic, a gray belt and dark tights pulled up high around his thick thighs. Perhaps the most eye-gouging part of his outfit was his white-and-black pants patterned after a zebra’s pelt.

Archibald, on the other hand, preferred a black tunic and shorts. It was low cut to show off a bit of his chest hair and his toned and tanned arms bulged against his tight short sleeves. Most of the servants admitted when he shed his garish Majester clothes, he looked dashing for someone in his mid-thirties.

When Victoria saw Cyrus, she immediately forgot about his clothes. She readied herself to say goodbye to her son for what may be the very last time.

“Mom,” Cyrus cried in a high pitched voice and ran to her to hug her goodbye. As he pressed his face into her warm robe, he immediately felt everyone’s eyes on him.

“What are you looking at?” He screamed at the servants. “Don’t look at us.”

They all turned away and Archibald laughed at the red cheeked Cyrus. “Hey nothing wrong with showing a little motherly affection in public.”

“Where’s Dad?” Cyrus said, at last removing himself from his mother.

“My Richard had quite a fit,” Victoria said, trying to play off the severity of the situation. “I don’t think he’s calmed down yet.”

Cyrus looked away, knowing full well he earned his father’s ire, but wished to deny it. He immediately turned things back to himself. “Where’s my Gilded chair of Royalness?”

Victoria put her hands on her hips and frowned. “This is the responsibility we were talking about, Cy. You might need all these men to fight alongside you. They shouldn’t just carry your chair.”

“There’s thirteen of them, it takes 6 of them to carry it. Plus, I want to ride through the castle town in style.”

Victoria sighed. “If that’ll make you happy,” she said with sad resignation.

“Relax mom, I saw Archibald’s survival spells. We have nothing to worry about.”

None of his reassuring words could ease the tempest in his mother’s heart. She knew the outcome and odds were clearly not in his favor.

The jewel encrusted Gilded Chair of Royalness arrived with six wooden stakes on its bottom carried by six of the royal guards. Despite its weight, the guards carried it without a single grunt or grumble. They saved that job for the prince himself.

As soon as they released the chair from their hands, Cyrus’ stocky body was all over it. His tights ran up underneath his cape, revealing his large rear. He perched himself atop his portable throne in a relaxed manner. He crossed his legs, showing off his outrageous zebra pants.

“When the townspeople see me, they’ll know me as the prince of style,” he laughed.

“Whatever you say, prince,” Archibald said with a grin.

“I guess this is goodbye, mom,” the young prince said. “But I’ll write you at the end of every week. Archibald taught me well.”

As the prince’s servants all stood and bowed, Victoria clutched her robe tightly and shed a solemn tear as her son departed into the great unknown. High above her, in an arched bedroom window that overlooked the castle town, forests and mountains, Richard Coates bent his head in sorrow. The entire kingdom’s resolve rested on his shoulders and he could not allow everyone to see him in such a vulnerable state. He regretted never saying goodbye to his only son, and the regret deepened as time wore on. He watched the royal chair until it disappeared at the drawbridge, before turning aside and holding his head.

Two common guards reeled up the wooden drawbridge from the outer castle walls. They gave a salute as the guards passed by with Archibald accompanying them on foot. He lifted his hand and nodded with a sly grin.

“So, this is Prince Cyrus’ first time leaving the castle?” one guard said.

“Yes, and as you know he is exceptionally high maintenance,” the other responded.

“Aye,” the first guard said.

They watched the Gilded Chair of Royalness as it slopped down a stone road across a hill and disappeared.

“I say he lasts three days,” the second guard piped up.

The first guard’s eyes darkened in spite of the sunshine. “I don’t think he’ll last one.”