“Why is it spreading so fast?” asked Cyrus as he tried in vain to shuffle as fast as Archibald.
“It’s magical fire,” the Majester responded, slowing down.“Dragon powder is fortified with magic to make it spread faster.”
“Great, just my luck,” Cyrus muttered between wheezes.
He knew this disaster was his fault, but he was not ready to admit it, much like the other wrongs he committed. The inferno chased them at a miraculous speed. It caused short shrubs to erupt like a line of fire from a dragon’s breath. The intensity of the blaze made Archibald pick up his feet and quickly duck under a fallen log leaning against a tree.
Looking back at the smoldering mess he made, Cyrus didn’t realize there was a hanging log and it decked him right in the head. Not hearing Cyrus fall, Archibald scurried out of the crackling pyre and quickly made his way in a safer direction.
Cyrus grumbled as his body felt heavy and sore. Dazed, he slowly attempted to rise to his feet but his cape caught on a tangle of brambles. The flames surrounded him and he began to whimper. He knew he had to tug harder but his body ached. He dreamed of Trinity locked somewhere dark and dank, muffled and gagged. He was her only hope and if the fire burned him to a crisp, he would never get to be her savior. Then he dreamed of the wet mutton rotating on a spit that Archibald promised him to make. With sudden strength, he tore his cape away and leaped to his feet. With increased momentum, he ran as fast as his stubby legs could carry him before he stopped at the foot of a towering mountain. Further along the red mountain wall, he saw an opening large enough to fit him. He quickly squeezed inside.
Leaning on his legs in the coolness of the cave, Cyrus hacked and breathed hard. Without any further provocation, he puked a putrid yellow green vomit all over his princely clothes before collapsing.
From the stone floor, he looked out through the cavern and saw torrents of rain combating the blaze. He breathed a sigh of relief that nature had its own way of dealing with infernos. Cyrus just sat with his chin on the ground gazing into space.
Clank clank.
He heard footsteps. Though he was dizzy, he sat up and climbed to his feet. Cyrus turned around and was met with the same ghostly silhouette that had haunted him before- a knight in armor. A gloved fist flew out of the darkness and nailed Cyrus in the face. He crumpled without a word.
“Uuuugh…” Cyrus moaned. “That’s twice now I’ve been smacked in the head. Royalty doesn’t deserve this treatment.”
A tenor voice trying to sound gruff rose out of the darkness. “You deserve to be smacked a thousand time for stealing my firewood and using it to commit arson, you blue blooded fop.”
Cyrus barely saw anything but shadows on the cave walls. Cold chains tethered his arms to a large stalagmite that cragged out of the ground. He rattled his chains and screamed before he was silenced by the emergence of whoever was speaking.
The striking sound of a torch being lit echoed in the cavern and from the veil stepped a thin dainty figure clad in chain mail. In the glow of the fire, Cyrus saw the rosy cheeks of a teenage boy. The knight had the longest eyelashes and clearest tanned skin Cyrus had ever seen on a boy. The only thing that was at odds with his frail appearance was a magnificent brown bushy beard. It curled and tumbled off of his face and shined like the bottom of a lion’s mane. In spite of the manly beard, Cyrus lost all fear in his assailant.
“What do I owe this pleasure, Sir Stringbean?” he said with a wry expression.
The knight puffed out his round cheeks in anger and boldly lashed out at Cyrus in his squeaky voice. “I’ve heard all the jeers and mockeries around my kingdom, but those who laugh haven’t faced as many monsters as I. I’ve fought everything from the dark mountain dragons to the fearsome sea beasts in the western islands. I’ve even killed an Argus!”
“What’s an Argus?” asked Cyrus, feeling mildly impressed.
“I don’t know!” The knight exclaimed, making a non-existent muscle “But I’ve killed it. As you can tell, I’m a very manly man.”
“That’s debatable,” Cyrus sneered.
“Do you doubt such a magnificent mustache and beard?” The knight said, while miming a feel of his facial hair.
“Well…I uh…”
“I don’t see you with a beard,” the knight jabbed. “Your lips are as bald as a woman’s. How old are you?”
“12…” Cyrus said, cheeks turning red.
“13,” the boy knight said. “May the god of manliness smile upon you as much as me when you’re my age.”
He began to chuckle, before Cyrus muttered. “Too bad the rest of your body doesn’t match your beard.”
The boy knight leveled his sword right at Cyrus’ neck. The knight gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath. “You sure speak a lot for someone who’s my prisoner. Keep talking and I’ll have you executed.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Executed?!” Cyrus responded. “That’s my job! Do you even know who I am?”
“I don’t care,” the knight responded. “You are now a prisoner of the Toccatta kingdom!”
“Trinity!” Cyrus exclaimed.
The knight’s eyes went wide. “How do you know the princess?”
Cyrus smiled with confidence and closed his eyes. He knew he was getting through to this stubborn boy knight. “I’m her handsome prince. I’ve been tasked with rescuing her fair maidenhood from those wicked creatures. Prince Cyrus Coates is my name, but you will address me as your highness.”
The knight’s eyes brightened and his face perked up like he had just been tickled. He let out a giggle. “Wait until the princess gets a load of who she’s been swooning over this whole time.”
It was Cyrus’ turn to be angered and embarrassed. His cheeks brightened just like the boy knight’s. “Who are you to judge a romantic poet by his appearance?”
The knight lifted his eyebrows and gave a sardonic open mouthed smile. “This coming from the same person who judges a knight for his? I am the personal guard of the fair princess and I’ve seen plenty of your type. All you wannabe sonnet writers have the same exact intention.”
The knight tried to deepen his voice further and spoke in a much older dialect. “Dearest mistress, dropeth thy pants and elope. Trust me, Prince Charming, you’re nowhere as artful as you think you are. Sooner or later, you’ll expose yourself as a bloody rake.”
“You don’t know my intentions,” Cyrus shouted back. “A true romantic writes with his heart concealed on the inside of his sleeve.”
“So you write with your heart up your sleeve?” The knight responded drolly. “I saw the letters that graced Trinity’s eyes and ‘captured her heart.’ Beyond the flowery words, I saw nothing but empty statements and those are the most damning of all.”
“I don’t expect a knight skilled only in sword play, if that, to be able to interpret my prose. You’re lucky Trinity held the letter the right way because I don’t think you’d be able to tell if it was upside down.”
The knight growled and his big bushy hair shuffled forward. “I swear your sharp lips makes me want to sever them clean off.”
Cyrus smirked, knowing he got his assailant with his biting wit. “Oh, but lest I keep going and tear such a poofy headed ruffian a new one. I know the real reason you dislike my prose so much.”
The knight couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow on his enraged face. “Oh what’s that?”
“You’re a boy, and as you and I both know, no one in this kingdom will write a luscious love poem in praise of you. No one ever will hahahaha!”
Cyrus snorted and began laughing at the knight. The boy’s face shaded bright red and he held his sword in a delicate manner in front of his waist. His chestnut eyes reflected great vulnerability and sadness. His poofy hair hung over his eyes and he began to shake and growl. “Why don’t I cut that voice box from your throat, you knave!” The knight screamed and lifted his blade aiming it right at Cyrus’ laughing head.
Cyrus screamed as the sword was two inches away from his nose. There was a loud banging sound and the knight was knocked aside by a large silver pocket-watch colliding with his head. He fell to the ground and didn’t move. Archibald quickly caught the watch and smiled when he saw Cyrus. “Hey princey, saved you in the nick of time!”
“Is that a magical stopwatch that freezes time and space?” Cyrus exclaimed.
“Nope,” Archibald responded. “I just felt like making a cheesy pun.”
As the night passed, Archibald and Cyrus sat over the unconscious knight. They had suppressed his arms with a rare brand of snare dragon vines, otherwise known as binding vines. They pondered his fate. “I say we send this thuggish boy to the gallows for the violence he committed against me,” Cyrus said.
“Now now, simmer down. This knight may have acted aggressively but from what I’ve heard, he has connections to Princess Trinity and bears her royal crest on his armor. I think its best we hear him out, else we have a war between countries.”
The knight slowly opened his brown eyes and batted his eyelashes. He looked right up at his captors. “Unhand me this instant, foul villains,” he growled in his deepened tenor voice.
“Don’t you mean unvine you, my dear knight?” Archibald remarked.
“I have no time for your puns and I’d rather die than be in captivity of that scoundrel!”
Archibald moved and put his arm on the knight’s shoulder. “I think it’s time for you both to realize that before the yappity yap and the punchy punchy, we were allies all along. I assume both of you are too young and hormonal to realize the irony of this situation! We are both here to save the princess.”
“But he…!” Cyrus shouted.
“No he…!” The knight shouted in return.
“Hey,” Archibald said raising his normally relaxed voice. “Let’s put it aside; what is your name?”
The knight closed his eyes and with as much dignity as someone who was tied up could muster, he calmly stated, “My name is Sir Henry Celine.”
“Celine?” Cyrus snorted. “Isn’t that a girl’s name?”
The knight’s cheeks shone blood red again and his voice leaped to defend his honor. “It’s my family name. I come from the House of Celine. Trust me, a knight doesn’t pick his house’s name- it picks him and bestows him with the utmost honor and duty!”
“Well knight from the house of girly names, I think it’s best you tell us everything you know….or else.”
“Now now, princey,” Archibald said, easing the prince down with his hands. “That’s not how we treat our new friend and ally, Sir Celine. And how about I show that we are amicable by doing this.”
Archibald tickled the binding vines and they released the knight’s hands. He quickly crawled to his feet. “You are free, Sir Celine, and we mean you no harm.”
The boy knight looked at Archibald with candid eyes. He had a knight’s code to follow and couldn’t just stab the prince and run away. He bowed to Archibald. “Thank you…What is your name?”
“Archibald…Court Majester of the Coates Royal Family at your service,” he said bowing back.
“Thank you…Archibald,” the knight said in a grateful but haughty voice. “It is odd a professional clown has more dignity than a member of the Coates Royal Family.”
“I assure you,” the Majester said with honesty. “It takes a youth of mischief and follies to carry yourself with dignity. But I appreciate the sentiment. How about you give us a knight’s report of the nearby land. Do you have any news on the whereabouts of the Everbloods?”
The boy knight reported to Archibald and the prince in a professional knightly manner. “Ah yes. There have been rumors that the Moonlit Village over the mountain has some connection to the Everbloods. Villagers have been acting in peculiar ways and a few have reported sights of a lily-white lady singing in the glow of a blue moon. These are unconfirmed rumors but…”
Archibald’s eyes shot open and he nudged Cyrus who had began to zone out. “You hear that boy? Looks like we have a new destination!”
“Great,” Cyrus responded and he curled up on the floor. “I really need to sleep.”
“You better be ready first thing in the morning, princey,” the Majester said happily. “Tomorrow we head to Moonlit Village.”