As was her habit, Teresa was taking an afternoon walk to the very edge of the royal grounds, where the lawns ended and the forest began. She stopped where the crowded trunks and branches leaned over onto the grass as if they were an invading army, stopped in their tracks. It was her favorite place. Her picnic basket was under her arm, and along with the loaf of bread and jug of ale purloined from the royal kitchen were her favorite possessions—a golden ball and a pair of leather breeches.

It was a long walk to the edge of the royal grounds. Her father ruled a powerful kingdom and the castle where she lived was opulent and well maintained, with a coterie of cooks, housemaids, manservants, stable boys, lady’s maids and butlers. She was almost never alone. But the afternoon sun often caused the castle denizens to drowse, from the stable boy curled up in the corner of the barn to her own father, the king, nodding gently on his royal throne. In these little moments, she could slip away,

As soon as she reached the edge of the royal grounds, hilly and fresh and green-lawned, she dug through the picnic basket, pulled on the breeches and removed her royal overskirt, underskirt, and under-underskirt that were the required uniform for the youngest princess of the kingdom. Now she could actually move! She tied back her long, thick blonde curls with a ribbon, took out the golden ball and started playing her favorite game—tossing it in the air and running to catch it.

She loved to run! When she ran, she could forget about all of the constraints of her life. Yes, she was a princess, officially, but being the youngest it was basically her job to stay out of the way and look pretty so she could be married off to the first minor prince or social climbing duke who showed an interest and could pay the dowry. Sometimes she wished that she were ugly so that no one would want to marry her. But her features were even, her eyes were wide and blue, and she had a fresh high pinkness to her cheeks that made a lot of young men turn quite stupid.

And now that she was 21, she knew the days of even her limited independence were numbered. The only thing that saved her was the fact that her older sister was not yet married.

Though they shared the same blue eyes, they were as different as they could be. Talia never strayed far from her chamber, spending the day devouring bonbons and trying on dress after royal dress, complaining that her old ones were, mysteriously, shrinking. Spoiled and ill-tempered, she had not welcomed the arrival of her little sister and despised her for her beauty and independence. It was bad enough that Teresa received all of the male attention, but even worse that she did not want it.

Oh, the princes and dukes courted Talia, of course—she was the oldest daughter of a king! But Talia was not deceived by their hypocritical flatterings and pushed them off. Since Teresa could not marry first, Talia squatted like a toad on both of their lives, partly from inertia and partly because she could not bear to see Teresa find a husband and thus have the possibility of building her own life, away from the stifling and demeaning position of little sister. Better that they both grow old at home.

That was fine with Teresa, at least for the time being. Stuffed shirts, all of her suitors, who bored her to death. None of them ever wanted to race, or climb, or spar, and although some of them liked to hunt, she was never allowed to go along.

“It’s too bloody,” the royal Queen told her, “and the forest is too dangerous.”

Thinking of her mother’s words, she peered into the forest, her golden ball gripped in her right hand. The density of the trees was shocking—one step in, away from the lawns, and the sunlight began to wane. Two steps, and she would be in shadows. Five steps—in a cool forever-evening where the sky was a fading dream.

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She shook her head to clear it of her strange vision and fought off her intense curiosity. She was here to play ball, burn off some steam, take a break from being a little princess for an afternoon. Some count or other would surely be drooling over her at dinner, when he was supposed to be courting Talia. The thought of it made her queasy.

As hard as she could, she threw the ball straight up into the air—a second golden orb in the sky for a brief half moment. It lingered strangely at the peak of its trajectory, then instead of coming straight down—it shot to the left like an arrow—straight into the forest!

Teresa’s head turned as she followed it in the air—it landed on a tree branch at the edge of the forest—more accurately in the hands of a strange looking little man who perched up there, perhaps 10 feet in the air, his legs dangling so she could see his stockings and green, pointed shoes. His trousers, also green, ended at his knees, and he wore a green jacket over a crisp white shirt. His cap was peaked, in the same color as his coat and pants.

 “Hey!” Teresa said, more irritated than afraid. “Give me back my ball!”

“And why should I?” his musical, lilting voice gave a sense of good humor and affection.

“Because it’s mine!”

“Oh, is it? I thought it was your mother’s, and her mother before her, and her mother before her.”

Teresa paused. It was an heirloom. The golden ball.

“How did you know that?” she asked.

“I know a lot of things. Here—” he said, and tossed the ball back to her. She caught it with skill.

“Nice catch,” he said, admiringly. “It must be lonely for you to play with no one else … here on the edge of your father’s grounds.”

“It’s okay,” Teresa said, cautiously, holding her ball tight, eyeing him. In spite of his strange appearance, there was something oddly familiar about him.

“Doesn’t your sister play with you?”

“Not her thing,” Teresa said.

“Yes, of course,” the little man said. He paused. “Is that a, uh, loaf of bread and jug of ale I see in your picnic basket?”

The basket was closed.

“Yes,” Teresa said, marveling again at the strange little magic man. Was he one of the reasons her mother didn’t want her to go into the forest? And why did he look familiar?

“How about I toss the ball around a little with ye, and then we sup on your provisions?”

“I don’t need anyone to play with, thank you,” Teresa said.

“Aw, that’s a good girl,” the little man said. “We are not acquainted, are we? Well, allow me at least to remedy that!”

And he leapt down—10 feet—as lightly and easily as if he were made of paper, skipped two steps to where the dusty floor of the forest began and the lawn ended, and flourished a bow.

“Thomas Aquinas Bundlesticks. You can call me Old Tom.”

Long training in court protocol made her respond automatically and she curtseyed in her leather breeches and reached out a hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said. “I am—”

“Princess Teresa,” he interrupted. “The little princess. I know you well, my girl. I was at your christening. You bawled like a banshee! Healthy lungs on that one, I thought. And I was right! Now if you ever need help, just shout out for me—I know you can do it—Old Tom! And I’ll come running.”

“Thank you,” the princess said, a little surprised. Why would she ever need help from this strange little man? Even if he did know a bit of magic. After all, she was a princess. She had soldiers to protect her. She had her whole kingdom.

“I know what you’re thinking,” the little man said. “Why would you ever need Old Tom? Well, you never know…”

He winked, and drew a pipe out of his back pocket. As he put it to his lips, he disappeared.

Teresa shook her head and rubbed her eyes. No—he was well and truly gone, and her desire to play at the edge of the forest was gone too. She put on her under-underskirt, her underskirt, and her overskirt without bothering to take off the leather breeches. Then she took a bit of bread and a quick drink of ale and repacked the basket. After a moment’s thought, she took the remaining bread and jug of ale back out and carefully placed them on the lawn at the edge of the forest. Perhaps Old Tom would like a treat. If not, the birds certainly would.

As she strolled back to the grounds, she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Who—or what-- was Old Tom? Was he really at her christening? And why was he offering help?

“I’ll shout out for him at dinner,” she murmured to herself wryly, “and he can save me from our guests.”