Ruth Writes

‘No thank you, sir,’ the princess says politely, leaning back into her throne, away from him. He stays bent over in a low bow and peaks up at her. Irritation tickles through her and she grits her teeth to stop herself from screaming. She leans forward fighting every urge inside her that’s telling her to deck him.

‘I said, no thank you, sir,’ she repeats. His shoulders sag and he slumps off defeatedly. She throws herself back against her throne and closes her eyes. Usually, she loves when her parents host the monthly ball but tonight, she is not in the mood. Her dress is too long, her hair is pinned too tightly, and her shoes are pinching her toes. In the space of thirty minutes, she has been approached by seven men and each time she saw another hopeful or confident face strolling towards her, it only made her more irritated than she already was. She wanted to dance alone but God forbid the princess get to move her body to some music without the arm of a man wrapped around her.

‘He was cute,’ Ned, the guard beside her, mutters out of the side of his mouth.

‘He was older than my dad,’ she snaps, and he chuckles. She grabs his arm and inspects his watch. She hasn’t even been here an hour and she wants to poke her eyes out. She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily, noticing Man Number Eight approaching.

‘Get me out of here,’ she hisses. Ned looks down at her and opens his mouth to protest but she fixes him with her don’t-test-me face and he nods his head.

‘I know just the place.’

She hastily stands up, cringing at her blistered toes, and loops an arm through his. They escape quickly out of a partially hidden back door and she breathes in the cold, fresh air. She kicks her shoes off and digs her burning feet into the damp grass.

She starts to rant about how horrible it is that she’s expected to spend an evening rejecting men when all she wants to do is have some fun. She paces, stomping around and muddying the bottom of her dress. As she talks Ned whistles sharply and the heavy pounding of hooves comes hurtling across the field towards them. Her winged horse skids to a stop behind her and pushes her shoulder with his hard snout. It shuts her up and she whips around to hug him. He extends his large wings and waits patiently for Ned to give her a hand up onto his back. She settles herself, twisting her fingers into his tangled mane and taps her bare heels against his sides. He trots forward, moving into a steady canter and then bursting into a gallop before he takes off, flying into the darkening sky. She closes her eyes and concentrates only on the wind on her face and the heavy beating of his wings as her irritation slowly melts away.