Post by Prince Charming on May 19, 2020 16:09:33 GMT
(Open to any and all.)
It had been nearly a year.
The Prince could count the months, but he felt them more than numbers would communicate. There was a hole in his heart. It had been dug, scoop by scoop, in a matter of hours the day the kingdom fell to the Cursed Thorns. He’d lost his father. Not knowing where the old King was ir why he’s had never come with reinforcements was maddening enough. He’d lost his home. Sometimes the palace had felt like a prison, but that was before meeting her. Cinderella. The thought of the ballroom where they’d danced, or the throne her small frame had never filled yet seemed to fit her perfectly anyway...crawling with those villains...
The Prince felt he could fall into that hole forever. Or he could set things right.
One tan fist tightened on the reigns of his horse, and Christopher only remembered to be gentle when his steed whinnied in protest. They’d stopped for a drink. The mules and sheep who had come with the small band of refugees were exhausted from carrying the eldest or weakest among them. It had been a long journey. And it wasn’t over yet.
”This must be Nottingham.” Murmured the Prince, patting his horse’s neck. He turned to address his kingdom. It had always been small. Now it was reduced to just fifty or so, mostly palace servants or town merchants who had managed to escape the occupation. They looked to him for guidance. And however much he wanted to storm The Cursed Thorns’ headquarters, save Cinderella...they must be cared for, first. “Rest here. The Duke and I will find lodgings for you all.”
The brunette’s hair had grown longer and more unruly. How Prunella would shudder to see his royal Highness in such dire need of a barber. He swept it back and squared his shoulders. This town seemed small, but at least there were no Thorns present. If he kept his cloak around his shoulders, as his peasant friends were already doing, he wouldn’t be recognized as royalty. They’d be safe until he could question the Thorns.
”There must be someone around here willing to help.” Murmured the monarch, tying his horse off to a nearby post. Where to start?
It had been nearly a year.
The Prince could count the months, but he felt them more than numbers would communicate. There was a hole in his heart. It had been dug, scoop by scoop, in a matter of hours the day the kingdom fell to the Cursed Thorns. He’d lost his father. Not knowing where the old King was ir why he’s had never come with reinforcements was maddening enough. He’d lost his home. Sometimes the palace had felt like a prison, but that was before meeting her. Cinderella. The thought of the ballroom where they’d danced, or the throne her small frame had never filled yet seemed to fit her perfectly anyway...crawling with those villains...
The Prince felt he could fall into that hole forever. Or he could set things right.
One tan fist tightened on the reigns of his horse, and Christopher only remembered to be gentle when his steed whinnied in protest. They’d stopped for a drink. The mules and sheep who had come with the small band of refugees were exhausted from carrying the eldest or weakest among them. It had been a long journey. And it wasn’t over yet.
”This must be Nottingham.” Murmured the Prince, patting his horse’s neck. He turned to address his kingdom. It had always been small. Now it was reduced to just fifty or so, mostly palace servants or town merchants who had managed to escape the occupation. They looked to him for guidance. And however much he wanted to storm The Cursed Thorns’ headquarters, save Cinderella...they must be cared for, first. “Rest here. The Duke and I will find lodgings for you all.”
The brunette’s hair had grown longer and more unruly. How Prunella would shudder to see his royal Highness in such dire need of a barber. He swept it back and squared his shoulders. This town seemed small, but at least there were no Thorns present. If he kept his cloak around his shoulders, as his peasant friends were already doing, he wouldn’t be recognized as royalty. They’d be safe until he could question the Thorns.
”There must be someone around here willing to help.” Murmured the monarch, tying his horse off to a nearby post. Where to start?
