My Story

A blast of trumpets shattered the peacefulness of the village as a loud shout cut through the amiable air.

"It's the king's messenger!" Someone whispered to his companion. Soon everyone in the small village was crowded around the majestic carriage bearing the royal emblem.

“Huh? What’s so important that the KING, of all people, bothers to announce something in this village? Even the landlord living in the town directly below us hardly doesn’t even come here. And the king lives hundreds of miles away from us! What the heck is going on?” I ask Hazele curiously as we pushed and shoved to the very front of the crowd. We had just been coming back from collecting strawberries from the fields when we had heard the summons.

“I don’t know. Maybe over some political matters?” Hazele replies doubtfully.

“Right... " I shrug nonchalantly. "I guess so. Maybe. Or maybe your dad has done something bad. Like, oh, i don't know, threaten to eat the king for dinner or something?” I suggested.

“Perhaps,” Hazele agrees with a mischievous twinkle in her big cornflower blue eyes and we burst into fits of laughter.
Somehow the thought of the village’s chief advisor ‘Dear little small guy’ approaching a old trembling little king with evil intent and a shaker of salt in his big fist proved too funny beyond words. And ya. The name ‘Dear little small guy" is seriously an understatement. The kids in those days must have either been utterly blind or enjoyed sarcasm.

Her dad is HUGE!

An unnecessarily loud and pompous clearance of throat by the short, squat, pock-marked, balding herald standing ‘majestically’ on the top of the royal carriage jolted us out of laughter. Not that it was needed. The very appearance of him was enough to quieten the entire village from a rowdy town to such a quiet hush that one could hear the smallest pin drop.

The herald clears his throat again, a scratchy dry cough that somehow irritates me, for some unknown reason. Perhaps it was the sight and thought of a stupid arrogant gloating pig of an old man standing ridiculously high on a wobbly carriage trying to be oh so high and mighty that proved so infuriating. It took all my self-control to keep myself from wrapping both my hands around his fat gloating neck and strangle that pompous pig till he turned blue.

“Don’t,” Hazele hisses from the corner of her mouth as she grabs my arm, knowing full well how easily I could flare up and what I was dying to do. I let her. After all, she had a point. I couldn’t just attack a royal herald just because I felt like doing so. And I still had had to hear what he had to say. It better be good or else. I clench my right hand into a fist, just in case.

The herald slowly and meticulously unrolls a long scroll and takes a big breath. Stupid gloating pig. He must be enjoying testing our patience. Gee, what a surprise. I hate him even more now. My other hand curls into a fist and I feel myself boiling up.

“Sofea,” Hazele mouths at me warningly. People were starting to look and stare.

I sigh and relax, though my fists continue to be clenched.

The pug-faced herald starts to speak.

Finally.

Stinking old guy.

I feel my body sag in relief. I pull it up again quickly, lest Betrice be near and notices and sbegins nagging endlessly at me in front of that herald. No way i was going to let that happen. I’ve had enough embarrassment as it is.

"Ahem. Dear beloved residents of- "

Ewww. The herald’s voice is oddly squeaky and high-pitched. He sounds so gay.

I can’t help myself. A laugh bursts unwillingly out of my mouth before i can stop it.

Oops?

Total silence as the herald and practically the whole crowd turns to glare, irritated, at me.

Aw crud.

I feel my face burning up in embarrassment. I make a promise not to utter another word while the herald talks as I clamp my hands over my mouth. Eylan would have a great laugh over this if he found out. Not that I was going to tell him. Some things are better left kept secret. Usually.

“Well,” The herald repeats, glaring pointedly at me, his voice moving up another pitch in irritation. It takes all my self-control not to burst in laughter again.

“Let me enlighten you primeval, ignorant people,” Oh dear. That guy better watch out. I’m starting to get mad again.
“When a member of the royal family reaches marrying age, oracles will be cast to foresee the hometown of their future partner. This year, it is the crown prince’s turn. The priests have already been summoned and,” The herald draws a huge shuddering breath while the crowd, with the exception of me, cranes forward in eagerness. The whole kingdom adores their crown prince.

He’s apparently smart, handsome, witty, loves to read, bla bla blah. Like i care. Too bad even here in Helsky village, a place that isn't even on a map, things are no different.

Apart from me, that is. Me? I don’t give a damn. Pardon my French.

“Your village,” The herald continues in a disbelieving voice. “- has.. been… chosen.”

He looks as though he has just received a death sentence. He's as white as a sheet.

Good riddance- WHAT?!

Oh dear…

The delighted gasps of overconfident mothers who are relishing the prospect of their beloved Jane or Jill or whatever marrying the crown prince and their darling little girls' squeals of excitement drown out everything else.

It was lucky I did not have a mother.

Mum died soon I was born.

You know, the horse thing?

Yeah.

I never really knew her. I don't even remember her, to say the truth. So i'm pretty lucky.

I guess.

Oh god. Practically every girl is shrieking with excitement. I think my head's gonna burst very very soon if they keep keeping this up. One guaranteed headache coming right up.

I wonder if Betrice was doing the same.

Probably not.

I think.

I definitely wasn’t though.

I was in the midst of staring incredulously at my best friend, who was in the midst of imagining her new life.

The herald continues to talk. I’m not listening.