The Chonicles of Thorn: Part One

In the kingdom of Thorn there lived a king, a queen, two princesses, and a gardener. The princesses were called Rosamelia and Brianette, and the gardener was usually called –
“Flower boy!”
Miles peeped over the cart full of cabbages. There was Queen Polirose, sweeping down the brick path he had just weeded. He rose to his feet.
“Majesty, may I warn you of the lady’s mantle just ahead of you. Its seeds love nothing more than fabric to cling to.”
The queen eyed the yellow blossoms warily and gathered her skirts more closely about her. “Ah, yes, thank you, boy. Tomorrow Prince Gregorio of Lamonte will be arriving, and he is very fond of the outdoors. He will most likely spend considerable time in the gardens, so I want them to be perfect. I had spoken with your master, Edric, about it, but I forgot that he would be gone for a few days, though I can’t recall why.”
“His mother, Majesty.”
“What?”
“Master Edric’s mother is sickly, and he goes to see her once a month.”
“Oh, yes, yes of course. Well, you can keep everything in hand, can’t you?”
“I will, Madam.”
“Good, good. Now I must find that Brianette…” She started to turn away.
“In the small greenhouse, Madam. I believe she wanted to gather some lilies.”
“Ah, thank you, lad.” Queen Polirose swept off past the peonies.
Miles waited until she passed behind the cherry trees and out of sight before he lept to his feet and sped in the opposite direction. The path the queen took would wind and curve for some time before it came to the greenhouse, but Miles, unencumbered by skirts and heels as she was, easily leaped over the cabbages and marigolds behind him and sprinted across the lawn to arrive at the greehouse a good five minutes before Polirose would.
Inside he could see Brianette, and with her, a blonde stableboy. Miles rolled his eyes before entering the glass building. So this was the princess’ latest crush, poor Wedley the ostler’s boy. Miles had lost count of how many times Brianette had asked him to keep an eye out for her while she flirted among the flowers with the lads she lured into the gardens. He did not know if her mother knew how mischievous her youngest daughter was, but he had no desire to be the one to break the news to her, especially since she had tried to corner him in the small greenhouse once. Thankfully he knew the place better than she and had escaped before she could bat an eyelash at him.
Seeing Miles’ warning wave, the princess shoved Wedley out the door and grabbed a handful of lilies. Taking the stableboy by the sleeve, Miles led him from the greenhouse and behind a high hedge. “Go on back to your horses, Wed, and try to stay out of her way.”
Wedley nodded, his face red to the ears, and dashed off. Miles winced as the boy crushed a pocket of marigold beneath his heavy boots.
Miles caught a movement from the corner of his eye. It was the queen. He quickly made a wide circling run back to his cabbages. Brianette was on her own from here.
As he gently placed the new plants in the warm soil and watered their roots, Miles thought about the next day. Prince Gregorio was coming, was he? He buried his trowel into the soil forcefully and wriggled it a little more strongly than he needed to to loosen the ground. The young prince of Lamonte was known by many names: Gregorio the Bold, the Golden Prince, Gregorio the Fair, Gregorio of the Golden Locks. Miles had his own pet name for the Lamontian. Gregorio the Stink.
This would be the fourth time this year Gregorio visited, and it was only mid-Spring. Every time he came, he did so with a different excuse: “I’m on a diplomatic mission…” “My father had an important question for King Caradec…” “I believe I left my favorite trousers last time I was here…” But everyone in the city of Chrysanthem knew better, and the rumors had soon hardened into fact in the minds of the Thornians. Prince Gregorio was lovestruck by none other than Brianette’s older sister, the Crown Princess Rosamelia.
Rosamelia. Miles sighed. Even if she were not a princess, she would be a perfect match for a prince such as Gregorio. A shimmering image arose in Miles’ mind of the princess… her smooth, light skin, her crystal blue eyes which always sparkled, her long, golden tresses which curled gently at her waist… Miles blinked. It was no mental vision he saw, but the real thing. Rosamelia was standing ten yards away, behind a row of pink Harwanna roses, eyeing them critically.
Miles ducked behind the cabbages and scrubbed his face with his shirt. He had the habit of scratching his nose when he was planting, and usually ended up with a face completely smeared with dirt. Having no mirror to check himself in, he was forced to hope he was clean. He rose to his feet casually, strode to the roses, and pretended to check them for disease. He reached the fourth plant and there she was, comparing two different blooms.
“Oh, Princess! Pardon me, I didn’t see –“
“Of course you did, you little fool. You saw me as soon as I walked up. Whatever were you doing lying behind those cabbages, are you daft? Is that what we pay you for? Never mind. I need a fresh bouquet for my bedroom. I could’ve sent Margot, I know, but Mother’s in a terrible state of anxiety and I had to escape for as long as I could. So I would appreciate it if you would not help me, so that I can take a good long time.”
“Y-yes, m’lady,” Miles mumbled. “But please, if you need anything at all, please call –“
“What do you think you’re here for, flower boy? Of course I would call. But didn’t I just say don’t help me? Are you deaf as well as daft?”
“No, Your Highness. I’m sorry.”
“Well, ta-ta, then."
She turned her back to him and moved down the row. Miles watched her for a moment, then went to a small stone bench tucked into the roses far down the row. He took a pair of clippers and began trimming leaves off the bush, all the while watching Rosamelia through the plants. She carefully considered every blossom near her, and now and then plucked one carefully and set it in the laced kerchief she was carrying. Her dress snagged on a thorn, but she merely yanked it free, causing the tear to lengthen considerably. She appeared to not even notice, and went on inspecting the roses. Miles suddenly looked down at the leaves he was trimming. They were all fresh and green, not at all ready to be trimmed. He grimaced and apologetically stroked the rose stalk. Suddenly he heard a shriek from the princess. She had caught her hair on a particularly thorny plant, and as she wriggled the locks only grew more tangled.
“Flower boy! I know you’re over there! Come and help me – ow!”
Miles was there in an instant. He gently pulled at her hair, then the rose plant, but neither would come loose.
“It’s very tangled up, m’lady. I’m not sure it will come free easily.”
“Oh, of all the stupid things I could do… pull as hard as you must! It has to come off eventually.” She tried to twist around to look, but stopped when she realized it was too painful.
“Perhaps I should get someone –“
“Don’t be ridiculous, flower boy. If you can’t untangle a girl’s hair from a rosebush then you’ve no business doing anything at all!”
“Alright,” Miles answered without conviction. He tried again to free her from the thorns, but it was no use.
“No use? Oh, well you’ve clippers there, haven’t you? Just cut it.”
Miles looked at her in horror. “Cut it!? No!”
“What!? Did you just say no to me?”
“I mean – I’m sorry but – I couldn’t cut your hair.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because it’s your hair. Wouldn’t it look crooked or something?”
“Crooked!?” squealed the princess, and she momentarily forgot her predicamet and whipped her head around to glare at him. Her head jerked back and she yelped. “Ow! Ow ow ow! Oh, for goodness’ sake will you just cut it! I’d much rather have crooked hair than no hair at all, which is what I’ll have if much more gets wrapped around these bloody thorns!”
A bit startled by the princess’ language, Miles reluctantly pulled the clippers from his pocket. “Alright, then, Highness. But remember this was not my decision.”
He held her hair in his hand and closed his eyes as he prepared to snap them on the golden lock.
“And I do hope you’re eyes are not shut, flower boy, because that would be utterly stupid and I would never ever forgive you if you slipped and cut all my hair off.”
Miles quickly opened his eyes. “Of course not!” He held his breath instead and quickly snipped the hair.
Rosamelia gave a moan of relief and rubbed the back of her head. She pulled the back of her hair around to look at it. “It’s not so bad,” she said. “I’ll have Margot put it up, and no one will know the difference! Certainly not that idiot Gregorio, he’d not notice a fly doing a tango across on his nose, he’s so thick. And that’s all that really matters, I suppose.” She sighed.
“Princess…”
“What is it, flower boy?”
“I beg your pardon, m’lady, but if you really feel that way about the prince, then why should it matter?”
“Oh, you do like to pry, don’t you?”
“I didn’t mean – I’m sorry, I –“
Rosamelia laughed, and Miles would have embarrassed himself all over again to hear her laugh once more. But she said, “That’s alright, though no doubt some would have you whipped for such a question. I’m not the whipping sort...” She looked thoughtful, then went on. “You’re right, you know. He’s just a boy, really, though he would like the world to think differently. And I’m just a girl yet.” Her voice had faded to a whisper, and she stared into the sky with her chin tilted at an angle. Suddenly she leaped to her feet. “I think, flower boy, that the handsome Gregorio will not find Rosamelia of Thorn so easy a flower to pick. I think,” and she glanced slyly at the roses wrapped in her kerchief, “that he will find even the prettiest of blossoms can still bite.” She sighed. “Though there are those who would try shave the thorns off of them. Do you know what I want, flower boy?”
Miles shook his head mutely.
“I want a bower.”
“A bower, Highness?”
“Yes, a leafy bower. Have you ever read the tale of Rhiangar? Oh, I don’t suppose you have. You probably can’t read.”
“Actually –“
“The tales reads: ‘She lay her head not in house, not in castle, not in tower. Rhiangar the dragon girl passed her nights in leafy bower.’ No one disturbed her there, I’ll bet, though I suppose much credit must be given to the fact she had a dragon living with her. I’ll bet whenever she was bothered with all those admirers and warriors and such, she would just run into her bower, where no one could find her.”
Suddenly a faint call came from the palace. The words were indiscernible, but Rosamelia stamped her foot. “That will be her, wanting me to wash my hair again or some other nonsense!”
She stalked off toward the palace without another word and was soon lost behind the roses. Miles sat a moment longer, gazing at nothing in particular, before slowly climbing to his feet and ambling back to his cabbages.