As she approached the closed doors to the King’s hall, the two guards shifted, weapons out, and blocked her way.
“Gentlemen, please? I’ve been summoned,” she explained, but neither moved. Frowning, she took a closer look at both guards and realized she knew one of them. “Fergus. Fergus. The King has asked for me. Seriously. Don’t make me go talk to your mom in the Kitchen.” He did not acknowledge her in the slightest, causing Telly to roll her eyes. She forgot about the “conduct” of guards.
An emergency within the castle was an occupational malfunction of the worst kind. Guards (who considered themselves to be one entity) held themselves ultimately responsible for the welfare of everyone. And so, when the alarm went up the guards shut up. They collectively hurried to their stations, whether on duty or not, and there they remained silent, still, and frustrated with failure.
“How am I supposed to enter if you won’t let me?” she snapped. With an irritated groan, she spun around to search out someone who could help with the morons at the door. She didn’t get far, having spotted someone who might be able to help whether he wanted to or not.
Warren had trailed her all the way from the children’s wing. He blinked and bit of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth.
A smile snuck across Telly’s face. “Warren, did you know that Fergus has present for you?”
“Uh?” asked Warren, tilting his head with curiosity.
“Yeah! That’s right. A present all for you, but he’s hiding it. No, no, don’t be scared. It’s a game. That’s right–games. And you know what? I’ll tell you the secret on how to find it—you have to tickle him. That’s right, remember tickle? Yes!” Telly coaxed, happy to see eager interest from the giant man-child. Warren eyed Fergus with dim interest, and slowly trudged towards the guard. The closer he got to Fergus, the broader his grin grew. With in no time, Warren had Fergus in the most loving head lock Telly had ever seen. Of course, from Fergus’s perspective it probably wasn’t as lovely—what with Warren doing a terrible imitation of tickling (and more like skewering and squeezing).
Telly slapped her hands together. “A job well done, if I say so myself.”
Both guards were now fully engaged in Warren’s hide and seek tickle-torture, leaving the great hall doors prime for opening. Just as she reached for the ornate doorknob the double doors swung open and Prince Thyme burst through, knocking straight into Telly, sending her to the floor.
“What the—oh! S-sorry,” he said, sounding flustered. His troubled features calmed as his eyes settled on his victim. He offered her a hand up, and she took it. “Telly! I’ve been looking for…what’s going on over there? WARREN! Let that guard’s head go!”
Warren, distraught at the anger in Thyme’s voice, dropped the guard and trotted quickly into the King’s hall.
“He was helping me,” Telly said in a low voice. She turned away so the guards could not see her speaking so informally to the royal prince.
“You don’t need his help,” spat Thyme, as both he and Telly watched Warren retreat to hide behind a scarlet wall hanging.
Telly took the moment to scan the King’s all. His majesty was in his throne at the head of the hall, sitting straight up with a blank look on his face. Malic was whispering into his ear. The rest of the hall was relatively empty. It should have been filled with courtiers and nobles and anyone of status. Either the court’s population was dwindling, or the castle wasn’t as popular a place as it used to be (unless the castle’s popularity depended on the opinion of chickens, that is).
Thyme grabbed her arm and pulled her aside, away from the doorway and the sulking, yet silent guards. “We don’t have much time. Meg’s gone. Malik is spreading the word that she’s been kidnapped by a rival nation, but there isn’t one piece of evidence to support this. He’s going to start a war.”
“Malik has trouble up his sleeve,” Telly added, but Thyme was deep in his own thoughts. He ran a frustrated hand through his auburn hair and sighed.
“It’s like Father can’t see anything as it really is. He’s just… he’s….” Thyme paused at looked at her with an odd expression. He grabbed both her hands and squeezed them gently, causing her to blush. “Telly, I need you to do me a favor. You’ve got to go in there and agree with them. Say that’s she’s been taken.”
“What?! Why? You just said she wasn’t taken,” Telly countered, slightly flustered.
“Yes, but this is clearly Malic’s idea. Let him feel like he’s in control of this situation. If we try telling everyone that Meg ran off on her own it will look bad on her, and it might force Malik’s hand to do something drastic. Plus, we’ll have an up hill battle off our own. I don’t want focus on us.”
“Why?”
Thyme spun away from her and walked in a small circle as he spoke. “Because we’re going to do something to help Meg. For as stupid and selfish she is for running away—and you better BELIEVE I’m going to get her for this mess—she needs us, and she needs to stay as far from here as she can, Telly.”
“Far from here? Ty, of all people YOU should know what kind of mess she’ll get herself in! Meg’s a Princess, she’s lived the life of a Princess. All she knows are stiff dresses and boring princess classes and the inside walls of luxury, privilege, and—”
“Don’t preach to me,” scoffed Prince Thyme, holding himself up straight. “I know everything Meg’s every seen, done, experienced. And even though it’s limited experience in comparison to some people beyond our walls, she is still our Meg.”
“I didn’t mean… I just…I just wish I was with her. It just makes me mad she couldn’t trust us to help her. That she couldn’t—.”
“They’ve arranged a marriage for her.”
“What?”
“It’s so much worse though.” He lowered his voice. “Meg shouldn’t be on her own, but she can’t come back either. The Knights are riding out tomorrow and I’m going with them. They’re brilliant. They’ll find her, I’ll talk to her, and I’ll see what I can do to help and all that.”
Telly withheld the groan rumbled deep in her throat. She knew about Knights, and brilliant was the worst adjective to give them. Prince Thyme was the second son, with little claim to the throne. His choice was between Knighthood and religious order. Lucky for him (if one could call it “luck”) Thyme loved Knights. To be one was his highest aspiration. It was a ridiculous aspiration, but Telly couldn’t tell him that. She just wished he could see the truth about his beloved Knights.
“What do I do then?” she asked.
“Wait here in case she comes back. If she knows exactly what father and his court have planned then I don’t think she’ll ever wish to come back.”
“Ever?” Telly asked. Her voice broke as the trumpets blared within the main hall.
“Prrrrre-senting Ms. Tellendra, lady maid to the Princess ahem-Meg,” called the royal announcer, standing between the two guards.
“I’ve got to go,” she groaned.
Thyme stepped close and grabbed her hand again. With an encouraging smile, he said, “Let me know if anything happens here, and I’ll come back straight away. Keep clear of Malic, and keep clear of Warren, okay?”
Telly nodded begrudgingly.
“It’ll be okay, Telly,” he said. “I’ll find her, okay? We’ll find a way to sort all this out with the castle.”
“Send word if you come across Meg. Speak in code. Who knows if Malic is watching us or not. Take care, Ty.” Walking towards the King, she hesitated at the double doors. Telly spun around. “Wait, who is her fiancé?”
A darkness passed over the Prince’s face, and he glared at something within the King’s hall. “He’s cowering behind the tapestry.”
“No,” she breathed as she looked into the main hall at the scarlet wall hanging where Meg’s appointed fiancé, the tongue-stabbing, posinous plant-eating, future king of Tanopolis, Warren attempted to hide (but looked more like a lumpy ogre covered in red fabric).
She felt like the air had been knocked from her lungs, and all she could think was… The castle had quite clearly gone mad.
