“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.

Parsley and Cinnamon hung on without a problem; they had amazing jaw strength for little girls.

Malic dropped to his knees and the girls leapt off, abandoning the sinking ship. Rolling on their backs, they giggled and chattered to one another in their made-up twin language.

“Chicka chicka rattatat tat,” said one.

“Turbo tatterscat,” snickered the other.

For a brief, angelic moment they could have been considered adorable—with their clear blue eyes, dimples, and the dust of freckles across their noses.

Cinnamon and Parsley were purely primal. Their teeth were sharp and their curly blonde hair was so unkempt that the curls became knots, and the knots twisted into little hairy honeycomb formations. Their once silky and beautiful dresses were now tattered and the cloth speckled with mud (plus other better-left unidentified substances). And they never, EVER wore shoes or socks. Telly was just thankful they seemed to be on her side… for the moment.

Madam Tubbs, a portly woman with a sweet but tired face, shuffled into the room, clapping her hands. She was the official caretaker of the savage Princesses.

“Girls! Girls! Come, now. Come to Nanna Tubbs… Please?” She sounded desperate.

“Madam, I had hoped you would have a better grasp on these two… children,” Malic spat that word like venom, “by now. They are unruly, unseemly, uncultured, and undisciplined. If you don’t get a better reign on these girls, you might find yourself without a job, or a head.”

All color left Madam Tubbs’s puffy cheeks and her eyes softened with dampness.

“C-Cinnamon, Parsley come,” she pleaded again while withdrawing cookies from her pockets. “Look, sweets for sweet girls. Be sweet girls and you’ll get your sweets,” she added redundantly. “Come, come now.”

Their eyes did not leave the treats in her hands. Like trained animals they scampered after her as she left Meg’s room, alternatively chanting, “Tubbs! Tubbs! Tubbs!”

Rubbing his sore spots, Malic forced a smile at Telly. “The King wishes to see you in his hall.” Turning on his heel, he made his way out of the room, but not without tripping over the box the maid had dropped on the floor. It broke and he swore. Telly waited until he had limped out of sight, grumbling curses under his breath, before she followed.

Warren was in the hallway too, counting his steps as he walked the length and back again, mispronouncing each number. Telly gave him a double glance. Red marks covered Warren’s skin, like he’d been attacked by some angry bird. As she passed, he spun around and followed her all the way through the castle to the closed double-door entry to the King’s main hall, where two guards stood at each side.

Telly flinched at his nasally voice. Unlike most Jesters Malic was not the least bit funny. He failed miserably at humor. He was, however, very clever. Meg and Telly despised him greatly. Prince Thyme, however, refused to give Malic a second thought. He didn’t think the slick-spoken Jester was worth it. Telly tried to agree with Thyme, but something about the Jester was just so creepy, and his was a creepiness that couldn’t be ignored.

Turning, Telly caught the sight of the Jester as he sauntered into the room. He was dressed in his typical three-pronged hat with bells, curly-toed shoes, and black and red checkered clothing. Malic was wiry thin and short, with shoulders that curled forward and knobby knees. His skin stretched taught across his face, highlighting his high, protruding cheek bones and accentuating his crescent moon-like profile.

“The only thing we’ve found is this,” informed a ladies’ maid. She held up an opened box. A few strips of wrapping paper hung from the side. It was also empty, save a bit of dust here and there. Dust was common, but this package was not. Telly had found it earlier in the day, before the emergency was even announced. The moment she had touched it an electric vibration shot through her veins from her fingertips up. Magic.

Telly had kept a wary eye on the box all afternoon. She had it hidden, hoping to show it to Prince Thyme before anyone else. Apparently she wasn’t good at hiding things. Grinding her teeth together she gave the maid a look of agitation.

“A box? That’s it?! That’s all you have to show the King? The Majesty is missing his precious daughter! Who shelters and protects you! Wooden boxes? I. Think. Not,” Malic hissed, giving the maid and the box a dismissive wave. “Move along people. Find other places in the castle to search. The Princess must be found!”

The servants quickly departed, leaving Telly alone with the jester, who grinned at her in a snarly way, showing crooked teeth. “Soooo,” he began, sliding across the floor to Telly. He rubbed his hands together. “Ms. Tellendra. The Princess’s confidant. Quite a pretty girl you are, my dear. Perhaps you can clear some things up for me, hmmm?”

Telly pulled herself to her feet and backed a few steps away. Malic was quick to follow. “Well… sir… I, um.”

“You’re being coy, my dear. No hemming and hawing with me. Just the truth. Where do you think the Princess is?”

Telly felt trapped. “I know less than you do, sir.”

Malic grabbed one of Telly’s long curly tendrils of hair and played with it between his thin-boned fingers.

“Oh? How is it I am supposed to believe that you don’t know where she is? You and the Princess are practically inseparable. You must have seen who took Princess …Meg away.” He paused in the breath where Nut in Nutmeg should have been and grimaced.

From the hallway, screeching like a couple of fired-up banchees, came two unlikely heroes ready for battle. “Weeeeeeeeeaaasssssssseeeelllllll!” they cried.

Telly wasn’t in the main hall, but she still heard the King loud and clear. She was a PA (Princess’s Attendant), Meg’s PA to be precise, and now she was wondering if she had the right to call herself that anymore. More like a Princessless Attendant, or even Best-Friendless Attendant. Either way, it was a no-win situation.

There was a pinch in her heart as she took a deep breath. She didn’t want to lose her job, but if she had to chose either dreaded unemployment and possible homelessness or the knowledge of Meg’s safety and whereabouts, she’d readily pick Meg every time.

So it was with high hopes that Telly joined the Princess hunt and now found herself in the Princess’s bedroom, where she was assisting several servants, two guards, and Queen Rosemary search for evidence. ….Well, maybe not the Queen.

Devoid of any reasonable reaction expected from a mother who lost a child, her Royal Highness was sitting in a chair with eyes so wide it was almost unreal.

“It’s the tiny folk again,” whispered Queen Rosemary to Meg’s favorite childhood doll. “What’s that you say? You saw the tiny man too? Perhaps they’re attacking the castle! Run off now, my lady, and tell the King!” The Queen let go of the doll and it dropped to the floor. Dazed, she stared into space and she began a little song,

“Little men, little men, green and curly-toed
Little men, little men, running down the road
Where’s he go?
How far’s he been?
His greenlady won’t know
‘Til he brings the mail home again”

Telly quickly lowered her gaze. There was something shameful about watching a woman she used to admire now act like a total and utter loon. Telly envisioned the Queen as she once was… stately, graceful, eloquent, and with a sincerity to her eyes that made everyone feel like they held a certain spot in the woman’s heart.

But that woman was gone now; replaced by a frazzled-looking Queen with dulled eyes.

Telly glanced around the room. Servants ran to and fro, searching everything for some sign of Meg’s departure, not giving a moments heed to the Queen.

Not even the King seemed to care that his royal wife wasn’t her typical self any longer. But then, he wasn’t acting himself either. Once he had been a well-respected, extremely fair man, who did his best to see that every voice was heard in his land. In the last few months he changed like day to night. Prince Thyme complained to Telly and Meg that he thought his father had some sort of mood-flu.

One minute the King would be completely indifferent and the next he would be ranting and raving like a madman, making up strange rules that barely benefited anyone. Telly and Princess Meg had a different opinion. They’d watched the King closely as of late and they had come to the conclusion that something had invaded his brain.

Telly knelt down and glanced under the bed. A napping ball of brown feathers had made a nest out of an abandoned dress.

“Stupid chickens,” she muttered as she pulled it free. It took several tugs before she could yank it out. Telly handed the overweight chicken to a butler, who shook his head in disapproval before carrying it away.

“Why, sweet Sir, is that dinner you have? I hope you basted it in cherry pudding and twigs. You know how I like that,” sang the Queen.

A thought struck Telly as mad Queen Rosemary hurried after the butler. Perhaps, she wondered, the Queen’s brain had been invaded too, or maybe just taken all together. Maybe that’s why Meg’s gone. Maybe she went to go find the Queen’s brain.

So the fact that Warren was the only one to see Princess Nutmeg leave the castle was both a good and a bad thing. If one person was to see her escape, she’d have picked Warren. She would have assumed that he’d forget her departure as quickly as he took his next breath. But she’d have been wrong. It would have taken Warren three breaths and a sneeze to get the job done, which, in fact… it did.

He had followed her like a lost pup as she departed the children’s wing, down the servant steps, into the kitchen, past the basket of sweet rolls where he stuffed four in his mouth and nearly choked before trotting out the door, past several inept guards, into the market crowd. He then stepped on two chickens without notice and crossed the grounds to the old stable in the outer wall. That’s where he stopped following and let the Princess go on alone. Dark places frightened him.

Once the Princess was long gone, an irritating tickle in his nose threw him into a sneezing-spell.  Needing a tissue, he grabbed the paper that Meg had hung on the sliding stable door and blew his nose.  After he dropped the snotty, crumpled, note on the ground, he turned around and made his way back towards the castle to tell his father about the scary black hole (a.k.a. the darkness of the old stable).  Unfortunately, Warren quickly forgot about the ‘hole’ too once he returned to the market, where the two injured chickens were waiting amongst a posse of fierce feathered friends with the lust for revenge on the tip of their sharp beaks.

Dressed as a servant girl, she moved seemingly-unnoticed through the lower bailey, where the castle market had been set up for the day. This was the best route to go for a sudden ‘ex-Princess’ trying to escape the Royal Tyrants, otherwise known as her parents, the King and Queen of Tanopolis. Blending with the crowd, she slipped in and out of the gathering peasants, courtiers, chickens (which there seemed to be an abundance of lately), vendors, shoppers, Knights, guards, children, and basically all the other randoms that made up the castle’s population. Not a soul in the crowd recognized her.

Beyond the fancy gowns and shiny jewels, she didn’t think she had the look of a Princess anyway. Princesses were supposed to be beautiful and shapely, with golden tendrils and enchanting eyes. Meg was shaped like a fence post with dull straw-like hair and stubborn green eyes that contained a spark of mischievousness-, something her father disapproved. And Princesses were supposed to have graceful, historical names like Victoria, Isabella, or even Mary Elizabeth. Not Nutmeg Herbina Spiccea Frank Tanopolis. It was an awful name. Not just the Spiccea or the Herbina, or even the Frank… it was the Nut in Nutmeg that drove her mad.

Why would any parent name their child Nutmeg? First, the puns, “You’re so nutty, Nutmeg.” Or, “All Princesses are pretty, but Not-meg.” And who can forget the insults? “There goes Princess Nutbrain.” Of course no one ever said these things to Meg’s face, but that didn’t mean she lacked ears. In fact, she was born with two great ears that alerted her every time someone decided to use her full name, insult or no. And, as most people quickly found out, Meg had a great right hook too.

Although she had the worst full name in her family by far, she wasn’t alone. Every generation stemming from Meg’s great, great grandmother was to have a spice or herb for their first name, and all were to have Frank present somewhere within their selection of middle names. Meg didn’t know the whole story as to why such stipulations were made; she was only told that her bossy Queen of a great, great grandmother had crossed paths with a grumpy Fairy named Frank and a whole lot of wallabaloo had broken loose.

Meg was glad she wasn’t a royal anymore. Now that she was leaving her life as a Princess she could make up her own identity. No more Nutmeg, just Meg. No more fence-post parading as a Princess. No more Fairy-snubbing family. No more people telling her how to live her life, when to do what, who to go where- and all without an explanation as to why. She could be what she wanted to be and not have to answer to anyone, especially her parents and whatever madness they had contracted in the past few weeks.

Meg sighed as she came to the old, abandoned stable built into the furthest part of the outer wall surrounding the castle. Before sliding the heavy wood door open, she reached into her rucksack and retracted a book of richly bound leather. Her initials were embroidered with spun gold below a golden crest signifying her bloodline. The journal was a present for her sixteenth birthday and she had received it earlier that morning. It was hand-made by the only two people left in the castle who cared anything about her—her brother, Thyme, and her best friend, Telly. Thyme had worked the leather, cut the paper, and made the crest, while Telly had sewn in the pages and added the initials.

For a moment Meg’s heart stilled. She hugged the journal to her chest and shut her eyes. She was leaving Telly, Thyme, her five-year-old twin sisters, and the rest of her family without saying goodbye. She was abandoning her life, the only one she had ever known. The castle was her entire world. And, even though they had become cruel and tyrannical, a part of her would miss her parents, not as they had been recently, but the way they were when they loved her….

Her thoughts tumbled into holidays and birthdays past, of happy times and a healthy family. She thought of the reassuring promises her mother always provided when Meg doubted her future. She remembered the soft expressions her father would give her when he believed she wasn’t looking.

It wasn’t long before her fond memories were interrupted by the vision she had seen earlier that day; the one that forced her decision to leave; the one that would have ruined her life! Whatever fondness she momentarily had for her parents and her past was quickly dismissed, replaced by the dull, empty hurt of a loved-ones betrayal.

Meg would be forever grateful for having the Fairy, Lara, for a cousin, even if she was slightly eccentric. If Lara hadn’t sent that package when she did, Meg would have found out too late what her parents had in store. Telly and Thyme would understand once they knew too. It was time to go and nothing was going to stop her.

With a firm nod of her head, she tore the first page from the journal. Forcing a hole in the paper, she hung it nail protruding from the door.

“Well… That’s that,” she said aloud, nodding at the note. Without looking back, she slipped into the darkness of the stable, where at the very back was the only unguarded door leading to the world beyond the wall.

He just couldn’t believe his luck. He was fresh on his first job for the Pixie Postal Agency when word came that a Delivery Gnome was needed. Of course, all eyes landed on him. Newbies always took the worst assignments and no one wanted to deal with the Fairies of the Mysterious Glen. Truth be told—he had never dealt with a Fairy before. He had heard enough about them to make his toes uncurl (not a pleasant experience at all).

You see, word on the dirt path was that Fairies were crazy. They chose to be neither completely good nor completely bad, and often moved dangerously between the two.

If he inadvertently aggravated the Fairy customer, he could be belly lint for the remainder of his days. The very thought made him develop an uncontrollable twitch in his right eyelid.

Fortunately for the Delivery Gnome, this particular Fairy customer didn’t really notice him, nor did she seem to be aware of the dreadful music and mangled singing coming from the Glen hidden past the row of trees behind her. She was too busy with her package, folding paper here and adding sticky stuff there.

The Gnome, however, was wishing he could shove his fingers in his green, pointy ears, jump in the saddle of his trusty transportation, and gallop as far away from the Mysterious Glen as possible. Whatever the crazy Fairies were up to sounded like an out-of-control party that should have ended long ago.

“There you go,” said the Fairy as she handed the package to the Gnome. It felt extremely light in his hands. Too light actually. He tried to act like he didn’t notice.

“Now,” said the Fairy as she put her hands on the waist of her pink tutu, “Make sure it only reaches the hands of oldest Princess of Tanopolis.”

“Tanopolis,” repeated the Gnome, his voice shaky. “To the oldest Princess, gotcha.” He withheld the groan buzzing in his throat. He wasn’t too keen about heading into the land of humans either. His first day on the job didn’t seem to have a single shred of silver in its lining.

A stern look swept over the fairy’s features. She poked him in the nose with her pink fingernail. “And I mean A.S.A.P. If it doesn’t get to her like tomorrow don’t ever cross my path again. I am NOT a Fairy to reckon with… I will remember everything about you, Mr. Gnob Greenling.”

Having never mentioned his name to her, the Delivery Gnome gulped mightily. “Y-y-yes, sir, I mean ma’am,” he stuttered.

Assured, the Fairy smiled. “And, don’t forget to say, ‘Happy Birthday’ to her, mmkay?”

Mr. Greenling, the Delivery Gnome, saluted quickly before turning on his heel and scurrying away. With a jump, he mounted the saddle of his trusty steed (a shaggy sheepdog named Piddle), dug his heels in, and rode away.

It wasn’t until he was half way to Tanopolis that he realized he had forgotten to get her signature. It was required on the delivery papers. The pencil-pushers at the Agency weren’t going to be happy about the fact that he forgot.

“Oh well,” he said with a rebellious smirk. There was no way he was going back to find that Fairy again. He would just have to ensure that he got the addressee’s signature. One’s better than none.

He glanced down at the package and read:

Directly (And I mean DIRECTLY!) to:
Princess N.M Tonapola, of the Royal Family Tonapola
1st Royal Tonapola Castle
Trister County, Tonapola 55514

P.S. Don’t let anyone see you
and don’t screw this up, Delivery Gnome!
I know where you live…