Rise of the Unfavored Princess

Chapter 37

Ch. 37: It’s a Deal

Sir Gregory rubs his chin in thought.

“You want your maid to learn the art of battle?” he asks, no longer looking at me with that accomodating expression people have for children. The sudden fierceness behind his eyes frightens me, but it feels familiar as if I’ve seen it recently. My mind flashes to the disastrous Ladies’ Court and I wonder if I might have seen his mother or sister there without knowing it.

Emma, who was dilly-dallying behind us and kicking at the grass hears his statement and looks up at me with big eyes, just as eager to hear my answer.

“Well, yes,” I reply with a false braveness I don’t feel, “I do want her to be skilled at the sword. And not just to protect me. But because this is something Emma wants to do. She is quick on her feet and rather smart. Emma also has a good heart, just like the heroes in the stories I like reading. Although she isn’t noble, I think she more than qualifies to become a knight-in-training.”

I hold my breath as the stern expression lingers for a beat. I feel even more sure than I’ve seen his face before, and like a jigsaw puzzle fitting in place, the answer hits me. Duchess Taylor! The set of his brows when he was looking at me serves as the final clue and I realize he is the heir to the Taylor family’s Dukedom in nearby Mulworth.

“I can agree with what your request,” Sir Gregory starts, his face smoothing out quickly as if the previous sternness never occurred. I can feel a ‘but’ coming, so I don’t get too excited.

“But there is the question of who will be willing to teach this girl,” he finishes. “I can ask around, but I can’t guarantee that anyone will want to teach Emma.”

“That’s okay!” I say, feeling like a weight has lifted off my shoulder. I already figured that getting permission would be the most difficult step in this process. “Thank you sir for allowing Emma to train.”

.....

I drop into a quick curtsey, causing him to chuckle and the previous tension becomes an afterthought. Knights are leaving the wicker baskets in droves, alerting me that all the treats have been consumed, probably down to the last crumb. As an extra thank you to the man before me, I reach into the hidden pocket of my dress, where I pull out one of the few extra lemon bars I carried on my person.

“Sir Gregory, I saved you a piece! Do you want one?” I ask sweetly. I saved several pieces as contingency plans, but what you don’t know can’t hurt you.

Laying within the light pink handkerchief is a square dessert, the yellow, gelatinous portion shimmering under the morning sun. Sir Gregory looks at it curiously, probably unaccustomed to such treats and I walk him through my handmade treat, from the carefully squeezed lemons to the scrumptious shortbread that isn’t too dry. As I speak, I pretend I’m explaining my dish to the judges on cooking competition show and Sir Gregory is tickled pink by my faux seriousness as I talk.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take it,” he says in between belly-grabbing laughs. The tall knight takes a bite and I’m pleased to see his eyes light up in approval as he wolfs it down in one go.

His eyes scan the dispersing field quickly before he looks down at me. “I think I have a good candidate for you.”

Without another word, he hastens through the field, his men clearing his path like the Red Sea and muttering a barely discernible, “Commander!”, as he stalks past.

The intended victim has become clear in my eyes, the same loud-mouthed, freckly fellow who spoke up a few minutes prior. Everyone standing around him runs away when they see Sir Gregory quickly approaching, their faces telling me this isn’t a one-time occurrence. However, the victim is too busy finishing his lemon bar to see his commander approaching him so suddenly.

“Dick,” Sir Gregory calls out in a no-nonsense tone, causing me to nearly choke on my spit.

This kid’s name is Dick? Poor thing. I bite my lips to keep my immature laugh inside, my chest nearly shaking from the Herculian struggle of keeping my mouth shut.

Dick scrambles at the commander’s appearance, the lemon bar precariously bouncing between his hands before he secures it in his grip once more. He’s a gangly teenager, the rebellious spirit shining in his eyes as he slouches while greeting Sir Gregory.

“Sir,” he says in a petulant voice, “I didn’t do anything wrong this time. It was Sir Paul who mixed laxatives in the horses’ cornmeal. I promise! Whoever said anything else is probably lying!”

Sir Gregory raises a slender eyebrow with his hands clasped behind his back, a handsome figure that makes me catch my breath for a second. He has Duchess Taylor’s penetrating gaze that makes the other party’s mouth go dry from fear. I have just felt the power of this stare so I feel a slight bit of pity for this kid.

“When did I ever say you did anything wrong?” Sir Gregory asks and Dick blanches, his freckles standing out even more.

“Erm... then take it as if I never said anything at all,” Dick says in a weak attempt to absolve himself of trouble. I shake my head slightly. Clearly this kid has never learned the art of lying. No wonder Sir Gregory is so strict with him.

“Nevermind that. I have a task for you. You must train this child in the basics you were taught when you arrived at the royal guard,” Sir Gregory orders.

Dick looks down at me and a scowl blooms on his face.

“Her?” he says in a tone that shows his unwillingness.

“No, her.” Emma steps out from behind me and the scowl diminishes a tad, but not much. Seeing his reaction, I can’t help but frown as well. What would be so bad about teaching me anyways?

“However,” Sir Gregory continues, “It is your choice. Her highness requested a teacher for her maid so further deliberations will be between you two.”

The older knight steps back and I cheerfully tell him goodbye, leading to one last chuckle before he walks back to the sparring men. I feel assured knowing that Duchess Taylor imparted her good conscious into Sir Gregory. Unfortunately, as an important figure in the royal guard, rather than him teaching Emma, this frowning clown in front of me will.

“I’m telling you,” Dick starts arrogantly, “I don’t teach children. I’m a member of the royal guard, where would I have the time for that?”

“What’s your name?” I say, throwing him off-topic.

Dick’s face blackens with anger. “Didn’t you hear Sir Gregory? I’m Dick!”

“I mean your full name, Dick,” I say serenely, keeping my giggles at bay by biting my tongue. I pay no mind to how he doesn’t address me respectfully since there aren’t bad intentions behind his omission.

Dick sniffs indignantly. “Hmph! I’m Sir Robert Chensworth.”

“Then I’ll call you Robbie.” I vaguely recall that Dick wasn’t an unusual name in the past, but in the modern era, no self-respecting man would go by that name.

“What? What’s wrong with Dick?”

“Nothing. I just prefer Robbie.” I reply nonchalantly as he bristles with anger. It’s fun talking with this kid, who wears all his emotions on his sleeves rather than hiding them like most of the people I’ve had the misfortune of meeting.

“But let’s get down to business. Emma here wants to learn how to wield a sword. I also would like her to learn. What will it take for you to agree to be her teacher?” I say in a serious voice. My high pitched, baby voice ruins the effect, but Robbie sobers up and settles on glaring at me.

“I don’t think there’s anything you can offer me that I’d want,” Robbie sourly replies as he adds an emphasis on you.

My eyes fall on the crumbs still clinging to the edge of his mouth and I know I already have him in the bag. Now, it’s just a matter of making him think he’s pulling a fast one on me.

“Really?” I let a childish pout onto my face and Sir Robbie puffs his thin chest, feeling like he is about to have the upper hand.

“Of course! You look like a ghost with that flour on your face and I don’t think you have enough money to interest me. In fact, you look just like that pale, old nutcase who haunts the shrine?”

Look like a certain nutcase? Flour on my face? I turn to Emma in shock and she toes the ground with a faint blush on her cheeks. A burst of mortification floods my chest as I think of how I just walked around in front of all the knights looking like Casper the ghost.

Out of annoyance, I quickly counter, “Look whose talking! The fool whose sparring on a field that smells like horse shit. Emma has never lifted a weapon in her life and the commander seeks you out to teach her. Shouldn’t that tell you how you compare to all the other knights here? You should consider it your good fortune to tutor Emma and perhaps advance your low position in the royal guard.”

“Hey!” Robbie cries, looking offended. I snort ungracefully. He started it technically, I just ended it.

Some of my words carve their way through his thick skull because I see a pensive look fill his eyes before a devious light fills them.

“Since you want me to teach your maid-“.

“-Emma-” I interrupt.

“-Emma so badly, I will do it. However, it won’t be free.” Robbie finishes unsteadily.

I nod since that is what I expected. In between his dramatic pauses, I reach into those pockets and pull out a lemon bar for Emma and I, the citrusy aroma briefly replacing the horse manure as I break the treat in two.

“For you, Emma,” I say, putting half in her grateful hands.

I look back up at Robbie innocently, chewing generously at the dessert as Robbie stutters through his last words.

“What is the price?” I ask after an extended period of Robbie unabashedly staring at the food I’m eating. The teenage knight sparks back to life.

“If you want me to teach Emma, then you have to make stuff for me too. Not just when you come to visit the royal guard, but exclusive snacks for me! And more often than you give it to the others.” Robbie insists with a tricky grin, just as I hoped.

I make a show of rubbing my chin thoughtfully as if Robbie has just given me a difficult proposition rather than the one I’d actually hoped for. Sir George has actually granted me a great favor. If it was a different knight, they would turn their nose at my being a bastard and refuse to help Emma. Or they would demand something obscene from me like an exorbitant amount of money or a government position, things far beyond my realm of capability. Baking is a piece of cake, no pun intended, compared to those scenarios.

“Fine. You have a deal,” I say glumly as Robbie smirks down at me. “Let’s shake on it?”

I grab Robbie’s hand a give it two vigorous shakes. “This means that you can’t break this deal ever, Sir Robbie. Got it?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” he replies triumphantly.

“Little girl,” he calls to Emma as he prepares to leave, “Meet me on this field before dawn tomorrow!”

“Yes, sir!” Emma replies adorably, tossing her hand into a salute as she has observed other knights doing. I have to wring my hands together so I don’t pinch her cheeks again.

“Thank you, your highness!” Emma tells me as we walk away from cheerfully waving knights. Her eyes shine like stars as she smiles at me, the gloom temporarily lifting from her face and reminding me how young she is. Emma has proven herself to be more capable than any kid I’ve ever met.

I’m certain of this because I babysat my neighbor’s kids on Thursday nights back when I was Maria and those booger infested, hyperactive brats could barely tie their own shoes, let alone complete secret tasks like Emma.

I smile conspiratorially, “Don’t thank me yet. We haven’t discussed the subject of payment for this boon.”

Emma swallows audibly, making me feel bad for a second as the stars fade from view.

“Payment?” she almost whispers, her foot catching on the damp grass from surprise.

I toss my arm around her slender shoulders, causing my friend to nearly drop the empty wicker baskets she’s carrying.

“I just need to know...,” I say leaning in close, “What’s this I’ve heard about an ‘old nutjob who haunts a shrine’? Why didn’t you ever tell me there are good ghost stories about this palace?”