Delfort: 15. Getting the Seal

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "Escape! (Part Two!)"

Canto Fourteen  

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

Time stood still for the young lovers as they relaxed between white silk sheets. There was no war, no bloodshed; no commerce, no thievery; no hate, no cruelty, no meanness, no sorrow; only love in that moment, in that place, that seemingly placeless place. At least, that's how Prince Delfort felt, sighing there beside his recent conquest, feeling the warmth of the rosy patterned walls, staring at the creamy ceiling into infinity. Life was here, now; nothing else mattered nor existed. This is the way it should always be, thought the prince.

Clara coughed politely and sat up. Delfort smiled at her. The dark hair he so adored was curled in every direction. Even this she wore well.

“I must be going,” she said. Her smile was enigmatic; it said so much more than Delfort could ever understand.

Delfort sighed again and nodded. Clara slid her pale feet delicately onto the floor. She still wore her slip, which she smoothed out into some semblance of order before finding the rest of her garments. Delfort got up and tied the plush robe he had been wearing.

They had not spoken much. Delfort had been full of questions that were quickly forgotten. Why was Clara here, for example. And something else important. It would come to him.

Clara began the ordeal of reordering her hair. “What a coincidence that we should find each other here, no, my lord?”

“Mmm,” said Delfort. His eyes fed graciously on the image of darling Clara before them. He was in no rush to be rid of her.

“I thought we might never see each other again.”

“No,” said Delfort. He wished he had something more intelligent to say.

Clara turned to him. She set down her brush and walked to him. “I guess it's destiny,” she said before she reached up to kiss him.

“Hmm!” said a muffled voice at their feet. They both looked down at the figure of James, over whose body they had laid a blanket, as it was somewhat distracting to have an unclothed unconscious young man on the floor. Prince Delfort bent down to fold back the blanket. James squinted and blinked a few times.

“Why am I naked, sire?”

“James!” exclaimed Delfort. “This is wonderful. How do you feel?”

James rubbed his head. “Awful. What happened?”

Delfort explained about the enchanted knickers and collar. “And my sincerest apologies for having to quarrel with you so soundly. It would appear to be all for the best.”

Slowly James sat up, one hand clutching his head and the other clutching the blanket. “This is a most queer place, sire. When I left you to fetch our bags, I went back the way we were led, to the entrance. The carriage was gone.”

Delfort pressed his eyebrows together. “Gone?”

“Absolutely gone. No carriage, no valises, no clothes. When I returned to the drawing room, you were gone, but that strange woman, the Madam, was there. She said you had been taken to your room. I told her of our plight, and she said not to worry, that she had some things we could use during our stay. Then she got weird.”

“What do you mean, she got weird?”

James dropped his eyes. “I would rather not say, sire.”

“All right.” Delfort turned to look at Clara, who was back at the vanity with her hairbrush. “James, this is Clara.”

“Clara?” James turned very carefully. On seeing Clara, his cheeks turned a deep crimson and he clutched the blanket very tightly to his body. They had never met, and she really was rather lovely. “Does she have the seal?”

The seal! Of course! Delfort had forgotten all about it. “That is why I was looking for you!” he said crossing to Clara's side. “It was no coincidence for me to find you here. You took my royal seal because you wanted me to find you. Is that right?”

Clara maintained her coy smile. “My lord, you give me too much credit.”

“Please, dear Clara. I am touched by your affection, but I do need my seal.”

Clara laughed. “It is not here, my lord.”

“Not here?” said James, standing unsteadily.

“It must remain in Porte Godfrey, for that is where I last saw it.”

Delfort and James shared a weary look. All of this sneaking away to Vaslegas for nothing, they thought. Well, mused Delfort, at least I got to see Clara again.

Clara set down her brush and approached James. “We have not formally met. I am called Clara,” she said, curtseying.

“James,” squeaked James, clutching the blanket even tighter, if that at all was possible.

“Come,” said Clara, “I have something in my changing room you can wear.”

“Man's clothing?”

Clara laughed. “Yes. Man's clothing.” She pointed to a door. “This way.”

James made his way to the door with care, ever conscious that the blanket covered all the important places. Beyond the door was another room of similar size with many clothes, a mirror, and a divan.

“We will be but a moment, my lord,” Clara said, blowing a kiss at the prince before shutting the door.

Prince Delfort sighed and sat upon the bed. It was shaping up to be quite the adventure. Now they would have to somehow escape this odd place and the Madam, and also outfit themselves for a journey back to Porte Godfrey. Perhaps some horses or a carriage would be about, something for them to commandeer.

A muted yelp came from the other room.

“Is everything all right?” asked the prince.

“Fine, my lord,” called Clara.

Yes, they would have to plan their escape and return to Porte Godfrey, obtain the seal, and finally be on their way to the neighbouring kingdom. The original task seemed so distant to the prince, but he would have to go. With luck, his father would never know about this little side trip to Vaslegas.

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "Finding the Way"....

Delfort: 14. Escape! (Part Two!)

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "Escape! (Maybe!)"

Canto Fourteen

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

The room into which James and Prince Delfort struggled was a bedroom not unlike the one in which the prince had awoken earlier. However, the time for looking around was not now, as Delfort was attempting to divest his enslaved friend of his knickers.

“Hold still,” said the prince.

James said nothing as he gripped the waistband and pushed at Delfort. They tossed about on the floor, bumping into furniture and knocking into walls. At one point, Delfort lost his grip and James scampered towards the door, but the prince grabbed the leg of his pants pants, sending James' head into the floor with great speed.

“Whoops. James?”

James did nothing.

Prince Delfort sighed and stripped his friend of his pants and collar. He rolled James over and checked to make sure he was alive. He was.

Delfort leaned back on the bedpost, catching his breath.

“What—oh, my!”

Delfort stood at once. Standing before him was a very surprised, shockingly beautiful—

“Clara.”

Clara glowed in Delfort's mind. Her face was pale, powdered, gorgeous. Her hair was curled and captivating. Delfort felt himself under a different spell, perhaps in a dream. Clara turned her surprise into a smile.

“My lord.”

She curtsied low, gripping the skirts of a majestic gown that seemed to sparkle with its own luminescence. Then she glanced at the unclothed, unconscious young man on the floor.

“Is he all right?”

Delfort nodded, dropping the black knickers to the floor.

“Has my lord, er, decided to seek the company of men?” Clara asked.

“What? Oh, no! Not at all.”

“Good.” Clara moved to a vanity and began removing her jewellery. “Did you know this was my room?”

Delfort joined her, mostly to get away from James' naked body. “No. You are staying here?”

Clara gave Delfort a mysterious smile. “Yes. For now.” She removed her shoes and set them aside.

“Look, Clara. I have been looking for you.”

“Have you?” She began untying her gown.

“Yes. I believe you have something of mine, and I desperately need it.”

“Do you?” She looked at James. “How long do you think he will be out?”

“Maybe an hour?”

“Good,” said Clara. Then she kissed him in such a way that the blood rushed out of his feet and hands. Then she let her gown fall to the floor. Then the prince remembered why he liked Clara so much.

*****

Prince Delfort's adventures will continue next time in "Getting the Seal"....

Delfort: 13. Escape! (Maybe!)

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "Beautiful Distraction"  

Canto Thirteen

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

Prince Delfort tried everything he could think of to break James' silence. He remembered that sometimes a conjurer would come to Pilvar and entertain by entrancing the servants and, when the trick was worn, snapping his fingers to restore normalcy. Delfort snapped his fingers to no effect. He also tried shouting at James, putting a foot out to trip him, flicking his cheeks, and twisting his hair. Still James maintained his smooth silence as they walked downstairs and through the warm halls. It became clear to Delfort that James was under some sort of enchantment.

It also became clear to Delfort that this house was much larger than it had appeared on the outside. The hallways and doors seemed infinite, twisting, confusingly everyplace. While it felt like the rooms were full of people, and occasionally Delfort would swear he heard a giggle or whispers from around the bend, they crossed no one on their way to wherever James was headed. Delfort did not feel much like going wherever that was. He decided to stop.

James also stopped and looked back at Delfort. He gestured down the hall. Delfort shook his head. James gestured again. Delfort shook his head again. James dropped his arm and waited.

It occurred to Delfort that, perhaps, the collar James wore was responsible for his condition. It was smooth and black. Yes, Delfort thought, it has to be magical. Swiftly, his hand grabbed the collar and pulled it away with ease, long before James could stop it. He saw an unquantifiable change in James' expression.

“Please, give it back,” James said, stretching his hand out.

“What?” Delfort was confused.

“Please, sir.” Apparently the collar only kept the voice at bay.

“James. It's me. Come now, we need to get out of here.”

“Please.”

Something else kept James under its control. Delfort looked to the only thing he still wore—those puffy black knickers. Delfort sighed and handed the collar back, which James reaffixed to himself. For a moment, nothing happened.

It was all about to get interesting.

“Sorry for this, friend,” said the prince. He flew at and wrestled a mute James through the nearest door in order to relieve him of his pants.

It was all about to get very interesting, indeed.

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "Escape! (Part Two!)"....

Delfort: 12. Beautiful Distraction

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "Where?"  

Canto Twelve

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

Sunlight beamed through the window glass, softly at first, but mounting, until the full force of that great orb thrust itself onto the bed where Prince Delfort slept heavily. Rudely, the sunlight sat upon his face and warmed. Delfort tried to brush it away, but it was no use. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Then, quickly, he sat up. It was the realisation that this place was not his home in Pilvar as his dreams had led him to believe. In the veil of sleep, he saw himself once more walking the halls of his far-off home, where he and James would wander the courtyard in search of daily activity. Some days they would walk atop the walls, staring off as far as they could see, wondering what the world that stretched out before them was like.

Here they were. The world.

Delfort glanced around the room. He was alone. His night visitors had gone after their warm welcome, and one (was it Miranda or Colette?) had been gracious enough to untie his hands. Miranda had dark brown skin and long black hair that billowed and flowed like a cloud in wind. Colette had reddish skin and blonde hair that curled in every which direction down to her shoulder. Delfort would remember them fondly, but they were no replacement for Clara, or even Jacklynne, in his opinion.

Clara, of course, was the reason he was here. He still needed to find her, but he felt that need more distantly than before.

He pulled himself out of bed and to the window. Where he expected to see the dense forest they came from was instead a great, glittering city with towering shiny buildings. People streamed in and out of these buildings, each with a sack, some with two, or three, or five. Men stood on the street drinking and singing. Women danced seductively and laughed with the men.

“Vaslegas,” Delfort whispered, his face pressed against the window, his eyes squinting against the sun and the reflections.

Beggars of various ages lined the streets, their outstretched hands dry and dusty. Someone who had entered a building with a full sack exited now with an empty one and proceeded to join the other beggars, holding the bag open as if hoping to catch rainwater. Most of these beggars went ignored and were left to fight amongst themselves for tavern scraps.

The only piece of clothing the prince found in the room was a plush maroon robe. He sniffed it before throwing it around himself, deciding it was a fresh garment, and, anyway, what else was he going to put on? He looked through a mirror at his princely self, whose hair was a bit disheveled and whose robe was too large for the young prince's frame. He tried his best to smooth his hair before gingerly peeking into the hallway.

The hallway glowed warmly with patterned amber wallpaper and plush red fabrics. Many doors lined it, and at the far end was a staircase leading down. It was quiet; perhaps everyone was downstairs enjoying breakfast or some such thing. As Delfort walked towards the stairs, a figure rose from them, a ghostly young man dressed as the fellow who let them into this house yesterday: nothing but loose black knickers and a black collar. Delfort gawked at the odd sight as it approached.

“James! What are you doing?”

James said nothing. He stopped just in front of where Delfort stood. Delfort grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, but James threw his arms away.

“What's got into you?”

James shook his head and gestured towards the stairs. Then he began walking towards them. Before he got there, he stopped and turned to stare at Delfort. He was waiting.

“Fine,” the prince mumbled, “but this is peculiar, and I don't like it.” He stomped to the stairs, his maroon robe billowing in front as he stepped. “You hear me, James?”

James stared. He gestured down the stairs. Delfort sighed. This, he thought, was becoming very difficult, indeed.

*****

Prince Delfort's adventures will continue next time in "Escape! (Maybe!)"....

Delfort: 11. Where?

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "Gold, Glory, and Goddesses" 

Canto Eleven

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

When Prince Delfort awoke, he was bound. He felt strangely that it was not to be as fun as it had been with Clara and Jacklynne. What had happened? he wondered. The room was dark, but light glowed steadily from under a door somewhere, and Delfort came to realise he was in a small bedchamber. He remembered the Madam, her fragrant form shifting this and asserting there. She came close to him, her big blue eyes shouting at him. Then, nothing. Fantastic dreams.

Giggling voices passed the door. Normally, this would have charmed the prince into other fantastic dreams, but he was preoccupied. Where was James? he puzzled. And what was this odd place in which they found themselves?

The door opened, and light poured into the room. The Madam stood before him in her stunning blue dress, lighting several candles and fussing with the curtains.

“Ah, awake now? Good,” she said, coming bedside. “I am sorry about your sudden illness. We thought it best to put you up here until you were better.”

“Illness?”

“Yes, my boy,” said the Madam, her eyes leaning over her glasses. “One moment we were having a nice chat, the next you were in a heap on my parlour chaise.”

Her soft hand caressed his face.

“Why,” asked Delfort, “are my hands tied?”

“A precaution. In case you awoke violently.”

“Ah. And James?”

The Madam pressed her lips together. “I have given your friend another chamber. I thought that would be more comfortable, yes?”

“Yes, fine.”

The Madam smiled. “Good.” She turned to the door.

“Wait! Will you untie my hands?”

“Not yet! We have not been able to welcome you properly.”

Now she opened the door and snapped twice into the hall. Almost immediately, two young beauties entered the room. They were dressed head to toe in pink dresses that were not so much dresses as they were just layers of veil-like material. Delfort raised his eyebrows.

“This is Miranda and this is Colette. I hope you enjoy your stay!” Once again, the Madam tried to leave.

“Wait! Where am I?”

“Where do you want to be, young man?”

Delfort tried hard to fight distraction. “Vaslegas. I'm going to Vaslegas.”

“Don't you know? You're already here. Vaslegas! Now, enjoy your stay.” Then she left.

Miranda and Colette quietly approached the prince from either side. Suddenly, Delfort felt like he would not mind being tied after all.

*****

Prince Delfort's adventure will continue next time in "Beautiful Distraction"...

Delfort: 10. Gold, Glory, and Goddesses

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "Silence of the Woods"  

Canto Ten

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

The door was answered by a tall, thin man who appeared before them in nothing but loose black knickers and a black collar. He said nothing, ushering Prince Delfort and James into the house with a mere gesture. He led them into a parlour covered in red velour and velvet. An elegant stove in one corner made the room sweat, and some fragrance sweetly hung in the air.

“Thank you, sir, for letting us in,” said James, trying to elicit some response. “We are travellers searching for a place to stay the night. Is this an inn?”

The oddly dressed man did not respond, but instead drifted away to another part of the house as if trapped in an unseen current of water. James and the prince looked at each other. Delfort shrugged. James began his usual inspection of the wonders in the room, which was filled with various curiosities, exotic trinkets and baubles. Nearing the stove, he leapt back and gasped in fright at a large black-and-white striped panther curled up before him.

“Do you suppose it's dangerous?” asked James as Delfort gaped at it himself.

“Hardly,” creaked a woman's voice behind them. Turning slowly to face the crone, they instead met eyes with an alluring figure of femininity their own age. Indeed, her long hair was almost pure white, but the rest of her was slight, smooth, and pale as ivory. She wore a sky-blue dress trimmed in black and white and bustled in the back. Pinned to her hair was a matching hat, dainty and lacy. Her immodesty bordered on indecency in regards to her bosom, which seemed ready to rend the dress's thin ties. Her big blue eyes beckoned over her tiny square spectacles, peered at the two boys before them.

“Don't worry,” she said. “It's stuffed—not in the sense of having had too much to eat, but in the sense of having died and then having had a barrel of sawdust put inside of it. Go on. Touch it.”

Tentatively, James turned and bent to put a hand on the creature. “Roar!” James jumped back. The woman laughed and cackled. “Sorry. I love doing that.”

James, embarrassed, scratched his chest and looked at the ground.

“How may I help you fine young men?”

Delfort finally found his voice and worked hard to maintain control. “Is this an inn? We would like to spend the night.”

The woman drew her lips into a smile. “I am sure we can find a room for you.”

“Excellent. James, would you get our things while I sort things out?”

James was all too happy to escape for the moment. He left with his head bent, nodding slightly as he passed the woman. He had to come close to her to get through the doorway, as she did not yield to let him pass easily, and he was forced to smell her perfume, of lilacs and rosewater.

Now that Delfort was alone with the woman, he became uneasy. She fixed her gaze on him. Delfort's eyes darted elsewhere, around the room.

“How far are we from Vaslegas?” asked Delfort.

“Is that what you seek? You are not far.” She slowly approached the prince. “The question is, does he seek the money, does he seek the fame, or does he seek—Well, that's not important. He can have them all, if he wants.” She struck something of a pose, with one hand smoothing the front of her dress, the other perched behind her head, which she turned slightly, and her chest pushed up even more. “What do you think?”

Delfort avoided looking. “Nice room,” he blurted.

The woman giggled in her cackling way. “And what do you think,” she asked, “of me?”

“You?” Now he had to look. Delfort found himself caught between the woman and the stuffed panther. “You are... Well... You are the most beautiful... I mean... I've never seen....” The prince faltered at words.

She blushed. “You are too kind, young man.”

“What is your name?”

Now she turned away from Delfort. She turned to a shelf of trinkets and shifted them here and there. “I am known simply as ‘The Madam,’” she said. “It keeps things simple. Professional. Yes?”

“Madam? Surely you are too young—”

She whipped around to him. “Tut! My age is of no consequence. A man who asks a woman's age is asking for trouble. Why should it matter? We are simply beautiful,” she said with her eyes twinkling, “or we are not.”

Delfort now could smell the Madam's perfume, and it made his legs feel shaky. She put a hand to his cheek. “You, young man, are quite handsome. Princely.”

Did she know? thought Delfort.

“Yes. Very handsome.”

Without warning, she kissed his lips. Delfort's eyes went wide.

She pulled away. “Oh! I should not have done that.”

Delfort now saw a snowy mountain, where there was an icy cave, where he saw the Madam sitting among soft white blankets. It was warm despite the snow. She waved to him; he floated in midair, off at a distance. The snow fell around him, below him. He wanted to go to her, but he could not move. He told his arms to flap like a bird's wing, but they hung limply at his sides. He told his legs to kick, but they were missing. The Madam wanted him to come to her, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He was stuck.

*****

Prince Delfort's adventure continues next week in "Where?"...

Delfort: 9. Silence of the Woods

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "To Catch a Thief" 

Canto Nine

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

The sun dipped low behind the trees by the time they reached another building, any building. The woods through which they traversed were unnaturally silent, though the occasional hawk would make itself known, screeching loudly for miles. Many times along the journey had Delfort wondered if they could be close, if Vaslegas lay just beyond the next bend, and why the driver seemed to be taking the path so slowly. Finally, a half-day's journey had at least brought them to a place where they could conceivably spend the night, and where someone might be able to tell them how far they were from Vaslegas.

The driver seemed to have something else in mind, and the carriage slowly passed the house. Delfort poked his head out.

“Excuse me, driver? Could we stop here the night?”

The driver was silent. The carriage continued.

“Hello?”

Nothing.

James leaned his head out the other window. “Whoa!” he bellowed.

The carriage stopped. Delfort thanked James with a nod, after which they got out to have a talk with the driver, who was fast asleep. James found a long stick and poked the driver to rouse him, which took three attempts.

“Eh?” yawned the driver.

“We shall be stopping here the night,” said the prince.

“Eh,” nodded the driver.

“Right.” With that, Delfort and James approached the building, a small house of timber and pitch. They knocked and were easily admitted.

“Have fun,” said the driver.

He looked around the silent woods. Getting dark, he thought. His mind felt like sheep's wool: soft and fluffy, but with specks of this and that in it, and smelling faintly of animal.

The horse interjected something by way of blowing air through her nostrils.

“Eh, old girl?” asked the driver.

The horse slowly stepped forward.

“Ah, fine.” The driver's eyelids were heavy. He yawned. “I wonder what's over there, too.”

Thus, they rode off together into the fading light.

*****

Prince Delfort's adventure continues next time in "Gold, Glory, and Goddesses"...

Delfort: 8. To Catch a Thief

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "Seal with a Kiss"

Canto Eight

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

In the morning, Prince Delfort found himself alone in bed: no handkerchiefs, no gags, no notes. A light touch of sweet smoke still hung in the room, mixing with the smell of the sea breeze coming in from the window. It, coupled with the rays of golden sun cascading onto the bed, spoke to Delfort of freshness, of morning, of the glory of life and the carefree way it was meant to be lived.

Only, Delfort had a large problem: his missing seal, the proof of his royal blood, presumably pilfered by the alluring Clara, whose letter he still treasured in his satchel along with other spoils. Clara, according to Pot, was in Vaslegas. Vaslegas! thought the prince. A good night's sleep had not produced an answer to his most immediate vexation, which was how to convince Sir Reginald and James to accompany him there. He could not find any way around it. Clara would not be returning to Porte Godfrey, even if the prince sent word to her. People who run away, thought Delfort, do not generally want to go back to whence they came. He would have to go to her, to Vaslegas.

Locked away in Pilvar-sur-Weedlewhicke as Delfort had been, the happenings in Vaslegas were a matter of rumour and hearsay. His father, King Alabaster, only discussed the place in terms of its yearly revenue, which always bolstered the royal coffers with taxes, fines, and concessions, more so than any other hamlet in his kingdom. The guards would snicker boyishly about taking leave so as to revel “in sin” in Vaslegas. The chaplain would cross himself at its mere mention, muttering “God have mercy” with a wide expression. There were words Delfort had heard in connection with Vaslegas for which he was never told the definitions; for example, “brothel” and “courtesan.” There were, of course, the gambling dens which had made Vaslegas famous for creating men of wealth (and of poverty) overnight.

James knocked on the door; Delfort knew it was him because they had a well-established code: a knock in the rhythm short-long-short-long meant it was James alone. If he knocked in any other fashion, it meant others were with him, and he did not wish to disclose the code to others.

“Enter, James,” said the prince.

James was wide-eyed. He glanced around in the hall before shutting the door behind him. “Good morning, sire. Eager to make an early start?”

“Quite right. I have learned the whereabouts of Clara.”

“With Jacklynne, at the doctor's house?”

Delfort shook his head. “I fear you will not like to know. I also fear that Sir Reginald will not let us go there.”

James pressed his eyebrows together. “Not Vaslegas?”

“Afraid so.”

James walked to the window in silence. Delfort could not read his thoughts, but he was sure that James was trying to think of some other way to get the seal back. To Delfort's surprise, James turned around and said, “We shall have to leave Sir Reginald again at his luncheon. I suggest you put on some of my clothes; they will attract less attention than your usual ensemble. Is that all right, sire?”

Delfort smiled. “Quite all right, James. Inform the driver of our plan.”

“Yes, sire.” James walked to the door. “The important thing is to get the seal back and resume our journey.”

As James shut the door behind him, Delfort felt dizzy. Vaslegas! And there, his Clara! Of course, James was right; the important thing was to get the seal back. There would, however, be a few other important things to do in the glittering, gilded city of Vaslegas.

A dainty knock broke the prince's thoughts.

“Who is it?” he called.

A familiar female voice whispered back, “Jacklynne, my lord.”

Ah, Jacklynne! thought Delfort as his heart picked up its pace. There would be more time for thinking about Vaslegas later.

“Enter,” called the prince, smiling. This was going to be fun.


*****

At midday, James and Prince Delfort excused themselves from the luncheon and slipped outside to where a less-than-royal carriage was waiting. The driver sat on its doorstep reading a pamphlet and smoking a pipe a “nice young man” had given him. When he saw James and Delfort, he stood and opened the door, ready for their arrival.

“Where is Sir Reginald?” asked the driver as they entered the carriage.

“He won't be joining us,” said Delfort flatly. He found the clothing James gave him to be uncomfortable; his recent encounter with Jacklynne was good, but not good enough to put this little discomfort out of the prince's mind.

The driver shrugged, shut the door, and climbed up onto his perch. “Hya,” he said calmly to the horse, who seemed happy enough to clop away from the mansion, through Porte Godfrey, and down the forest road to Vaslegas.

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "Silence of the Woods"...

Delfort: 7. Seal with a Kiss

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "Back to Porte Godfrey"

Canto Seven.

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

Prince Delfort and James walked lightly through the torchlit halls of the mayor's mansion. James astutely mentioned that, since the mayor's advisor, the angular Dr Bickentawl, was both father to Jacklynne and uncle to Clara, perhaps he would be about somewhere that they could discreetly ask of their whereabouts; then, in finding them, find and retrieve the prince's pilfered seal. There would be a room for after-dinner drinks; they simply needed to find it.

The manor's stone walls were well-decorated; even this corridor displayed many fine tapestries created over the ages by Porte Godfrey's esteemed artists. They depicted fine moments in the history of the town: its incorporation as chartered by an ancient king; the building of its first boat; the subsequent salvage of the first boat after it sank in the harbour on its maiden voyage; and the use of the salvaged materials to build a longer dock to deeper water, which proved to be the beginning of successful times for Porte Godfrey's citizens. An empty space on the wall was instead marked with a short note: “Current Commission: Princely Visit.” Delfort puffed his chest with pride.

At the hallway's end were a number of doors. James felt it was a duty for him, and not his master, to peek through the keyholes to see where each door led. One was a stairway to the basement. One was a hallway where he could see some of the servants laughing and gossipping. One was a garderobe where a grizzly man was desparately trying to hold a candle, read a leaflet, and do his business; James was quick to avert his eyes. Embarrassed, James crouched before the next door.

This door led into a drawing room where the mayor and Dr Bickentawl were taking brandy and chatting idly. The doctor stood by the fireplace smoking a long, thin cigar whose blue smoke spiralled and billowed into a beautiful plume off of which the firelight merrily danced and played. Johannes von Blochstorgg was sunken into an easy chair large enough to seat Sir Reginald comfortably, such that the slight mayor seemed like a child against it. His powdered wig sat on a stand next to him, as if the third member of this party. The mayor was completely bald without it; the firelight bounced off his scalp like colourful acrobats at a circus. When the young prince and James entered, Johannes struggled to free himself from the chair without success; Delfort waved for him to stay put, which is all he could do anyway.

The doctor bowed slightly. “Your highness.”

Delfort put on his courtly demeanour. “Lord Mayor,” he said. “Doctor.”

“Is there something I—I—I—can do for you, your Extreme Graciousness?” snivelled the mayor.

“No, no. Nothing. Just out for a walk,” said the prince. Then, remembering that Sir Reginald still feasted in the great hall, he added, “Be sure to thank your cook extensively for us; the supper he prepared was above and beyond our expectations.”

Johannes bristled at this praise. “Oh! How delightful!” he squealed.

Delfort glanced at James, who was fiddling with his tunic and staring at the floor. Delfort would be calm for the both of them; indeed, there was no reason to be nervous. They just had to ask the question the right way, without seeming too desperate or out of place.

“Doctor,” began the prince. Dr Bickentawl paused mid-drink to look up. “Your niece... the one who was ill...”

“Yes. Clarabelle.”

Clarabelle! thought Delfort as his heart leapt majestically to an area near his eyes. “Yes,” Delfort said, coughing. “How is she feeling?”

Dr Bickentawl seemed a bit charmed by this, in that he smiled slightly. “Why, thank you for asking, your highness. I must confess, my duties to my patients and my good friend the mayor have kept me away from home.” Here the doctor's eyes glistened and smile widened. “She's always been one of great spirit, though, so I am sure she is coming along just fine.”

“Good, good,” said the prince, glancing again at James but getting no response. “And your daughter...?”

“Jacklynne, my lord,” the doctor said, losing his smile. He puffed his cigar, twice, three times. “She was sorry you had to leave so hastily this morning, but she did say she would try to find you before you left.”

“I believe she wanted to 'kiss your royal seal,' she said,” snorted Johannes.

“Indeed!” chuckled the doctor. “I trust she did find you?”

The prince's eyes widened. “Yes. A fine daughter you have there.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Delfort turned to James, who remained in his state of apparent discomfort. “Gentlemen, if you'll excuse us.”

“Of course!” squawked the mayor, glowing from the mere presence of a prince in his drawing room. “And please do let me know if there is anything I can do for you, your Beaming Brightness.”

What a ponce, thought Prince Delfort as he pulled James by the arm out of the room and into the corridor.

“What is wrong with you? Are you ill?” asked Delfort

James, now back to reality, blushed. “He's just too tall for a man, that doctor. He frightens me.”

Delfort sighed. “Come along, James, to your quarters. It is late. We shall continue the search in the morning.”

James nodded. “Yes, sire.”

*****

Once again, when Prince Delfort returned to his room, someone was waiting for him. This time, it was neither Clara nor Jacklynne. It was the mayor's son Pot. The prince found him draped over an easy chair enjoying his favourite pastime, which filled the air with such hazy sweetness as to completely take the alarm out of Delfort. He eased the door shut.

“Highness,” said Pot with a nod.

“Likewise,” said the prince.

“You are no doubt wondering,” said Pot, swinging his legs so he sat normally, “why I am here.”

Delfort nodded.

Pot gestured to the other chair. Delfort felt numbish, tingly, but he did not mind. He sat.

“Then again, why should I not pay a visit to a good friend staying once again in my father's house?”

“Why not indeed?” Delfort managed to say.

Pot smiled. It was a relaxed smile; indeed, Pot always smiled that way. “Good, then. Care to join me?” He held forth an unlit pipe. Delfort accepted without hurry. Pot took a small wooden stick and held it to a candle to catch its light, then transferred it to where the prince was holding the pipe.

“Now, just puff in, rhythmically, until you see the fire catch. One... two... three. There. Enjoyable, my lord?”

Delfort cast him a look on hearing a somewhat familiar phrase that, in this moment, he couldn't quite place. The smoke was fragrant, soft, lovely. Delfort could sleep on this smoke and dream the most wondrous things, the most vibrant colours, the most vivid fantasies. It was there, in that fantasy world, that Clara sprang to mind. Clara and Jacklynne. They tickled him with exotic feathers and bathed him in fine perfumes. Oh, sweet Jacklynne! thought Delfort. Oh, Clara, you temptress! Then Clara laughed and held before his eyes the missing royal seal.

“Clara!” said Delfort, grasping at nothing. Pot and the easy chair and the room materialized around him. “Friend Pot, you know the maidens Clara and Jacklynne?”

Pot looked into the prince's eyes, through them. “Not as well as you, highness,” he said flatly.

Delfort smirked. “Perhaps you could tell me where Dr Bickentawl keeps them.”

Pot raised an eyebrow. “I could tell you that, highness, and would be glad to even show you by morning's light,” offered Pot. He leaned back, looking off to nowhere in particular. “Yes, there you will find your Jacklynne.”

“And Clara?”

Pot blew rings of smoke into the room. They swirled and deformed as they rose to the ceiling. “I fear your highness will not find what he seeks there.”

The smoke's effect was wearing thin on the prince, who stood and confronted Pot. “I demand you tell me where Clara is!”

“Relax, highness. Are we not friends? Please, sit.”

Delfort felt compelled to do so.

After a pause, Pot decided with nonchalance to say, “Your Clara has run away. To Vaslegas.”

Delfort blinked. “Vaslegas?”

“I fear so, highness. If she is what you seek,” said Pot, “then that is where you must go.”

Delfort sunk back in the chair. He could never convince his knightly entourage to go to Vaslegas, with its reputation for scandal and sin. James would sicken at the mere thought of going. “Damn,” he muttered. He would have to find some way. He needed to find Clara. He needed to get what was rightfully his back. He needed to find that seal.

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "To Catch a Thief"...

Delfort: 6. Back to Porte Godfrey

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "As Twice You Knew Me"

Canto Six

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

As they pulled into Porte Godfrey, the great orb of the Sun descended behind the edge of the sea. Sir Reginald already smacked his lips with anticipation as the carriage passed the main gate, breezed by the shops and public houses, and rolled unhindered through the arch before the mayor's mansion. The topiaries scattered about the grounds glowed in the final golden rays of the day, lending something ethereal to this otherwise bland acreage. Here among these leaves of grass the prince's feast had revelled; now, there were no signs of even the slightest of struggles, and certainly none of the young prince's.

Their re-arrival took the guards by surprise, and so there was no one really to greet them except one particular guard who had drawn the short straw that evening. He sighed heavily under his heavy helmet, bored out of his heavy mind, while his comrades got heavier eating and drinking in the guards' mess hall. At first, he thought the approaching carriage was simply a mirage, wishful thinking for something to make this evening's watch worth the while, but when the cart stopped before him, nearly knocking him on end, he came to his senses.

“Qui vive?!” he called almost directly into the driver's ear after catching the pike that he had nearly boggled out of his hands.

The driver, annoyed by the guard but mostly by having to come all the way back to Porte Godfrey after they were so close to where they were going, had a few things to say to the guard, mostly about the guard's breeding, figure, and particular odour, which made the guard make an awful face as though he had swallowed something hideous. The guard would have retorted with steel had the words “prince” and “returned” not finally hit home in his head. Hastily, the guard opened the carriage door and yelled nasally towards the front entrance.

“His Majesty the Crown Prince of Darscinnia!”

*****

Johannes von Blochstorgg snivelled as he always did as they ascended the steps to where the royal chambers lay. “Your Eminence, we are only too pleased that you should choose to be back in our humble Porte Godfrey, even on such short notice.”

Sir Reginald twitched slightly. “Are there vittles to be had? I—er—his Majesty did not yet have a chance to sup.”

“Oh, but of course! You must be most famished, your Loftiness! Alas, we have dined already this evening, but I'm sure the cook will be most pleased to provide the Prince with an exquisite supper.”

James whispered, “And the seal?”

“Yes,” said Delfort. “And the seal? Has no one come forward with it?”

“No, your Grace. But we shall see if it remains in your quarters.”

They stopped outside the door. The mayor inserted a large key and turned the lock. Delfort felt the back of his neck tingle as the room opened up before him, and for a moment he was still, peaceful, warm.

Sir Reginald's hand clasped Delfort's shoulder. In a low voice, the knight said, “You look daft. Get that foolish grin off your face.” The prince straightened up.

The mayor coughed. “I shall go tell the cook to keep the oven going. There will be more revelry tonight!”

Sir Reginald licked his moustache. Johannes gleefully showed off another of his absurd bows, a sort of half-curtsey with a generous bend at the waist, then frolicked in the direction of the kitchen, no doubt to ruin the chef's evening.

Delfort entered the room. It was the same room they had entered only a day before, but to Delfort it felt so much like an old friend.

“Here, James. Give me a hand.”

Together, Delfort and James opened chests, drawers, cabinets, and drapes. They pulled up the bed dressing, crawled under the bed, checked every floorboard and every corner. Sir Reginald, in all this, merely salivated lasciviously at the door, his mind farther from the task at hand than fish from living in desert sand. Resigned, the boys sighed and sat on the bed.

“It's not here,” said the prince. He knew already it would not be there. He knew there was only one person who could have it. One of two people.

“Your highness,” James said.

Delfort looked at him. From the way James looked back at him, he figured that James knew, too. The prince sighed again.

*****

The cook himself came out to serve them in the great hall, where the fire roared at one end and the smell of delicious food wafted from the other. While he apologized that the meal was something he “just threw together,” the table quickly became filled with all manner of gastronomy, including roast goose au jus, sliced yams in a honey sauce, poached eggs with ham and hollandaise, braised wild asparagus dripping with garlic butter, a pair of mutton pies, wilted arugula in vinaigrette with fennel fronds and pungent cheese, three whole pan-seared swordfish covered in buttery lemon juice, and, taking up most of the table space, what appeared to be an entire side of beef. Delfort and James could not possibly eat all this food; Sir Reginald wondered if there would be enough.

“I hope it is all to your satisfaction,” said the cook to the prince.

“It is more than enough, surely. You did not have to go through so much trouble.”

“Nonsense!” cried Sir Reginald, who already had a sticky sauce in the webs of his fingers. “Er, that is to say, your highness,” he continued while chewing, “that clearly the chef has—mmm!—spared nothing to provide a princely—heavens!—a kingly feast! Hear, hear!”

With a bow, the cook left, one imagines, in order to survey the damage he recently inflicted on his kitchen. Prince Delfort wanted to dig in with all the fervour of his guardian, but his appetite was small. The matter of the seal's whereabouts lay weightily on his mind, blocking the particular centre in charge of feasting. He looked over to James, who sullenly scraped a few morsels onto his own plate. Delfort could tell that James was likewise occupied. A glance at Sir Reginald confirmed his suspicion that the portly knight would be far too busy to notice a small side conversation.

“James,” began the prince.

James did not look up. “I don't want to hear it. I know what you're about to say; maybe not exactly, but I have a feeling it's not going to be good.”

Delfort nodded. “I'm going to say it anyway. We need to find those young ladies.”

James pounded the table. Delfort's eyes widened at the sudden outburst. Sir Reginald even looked up from his activity.

“Quit that!” said the knight, gesticulating with a half-naked goose bone. Then he was back to his business.

It took a lot to get James to act out like that. He was really keeping it in all this time, thought Delfort. James stared right at him now, his eyes filled with a rarely seen passion. The prince had to come at him directly, but calmly.

“James, I know you are upset by my behaviour yesterday and today. It pains me to see how it affects you. But we have to move on if we are going to finish our task, get to Inglende, and, finally, get back home. Do you understand? We have to find my seal.”

“You lost it on purpose.”

Delfort looked perplexed. “Why would I do that?”

“To see your... mistresses again.”

Mistresses? Is that what they were? Anyway, it didn't matter to Delfort right now. He just needed James to understand, to help.

“I promise you I did not lose my seal on purpose.”

“Swear it?”

“I do. I swear it.”

“Good. I believe you.”

Delfort smiled. “Good, because it's true. Now, let's see if we can find it.”

“Wait. Promise me one more thing.” James struggled a bit with how to say what he wanted to say.

“What?”

“We are going to have to see... them... again.”

“Most likely, yes.”

James sighed. “No matter what happened in the past, from now on, you have to be true to your intended.”

The girl he had not met yet, Delfort thought, sitting in some castle in the neighbouring kingdom. He had not thought much about her, but it seemed that James had. He needed to respect James' wishes; they came from some deeper nobility that Delfort could not grasp himself. It was admirable, perhaps. Delfort couldn't be sure. Delfort also couldn't be sure he could resist the wiles of lusty Clara or sweet Jacklynne.

“I will try my very best to remain true to my intended.”

“Good. And I will do my best to help.”

Great, thought Delfort.

They stood up. Sir Reginald stopped eating with a leg of something in his mouth and a spoonful of something else in his other hand. He eyed the boys with raised brows, seeming to ask the question, “Where are you going?”

“It's all right, Sir Reginald. We are just going for a walk.”

Sir Reginald looked around and almost whimpered.

“You can stay here.”

With that, the gregarious knight grunted and went back to his feasting, while the prince and his dutiful servant went to look for the missing seal. The hall was nearly empty, but the awful sounds produced by the knight's great jaws echoed and filled the room. He was in his ultimate happy place, his paradise found. God, he wished as he passed himself another helping of everything, if you would permit me in death to feast forever, I would be eternally glad for it.

“Amen!” he belched, making the rafters sing and his heart rattle with great joy. “Amen!”

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "Seal with a Kiss"...

Delfort: 5. As Twice You Knew Me

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "The Morning After" 

Canto Five.

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

This time, when he awoke, he found his tunic and trousers to be in order. Delfort sat up, stretched, and looked out the window. Clara was gone, but there was a note beside him. He picked it up, examining her voluptuous handwriting without comprehending a single word. All he saw was Clara in every loop, every up-stroke and down.

Finally, words came to him: “My lord, I left you unattended in case someone should enter unannounced. Remember me as twice you knew me. Breathlessly yours, Clara.”

Breathlessly! thought Delfort, as he, too, was short of breath. What a creature!

“Your Highness!” bellowed Sir Reginald as he pounded the door.

The prince bade him enter whilst he gathered his jacket and the rest of his accoutrements, stuffing that wonderful note in the waist of his pants.

“Hope you're feeling better, Highness. Carriage leaves within the hour. The mayor will see us off.”

“Good.” Delfort looked straight at the knight. “Must we really go?”

Reginald chuckled, tugging on his moustache, shaking his head. Then he turned to go.

“Wait. Could you have James find that boy Pot for me?”

Reginald looked at him. “Pot?”

“Er, you know. Jehosa-what. The mayor's son. I want to speak with him.”

Reginald bowed slightly. “As you wish, sire.” Then he exited humming some war tune or drinking song.

The prince stood there and sighed. Not a moment later did Jaclynne appear and lock the door behind her.

“Jaclynne!” whispered the prince. “What are you doing?”

“My lord, I wanted to see you just once more before you departed forever and forgot your humble servant.”

“Please, Jaclynne, I must prepare for my journey.”

She moved towards him quickly and grabbed his face. He was immersed in her kiss, and it suddenly calmed him to his very core. She pulled away.

“You were not very coherent last night afterwards, so I wanted to thank you for that wonderful evening, my lord. I am honoured to have had your company.” She knelt before him and handed him a red tulip.

“Rise, Jaclynne,” the prince sighed. He stared into her eyes, thinking over everything. He decided the best thing to do was embrace her. So he did, and she complied. Then, pulling away, he grasped her shoulders. “You are a fine young woman, Jaclynne. I very much enjoyed your company as well.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She blushed and looked down at the floor.

“But please, Jaclynne, go. I need to get ready for my journey.”

“Very well, my lord. Fare well!” said Jaclynne, pecking him on the cheek, then slipping out into the hall.

“Fare well, my Jaclynne.”

Delfort was alone. He gazed around the bedchamber, taking in every last detail so as to savour these moments repeatedly on the long carriage ride to Bolle-Weaville: the headboard to which they tied him; the window out which they slipped; the plush chair on which the evening began. The tulip hung from his fingers, another prize for his cache. He placed Jaclynne's flower along with Clara's note and the two handkerchiefs in a large but unassuming pouch, which he hung from his belt. These conquests would ride alongside him.

*****

Dust and gravel kicked up around the carriage as it set off from Porte Godfrey with its well-fed and rested passengers aboard. Prince Delfort sat silently, deep within the bench's quilted billows, still rolling over the events of his journey thus far. James hung his head out the window watching the world wend away from him. Sir Reginald snorted and rubbed his prominent belly, still engorged from fabulous feasting. Soon the town was a speck on the distant plains, dwarfed by great hills and mountains leagues away. They followed the river up and down until it split for higher climbs. The forest rose around them, drenching the day in darkness. Here the wisps lived, bouncing from tree to rock, spiriting here and floating there, waiting to ignore an unasked question or provide an unspoken riddle.

For the first time, away from the action of Porte Godfrey, Prince Delfort considered James's point of view, or what he thought was James's point of view, regarding his recent escapades. James was not jealous, thought Delfort; rather, he was virtuous. Somehow the same isolation that led Delfort to wanting forbidden fruit kept James away, satisfied with not knowing, and brooding over Delfort's apparent waywardness. Even now he sat with his arms crossed, since the gloom had destroyed his view of the outdoors, probably in search of something to say or do to change Delfort's errant ways.

After some length, the royal carriage rolled to a stop in front of the gatehouse to a great stone wall which stretched in either direction and was enveloped by the incredibly fecund foliage. Upwards gatehouse towers reached into the clouds; indeed, the clouds seemed vestiges of the towers themselves. James, finally having something new at which to stare, did with great intensity, such that he might have tumbled out the carriage window had he not held on tightly. Delfort was impatient.

“What is the trouble?” the prince snapped, leaning out of the opened carriage door. The guard talking to the carriage driver looked over to the prince.

“We require proof of your princeship prior to proceeding.” The guard smacked his lips in surprise, clearly having not thought through his word choice before speaking.

The driver shrugged. “I told him it should all have been arranged.”

The prince ordered the driver to look in his travelling chest for the seal, which he did not wear normally. (Certainly, around Pilvar-upon-Weedlewhicke, it was unnecessary for him to wear it, and he disliked wearing things on his fingers.) The driver huffed and put down his reins, walking to the rear of his vessel and searching through the royal luggage. After several minutes, there was no sign of the prince's seal, or any sort of identification.

Delfort was surprised. He checked his personal satchel, of which he had memorised the contents, but checked anyway. He inquired of James where it might be, but his guess was as good as the prince's, and Sir Reginald belched and whistled through his moustache in similar accord. The ring was no where to be found.

“Damn. Clara.”

Sir Reginald sat up. “Eh, boy?”

“Er, nothing. The seal must be in Porte Godfrey, or surely it was forgotten at Pilvar.”

The knight was frozen in apparent incomprehension. Slowly the connections were made, and Sir Reginald suddenly seemed to be completely satisfied that the seal might be in Porte Godfrey. No doubt this was due to the further excess of food in which the knight could now indulge. So, as the golden sun hung brilliantly atop the sky and birds chattered mercilessly in the trees above, the carriage turned around.

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "Back to Porte Godfrey"...

Delfort: 4. The Morning After

This is the next installment of the adventures of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. To start from the beginning, read canto one.

Previous canto: "The Royal Chambers"

Canto Four.

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

When Delfort awoke, he was alone. You rogue! he thought, clutching the two handkerchiefs, one green and one blue, that remained tied around his now free hands. Quickly he got up, then fell back down as his head pounded at him. After a moment he slowly rose and threw on his royal dressing gown. On the bedside table was a note (“The cure for what ALES you -Reg.”) and a small flask. Delfort took out the stopper and inhaled. It smelt awful. Pinching his nose (he'd seen someone do that once), he downed its contents. After a coughing fit he felt a hundredfold better.

A familiar, quiet knock sounded from the door.

“Enter, James.”

The door swung open, and James entered quickly, silently closing it behind him.

“What happened, sire? You look a mess,” said James, quickly finding the prince's slippers and presenting them.

Delfort sat on the bed, accepting the slippers. “I'm not certain, James, but this is what I think.” He informed James of everything that happened, starting with his talk with Sir Reginald, breezing through his encounter with Pot, and finally relishing in his exploits with (or his being exploited by) Clara and Jaclynne, “who will die happy knowing her first time ever was with the future King of Darscinnia.”

James was both amazed and disgusted. “You mean the future King of a united Darscinnia and Inglende,” he corrected.

The prince ignored this. “I wish you had been there, James. You could have shared.”

James stood up. “Sire, we leave at noon after a private brunch with the mayor and his family. It would probably be best if we put this all behind us and continue our journey to meet your bride-to-be.”

Delfort observed the coolness James now presented. He had never seen James like this. They were always open to each other, but now James closed the metaphorical door. Delfort found his feet and slowly introduced them to the floor.

“Quite right, James. I shall never speak of it again.”

*****

Prince Delfort descended the stairs and stood outside the door to the banquet hall. James and Sir Reginald followed closely behind, and when they, too, reached the door, the ceremonial guards opened it, banging their pikes loudly on the stone floor.

“His Majesty the Crown Prince of Darscinnia; and his entourage, Sir Reginald of Cangreene,” announced one of the guards.

The other guard looked at James. “Son, you can eat with the other servants in the storehouse.”

“He eats with me,” the prince commanded.

The guard sighed; he tried, after all. “Very well, my lord.”

The prince and his party proceeded to the banqueting table, where Mayor von Blochstorgg and others stood waiting.

“Good morrow, Your most Royal Excellency!” the mayor snivelled. He introduced a rotund, fleshy woman as his wife, Maria. She smiled wider than even her fatted face would allow. The mayor's personal advisor towered above her, an eagle-looking man with not a hair on his shiny scalp, just some wispy white ones around the edges. “The good doctor Lester Bickentawl.”

The prince noted with alarm the other guests.

“This is my only child, my son Jehosaphat.”

Pot smiled. “We've met. Your Highness.”

“And this is Dr Bickentawl's only daughter, the fair maiden Jaclynne.”

James shot the prince a look as Jaclynne curtseyed. Her hair was brushed out straight so that it flowed all around her adorable frame, a frame she had disclosed to the prince when the moon was high. It now wore a maroon gown which seemed to endlessly wrap around itself. She glowed still from her unforgettable evening.

“My dear cousin Clarabelle sends her warmest regards, my lord,” Jaclynne said, winking subtly. “She only wishes she could be here to see your handsome face.”

“Indeed,” snorted Dr Bickentawl as he adjusted his spectacles, “my niece was meant to join us, but woke up rather ill, according to my sister. Jitters about meeting a prince, if you ask me.” He chuckled and muttered something that sounded like “children” under his breath.

Prince Delfort was given the seat at the head of the somewhat short table, with the mayor seated at the other end (indeed, the arse, thought the prince). James and Reginald flanked him on the right, while (to his dismay) Jaclynne and Pot took up the left. Throughout the meal the mayor did most of the talking, boring the table with recounts of his time at a boarding school in Barnium-over-Wynn, eliciting yawns from the table with recitations of mediocre poetry he wrote at lyceum in Notlob Falls, and finally filling the table with genuine ennui by retelling of his absolutely ordinary boyhood in Porte Godfrey and environs. Sir Reginald did what he always did: he ate prolifically. James felt rather unhungry, especially sitting across from Jaclynne, who throughout the meal grinned unnervingly at him, at the prince, at everyone. The prince ate slowly in contemplative silence, seemingly stoic. Pot was in his own world, a state he probably enjoyed most of the time.

Delfort was a bit torn as he slowly ate the victuals before him. His experience last night was exciting, perhaps the best thing that had happened to him so far in his young life. Yet he could tell James disapproved. Was he jealous? or merely looking out for his old master and companion? Perhaps the prince could indulge and leave his attendant unawares. He glanced at Jaclynne. She smiled at him and blushed, turning to her plate and passing some bits of food around it. She was good, Delfort thought, but Clara was better, more lovely, more exciting. Delfort wondered if there were more young ladies like them in the kingdom, and if he could manage to sample them all.

A small slippered foot found that of Delfort. His eyes met hers and he blushed this time and moved his foot away. That magic punch, Delfort continued mentally, and that sweet smoke were the only reasons for the events of last night. Now he looked at Pot, who was staring into his silver goblet and picking bits from his teeth. Maybe Pot would grant him a small favour, something the prince could take with him on his journey. Otherwise there would be no way for Delfort to even talk to the fair maidens of this or the next land.

Delfort then looked back at Jaclynne. Maybe he could try again, he thought, without the influence of other things.

“Enjoying the food?” Delfort inquired stupidly.

Jaclynne looked up from her plate, at which she had resigned to staring. She smiled. “Yes, my lord, but not as much as I enjoyed your feast last night.”

“Indeed.” Delfort felt foolish. He stood up. Others tried to stand, but he stayed them with a hand, excusing himself, and leaving the banquet hall.

Delfort nodded to the guards and ascended the steps. He felt better now that he wasn't in that sweltering hall. (Perhaps he was the only one sweltering.) He found his chamber and slipped inside, locking shut the door. He sighed and turned into the room. Clara was standing before him. He froze.

“My lord!” she blushed, surprised at his entrance. “Is brunch already over?”

Delfort thawed slowly. “No, no. I needed some, er, air.”

Clara turned her surprise to a smile. She walked to him. She was wearing a heavy grey cloak, under which it appeared she wore only a sage slip.

“Is there anything I can do, my lord?” She was quite close. Her hand found his jacket buttons and followed them top to bottom.

“I thought you were ill.”

Clara stopped. “I was. Then I felt better. I realised I left my purse here last night, so I came back to get it, but I did not wish to disturb my handsome lord.” She touched his cheek, which blushed.

“Did you... did you find it?”

“I did, my lord.” She smiled. “But I found you, too. And you must leave today.”

“Yes, I must—”

“My lord.” Clara undid her cloak and let it fall to the floor. Her sheer slip billowed slightly with some breeze in the room. She grasped his hand, her eyes saying, “May I?” and led the prince away from the door. Delfort relaxed and let it all happen.

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "As Twice You Knew Me"...

Delfort: 3. The Royal Chambers

Now that Christmas, Hannukah, New Year's et al. are over, it's time to get back to the continuing tale of Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. Read from the beginning here.

Previous canto: "The Feast"

Canto Three.

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

She took a deep breath and sighed a huge sigh when it was all over, whichever one it was. The prince was sprawled out on his royal mattress absolutely astounded over what had transpired. His head felt even lighter than before, yet he could not bring himself to lift it. Never before had he felt this way, for, indeed, never before had all this happened in his life.

Clara and Jaclynne whispered to each other excitedly somewhere in the room, but Delfort neither cared nor listened. He revelled in his own world, in his head, reliving the moments where those two wonderful young things showed him what being a prince was all about. How had he gone so long without knowing, stuck in a dank palace for so many years without the gentle touch of a young lass? without so much as a glimpse of female beauty? The closest he ever came to simply seeing a girl was a single tapestry in the great hall of Pilvar-upon-Weedlewhicke, where a knight was giving some fair maiden a rose, or taking a rose from her, depending on your point of view. He remembered staring at that tapestry through many feasts in the great hall, just wishing a real maiden would make herself known to him.

Hands on his face and body brought Delfort back to reality. Opening his eyes, the lovely visages of those two wonderful sirens hovered there above him.

Clara spoke. “Enjoyable, my lord?”

Delfort tried to speak but could not.

Jaclynne glanced at Clara with a gleaming smile.

Delfort looked at both of them. He wanted to hold them both in his arms and tell them how much he appreciated everything they had done for him—to him. He tried to get just a feel of one of them, but he could not. He could not move his hands. They seemed to be stuck. Or tied.

“Mmm mmnf,” said Delfort, his mouth full of fabric.

Clara kissed Jaclynne's cheek. “You can go first, Jaclynne, since it's your first time and all. Oh, look! He's ready.”

Even though he was tied down and gagged, Delfort smiled and let it all happen. It's good to be the prince, he thought.

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "The Morning After"...

Delfort: 2. The Feast

This is "canto" two of a series concerning the journey of young Delfort, Prince of Darscinnia. For canto one, click here.

Canto Two.

Prince Delfort
by Kevin F. Story

The music of the night was the sound of people laughing, dishes clanging, and liquor pouring. It was safe to say that Mayor von Blochstorgg had spared no expense in preparing the prince’s repast. The port’s most prominent people gathered here for the prince’s party, accompanied by some of the finest faces in his father’s fiefdom. And it was Delfort’s first time seeing them in great numbers and all in one place.

A couple of captivating young ladies carried themselves up to the prince; pale beauties in silky gowns with tightly laced bodices to accentuate their femininity, as if to say, “’Tis good to be sixteen.” But, before words were waged, their faces blushed, giggles gushed, and they were gone. While Delfort was far from cursed with ugly countenance, he did seem outwardly awkward against the nightlife of Porte Godfrey.

Reginald sat off to one side, in one mitt a massive mug of mead and the other more than one man’s measure of mutton. Neither flagon nor fowl, booze nor beef were safe with Sir Reginald environs, and one could see the barrels of sack tremble at his approach.

The prince by this time had made his way over to where the knight was ceremoniously stuffing himself, and sat next to the man.

“So, are you enjoying yourself?” Reginald inquired amidst mouthfuls of mutton and mead. Bits of meat began to become infused with the knight’s moustache and sticky dribbles of drink.

“Well,” Delfort began, attempting to put his plight into parlance. “I’m not very good with… er… the ladies.”

Reginald slowed his devouring to a dull roar. “The ladies, eh?” Finally the knight’s focus put the food aside and faltered onto the females at the fête. “Pretty, aren’t they?” he remarked with a somewhat unnerving grin, picking his teeth with a shard of sheep bone.

The prince could only nod his assent.

Reginald relaxed in his chair as he finished the rest of his mutton in a single bite. “Well,” he offered thoughtfully, “have you tried talking to them?”

“Not as much, no,” replied Delfort.

“That would be the first step, lad.”

With that, Reginald took a long swig of mead, swished it around, swallowed with a disgustingly audible gulp, and turned around to have a look-see. Two such young ladies walked into his trap.

“Pardon me, ladies. Have you met my friend? He is the prince, you know.”

The ladies in question stopped to look at the young man before them. One was about Delfort's height, thin and freckly with beautiful green eyes that reflected torchlight magnificently. She wore glittering green and gold yarn in her garnet braids. The other, though shorter, was even more stunning, with dark, mysterious eyes that begged to be asked something intimately secret. Her onyx hair fell all the way to her tiny waist, below which round hips patiently waited. Some strands of that silky hair had escaped the pack to find themselves draped over her shoulders, framing what could only be described, in Reginald's inebriated estimation, as the palest, finest bosom in the land, certainly fit for a prince. These girls did what they did best—they giggled.

Reginald leaned into Delfort, whispering, “They’re all yours now.” With a slap on the prince's back he stood and sauntered off in search of something else with which to further stuff himself.

Delfort was alone. He could feel it. Fear and nausea began to set in. He heard the ladies giggling off in the distance, but turned to see them right before him, plain as day. He had no clue as to what to do or say next. He became frozen, working out every possibility, every scenario in his head, otherwise vacant to the world. The girls continued giggling, making Delfort more nervous as his mind settled on the only clear plan.

He stood and walked away, leaving the girls behind. He needed to find Reginald. He needed air. He needed—

“Hey. Watch where you’re going,” a gruff voice shouted.

Delfort noticed he wasn’t moving anymore. Rather, he was standing before a young man into whom he had apparently just walked.

Suddenly, Delfort remembered he was a prince.

“No, you watch where you’re going,” Delfort retorted cleverly.

The young man stared back. “You’re the prince, aren’t you?”

Delfort nodded haughtily.

The young man’s countenance changed. “Well, then, come. Sit at my table,” he said putting his arm around the prince and leading him onward. “I am called Pot.”

“Delfort.”

“Yes. I know,” laughed Pot, sitting the prince down and taking a seat himself. Delfort found himself at the far edge of the party and could easily see everyone else revelling in his visit.

Pot picked up his pipe and puffed upon it. Delfort supposed he was about his own age, though Pot was taller and had a sun-baked look to him. Pot also seemed very worldly. He knew his stuff. He did not seem particularly handsome to Delfort, but then, how was he to know?

“So, are you enjoying yourself, Highness?” asked this young man Pot as he lifted a cup to his lips.

“Well, er, I suppose,” replied the prince, eying the meagre loaf of bread and cups of liquor before him on the table.

“Go on. Have a cup.” Pot passed the prince a potable.

“Oh, no. I shouldn’t.”

“Come on. It’s your party, Highness,” persisted Pot.

After a moment, Delfort drank. Warm, spicy liquid entered his throat. He choked a bit.

Pot laughed. “Potent, eh?”

Delfort looked over his new acquaintance as the fiery water settled in his system, turning his cheeks crimson and burning his chest. He could not stop a smile from spreading across his face, and from somewhere above his eyebrows his voice said, “Yes.”

“Pot's punch, I call it. A bit sharp, this batch. Here. This mellows it out.” Pot pointed his pipe at the prince, who peered perplexedly at it. “Go on, Highness. My treat.”

Without warning, Delfort's hand grasped Pot's offering and raised it to Delfort's lips. The smoke's sweet smell disarmed the prince further, and he took a short puff. He coughed. His eyes floated around in his head a bit, then suddenly everything centred. He felt calm.

“Thanks,” Delfort squeaked, passing back the pipe. He cleared his throat and took another swig of Pot's punch, the wonderful brew coating his mind, telling it everything was going to be all right and why doesn't it just take a break for the next hour or so.

“I'm hungry,” Delfort asserted. Pot broke a piece of bread and handed it to the prince, which he finished in a few quick bites. Then he emptied the rest of his cup, which Pot promptly refilled. From somewhere behind him, his ears heard a familiar sound. He turned around.

“Ladies.”

The girls with garnet and onyx hair met his gaze and giggled over to him. The prince found them more stunning than before. He noticed the lighter-haired one's cute emerald dress and how it hung from her shoulders straight down to white sandalled feet. He noticed the other's blue and white number, complete with a dark leather cinch that nearly doubled her womanliness. Pot leaned into Delfort.

“I feel like a walk. Tread carefully yourself, Highness.”

Delfort was alone. But this time, he was in control.

“Have you beauties ever met a prince before?”

They looked at each other and giggled. The redhead blushed.

The brunette spoke first. “Our pleasure is to serve you, Your Highness,” she said curtseying slightly. They both giggled and blushed and looked at each other, then back at the prince.

Delfort held out his cup. “Care for a taste? It's good.”

The ladies looked at each other some more, then both moved closer to the prince.

“I'm Clara,” said the brunette. She put her hands on his as she sipped, then moved to wipe her young lips. Then she blushed and smiled.

“Jaclynne, my lord,” said the redhead. She took the cup from him and took the tiniest sip, passing it back quickly. She coughed a bit and giggled. Delfort took a sip himself and set the cup down.

“Are you ladies from around here?”

“Yes, my lord,” they said.

Then Clara, clearly the leader of the two, added, “Jaclynne and I were wondering if you could show us the royal chambers in the mayor's mansion. It's the only place in town we have never been, and we would be quite grateful.”

*****

Prince Delfort's journey continues next time in "The Royal Chambers"...