Christopher Healy - The Hero’s Guide to Saving Your Kingdom

When he told his father he wanted to marry Ella, the king sputtered in surprise. “I thought I’d fixed you, but apparently I didn’t,” the king scowled. “You don’t get it at all, do you? An ill-bred wife would destroy your image more than any scar or broken limb ever would.”

Up until that point, Frederic had always believed that the king enforced strict rules because he feared for his son’s safety. But now he saw that wasn’t necessarily the case. So, for the first time, Frederic stood up to his father.

“You do not rule me,” he stated firmly. “Well, technically you do, being as you’re the king. But you do not rule my heart. My heart wants Ella. And if you don’t bring her here to be with me, I will go to her. I don’t care how dangerous it is out there. I would ride a tiger to get to her if I had to.”

In truth, Frederic was utterly intimidated by the thought of venturing out into the real world. If his father refused to meet his demands, he had no idea if he would be able to follow through on his threat. Luckily for him, the king was shocked enough to give in.

And so, Ella came to live at the palace. She and Frederic were officially engaged to marry, and the tale of the magical way in which the couple met became the talk of the kingdom. Within days, the minstrels had a new hit on their hands, and the tale was told and retold across many realms. But while the popular version of the story ended with a happily-ever-after for Prince Charming and Cinderella, things didn’t go as smoothly for the real Frederic and Ella.

Ironically, it was Ella’s bold and venturesome spirit—the very thing that Frederic found so attractive about her—that came between them. Ella’s dreadful stepmother had treated her like a prisoner in her own home and forced her to spend nearly every waking hour performing onerous tasks, like scrubbing grout or chipping congealed mayonnaise from between fork tines. While Ella suffered through all this, she dreamed of a more exhilarating life. She fantasized about riding camels across deserts to search ancient temples for magic lamps, or scaling cloud-covered peaks to play games of chance with the rulers of hidden mountain kingdoms. She honestly believed that anything could happen in her future.

When Ella met Frederic at the ball, it was the climax of a day filled with magic and intrigue, and she assumed it was the beginning of a nonstop, thrill-a-minute existence for her. But life with Frederic was not quite what she’d expected.

Frederic tended to sleep in. Sometimes until lunch. And he’d often spend over an hour grooming himself to his father’s specifications. By the time Ella finally saw him each day, she would be more than ready for some sort of excitement. But Frederic usually suggested a more subdued activity, like picnicking, listening to music, or quietly admiring some art.

Don’t get me wrong: Ella enjoyed all those things—for the first few days. But by the fourteenth picnic, she began to fear that those same few activities were all she was ever going to do at the palace. Her unchanging routine made her feel uncomfortably like a prisoner again. So one morning, she decided she would speak frankly with Frederic about what she needed.

That morning, as usual, Frederic slept late. When he eventually got up, he spent fifteen minutes (pretty quick for him) browsing a closet filled with ultra-fancy suits, before finally deciding on a crisp white outfit trimmed with gold braiding and tasseled shoulder pads. The five minutes after that were dedicated to straightening his short, light-brown hair. Unfortunately, a few stubborn strands refused to stay in place, and so the prince did what he did whenever he got frustrated:

“Reginald!”

Within seconds, a tall, slender man with a thin, pointy mustache popped into the prince’s bedroom. “Yes, milord?” he asked in a voice stiff enough to match his rigid posture.

“Good morning, Reginald,” Frederic said. “Can you fix my hair?”

“Certainly, milord,” Reginald said, as he grabbed a silver brush and began using it to tidy the prince’s bed head.

“Thank you, Reginald,” Frederic said. “I’m off to see Ella, and I want to look my best.”

“Of course, milord.”

“I think I’m going to have Cook surprise her with breakfast in bed.”

Reginald paused. “I’m reasonably sure, milord, that the young lady has already eaten breakfast.”

“Drat,” muttered the prince. “So it’s happened again. How long ago did she wake up?”

“About three hours ago,” Reginald replied.

“Three hours! But I asked you to wake me when Ella got up.”

“I’m sorry, milord,” Reginald said sympathetically. “You know I’d love to help you. But we’re under strict orders from the king: Your beauty sleep is not to be disturbed.”

Frederic burst from his seat, waving away Reginald’s brush. “My father ordered you not to wake me? He’s still trying to keep me and Ella apart.”

He rushed to the door of his bedroom, then quickly back to the mirror for one last check of the hair, and then out and down the hall to look for his fiancée.

Ella wasn’t in her room, so Frederic headed to the gardens. He paused briefly to sniff a rosebush, when he heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. He looked over his shoulder to see that a large white horse was bearing down on him, tearing through the garden at a fast gallop, leaping over one hedgerow after another. The prince tried to run, but the golden tassels of his jacket caught on the shrub’s thorns.

Frederic tugged frantically at his stuck sleeve as the horse’s rider pulled up on the reins and brought the steed to a halt. From the saddle, Ella looked down at him and laughed. She wore a distinctly unfancy blue dress, and her tied-back hair was disheveled from the ride. Her strong, athletic build and warm, healthy glow were a stark contrast to Frederic’s slender frame and sun-deprived complexion. “I hope you haven’t been stuck there all morning,” she said, only half joking.

“No, this just happened,” Frederic said, relieved. “I don’t suppose you could possibly hop down and lend me a hand?”

Ella slid off the saddle, patted her horse’s nose, and crouched down to help free the prince’s jacket from the thorns. “I told you those tassels would get you into trouble someday,” she said.

“But they’re what all the most fashionable noblemen are wearing these days,” Frederic said brightly.

He brushed himself off and struck a chest-out, hands-on-hips pose to show off his outfit. He hammed it up to get a laugh out of Ella. It worked.

“Very nice,” Ella said with a chuckle. “I’d love to see you up on a horse sometime,” she hinted, petting her mare’s pink nose.

“Yes, I’m sure I’d look positively heroic up there,” Frederic said. “It’s a shame I’m allergic to horsehair.” He wasn’t allergic; he was afraid of falling off.

“A terrible shame,” Ella sighed.

“I didn’t realize you knew how to ride,” Frederic said. “Considering the way your stepmother kept you under lock and key, I wouldn’t have thought you had much time for equestrian lessons.”

“I didn’t,” Ella said. “Charles, your head groom, has been teaching me these past few weeks. I usually practice in the mornings, while you . . . um, while you sleep.”

Frederic changed the subject: “So, have you heard the song that Pennyfeather wrote about you? That bard of ours certainly has a way with a quill. The song is very popular, I hear. Supposedly, the minstrels are singing it as far as Sylvaria and Sturmhagen. Before you know it, you’ll be more famous than me. Or even more famous than Pennyfeather. Though I don’t really like the fact that he called you Cinderella. Makes you sound dirty and unkempt.”