Christopher Healy - The Hero’s Guide to Storming the Castle

Fig. 2 STATUE, pilfered

The path to hero-hood will be fraught with danger, risk, and adversity. But it will all be worth it in the end when someone writes a factually incorrect song about you.

—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

rederic wasn’t always helpless. Sure, he’d spent most of his life having his servants cut the crusts off his toast, and he once fainted after merely thinking he had a splinter in his finger (it was really a biscotti crumb). But then he joined the League of Princes and managed to hold his own against bandits, giants, trolls, and witches. And if you had seen him throw himself under a falling stone pillar to save the life of a friend, you would have assumed he’d gotten over his general Fear of Everything. But only ten months after that near-death experience, there Frederic was, fleeing madly down the corridors of his own royal palace, squealing like a startled piglet.

“You can’t run forever,” his pursuer called out. “I can hear you panting already.”

“I’m aware of that,” Frederic wheezed. The pale, slender prince ducked into a corner, squatted behind a large ceramic flowerpot, and poked the tip of his sword out from behind a lush, green philodendron.

“Aha!” he shouted, peeking between the feathery leaves. “I win.”

Prince Liam stopped right before the big ornamental planter, lowered his sword, and shook his head. His long, burgundy cape fluttered down behind him. “Frederic,” he said. “You know that if this were a real fight, I could easily cut through that shrub and get to you. It’s a bush, not an iron shield.”

“I think the philodendron might technically be a tree, but I concede your point,” Frederic said, standing, hiking up the waistband of his gold-trimmed slacks, and straightening out the collar of his baby-blue velvet jacket (his “workout suit”). “However, this is not a real fight. And in this particular situation, the philodendron is a perfectly safe place to hide. So I’d say I outwitted you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Liam retorted. “You won because you changed the rules. You knew I wouldn’t attack the plant because I don’t want to hear your father lecturing me again about ‘defacing his royal foliage.’ But in these training exercises, I’m not me; I’m playing a bad guy. A bad guy who wants to hurt you. How will you learn to defend yourself if you don’t treat these bouts like real fights?”

“He’s right, Frederic,” said Ella, Prince Frederic’s fiancée and Prince Liam’s other sword-fighting pupil, who had raced down the hall to witness the climax of Liam and Frederic’s “duel.” She shook her head. “You weren’t even supposed to leave the training room.”

“But there’s nowhere to hide in the training room,” Frederic said.

“That’s the point,” Liam and Ella said in unison. They smiled at each other and laughed.

“Watch,” Ella said to Frederic. “This is what you can learn when you apply yourself.” She quickly drew the rapier that hung at her side and leapt at Liam.

“Whoa,” Liam sputtered. He was taken off guard but raised his sword in time to parry Ella’s stroke. “Nice speed,” he said as he slashed back at her.

“Thanks,” Ella replied, deftly blocking his strike. Swords clanged as she and Liam traded blows. But Liam was faster; he started to back Ella down the corridor.

“Watch that lamp!” Frederic yelled. “My great-grandmother made that! Well, bought it. Had a servant buy it, actually. . . .” His voice trailed off.

Ella was up against the wall. But as Liam swung his sword, she dove under it, sliding across the polished marble floor on her knees and hopping back onto her feet several yards away.

“Nice move,” Liam said with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think I could get that much distance from a single slide.”

“Thank the pants,” Ella said, gesturing toward her billowy satin trousers. “I made them myself.” She cartwheeled toward Liam, her braid of brown hair whipping through the air. Liam leapt up and grabbed onto a chandelier to swing over Ella and avoid her assault.

“That’s real crystal!” Frederic yelled.

Liam dropped down behind Ella. “Boo,” he said.

Ella kicked her leg backward into his gut and sent him stumbling against the opposite wall.

“Careful with that tapestry,” Frederic called out. “It depicts my great-grandmother’s servant buying the lamp.”

“Sorry,” Ella said to Liam. “Did I hurt you?”

“Ha,” Liam said with a wincing smile. “Good reflexes, though. You’ve come a long way.”

Ella straightened the tapestry, plucked a piece of lint from it, and then charged at Liam with a quick barrage of blows—all of which he parried with ease. “A long way, perhaps” he said. “But not all the way.”

As Ella’s energy began to flag, Liam decided it was time for a little showboating. He performed an agile spinning maneuver, his cape flowing out behind him. Ella grabbed his cape as it fluttered past her and yanked him off balance. He fell to his knees, and Ella, grinning, touched the tip of her sword to his chest.

“Looks like I finally beat you,” she said.

“No fair,” Frederic interjected. “Didn’t we just establish that he’s not Prince Liam right now? He’s playing a bad guy. You can’t use his cape against him.”

“A villain can wear a cape,” Ella said.

“Of course,” Liam added. “Plenty of them do.”

“Who? Nobody we’ve ever faced,” Frederic said. “Are you also going to tell me that villains regularly compliment you the entire time they’re trying to kill you? And that they show off with fancy pirouettes in the middle of battle? You cannot honestly say you were taking that fight seriously just now, Liam. I don’t think you’re judging me and Ella equally.”

Ella walked over to Frederic and put her muscular arm around his bony shoulders. “Come on, Frederic,” she said playfully. “Don’t be jealous.”

“Jeal— um, what? Jealous?” Frederic stuttered. “Why would you say that? Jealous of whom?” For months now, Frederic had been trying to ignore the fact that Liam and Ella seemed like an ideal match for each other. They shared all the same interests (monsters, swords, monsters with swords). They shared all the same hobbies (rescuing people, climbing things, doing spontaneous push-ups). They had the same bold and daring spirit. But Ella was supposed to be Frederic’s fiancée. She was the Cinderella made beloved by the bards’ songs and stories, and Frederic was the Prince Charming who had swept her off her feet at that famous ball. But he was also the man whose life was so dull that Ella had left him in search of some real action.

It had been Frederic’s quest to reunite with Ella that brought the League of Princes together in the first place. He’d wanted to impress Ella with his heroics—and he succeeded. But on that adventure he also introduced her to his good friend Liam. And now both she and Liam lived in the Harmonian royal palace with him, neither of them sharing Frederic’s interests (artists, crumpets, artists who paint crumpets) or Frederic’s hobbies (fancy spoons, poetry, spontaneous embroidery). Still, Frederic wanted Ella to notice him. Of all the women he’d ever met—and there had been dozens lining up to dance with him at the royal ball every year—none but Ella had ever made a real impression. No woman he’d met anywhere had. Well, actually, there was one other . . . but Frederic didn’t know if he’d ever see her again.