The Fickle Princess Isabel
E. D. Telford
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 E. D. Telford
Discover other titles in The Princess Collection by E. D. Telford at Smashwords.com:
Ella and the Prince
Princess on the Glass Hill
Trudl and Trudeliese
Rumpelstiltskin and the Miller's Daughter
The Doll Princess
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Once upon a time there lived a beautiful princess by the name of Isabel. When she was very young her father, the king, made an arranged marriage between her and the son of a king living in a distant land. The name of the young prince was Quentin.
As the years passed, Isabel’s parents constantly reminded of her forthcoming marriage to the young prince. Isabel grew to resent the arranged marriage, and even though she had never met him, she imagined him to be rude and spoiled as well as fat, ugly and freckled. She and the young courtiers in the castle made great fun of the prince and his formal name, but never in the presence of the king and queen.
Isabel’s personal maid, Clarice, often chided her because of her rude behavior. “Mark my words, m’lady; you will one day eat the words you speak, so you had best make them sweet whilst you have the chance.”
But Isabel ignored Clarice and continued with her antics of making fun of Prince Quentin.
One warm spring day while Isabel and her courtiers rode through the countryside admiring the scenery, one of the wheels on their carriage broke. The servants and horsemen assisted the princess and her ladies in waiting out of the carriage and onto a blanket placed on the grass. The menfolk then set upon the task of repairing the broken wheel.
Isabel did not feel like sitting and waiting, but rather chose to take a walk in the nearby woods instead. Lady Caroline agreed to accompany her.
Song birds chirped merrily in the trees as the two ladies walked deeper into the woods. Isabel turned suddenly when she heard a cry for help. Hurrying over to the place, Isabel and Lady Caroline looked around, but could see no one. The crying came once again, soft quiet sounds as though a very tiny child were weeping.
“Where could the sound be coming from?” Isabel asked her companion.
Lady Caroline shook her head.
Isabel turned again to the sound of the child's cries.
“There! The whimpering comes from inside that old log! Lady Caroline, kneel down and see if a child is trapped in there!”
Caroline shook her head fiercely. “In my nice gown, m'lady? Surely, you jest.”
Isabel glowered at Caroline. “Are you refusing to obey me?”
Caroline nodded. “Respectfully so, m'lady, but yes.”
“But I am the princess! It wouldn't be right for me to kneel down upon the moss and peer inside the log!”
Caroline shrugged her shoulders. “Then, let's go back to the carriage, m'lady. Someone else will come along to help the child. It really is not our duty to do so.”
Isabel hesitated. The reasoning of Lady Caroline made sense, but when the small cry came again, Isabel fell to her knees and peered inside the log.
“Hello! Hello!” she cried. “Is someone hurt in there?”
Within moments, Princess Isabel's eyes adjusted to the dark and she saw a small wood fairy lying there, tugging at her tiny leg. The fairy's even tinier foot lay hidden in a crevice of the rotting log. Her small wings fluttered incessantly as she pulled and cried and then cried and pulled, trying in vain to free her foot.
Isabel had compassion for the poor little thing who was so small that she could have easily fit inside the palm of her hand. Immediately, Isabel set to work to free the fairy. Working with a small twig, she pried at the log until, at last, the tiny foot wriggled free. The fairy smiled broadly and fluttered out of the log. Without so much as a nod or a thank you, the fairy started to fly away, but Isabel quickly caught her by the wings.
The fairy fumed and sputtered, and tried to get away, unwilling to acknowledge Isabel and her kind act because, of all the fairies in the world, the wood fairies are the peskiest and the least grateful.
Isabel lifted the fairy up to eye level and asked, “Well?”
The fairy looked away.
Isabel spoke again. “Don’t you have something to say?”
“A lot of good you did rescuing me, only to catch me again,” the tiny fairy muttered.
“I was going to set you free you immediately,” Isabel remarked, “but since you are so ungrateful, I think I’ll let you go only after granting me a wish.”
“Oh-h-h-h,” groaned the little fairy. “I hate using my powers to help humans. It takes so much time and energy.”
“Then I suggest you get started right away, for the sooner you start, the sooner you'll be free!”
The fairy folded her arms and crossed her legs while dangling in mid-air. “I suppose you want me to find you a prince to marry,” she remarked sourly.
“That won't be necessary,” Isabel replied. “I am already betrothed to a prince -- an ugly one, but at least he’s a prince.” Isabel paused and a glint came to her eye. “What I want from you, little fairy, is for you to find my true love – the man I am supposed to marry – not the prince my parents arranged for me to marry, because I am sure that he is fat, freckled, and homely. Yes, little fairy,” she said eagerly, “I want you to find my true love!”
The fairy looked at Isabel crossly. “Well, I won't do it!” she snapped.
“Why not?”
“You already have a prince. Why do you want another one?”
“Because I don't like this one,” Isabel replied with a huff.
“Have you seen him?” the fairy asked.
“Of course not, and I won't see him until the day I marry.”
“He might be nice – and handsome.”
“How could he be with the horrible name of --” Isabel paused and then added, “it doesn't matter.”
“Of all the humans I’ve seen or heard about, you are the ficklest of them all!” the fairy cried. She tried to stomp her little foot in mid-air, but ended up twirling between Isabel's fingers instead. “Now, put me down!”
Isabel shook her head. “No, little fairy, not until you promise to find me my true love.”
“How do you know that your betrothed prince isn't your true love?” the fairy asked.
“Because I know!” Isabel snapped.
Emmie wiggled and squirmed in mid-air, trying to free her wings from Isabel’s firm grasp. At last she fell limp with resignation. ‘I’ll do it,” she said at last. “But I’m warning you, you’re making a big mistake!”
“That’s for me to worry about, little fairy,” Isabel answered with a nod.
“And stop calling me little fairy!” she shouted in a tiny, squeaky voice. “My name is Emmie!”
Isabel moved over to soft patch of grass and released her fingers. The fairy fell with a bump to the ground. “All right, Emmie,” Isabel snapped. “Bring me news about my true love to the big castle on the hill. And if you don't, the next time I see your foot caught in a log, I’ll feed you to a toad instead of setting you free!”
Emmie shook with anger and then quickly flew away.
“That was harsh, Princess Isabel,” Lady Caroline remarked as they walked back to the carriage.
“Not nearly harsh enough,” Isabel replied. “What an insolent little tart that fairy is! She probably won’t even help me!”
“Well, I for one hope she doesn’t. What if she brings you word of your true love? What then? You still have to marry Prince Quentin when you turn eighteen – and then you’ll be positively miserable!” Lady Caroline answered.
“But if Emmie brings me word of my true love, I’ll be gloriously happy until the day that I must marry the wretched, short prince,” Isabel remarked.
“Ah, so now Quentin is short as well as fat,” Lady Caroline observed.
“Probably,” Isabel answered, and then added, “Oh, look! The carriage is ready.”
As the royal entourage worked its way back to the castle, Isabel mused gaily about the possibility of actually meeting her true love. Her wise and her dutiful courtiers knew better than say anything contrary to the princess. It proved to be a long, bumpy ride back to the castle.
When they arrived, the courtiers quickly scattered to their quarters, and Isabel ran to find Clarice, her personal maid.
“Clarice!” she shouted once she reached her room. “The most wonderful thing has happened to me!” Breathlessly, Isabel told her about freeing the little fairy and about the glorious wish she'd made the fairy promise to give her.
Clarice clucked her tongue. “Ah, Princess Isabel, I fear that you have behaved badly in making such a wish. It will only bring you heartache.”
“How so?” Isabel questioned her. “I already suffer from a broken heart just thinking about that grotesque little worm of a prince I am to marry. Should I not be allowed some tiny bit of happiness before I am consigned to my marriage-prison?” she asked.
“But you don’t even know the prince,” Clarice argued. “You stand as in judgment against him without even seeing him.”
“His name is Quentin. Is that not horrid enough? Any real prince would have the name of Philippe or David or Roderick. The name Quentin is loathsome to me.” Irritably, Isabel pulled the ivory combs out of her hair, and shook her pretty head. Golden curls cascaded down her back as she continued, “I just don’t want to meet him ever – or marry him!”
“But you are betrothed to him, m’lady,” Clarice replied sensibly. “It is your duty as a princess to marry whomsoever your father chooses.”
Isabel threw herself onto her bed which was laden with pink satin pillows and a billowy down-filled quilt. “It is so unfair!” she whimpered as she pulled a fat pillow over her face.
“Suffocating yourself won’t help a thing,” Clarice remarked as she reached over the bed and pulled the pillow off Isabel’s face. “You know your duty, my dear. Let go of this fanciful dream, and prepare yourself to marry the young prince.”
“Oh, Clarice, must I?” Isabel cried. “I will be so miserable!”
Clarice shook her head and clucked her tongue as she busied herself preparing the bath water for the princess.
Over the next few days Isabel spoke very little about meeting her true love, mostly because Clarice and the courtiers grew tired of listening to her. Isabel busied herself by sewing beads on satin pillows, embroidering linen hankies and other such tasks of a princess. She seldom mentioned the little fairy and her promise, and after a few weeks, she couldn't even remember the fairy’s name.
Then one evening as Isabel stood on her balcony looking out at the rising moon, the little fairy flew over to her. Isabel started with surprise when she saw her.
“Guess who?” the fairy asked.
Isabel shook her head, “Uh, Agatha?” she asked.
Emmie stomped her foot, and squeaked, “You don't remember me?”
“Certainly, I do!” Isabel lied. “You're Blanche!”
Emmie frowned.
“Minerva?” Isabel paused, and then said, “Sibyl? How about Theodosia?!”
Hot tears pooled in the little fairy's eyes. “How could you forget me so quickly?” she asked.
“I never thought I'd see you again,” Isabel answered truthfully. “I'm sorry, little fairy. Tell me your name again.”
“Why should I?” Emmie demanded.
“Because I know you don't like to be called little fairy. If you tell me your name again, I promise I won't forget it this time.”
Emmie sighed deeply. “I really thought you'd remember my name, especially after what I've been doing for you over the past few weeks.”
For the first time Isabel noticed the piece of parchment Emmie held in her hands.
“A letter! Oh, Emmie, you remembered your promise! Is this from my true love?”
Emmie beamed happily. “You remembered my name!” she squealed.
Isabel laughed. “I really couldn't forget you, little fai- I mean Emmie. I just wasn't thinking clearly tonight.” She paused and then added eagerly, “So, the letter – is it from my true love?”
“Maybe,” Emmie answered slowly. “Or it could be from your betrothed prince – the short, fat, freckle-faced one, scolding you for making fun of him!”
Isabel felt her face growing hot. “Emmie, you didn't contact him, did you?” she cried.
Emmie laughed brightly as she held out the sealed envelope. “Fooled you!”
Isabel laughed nervously as she took the parchment from her. “Is it really from my true love? You found him?”
Emmie rolled her eyes. “You don’t think I want to be eaten by a toad, do you? Of course I found him!” She perched herself on the marble balcony and stared up at Isabel. “Well, are you going to read the message, or not?” she asked.
“Oh, yes!” Isabel replied excitedly, and she quickly unfolded the parchment. Staring at the words, she asked, “Shall I read it out loud?”
Emmie nodded, but then added, “You don't have to, but I would like to hear what he said – if you don't mind, princess.”
“Yes, I mean, no. What I mean, Emmie, is, that you did bring this all the way from a faraway land, didn't you? And, of course, you're curious like me as to what it says, right? So, of course I don't mind sharing. . . .”
“Princess Isabel, will you please just read the letter?!” Emmie squeaked loudly.
Isabel nodded and then read, “‘Dear Stranger – you do not know me, but Emmie has told me that you are my match. She said that you are lovelier than the flowers in my vast garden, and that your cheeks are rosier than dawn on a spring’s bright morning. This piece of parchment is small because it is all the weight that Emmie can carry, but I beg you to please write back to me. Tell me if it is true – that you anxiously await true love as I do. Emmie tells me that we both suffer from a pre-arranged marriage – you to an ugly fat prince, and me to a plain-looking, spoiled princess. I must believe that there is hope in this wonderful new world of the sixteenth century and that I might have the pleasure of choosing my own bride. Write back and tell me about yourself. Warmly, the Golden Falcon.'”
Isabel paused. “The Golden Falcon? That is his name?”
“There's more,” Emmie squeaked excitedly. “He tells you why he calls himself that.”
Isabel nodded and turned the parchment over. She read aloud, “'One more thing, Dear Stranger. Emmie strictly forbade me from telling you my real name. You, too, must choose another name for yourself. If you tell me your real name, Emmie will not let us keep writing to each other.’”
Isabel paused in thought. “That is odd,” she remarked. “Why can't we know each other's names?”
Emmie shook her head and asked, “Isn't it obvious, little princess?”
Isabel frowned. “Don't call me that,” she snapped, and then added, “No, Emmie, it isn't obvious.”
Emmie rolled her eyes and continued, “So, your father finds this letter, right?”
“He won't find it!” Isabel cried, and quickly looked around for some place to hide the letter.
Emmie shook her head and continued, “Not that he's found it, Princess, but if he does, and it's signed Charles or Alexander or Felix --”
“Felix?” Isabel asked.
“Shush and listen!” Emmie chided. “Your father will hunt the countryside and everywhere looking for this mysterious prince who wants to keep you from marrying the prince he's chosen for you!”
“Oh!” Isabel cried. “That would be terrible!”
“Yes,” Emmie replied, shaking her head. “That is why you and Golden Falcon must never reveal your names to each other. Did you notice that he is also betrothed? Do you want his father to come looking for your pretty little head -- to keep you away from his son?”
Isabel pulled her hand to her neck. “No!” she cried.
“Then do as I ask, and give him a different name than your own.”
“Oh,” was all Isabel could muster as she walked into her bedroom and slumped down on her bed. She then leaned over and placed the parchment beneath her pillow. “There. It's hidden,” she remarked.
Emmie glared at her.
“Is there something else you need, little fai- I mean, Emmie?” she asked.
“Aren’t you going to write back?”
“Oh, is that why you are waiting?” Isabel asked.
Emmie nodded and rolled her eyes. “The things I do just to keep from being eaten by a toad. Yes, princess. Write Golden Falcon back and I’ll take it to him.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes, tonight!”
Quickly, Isabel got up and hurried over to her dressing table. Sitting on the padded chair, she opened a small drawer and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill pen. Pushing aside the powders and perfumes, Isabel steadied her hand to write to her newfound love.
“Dear Golden Falcon,” she began, and then said, “Oh, Emmie, what shall I say?”
Emmie fluttered her little wings and flew over to the dressing table by Isabel. Sitting upon the large powder puff, she said, “I’m a fairy – and not even a princess fairy. I don’t know how you humans or royal people think. If it were me, I’d probably tell him what I do during the day – like racing butterflies to the best flowers, or riding lizards through tall grasses near the lake.” She paused and then asked, “What do you do with your time?”
“Embroider pillow cases and sew pearls on sashes. That doesn’t sound very interesting, does it, Emmie?”
The fairy shook her head. “No. It sounds boring in fact. You’d better do what I did and make something up. That’s what I did when I told him about you.”
“Emmie!” Isabel cried. “You didn’t mean those things that
you told him about me?”
“Oh, they’re probably true,” Emmie
answered, “but I don’t much care for humans, so it’s hard for
me to say if you’re beautiful or if he is handsome. I will tell
you, though, Golden Falcon's ears are very odd shaped and plain.
Why, they’re not at all beautiful and pointed like Gillie’s,”
she replied.
“Who is Gillie?” Isabel asked.
Emmie sighed and answered. “He's an elf – the most handsome elf in the whole world – but you didn't hear that from me!”
“No, of course not,” Isabel remarked. She then added, “Does Golden Falcon look anything like your elf friend?”
“Of course not! Humans are big, clumsy oafs! Elves are small, sprite-like and so very handsome – especially when they have bright orange hair and bushy eyebrows!”
“I can only imagine,” Isabel remarked with an understanding nod. She then added, “So, Golden Falcon doesn’t have pointed ears nor orange hair, right?”
“Right.”
“I could live with that,” Isabel remarked, and then asked, “Why don't you want anyone to know how handsome Gillie is?”
“Because he's an elf and I'm a fairy – and I think I love him,” Emmie remarked with a sigh. “Elves and fairies aren’t supposed to fall in love, you know, so I can’t tell anyone about it. Please don’t tell any of the fairy folk or elves! Promise me?” Emmie asked anxiously.
Isabel nodded her head. “I promise, Emmie,” Isabel replied with mock sincerity. “Mums the word. Any elves or fairies I see lurking around the castle won’t hear about you and Gillie from me.”
Emmie looked at her curiously. “You are an odd one, Princess Isabel.”
“Who are you calling odd? At least I don’t fall in love with someone with pointy-ears and orange hair!” Isabel snapped.
“And I don’t fall in love with anyone with golden, curly hair or deep blue eyes!” Emmie squeaked as she stuck out her tongue at her.
“Is that how Golden Falcon looks?” Isabel asked with surprise and eager anticipation.
“Yes, and if you ask me, he’d look a lot better if he weren’t so tall! I like my men as short as me – and with golden-brown eyes and who can click their heels when they jump high into the air!”
“Ah,” Isabel remarked. “I think you’re talking about Gillie again.”
Emmie blushed. “I am! He is so handsome!”
Isabel smiled and picked up the quill pen. “Well, I think both of us are very happy with our own style of men. That means that you won't steal Golden Falcon from me and I won't steal Gillie from you. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough!” Emmie squeaked.
“Back to my letter, Emmie. I just don’t know what to say. I live a very boring life here in the castle. Meeting you was the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me.”
“Really?” Emmie asked, her eyes wide open with surprise.
“Really, but that’s hardly a thing to talk about to a prince.” She paused and then added, “Is he a prince, Emmie?”
Emmie nodded. “But you’re not supposed to know that. In fact, you’re not supposed to be writing to anyone other than your betrothed prince, Isabel, and I wouldn't be helping you if you hadn't threatened me with being eaten by a toad.”
Princess Isabel nodded. “That's true enough.”
“And your chances of marrying the Golden Falcon are as slim as me marrying Gillie.” She sighed and added, “Some things just aren't meant to be.”
“But we can dream, can’t we, Emmie?” Isabel asked.
Emmie sighed and repositioned herself on the powder puff. “I suppose we can, Princess. I mean, what can it hurt?”
“Exactly!” Isabel replied.
Dipping the pen into the ink well, Isabel whispered, “All right, Emmie, let's see if we can do this.” With that, she wrote and spoke the words aloud: “Dear Golden Falcon: Emmie brought your letter to me and it gave me great pleasure. She let me know that you are tall, taller than Gillie anyway, which is good because Gillie is an elf. She said that your hair is golden yellow and curly – and not bright red. That, too, is good in my opinion. I like golden hair. My hair is also golden and is almost to my waist. I am slender, but not too slender. I like to eat, but I also like to take long walks in my garden and dream beautiful dreams about my prince charming. Perhaps you are him. As you know, I, too, am betrothed to another, but I hope as you hope that this wonderful new century will allow us to choose our mates – and not be shackled to old, provincial thinking. I had better stop for now. This letter may already be too long and too heavy for poor Emmie to carry, so I will leave you with warm thoughts and wish you sweet dreams. Yours truly. . . .” Isabel paused. “How shall I end it, Emmie? What shall I call myself?”
Emmie gazed long and hard at Isabel. “You could call yourself the Golden Giant,” she replied.
“What?” Isabel asked irritably, and then she softened and said, “I must look like a giant to you, Emmie. Do I?”
Emmie nodded. “You frightened me the first time I saw you, but now I see you differently. You’re softer and kinder somehow.”
“Am I still a giant?” Isabel asked.
Emmie nodded. “Yes, but a good giant. Some of them are not so good.” Pausing briefly, she added, “You should call yourself Rosie Dawn.”
Isabel smiled. “I like that,” she replied as she wrote Rosie Dawn at the bottom of her letter. She turned to Emmie and asked, “Is it really that bad if we know each other's names? I promise I will keep these letters away from everyone!”
Emmie smiled patiently, which was something she did not do well. “I will tell you, Princess. What you and your Golden Falcon are doing could be called treason. You are deliberately going against the wishes of your fathers, who are both kings, and deciding who you will marry and who you won't. By using your made up names, no one can trace your letters to you. It is a protection for him – and for you.”
Isabel nodded. “Oh, all right, Emmie.” She yawned quite suddenly, and then said, “I am very tired. I am sure you must be also. If you like, you may sleep on my powder puff tonight and then take the letter to the Golden Falcon in the morning.”
Emmie grinned and nodded happily. She stretched out her little arms and yawned as well. “That is a good plan, Rosie Dawn. You are becoming less odd, and more likable to me all the time.”
“Thank you very much,” Isabel said with a small curtsy. “Sleep well, my little friend.” With that, Isabel covered Emmie with the small linen hanky she finished embroidering that afternoon.
“Thank you,” Emmie replied in a soft voice. Within seconds, she fell fast asleep.
Isabel turned down the wick of the small oil lamp on her dresser, and then lay down on her pink satin bed. She closed her eyes and mused over beautiful thoughts about Golden Falcon, and knew that those thoughts would develop into beautiful dreams. Within minutes, Isabel fell asleep.
Morning came quickly and Isabel awoke with a start. She glanced over at her dressing table and found the powder puff and powder box in good order next to the bottles of perfume. A small linen hanky lay folded neatly beside the oil lamp.
“Was it all a dream?” Isabel wondered, “or did a little wood fairy actually visit me last night?”
She walked over to the dressing table and opened the small drawer. Inside, she found the parchment, quill pen and the cruse of ink lying as though they had never been used.
“It must have been a dream,” Isabel thought sadly. “But it was a lovely dream.”
Just then she spied a bit of parchment peeking out from beneath her powder puff. Picking it up, she unfolded it and read, “Dear Stranger, you don’t know me . . .”
“Then it wasn’t a dream!” she cried aloud. She looked around the room for some sign of the little fairy. “Emmie?” she called, “Where are you?”
Walking quickly over to her bed, she knelt down and looked beneath it just as Clarice walked in.
“Princess Isabel, whatever are you looking for?” Clarice asked.
Isabel quickly tucked the parchment into the bosom of her dressing gown and stood up. “I – I was looking for my slippers,” she said, and then spying them lying neatly by the closet, she said, “Oh, here they are. Silly me.”
Clarice looked at her curiously. “Are you all right, Princess?” she asked.
Isabel nodded. “I think I’ll dress now,” she said, and hurried into her closet to find a dress for the day.
Time and again during the day Isabel looked at the folded parchment. She wished that Emmie would hurry back to her – just to talk, for she couldn’t share the letter with anyone else. Of course Isabel wished that Emmie would bring her another letter from Golden Falcon, but that was more than she dared hope for.