Meanwhile, in the lonely town the princess desired to explore, a young fourteen year old man whistled along the cobbled street in the center of town. He searched the buildings beside the road until he found 14 Hemming Place, the blacksmith’s shop. He knocked twice on the door. A man came out, looked at the boy, and said,
“We’re not hiring.” And tried to slam the door. The boy, however, held it firm.
“I need work. I will do anything asked of me. I shall do the lowliest servant’s job if it means a bit of pay, a roof, and some food. ‘Tis all I ask for.” The burly blacksmith looked sharply at the tall, black-haired boy standing in front of him. He was strong, well-built and not in the least bit prissy. Eventually, he would make a good husband for one of the blacksmith’s three daughters. The blacksmith opened the door.
“Three meals a day,” he said gruffly. “Only if yer do everything asked. I suppose a roof and a bit of wages won’t hurt either. But,” he added, looking stern, “If yer promise to marry one of me three daughters in two year’s time, I shall think about letting yer do more than the servant’s jobs. Do yer agree?” The boy hesitated. He believed the man would not lie, and that at least one of his daughters was at least fairly pretty. He also believed in the right to find true love, not an arrangement by the parents. His parents, of course, were both dead; they could have no say in what he chose to do.
“I shall meet with them. I cannot make my decision yet.”
“Very well. Come in.”
The blacksmith led the boy through the house, It was evident the man didn't have a housewife, or if he did, she wasn’t a very good one. There was dirt in he corners and the house looked as though it had not been properly swept in several years. Grit lay on every surface, and the house smelled dank and musty. When they approached the parlor, the boy restrained a gasp. Four of the dirtiest, largest, most ugly women he had ever seen were sitting in the parlor, not lifting a finger to help the guest.
“M’ wife, Margaret,” the blacksmith said. “An’ me daughters, Louise, Rose, and Darla.” He waited for the handsome boy to say something. The boy ducked away and headed for the door.
“I’m very sorry.” He said politely. “But I cannot accept your offer. Thank you for your…” his eyes drifted to the four women again, none of whom had moved since he arrived. “…hospitality. Good day.” He stepped out into the warm summer air and carefully closed the door. Abandoning his search of work for the day, the boy set off for a brisk walk. He wandered nearer and nearer to the castle that overlooked the small town he had always known as home. He found a tree leaning next to the castle wall, and, being a very good climber, he climbed the tree with no trouble. The boy looked up. The sun was just beginning to set. The moon inched higher into the sky. He looked past the walls of the great fortress and saw a tree with a figure beneath it, and a larger figure next to it. He stealthily climbed atop the castle wall and slithered down the other side. He crept closer to the tree with some interest, finding in the fading sunset that it was a young girl and her horse. Thinking quickly, he rummaged in his bag, and the boy drew out a tonic he had gotten from the local medicine woman. Pouring just two drops down the girl’s throat, no less than five minutes later, the girl stirred. She sat up and looked at the handsome face in front of her.
“Are you okay?” The boy asked kindly. Nicole answered,
“Quite fine, thank you. And you are?”
“A friend.”
Nicole smiled. “Is there any way for me to know this handsome friend’s name?”
The boy flushed. He looked at the girl. She was quite pretty herself. “Jonathan. You are…”
“Nicole.” Nicole did not elaborate. For now she did not want Jonathan to know she was a princess. Whenever she did, the boy to whom she was speaking would keel over in a bow and kiss her shoes. It was quite infuriating. Nicole stood up and looked around. Jonathan stood too, facing the girl.
“Do you live here?” he asked. Nicole hesitated.
“Yes, I do. I work for the cook.”
“So you’re like a cook’s assistant?”
“You could say that.” She was careful not to lie. Her mother made her take cooking classes with the cook, so she did kind of work for him. You could say she was a cook’s assistant; you could, but you would not be correct.
“Well, how about coming with me? We must tell the cook you’re all right. I’ll take you up to the castle.”
“No, it’s…”
“I insist.” The boy’s green eyes twinkled in the moonlight. He put his hand in hers and led her toward the castle. Nicole could not say a thing. She wouldn’t. Silently they walked toward the castle. Nicole sighed. Here was the handsomest boy she had met, walking along, believing the biggest lie she had ever told.