Fairest One of All

Fairest One of All

by Bridget Hanley

Copyright 2011 Bridget Hanley

Cover Art by Bridget Hanley

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for you use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, locations and events are either a product of the author’s imagination, fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any event, locale or person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Chapter One

Once upon a time, in a land far away, a queen sat upon her throne pondering something that troubled her deeply.

What is is thing called time? If I can't feel it and I can't see it, why should I believe it is real? What does time look like?

My timekeepers attempt to trap and measure this phantom in earnest. Clocks tick away the seconds and minutes. Calendars mark the days and years. Yet, time cannot be held onto. It slips away.

Sadly, I look forward to time for what it brings when it arrives, knowing all too well that once it is here it takes back what it brought leaving nothing but a memory in its wake.

This very moment (already gone by the time I have this thought) is all that matters.

I've heard the young complain time moves too slowly and the aged say it slips by far too fast. Time marches forward to the beats of the phases of the moon or the tempo of a waltz as flowers awaken to spring warmth. I've witnessed the passage of time as trees grew from saplings into massive spreading canopies, as the farmlands developed into cities, and our children matured into adults.

Then there is dark time, the one I hold at arms length and run from when I sense it coming near. I dread this dark time that takes from us what’s been given; when buildings crumble, when empires fall, when life ends.

The queen was startled out of her thoughts by a chorus of voices.

Your majesty, said one small, one medium, and one very large billy goat in unison. They knelt on a plush red carpet before an ornate, but almost child-size throne.

Upon the queen’s urging they rose to their hooves and the largest one said, When we appeared before you two days ago to inform you of a grumpy troll who bullies us whenever we try to cross the footbridge to the Emerald Grasslands you requested we return today for your ruling.

The smallest one added in a wee voice, We are very, very hungry.

Queen Anne spent several sleepless nights working on a solution that would benefit everyone. Take these and you’ll have no problem reaching the Emerald Grasslands, she said as she retrieved an embroidered carpetbag from under her chair. She pulled something curious from inside and handed something very small to the smallest billy goat, something a bit larger to the medium billy goat and a very large something to the largest of the billy goats. The queen, being exceptionally handy with needles and yarn, had knit booties for all of the billy goats to wear when crossing over the bridge so the trip, trap, trip, trap of their hooves wouldn’t arouse the cantankerous troll sleeping soundly underneath

Unlike the foul-tempered Queen of Hearts, infamous for lopping off heads in Wonderland, Queen Anne ruled over the Land of Enchantment with grace and poise. Under her fair-minded leadership the Land of Enchantment remained peaceful and cooperative. Queen Anne knew all too well that living happily ever after wasn’t granted like a wish, not even in the Land of Enchantment.

Living happily ever after required a heaping spoonful of patience, a pinch of respect, and a dollop of cooperation. Like a skilled chef, Queen Anne carefully folded, trussed and simmered each idea, thought and opinion until the final result was palatable to everyone. This she had done each day for nearly twenty years just as she began each day for those same twenty years with a hearty breakfast.

One cannot expect to think clearly and make wise decisions on an empty stomach, she informed the thankful billy goats as she showed them to the door. Pardon me for rushing you, but my breakfast is waiting.

Queen Anne’s stout figure waddled along the winding hallways and with each step she took the hem of her robe swept the floor as it swung back and forth like a tolling tower bell. She followed the sweet aroma of buttermilk pancakes dripping with warm maple syrup until she reached the cavernous dining room where the clip-clop, clip-clop of her shoes halted inside an arched doorway.

Good morning, your highness, said a pretty young maiden balancing a large silver platter on the fingertips of one hand. She curtsied before the queen and the tower of pancakes on the platter teetered back and forth. Queen Anne returned her greeting and the maiden quickly placed the platter at the center of the table before the pancakes toppled to the floor.

Hurrying back to the kitchen the maiden brushed past a man fumbling with the tangled laces on his knee-high black leather boots.

Blazebreath, where is my son? the queen inquired of the man. Her words echoed off the domed ceiling like bullets ricocheting off rock.

The man snapped upright and tugged at the hem of his green velvet jacket. A bushy black mustache, curled up at the tips like a wide hairy grin, hid his upper lip. He is on his way, your highness. I spoke to him just a few minutes ago, he answered in a lilting Cheshire brogue.

Very well. If he’s not here soon you will check on him? she asked, rather than commanded.

For nearly a quarter of a century the only son of Queen Anne lived in the shadows of Greenbrier castle. He was seldom seen by anyone. In fact, few people knew he existed at all because Queen Anne held an unshakable fear a neighboring kingdom wanted to steal him away and hold him for ransom. She never allowed her son to go anywhere outside of the castle without Blazebreath at his side. Before long, the prince simply preferred to stay at home.

Queen Anne appointed Blazebreath as Prince Beloved’s bodyguard the day the prince was born. After his display of unwavering loyalty to the Royal family many years ago, she believed with all of her heart there was no other man for the job.

Blazebreath served as the king’s coachman at the time. One evening while driving the king and queen through Phantasmagorical Forest he courageously proved his prowess in combat. Two tiny stubs, all which remained of Blazebreath’s right index and middle fingers, were a constant reminder of his gallantry on that tragic night. Since then, Queen Anne replayed the events over and over in her mind as if she could find a way to revise them and bring her dear husband back to her.

Nine months after that dreadful night the queen gave birth to the king’s son. His full moon eyes and dimpled smile were just like his father’s, but what the queen treasured most of all was a small heart-shaped birthmark on his left shoulder. Beloved was a fitting name.

Here he comes now, right on schedule as usual. Blazebreath said and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the prince enter. He slid the gilded chair away from the expansive dining room table so the Queen could sit down. May I bring you a stool for your feet?

Queen Anne’s feet dangled a couple inches above the floor.

No, Blazebreath. I will be fine. A pink flush rose on her cheeks. Please, join us for some breakfast.

Thank you so much. I’d love to. He bowed to the prince and took a seat across the table from him.

Good morning, mother. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Prince Beloved said.

The queen nodded and smiled warmly at him, looking softly into his emerald eyes. The prince bore a strong resemblance to his father; the same tender gaze, the same square jaw framed by shoulder length copper ringlets, and the same dimpled smile. They even shared a mysterious essence that radiated like heat from the sun to warm everyone in the room.

"Strawberries and whipped cream topping? the young maiden asked Queen Anne as, one by one, she stacked five pancakes on the queen’s plate.

Oh, no, I must watch my figure, the Queen answered modestly. However, I don't think one more pancake would hurt.

The young maiden glanced at Prince Beloved who winked at her playfully. He smirked at his apple dumpling mother’s comment and shoveled a forkful of pancake in his mouth to keep from breaking out in laughter.

He gagged and then stopped. Fear filled him and he jumped out of his seat, clutching his throat with both hands.

Somebody do something, the prince is choking! the Queen screamed.

Prince Beloved’s face turned from cherry red to a horrid purplish hue.

Behind him, the maiden reacted in a flash. She wrapped her arms around his waist to catch him before he fell forward and clobbered his head on the heavy oak table. She clasped her hands together and braced herself against his weight. Under his clothes she felt his rippled stomach muscles beneath her hands. Dreamily, she laid her head on his back and inhaled his spicy scent. Realizing her grip was slipping she pressed her body against his, locked her knees behind his and forced her clenched hands inward and upward in a quick thrust to try to pull his body back toward hers. The prince gasped like a fish out of water.

Hearing Queen Anne's disgusted groan at the sight of a ball of half-chewed pancake that flew from Prince Beloved’s mouth to the center of the table, Blazebreath discreetly covered it with a napkin.

You can let go now, Blazebreath said as he pried the maiden’s arms from around the coughing prince.

Once Prince Beloved regained his composure he turned to the maiden and said, I don't believe I know your name.

The young maiden giggled nervously, My name isn’t important. She tried to sound modest.

I want to know who to thank for my life, he answered.

I’m Hildred. But, you needn’t thank me. It was my pleasure.

Well, I do thank you, Hildred. Your maneuver saved my life, He took her hand in his and placed a delicate kiss upon her fingers. I’m indebted to you. He bowed.

Blazebreath leaned toward Queen Anne and whispered, I believe the prince may be feeling a bit of a sting from cupid's arrow.

Queen Anne replied with a grunt.

Might it be time for him to find a companion? Blazebreath queried.

Abruptly, Queen Anne rose to her feet. Thank you, Hildred. That will be all, she snapped.

Oh, mother, I just wanted to show my gratitude, the prince pleaded. She is rather attractive though. Don’t you agree?

We must hurry! I hear the roosters crowing already. Queen Anne gave Blazebreath and her son a little push through the dining room door. I must get ready for the Royal Doily Toss. Time is slipping away.

No one was more aware of the passage of time than the one squirming restlessly within the deep confines of Greenbrier Castle. Hidden in the shadowy recesses, surrounded by darkness, he waited for the time when the hourglass emptied. For then it would be the time of reversal, the time of revenge.

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Chapter Two

Welcome Home, read a sign posted near the entrance of Happy Trails Mobile Home Park. The bright yellow letters tilted at different angles as if dancing across the brown background.

Orange blossoms and night blooming jasmine mingled lusciously in the early morning air. Waking birds chirped cheerfully above silver-haired residents wheeling along the streets on oversized tricycles.

Plump Mrs. Dance chugged along past carport after carport on her way to the community swimming pool for the 8:00 AM water aerobics class. A small American flag taped to her handlebar flapped in the breeze. Behind her, in a wire basket, rode her black miniature poodle, Buddy, ready to give warning if anyone dared to come too close. From under a white cowboy hat splashed with a multitude of angel pins and snappy buttons, Mrs. Dance smiled while waving cheerfully to her neighbors.

Hello, Fred, she chirped. How’s that shoulder this morning?

In a yard patched with brown and green grass, a lanky man hunched over a golf ball. He eyed a red plastic cup on its side about 10 feet away.

Same as it was yesterday and the same it will be tomorrow, he grumbled, never looking up to acknowledge Mrs. Dance passing by.

Glad to hear it’s not getting any worse, she shouted cheerfully as she peddled down the narrow lane.

Street after street, lawn after lawn, the rows of mobile homes were nearly all the same. Gardens were edged with brick. Driveways were pressure cleaned to a chalk white. Mailboxes were festooned with artificial flowers. Wishing well or lighthouse lawn ornaments were the norm except for the occasional home where there appeared to be a population explosion of cute plastic bunnies or red-capped gnomes. Many of the homes smelled of mothballs.

There was one exception. In a row of impeccably tidy residences a disheveled home stood sadly like a soldier who over-slept bugle call and rushed to dress for inspection. The flower stems in garden bent over crushed leaves from carelessly placed feet. A Big Wheel sat abandoned