A Princess Saved

It’s about time everyone heard the actual story about the time Blythe Evenstar saved Princess Isadora Whitehart for the very first time. This takes place in the capital city of Debash fourteen years before our tale begins.

The midsummer sun shone bright overhead. A petite figure sat with their feet dangling in the cool water of the river running through the center of the city. They lounged comfortably on the steps of a ladder off one of the many warfs. Overhead, half a dozen small sets of feet pounded on the wooden boards of the dock. The figure shrank back, making themself as small as possible. Slowly, they crept down the wooden rail until they were neck deep in the cool water. They watched the shadows and refecltions as the bigger children searched. At last, with a deep breath, they sank below the surface, pushed off, and struck out toward the center.

As the child neared the center of the bridge, they broke the surface. Only their head, nose, and mouth were visible. They treaded water and sucked in another breath.

Overhead, a horse screamed. A shout and a girl’s scream followed.

Something splashed into the river right beside the child. With a deep breath, they dove beneath the surface and opened their eyes.

A flailing figure in layers of skirts sank rapidly.

The child kicked and pulled. At last, they caught a hand, pushed off the muddy riverbed, and kicked with all their strength. They looked up to see the surface within reach.

As their passenger broke the surface, there was no sound. The child looked back to see an unconscious figure. They turned onto their back, held the girl against their chest, and kicked toward the nearest docks.

Many hands grabbed the unconscious form from the child. As others reached for the child, they paddled just out of reach. They watched as the girl woke, sputtering and coughing up water.

Blue eyes met emerald orbs. “You saved me,” the girl declared.

The child glanced to the gathering crowd, lead by a growing group of large boys. They started back toward the center of the river.

“Wait,” the girl called and threw something at the child as she was pulled into the saddle behind a royal guard.

With practiced ease, the child caught the shiny object and struck out for the safety of the bridge.

As the child watched the crowd slowly disperse, they glanced to the object clutched tightly in their hand. Slowly they turned it over to examine it. Carefully engraved in the platinum was the symbol of the royal house of Whitehart. A sound of surprise slipped from the child’s lips.

Overhead, the bridge began to raise.

Quickly, the child swam to the nearest warf and pulled themself from the water. They retrieved a length of fishing line and strung the ring. Carefully, they tucked it under their dirty tunic. As the sun began its descent, the child made their way through the streets to the abandoned hovel where they slept.