A Boy Who Would Be King

The years saw Prince Aldhyn seated on the throne of Rhealmyrr, and Rhowyn's oldest son, Rafael, wear the crown of thorns of Navarre. With his brother Alejandro as his Marshall.

The roads between Castellayne and Kaldiz were seldom empty with all the comings and goings. There were fetes, and feasts, and tourneys.

But with each passing season, Robin became more and more withdrawn. And Aldhyrwoode began to worry.

Robin and Aldhyrwoode walked into the enchanted glade together.

There was no sign of the nymph, Annaed.

Or the giant woodsman who guarded the sacred pool.

It was a hot day, and the long walk had tired Robin. He sat with his back against the trunk of a flowering hawthorn, the sweat on his brow cooling in the welcome shade.

I’ll just close my eyes for a moment, he thought to himself. Just for a moment.

Awaking some time later, he couldn’t help thinking his boots had shrunk.

They definitely looked smaller.

And not just his boots, but the feet inside them!

Wake up! He told himself. You’re dreaming!

He shook his head to clear it.

The hand he used to wipe the sleep from his eyes looked different somehow.

He held it up in front of his face. Then the other.

They were a child’s hands!

What illusion is this? He wondered aloud.

He crouched beside the sacred pool, about to splash water on his face in the hope of banishing this strange, fevered, dream and...

He saw his reflection gazing back at him.

It was a child’s face!

My sweet Robin Redbreast, said a voice he knew instantly.

It was the maiden.

Annaed! Robin exclaimed.

Did I startle you? I’m sorry.

No, said Robin. Yes. We were playing, weren’t we? I don’t remember falling asleep, but I... Where is the old man? Asked Robin, looking around the glade. He was here. I’m sure he was. He had a long white beard and... He walked with a staff but... I don’t see him now.

The greybeard will visit us again, said Annaed. Do not fret.

She stood before him. The most beautiful vision he had ever seen. Her long flaxen hair woven with wildflowers. A chain of tiny white daisies graced one slender wrist. Twists of green ivy were tied around her ankles. Her skin was pale, and smooth, and as perfect as the finest porcelain from far Cathay. A land the prince had only heard of. Though he couldn’t think where. Or from whom. Her lips were a rosebud. Her blue eyes sparkled like starlight.

For sooth, he said. Tell me, blithe spirit, are you real or faerie?

The maiden smiled. I am as real as you are, she said.

I had a dream, said Robin. My father died and I was the king. I married a princess from a far away land... There was a great battle...

The maiden silenced him with a kiss and stroked his hair.

Come and lay with me, she said. The clover is sweet and the bees will not trouble us.

There was the rustle of fallen leaves and the giant woodsman came out of the forest.

Hello! He called. The young master has returned to us, I see. Look who else I found!

He was holding a green leather halter. A butternut-grey pony trotted along behind. The pony saw Robin and whinnied, tossing its shaggy head.

And what of the wizard Aldhyrwoode?

You might ask for him at The Drowned Duck.