Alder's Grove

After Rock, Hard, Now What? and Two Rocks and All The Pebbles.

For the "Do up whatever story/stories suit your fancy or for whomever most wants/needs 'em." commission and the poll here.

Getting Chress pants turned out to be a bit of a challenge. The laundry kept livery for the palace servants and slaves, true, and it kept uniforms for the guards. But even the broadest and widest of the palace servants were not generally as broad in the hips or the thighs as Chress. And while the guards were a match for him in size, they tended to favor kilts or short tunics; Chress’ opinion on that was short and to the point and decidedly negative.

The head launderer was beside himself trying to help, providing option after option. Finally, he reached into a bin on the other side of the room, the side where they kept the courtier’s clothing. “Sir Nateron is nearly of a height with you, and very... broad. He ripped these pants, and while I’d mended them properly, I had nobody to pass them down to.” He looked worried. “If a pair of mended pants are acceptable for the Princess’ slave...”
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"Well." The princess looked at the man kneeling in front of her. He, in turn glared up at her. "This is certainly a situation."

"No." His voice was harsh. "This is an inconvenience. What happens when you let me out of the chains - that's a situation."

"It certainly could be." She perched on an upholstered stool and studied him. He was all over muscle, fighter-style, and all over bruises and cuts. He was kneeling because he'd been chained that way, and even the chains, thick as her wrist, looked as if they were straining to hold him. "But here's the problem. I don't want to be here, you don't want to be here. And any solution that leads to one of us not being here leads to us both ending up dead."

"How do you figure, princess?" He sneered her title like an insult.

She didn't respond in kind. "You heard my father. I have to survive you for a year. And you have to survive me - which, I admit, should be easier for you." She ran her fingers over the hilt of her belt-knife. She wasn't helpless - but she had to sleep sometime.

"Like he'd kill his precious daughter."

"He is the King, and he gave his word. Emotion is secondary to honor." She needed to move. She stayed sitting down. "And if you kill me, you won't make it out of the city."

"I might."

"But you probably won't." She leaned down until she could look him levelly in the face. "So. Neither of us want to be here. How do we get through this?"

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My Dungeon & Cave Call is open!

If you want more of this story - and this one could go on for a while!! - drop a tip in, ah, the tip handcuffs:

This story written to rix_scaedu's prompt. It is, I have to admit, a story I've tried to write several dozen times - however, this is the first time in quite a few years. So it's new, right?

Next: Two Rocks & a Bunch of Pebbles