She had been so very young, so very spoiled, when she was pulled out of the rubble. She tried to act like her family taught her to act, and she'd faced scolding for it, though she was never spanked. She tried to cry and stomp her feet like she'd seen some kids to do get their way, that didn't work either.
The day she started saying please, thank you, and helping others out of her own free will, she found people were nicer. Now, with her bakery, she helped other youngsters learn what she did. And yes she did get a horse. When she saved up for it, bought it herself, and made sure she took very good care of it. -- Anon Guest
When the revolution came, she was lucky she was in her nightdress. She was even luckier that her guard and her nurse hurried her out of the palace before the bloody coup could wreak its revenge in her direction. Ironically, what made Princess even luckier was that each and every one of her servants were fully prepared to lay down their life for her.
Unlucky for them that they did.
The last to perish was Princess' nurse, who used her own body to shield Princess from falling debris. Princess screamed her throat raw, that night, and cried until exhaustion dragged her down into something passing for sleep. When she woke, someone dragged her out. A stranger who wrapped her up in an itchy blanket.
Her first, nearly instinctual response was to scream and cry for the people she knew. Not that she had much of a voice for screaming nor many tears for crying.
"They're gone, little. They're all gone." The stranger only patted her on the back and gave her only water to drink. No juice. No small ale. Not even a slice of fruit to give the water flavour.
Then they plopped her in a warehouse with a host of other children. All of them in whatever clothes they had on when the revolution came. If they had clothes at all. All of them filthy and wailing and alone.
When there was food, it was plain porridge or peasant stew. Princess threw a tantrum about it, of course. The remaining grownups were uneffected. There were too many other little ones with too many grievances to see to.
"Eat or don't" said one of them when Princess tried to complain. "Drink or don't. It won't change what we have."
Hunger forced her to eat peasant stew. Thirst made her drink plain water. Exhaustion made her sleep on straw mattresses. It took her months to realise what would get her what she wanted. More or less.
The children who spoke quietly, who asked politely, were more likely to get something closer to what they wanted. The ones who, like Princess, screamed and threw tantrums, were left to wear themselves out and then given whatever common fare was going. Or, in the case of clothing, whatever clean clothing happened to loosely fit.
Princess, burning with fury, thought it was intensely unfair.
Nevertheless, she had to try it. She waited her emotions out, battling for calm, and walked softly to the sole supervisor. "Please," she said, "I can't sleep well. May I have a softer mattress?" It seemed more achievable than howling for her pony or demanding proper food.
"We don't have much, little, but I'll see what can be done."
The solution came as a padded mass of rags inside ticking, tied over her pallet. It was better than nothing, the grownups explained, but it was all they had.
She was fifteen before she got a horse. A draybeast she was made to care for and train to pull things. Princess was never heavy or muscular enough to operate a plough, but she could steer a cart and load saddlebags like a professional. Work that the others encouraged her to feel proud of.
It was huge, and ugly, and she loved it beyond measure. She combed and trimmed its feathers. She brushed it every evening. Did its mane and tail up in braids and, in lieu of ribbons, tied them up with scraps of rag.
Princess occasionally missed down mattresses or people to do things for her without even simple gratitude as reward. But she'd learned a lot. Starting with the 'how' and 'why' of the very start of the revolution.
People had had quite enough of having demands put upon them without even simple gratitude as a reward.
[Photo by Leonie Clough on Unsplash]
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