Cordelia glanced around quickly and slid her hood up over her head. Her father had forbidden her to walk outside the castle wall long ago when he had found out that Cordelia had made friends with some peasants in a nearby glen as a child, but Cordelia had felt so lonely that the guilt of disobeying her father had all but faded away. It was ridiculous that she couldn't be seen with the peasantry simply because their clothes were worn, patched, and dirty and their manners appalling. Actually, Cordelia rather liked their lack of courtly decorum and would rather have their honest answers of true friendship than those false flatteries of her lying courtiers. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend; but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful," she muttered the Proverb to herself.
She breathed easily as she drifted inconspicuously through the gate. Today, like every other day that she made her escape, Cordelia noted that an ugly, peasant man followed her, and, truth be told, Cordelia suspected that her father knew of her little weekly ventures out and had had her followed. Cordelia didn't mind, though. If he was going to allow her to commune with her "lowly" friends then she would suffer the presence of the camouflaged guard. Besides, most of Cordelia's time could not be spent with her childhood friends as they were working to keep their families from starving, so Cordelia spent her times with the village children, teaching them to read and write as she had their elder brothers and sisters and even some of their parents when they had been children like her. Cordelia liked feeling useful, but being a princess left little time for being of any real use, especially as her husband, whomever that may be, would be running the kingdom in her stead.
As Cordelia made her way through town to the little glen that neighbored the forest surrounding the town to meet with her friends and their dear family, a sudden commotion caught her attention. The old, and often drunk, magician was cursing in the middle of the street and bellowing for his little hunchbacked apprentice, Hans something or-other, but no one seemed to listen to his complaint. Cordelia knew that at one time the old magician had been a powerful ally and advisor to the king, but some unclear event had occurred between him and her grandfather to put him thoroughly out of the king's good graces, so now he drank himself into idiocy and made public spectacles of himself regularly. Cordelia ignored his ranting and pressed on, hoping that his raging would not cause congestion on the street.
Cordelia whispered a prayer for Hans what's-his-name, hoping that the bumbling, irate fool who called himself Hans' master would not beat the poor boy senseless. She was almost certain that she'd met this Hans once when she was younger. He'd been rather unexceptional and vaguely frightening with his twisted back and halting limp, but Cordelia remembered that he'd had the most beautiful blue eyes that she'd ever seen— at least that was what she'd thought when they had met. In spite of his rather unusual appearance, he had been so unobtrusive that Cordelia couldn't remember much more than meeting him. After the meeting, his presence had just melted into obscurity so that Cordelia had only the vague shadowy feeling of having known who he was but not much more.
As Cordelia neared the edge of the village, something else caught her notice which sank her heart like a galleon with a crater hole blasted through its hull. Her father's cavalry men with her father at the lead galloped straight at her. Noting the storm cloud expression, Cordelia knew without a doubt that he was absolutely livid, but she could hardly guess why. She drew up to full height and waited, trying desperately to hide her shaking hands in her skirt.
"Cordelia," the king said quietly, but the tone was quivering with suppressed rage.
"Yes, Majesty?" She quested cautiously, erasing anything in her voice that might cause the fire to spring to life.
"Have I not commanded that you remain inside the castle walls?"
"You have, m 'lord." She dipped her head and blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay.
That was the end the conversation, for her father would not suffer his dignity any longer to hear an explanation. It was not his way. Father asked questions, required a simple answer, and nothing more. Attempts at explaining one's decision were often met with the fire of his "righteous" indignation. How could the why behind Cordelia's disobedience bring any clarity to the matter? To her father it was enough that she had disobeyed. Who had time for why?
"Come," he said, gesturing to another soldier who rode up beside with a saddled mare. "We will continue this conversation at home."
Yes, the discussion was over— not that it had ever begun, and Cordelia with a bowed head walked over to the mount. "Forgive me, Father," she pleaded in a low voice, knowing there was nothing else to say. She had deliberately disobeyed a direct order and had deceived many. The full consequences of her action were being meted out. Cordelia could not expect anything less, and further, the punishment she deserved was far steeper still. Cordelia mounted the horse, glancing over to see if her father had acknowledged her apology. The king's eyes were fixed on the castle and Cordelia's heart sank lower in her chest. 'I should not have disobeyed,' she thought not for the first time, but her father had constantly alluded to her excursion before without anger. What had changed that he was so furious now?
The march back to the castle was embarrassing for Cordelia as she was made to feel as though she was a ridiculous spectacle clothed in her peasant rags, riding atop her gilded stallion, and she would acknowledge that she had brought much of this embarrassment upon her own head. However, Cordelia' conviction that her aim in life was worth pursuing compelled her to raise her chin and ride with dignity despite the sly, mocking glances of the gentry. They delighted in seeing Cordelia made the fool, for she did not participate in their foolish, coy courtly games and often sought to escape their stifling presence.
Soon enough, Cordelia was dismounting from the horse and being practically dragged through the great hall to her father's study. 'Now,' thought Cordelia as she was propelled into the study, 'I will reap the consequences of my foolishness.'