Once upon a time, there was a Princess. She was a beautiful Princess who was known throughout the land to be so enchanting that Knights would ride for weeks just to behold her.
At least, that was the way the songs were sung down in the village. Sometimes the younger boys would sing it teasingly as she rode by. Chasing beside her and smiling – too young to know their innocent flirtations with her couldn’t possibly mean anything beyond the weightless fantasies a boy might have of one day marrying a Princess.
And because she was a kind and gentle Princess, she would reward them with candies and sometimes a light pat on the head, and on the most rare occasion a little wink for a few of the cute ones. She loved the way they giggled when she did that.
The older boys, the ones who were closer to her age, didn’t dare flirt with her ever. Or to even meet her gaze. She was nobility and they weren’t, and in her Father’s Kingdom that was that. If any of the King’s Knights ever saw them so much as glance in her direction, they would box the boys on the side of the head hard enough to make them feel it for days.
Well, almost all the boys her age. There was one exception. The Carpenter’s boy was different. He wasn’t afraid.
The Princess thought of him each time she rode to the Village from her father’s Castle. Her Father was King of these lands, and he loved her immensely. She knew he would always protect her. But as she grew older and became a young woman, his protection became a prison and he would only permit her to visit the Village with an Escort on those rare occasions when she was permitted to leave the Castle at all!
And for this important task, the King selected his longest standing guard to make sure his only daughter was safe. The guard’s name was Charles the Badger; named for his vicious demeanor when challenged.
Charles had known the Princess her entire life. He had stood guard outside her mother’s bedroom door when she was in labor with her. He had stood beside the King when they buried her mother after she died during childbirth. Every morning when her father was at the Castle, this guard had been by his side. She had hardly ever seen her father without Charles beside him. At least, not in public.
And so, when asked, he bowed and swore to the King to protect her with his powerful life.
On their weekly excursions to the Village, The Badger would plow a path through the crowded alleys and streets of the Village, knocking anyone who didn’t move away fast enough to the ground with his massive broad shoulders. The princess would follow closely in his wake, smiling behind him at the bewildered Villagers who were so fearful of him and so taken by her innocent beauty.
On their way to the Village, she would often ask Charles to take her “by way of the River”. Which, of course, meant going by the Carpenter’s shop, and perhaps this is how she ended up in the predicament she found herself in.
She recalled the first time she had seen him. She was only 9 years old, and the Carpenter’s boy was perhaps a year or two older. He was whittling in front of his father’s shop. He carved little trolls and wood nymphs out of sticks in his father’s wood pile. The fishermen would buy his crude little creations for a penny on their way home as a gift for their favorite son or daughter.
The Princess had always wanted one of his little trolls when she was a girl, but how silly now? Now she was older, and at the age of 16, she couldn’t let Charles The Badger know she thought of the young man whittling in front of the shack at all. She didn’t even know his name, but that didn’t stop her thoughts from returning to him and looking forward to the short glimpses she could catch of him as she rode by.
Even her sideways glances were risky. She couldn’t bear the thought of watching “The Badger” beat her secret love, so she kept it a secret; both from embarrassment as well as fear for her secret love’s safety. She pretended not to notice him at all. But every time she rode by, somehow she managed to catch a glimpse of him. And sometimes he would notice her too. And sometimes he would smile back at her; just a little when The Badger was looking the other way.
On this particular afternoon the Princess rode her horse as always a few yards behind Charles. The path they followed cut a line along the curves of the Snake River past the granary and mill house, then crossed the bridge at the narrow part of the stream and continued on the other side. The trail wound up the side of a small hill and, the Princess smiled, the Carpenter’s Shop would be just around the next bend.
She straightened her posture and practiced her nonchalant interest in the wild flowers that grew ubiquitously beside the trail. The same flowers and the same trail she had traveled nearly every day of her life. The most mundane flowers on a trail she could trace from memory with her eyes shut. Yet she gazed at them in practiced delight hoping that the boy would be whittling. And perhaps he would notice her for a moment as she rode by, gazing, as she was, at the flowers the way a Princess is supposed to… Or, something like that.
It was easy to be impressed with him. The young man’s whittling hobby had become more successful over the years. He had improved his skill and the little trolls and wood nymphs he had made as a boy had evolved into more complex carvings of fairies and little gnomes. But she had never dared to approach the hut to buy one.
Perhaps this day was different, because as they rounded the small hill and the Carpenter’s hut came into view, she made an impulsive decision.
“Charles, I’d like to view the Carpenter boy’s carvings this morning.” She said as casually as she could muster. The Badger turned around and gave her a sideways glance, his eyes pierced knowingly into her. She feared he knew she fancied the boy.
“You want that boy’s trinkets he makes for the Fishermens’ kids?!” He asked mockingly in a loud, booming voice. “Me-thinks the lady would prefer finer gifts than the carvings of a peasant!” His eyes held her, looking for a reaction of… guilt? Shame?
The Princess did her best to hide her blushing cheeks. “His talent has improved, Charles.” She said in a self-assured tone. “We have never stopped at his hut before, and I would like to see his carvings.” Her assumed tone of neutrality barely covered her desire. But she had crossed the metaphorical river now, and she felt like there was no turning back.
Charles rolled his eyes and looked at the Carpenter’s hut. The boy, now a young man, sat in front of the hut whittling on a carving. His wares were displayed on a log in front of him beside the path. Most were tinker toys for children, but some were more than that. He considered the Princess’s request. Was she really interested in the carvings, or the boy? He thought. Then shook his head, already knowing the answer.
“You there!” The Badger boomed at the young Carpenter as they rode up to the little shop. “Stand up, boy!”
The young man put his knife and carving on his log and stood as he was directed by the Guard. He was respectful of Charles, but he didn’t show fear like the other boys her age did. He looked at the Badger with a placid face; made calm eye-contact. Not challenging him, and not cowering. If she had to describe the boy’s demeanor, it had an air of Nobility. As if he belonged wherever he was, had chosen to sit on that log that day, and a brash Knight of the King’s Guard wouldn’t intimidate him.
This was curious, because under any other circumstance, a peasant making eye-contact with The Badger would elicit a terrible and humiliating response. Likely ending with the peasant bleeding from his ears. But Charles didn’t seem to be bothered by the young man’s familiar aire. Instead the powerful Guard dismounted in a heavy thud from his horse and walked with practiced military authority to the log where the carvings were displayed, appearing to take a shallow interest in the young man’s offerings.
He casually picked up one of the little trolls and smirked, then his gaze fell upon the more intricate carvings on the middle part of the log. He selected a carving of a small elf. He imagined it would be much more expensive than a simple troll.
The Guard considered the rest of the carvings on the log for a brief moment, but decided this little elf was the best of the bunch and so he took it to the Princess who sat stiffly on her horse. “This is his best work, m’lady.” Charles said, handing the carving to her.
The Princess took the carving from the Guard and held it in her thin fingers. She could tell the small figurine was carved quickly, but artfully. “This is very well done,” she said at last. “What is the price?” She asked the young Carpenter.
“5 pennies,” he answered her in a friendly, personal tone, and bowed his head slightly in deference to her elevated position as a Princess on a Horse. Then his eyes met hers, peeking under his brow cautiously to see a small, delicate smile flash across her face. She blushed slightly and turned her face to the little elf in her hand in an attempt to avoid his beautiful eyes. If he saw her eyes, he would be able to tell her feelings, she thought to herself.
The Princess considered his little creation. It wasn’t a stiff carving like a statue. The elf stood with a funny attitude. It had a personality, even though it was made out of wood. Leaning back against its heels with its hands in make-believe pockets.
“If you like, I can carve a more beautiful one for you.” He continued after a pause. “An angel, perhaps?” He suggested with a twinkle in his eye, and his face relaxed into a gentle, friendly smile. She felt her cheeks blush hotly, and she averted her eyes. The way he said it, it was as if he was saying SHE was an angel. Or maybe she was imagining that? Her stomach fluttered with a burst of adrenaline at his artful charm.
What is the matter with me? She thought, and worried that making this visit to the Carpenter’s shack may have been a bad idea. But sometimes bad feels so, so good.
The Princess thought she understood his hint, and so she gathered her courage again and pressed on. “This is very nice work, what is your name?” She asked, handing the elf back to its creator.
“Stefan,” he replied, and she became lost in his relaxed, peaceful smile for a few seconds before regaining her composure.
“It is nice to meet you, Stefan,” she said. Knowing she didn’t need to introduce herself, but did so anyway. “My name is Charlotte.”
The Badger had had enough of the chit chat, and cleared his throat in a sign to Princess Charlotte that she should hurry things up. He didn’t need to wonder what the King would think if he knew his daughter was admiring this boy’s carvings, or admiring the boy for that matter. And he certainly wasn’t going to let the situation develop further and put himself in a position where he felt the need to report anything either.
The Princess turned to Charles. “This Carpenter, Stefan, carves beautifully.” She said in a sharp, authoritative voice that had been trained into her from a young age by her tutors. “I would like to see his best work. Please tell him we will be back in a week.” Then she nodded to Stefan and urged her horse towards the path.
Charles was relieved that she seemed to be putting an end to their little detour. He looked at the young Carpenter and barked, “You heard the Princess, carve her a BETTER one!”
Then he swung his solid heavy body back onto his horse and nudged the enormous animal onto the path in front of the Princess.
Stefan watched as the pair trotted away on the path by the river. He had made hundreds, maybe even thousands, of the little figurines over the years and sold almost all of them to the fishermen, but this was the most memorable of them all.
He knew exactly what he would carve for the Princess, and he even knew which piece of wood he would use for the project. He smiled inwardly thinking of her. Perhaps one day she would discover who he really was.