Virtual Princess

 

The first difference Matthew noticed was the presence of hair around his face and hanging gently over his shoulders. His hands looked small, his arms are slim and... “Oh my god!” he gasped when he saw that he wore the most elegant dress. “This can’t be right. I’m not a girl.” he said, clutching his flat, boyish chest. The bodice of his dress is elaborately embroidered with silver thread and gemstones. “Oh please not a princess!” he gasped as he realised the enormity of his dress

Beyond the elevator door is long grand corridor. Matthew turned back to the elevator, hoping he could go elsewhere but the elevator had gone and he found himself stood in the doorway of bedroom... but not just any bedroom. This is clearly a bedroom for a princess. He gasped in awe at how real everything appeared. Matthew knows that the bedroom is just a projection but every item, every object, every shadow and reflection looks as real as it would in the real world. He turns back to face the corridor, knowing that it's the only way he can go... but Matthew doesn’t want to take a single step into this virtual world. “Hello!” he hollered to the ceiling. “There’s a problem. This isn’t the adventure I wanted. I’m a boy.” he explained, hoping someone would stop the VR machine, bring him out and ideally send him to the Star Wars universe, the wild west or anywhere but here.

Matthew stepped out into the corridor and became immediately aware that he wore heeled shoes. He picked up his skirt and found an underskirt. He found many more layers of skirts and petticoats before he finally saw his feet and the dainty pair of blue satin shoes he wore. Like his dress they're embroidered with silver thread and gemstones and have a significant heel. His ankles are clad in thin white silk that emits a luxuriant shimmer. “Oh gosh.” Matthew muttered as he dropped his skirts and stood up straight. “Why am I a princess of all things?” he sighed.

Cautiously Matthew began to walk. His heels tapped loudly on the marble floor and oddly, they weren't at all difficult to walk in. Huge portraits and landscape paintings in ornate gilt frames adorn the walls. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, each casting a pool of golden light onto the marble tiled floor. Matthew looks at every shadow and reflection looking for the tell-tale signs of digital imagery but every aspect is as real as it could possibly be. Passing a mirror he paused and dropped his jaw, catching it in his cupped hands. Reflected is not a girl but a long haired boy who looks worryingly familiar. “I'm still me.” he murmured, cautiously touching his hair. “Sort of.” he said, feeling every soft strand.

An opening door draws his attention. “Ah Princess Matthew... you’re dressed.” a butler said as he approached. Confused and stammering, Matthew said that he can’t be a princess because he’s a boy. The butler didn’t reply. He led Matthew along the corridor. “Where am I?” Matthew asked.

The butler chuckled briefly. “You're at home Princess Matthew, at Castle Gilder.” he replied. “Where else would you be?” he asked.

“I don't know.” Matthew replied. He tried to recall where he'd rather be but those memories had faded. Matthew knew he was at Castle Gilder. It's near the coast on the island of Tiathena; known as the jewel of the Aqueous Ocean, being the most prosperous island on the continent of Anastacia.

Faint classical music could be heard as he strolled along the corridor. It grew louder and louder. At the far end of the corridor is a huge pair of doors with two maids dressed in dark grey knee length dresses and white lace trimmed aprons. They stand attentively and as Matthew and the butler approached, the maids opened the doors and the music became louder still. The maids curtseyed as he passed and Matthew realised that they're boys, which perplexed him somewhat. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't mistaken and he wasn't. They're definitely boys; teenagers, maybe a year or two older than himself. They closed the doors.

Matthew stopped and cast his eyes around the grand ballroom. Sunlight flooded in through five huge windows. A string quartet performs in one corner and a dozen or so dancing couples twirl around the floor. A stationary woman dressed in trousers and a military dress coat turned and smiled at Matthew.

“Mum?” Matthew gulped as she approached. She swept a lock of hair away from his face and told him that he’d forgotten his tiara. She took hold of his hand and asked if he’d dance with her. “I... I don’t know how to dance.” he said.

“Of course you do Matthew.” she smiled, leading him onto the dance floor. “You’re a princess. You’ve had dance classes for as long as you can remember.” she told him. Matthew found himself gracefully twirling around the dance floor. I do know how to dance! he realised. “See.” his mother smiled. “You’re as delicate on your feet as you are on the eye.” Matthew could barely believe how wonderfully real everything felt as he danced a waltz with his mother. His skirts swishing and swaying with every turn, his hair flowing and bouncing around his shoulders. He marvelled at how elegant and graceful he felt and when the music stopped, he didn't even think before taking hold of his skirt and dropping a curtsey as his mother bowed

Suddenly a huge explosion outside the castle walls stopped everyone in their tracks. His mother gasped, grabbed his wrist and quickly led him to a secret panel in an alcove. “Follow this passage and keep running Princess. It leads under the castle walls and comes out at the coast. There’ll be a boat.” his mother told him before shutting the door and leaving him alone in the passage. Startled by the sudden explosion and flustered by his mother's quick reaction, Matthew panted and panicked. The last thing he wanted to be was a princess but doesn't have time to worry about that now. He quickly picked up his skirts he began to scurry.

The passage isn't particularly narrow but it is a little narrower than his voluminous dress which completely fills the space from wall to wall. It has panelled walls and a wooden floor. His heels echo as he canters as quickly as he dare. The passage leads him through a doorway which he had to carefully ease his dress through. After trotting down a flight of steps, the wooden flooring stops and he feels stone slabs underfoot. The walls are stone and the sound of his footsteps and even breathing has taken on a different timbre. Every ten feet or so is a small oil lamp. After hundred yards or so, the bricks become hewn rock. It's darker down here, and distinctly chilly. Matthew's canter slowed to a brisk walk. He huddled his arms which are bare, save for two tiny puffed sleeves. “Of all the dresses, why did I choose this one?” he sighed as he looked down at his elaborate gown. “Oh yes.” he recalled. “I was supposed be at the dance.”

Matthew spared a thought for his mother but was certain she'd be OK. He knew she was a fine swordswoman and accomplished archer, and for all Matthew knew, the explosion could have been a terrible accident and not the army of mercenaries and brigands that have been threatening to storm the island for as long as Matthew can remember. He never fully understood why the Queendom of Tiathena was under constant threat from some of the neighbouring islands, although he does understand that many centuries ago when Tiathena was a kingdom that they invaded the Motherland and usurped its throne. But that's all ancient history and doesn't explain why the Motherland (now known as Matriarlia), along with Borea, Corrinthea and the Arca islanders all seem to despise Tiathena and its people. Relations with the islands of Brodkur, Enniskur, Mindenhold and Drum are better, although trade deals do often cause political fractures with those nations too.

Tiathena only occupied the Motherland for a couple of decades before freely giving the land back as part of the infamous Corrinthean Treaty, and since then Tianthea has done an awful lot of good in the continent, especially in science and industry... so Princess Matthew has always wondered why everyone still hates the Tiathenes, and whenever he started asking questions about it, the reply was always the same; a princess needn't concern himself with such things.

All a princess is supposed to do is impress everyone with how pretty their hair looks and wear elegant gowns and expensive tiaras. Other than looking like a princess and acting like a princess he's expected to impress his mother's esteemed guest by performing a ballet, then playing the piano, clarinet or harp. Lazy days are spent doing needlework; sometimes cross stitch, often embroidery and occasionally lace making. His sister, Lady Jane, does all of those things but many other things too. Lady Jane goes sailing, she studies astronomy, she goes hunting on foot and horseback whilst Princess Matthew is only allowed to ride his horse in the paddock which is too confined for a gallop or even a canter. He still loves it though. It's the one occasion when he can wear pants and boots whereas his young sister, Lady Jane, wears pants most days and only dons a dress for special occasions. Sometimes Matthew wished he wasn't a princess at all. “If I were just a normal boy I'd be wearing something far more practical than a ball gown.” he grumbled as he manoeuvred his broad skirts through the ever narrowing passage. Occasionally in the half light, Matthew stumbles on the rubble underfoot and curses the fact that he's not only wearing a ball gown, but also his ballroom dancing shoes. “How much further can this go on?!” he huffed as he squished his skirts through a constricting cutting in the rock.

Eventually the passageway widened to reveal a cavern, dimly lit by a single small oil lamp. It's not a large space by any means. Around ten or twelve feet in diameter at most. Barrels, chests and sacks are stacked against the walls. Matthew looked all around and saw no obvious way out. “It can't be a dead end.” Matthew said to himself. Something seemed strange about the cavern... but Matthew couldn't quite put his finger on it. He perched on a barrel and spent a moment huddling his chilly arms and letting his eyes become accustomed to the dimly lit space. Soon his pupils broadened and he could see much more than before. He spotted a lump of cloth strewn over a stack of barrels and strode over. His heels produced a hollow thud. “That's what's strange!” Matthew exclaimed, realising that he's standing on a wooden floor and not a stone one. He looked down, shifting his skirts and saw a tatty old rug. Kicking it aside he found a trap door in the floor and felt a chilly breeze rising from the cracks. Matthew crouched and battled his skirt out of the way so he could lift the trapdoor. It opened with a creak and he peered down at a wooden ladder disappearing into the darkness. A chilly draught rose up through the opening.

Matthew gulped and stood, huddling his arms and shivering. He grabbed the cloth and found it to be a cloak; thick, warm and hooded. Wrapping it around himself provided instant warmth. He looked down at the trapdoor, knowing that he'd have to go through but the opening is a mere two feet wide and his dress is at least double that. There's been many a time through Matthew's life that he wished he wasn't a princess... and this is certainly one of them. One must be dignified at all times Princess Matthew; his governess used to say. Being a princess, Matthew's time has been spent learning the finer things in life such as dance and ballet, riding and dressage, embroidery and lace making, piano, harp, clarinet and violin, deportment, etiquette, etcetera. He recalled being taught how to walk and sit, how to enter and exit a room, how to ascend and descend the stairs; always graceful, always dignified. “How on earth can I be dignified going through a door like that wearing a dress like this?” he huffed, planting his hands on his waist. “They don't teach this in deportment.” he grumbled. In his dainty blue satin shoes, Matthew carefully manoeuvred himself onto the ladder. Knowing that his footwear isn't ideal and descending into the unknown, Princess Matthew cautiously took one step at a time.

His numerous skirts and petticoats turn themselves inside out and upside down and as Matthew slowly descends the ladder. He finds his arms and head enveloped in a mass of shiny blue satin. If anyone were watching his descent from below they'd have seen his feet come through first, followed by his delicate silk stockings, his lace trimmed garters and his pretty princess panties soon after. By the seventh rung his frock falls through and dignity is restored. Matthew pauses and peers down into the dark. Fear fills him but his trust in his mother drives him onwards and downwards. The bottom of the ladder comes sooner than expected and startles the boy. Keeping one hand firmly on the ladder, he panned his eyes through the darkness and sees a distant patch of dusky blue light. Wrapping the cape closely around him, Matthew heads through the darkness towards the mouth of the cave.

It's twilight as Matthew emerges from the cave. A pebble beach reaches out either side and the crashing waves confront him. He checks his gown for dirt or damage and is relieved to find it unscathed. The sea breeze dramatically takes hold of his cape. Matthew grips it tighter as he wonders which way to turn. A distant glint catches his eye. Far along the beach and down near the shore is a flashing lantern. He lifts his hood and heads toward it. When he's closer he can see the silhouette of a rowing boat. Closer still and he can make out a figure holding a lantern. “You took longer than I'd anticipated, Princess.” the figure said as he neared them.

“Mother!” Matthew said, recognising the voice instantly. “What's happening?”

“Buccaneers from the west have joined forces with mercenaries from the east and the castle is being stormed.” she told him as Matthew gathered up his skirts and stepped into the boat. Tottering awkwardly over the tilted boards, he perched himself on the sternsheet. With a great heave his mother shoved the boat over the shingle and into the waves. She jumped in, her boots dripping wet as she took to the thwart and grabbed hold of the oars.

“Why couldn't they have stormed the castle when I was riding?” Matthew asked. “At least then I'd be wearing jodhpurs and boots instead of a gigantic dress and dainty shoes.”

“It was rather inconsiderate of them wasn't it.” his mother dryly replied as she heaved the oars in unison. Soon they were far from the shore. Matthew asked where they were going. “Somewhere far away Princess.” his mother replied.

Night fell and she continued rowing through the darkness. “How do you even know where we're going?” Matthew asked. “We could be going around in circles for all I know.”

“We're headed south and west.” she told him.

“But how do you know?”

“Leading lights.” she replied.

Matthew knew nothing of sailing or navigation, but was intrigued as his mother explained how she's using two lights on the coast to navigate with; one is close to sea level, the other higher and further inland and lining the two lights up gives his mother her heading. “That's really clever.” he complimented.

“Not really.” she modestly replied. “Just basic things I learned when I was a girl.”

“I wish I could learn things like that.” Matthew huffed. “All I have is dance classes and music lessons, elocution and deportment. Nothing useful.” he grumped.

“All of those things are very useful for a princess, Matthew.” she told him. “And don't forget horse riding and needlecraft.” she added. “Those are useful for everyone.”

“I know but... if I weren't a princess I'd be able to learn sailing and fencing and archery with Lady Jane.”

“Your sister doesn't enjoy any of those things though. The grass isn't always greener, Princess.”

“Yes I suppose but... it would be nice to be allowed to try lots of different things.” Matthew mused.

“What kind of things?”

“Everything... fencing, archery, hunting, proper horse riding and not just trotting around the paddock... even things like commerce, science, mechanisation or medicine.” he whimsically replied. His mother rolled her eyes and told him that none of those things are fit for a princess. “I wish I were a normal boy.” Matthew sighed.

“If you were a normal boy you'd only be one of the servants.” his mother told him.

“Not necessarily.” Matthew mused. “Lots of boys become sailors or soldiers, even just being a shepherd or a shipwright might be more exciting than just being graceful and demure all the time.”

“Most 'normal' boys are just servants, Princess. You'd be scrubbing floors, peeling potatoes, polishing shoes and cleaning out chamberpots.” his mother told him. “Anyway you're not just graceful and demure. You're also very talented.” she said; listing his elegant embroidery and fine needlework, his harmonious playing of the harp and harpsichord, and his elaborate calligraphy. “...and not to mention your dancing, Princess. We were having such a wonderful waltz before that blasted explosion.” she recalled. Matthew too remembered the dance. He felt so elegant with his skirts swishing and heels tapping in perfect time; one two three, two two three, three two three, four two three. The music filled his ears with such delight. It was one of those rare occasions when he could forget all about being a princess and just savour the moment.

“Oh.” his mother said. “I've got something for you.”

“What?” Matthew asked as she reached into her jacket. “My tiara!” he exclaimed when she revealed it. He dropped his hood and quickly tended his hair before talking hold of the tiara and positioning it in his hair. In Matthew's mind, he'd donned his tiara a thousand times before, but this time seemed more delightful than most. With its delicate presence on his head, Matthew somehow felt much more like himself. His mother's loving smile beamed over him. Bashfully he smiled back.

“It's not so bad being a princess is it?” his mother grinned.

“No.” Matthew coyly said. His eyes panned the horizon. The darkness surrounds and all he can see is the line where the horizon kisses the sky. The stark straight line is interrupted by a familiar silhouette. “Are we going to that yacht?” he asked.

His mother turned her head to where they were headed. She nodded and made haste, soon drawing the row boat alongside. “Careful Princess.” she warned as he tottered his way onto the yacht. Matthew had to scrunch his skirt in order to get down the narrow steps into the cabin. He sat himself down with a hefty sigh. His mother checked on the supplies and spent ages going through the various stowage nooks, up on deck, in the cabin and in and out of the hold. Mounted on the cabin wall is a map which Matthew finds himself staring at.

Tiathena seems so small compared to the other islands. Princess Matthew finds it hard to believe that his modest little country once ruled over much of the continent with only Drum and its larger neighbour Mindenhold remaining independent. According to history, Tiathena built bigger and better ships than the neighbouring nations and thus had a formidable navy and a vast fishing fleet which gave them control over the surrounding ocean. The many islands of Archa along with Enniskur were once entirely forested, but few forests remain these days since the shipyards of Tiathena relied upon those islands for timber with which to build their enormous fleets. Tiathena also prides itself on developing the engineering that enabled the vast mining operations on Corrinthia and Borea, and designing the network of dykes and wind-pumps on the most southerly island of the continent to create the fertile farmlands of Brodkur and the island of Novacia.

“Where are we going to go mother?” Matthew asked when his mother came up from the hold with a hank of rope. “Will we be able to go back to Tiathena?”

“I doubt it. All the major cities have fallen under attack.” she told him.

“So where shall we go?” he asked as she began to uncoil the rope.

“We'll sail to Matriarlia at first light.” she told him.

“Matriarlia. The Motherland!” Matthew exclaimed. “But... we aren't welcome there. We'd get arrested for certain!”

“That's the idea.” his mother told him.

“But... any Tiathene found on their shores are sold into slavery!” Matthew knew.

His mother nodded. “...and sent to a colony in the Orient... far far away.” she added.

“But... I'm a princess!” Matthew gasped. “And you're a Baroness.”

“You'll fetch a very high price.” his mother told him.

“But what about you mother?” Matthew asked.

“Oh don't worry about me.” his mother smiled. “With a bona fide princess as a bargaining chip, my freedom is guaranteed.”

“Mother you can't sell me!” Matthew gasped.

Matthew's jaw dropped as a wry smile swept his mother's face. Being stuck on a yacht far out to sea in the dead of night, he had nowhere to run to and nowhere to hide. And being no match for his mother's fighting skills, Matthew soon found himself bound hand and foot. An elegant lace handkerchief over his mouth keeps him silent whilst his mother tells him not to worry. “A boy like you would never be put to toil on a plantation or forced to work the factories. You're worth far too much for that. You're a princess and a pretty one. You'll be a prized possession. Kept in a gilded cage. Displayed like an exotic bird.” she casually informed him.

Matthew could not believe his ears. Why would his loving mother suddenly become so cold and callous? At first light the anchor is raised and they sailed for half a day to the rocky shores of Matriarlia; the largest island of Anastacia and the very last place anyone from Tiathena would willingly step foot on. Disguised as a Corrinthian General, his mother navigates the yacht into a small fishing port and tells the authorities that Tiathena has been invaded by the joint forces of Corrinthia and Archa and that the island has fallen. The gathering people cheer at this news. “I have a slave to sell and require a prison wagon for safe transport to Marcell.” his mother announced. Meanwhile Matthew is below deck, struggling as best he can to loosen the ropes that bind him... but it's futile. The local militia board the yacht and escort Matthew off. The people jeer at the princess as he's led, hands bound along the rickety wooden jetty. Had it not been for the lace handkerchief keeping him silent, Princess Matthew would have defended himself when they hurled abuse and accusations at him. He kept his head held high and remained dignified as a princess should as they led him the wagon; a rusty cage of thick iron bars mounted on a cart drawn by two horses. The people cheer as he's put inside. His hands and feet are locked in heavy iron shackles and chains. An even heavier one goes around his delicate neck before the caged door is shut and locked. His mother mounts a horse and follows behind. She looks at the princess with a smug satisfied grin. Matthew's elegant blue dress shimmers beautifully in the sunlight, his tiara glistens with an almost magical hue and the cage that surrounds casts a shadowy grid over him. All feels hopeless and lost.

It's dusk by the time they reach Marcell; the capitol of Matriarlia. People gather around the prison wagon, sneering and scorning the captive princess. A group of street urchins seem to take pity as Matthew is released from his shackles, removed from the wagon and put in the gaol. Two guards escort him to a caged cell with a single barred window. He sits and arranges his skirts as best he can with his hands bound. The pretty lace handkerchief keeps him silent so the princess cannot inform the guards that his mother is not a Corrinthian General. Believing her to be an officer of a friendly nation that has been instrumental in overthrowing the Tiathene regime, the guards show his mother a great deal of respect and privilege. They allow her some time alone with the princess, understanding that the boy is to be interrogated.

Mother why are you doing this? Matthew asked when his mother came to his cell. He couldn't speak those words because the handkerchief kept him silent, but his eyes and furrowed brow communicated the query. “My county has fallen and I need a way out.” she told him, speaking slowly and clearly. “The family assets will be seized. We'll be penniless and you, Princess, are the only commodity I've got.” his mother explained. Matthew wasn't sure what a commodity was, at least not in this context. He very quickly worked it out though. His mother informed him of a slave market tomorrow afternoon to which many rich dignitaries from the new world, the west and the orient will be attending. Selling her son to the highest bidder will guarantee that she and his sister, Lady Jane, will find passage to India or beyond and have enough money to make a new life. “You'll be treated well.” she told him. “Relatively anyway.” she added before removing the handkerchief that kept his silent.

“When the explosion happened I thought you were saving me.” Matthew gasped.

“Life is full of surprises.” his mother told him.

“But... I thought you loved me?”

“I've loved having you.” she told him. “But Tiathena has fallen.” his mother sighed. “We need to get as far away from Anastacia as we can.”

“Take me with you!” Matthew pleaded

“You're too valuable.” his mother told him. “And it might not be safe.” she added.

“I don't care. Anything would be better than being sold as a slave!” the princess said. “I'm not just a commodity.” he stated. “You're only thinking about yourself.” he spat.

“Naturally.” his mother told him.

“I'll tell the guards who you really are.” Matthew threatened.

“They won't believe you.” she replied. The princess sighed. He knew that much to be true. His mother let herself out of his cell and told him that she'd return tomorrow at noon with a new dress so he'll look his very best at the market tomorrow. She locked him in and said, “I'll let you keep your tongue for the night. Tomorrow you'll be branked.”

A brank or scolds bridle is a device commonly used on boy servants who have a tendency to talk too much and every grand house that keeps servants will have one displayed in the servant's corridor. They are also routinely used in the Tiathene courthouses so those in the dock can only give yes or no answers when questioned. The first time Princess Matthew learned what a brank is was in an old oil painting he saw as a child. It depicted a marketplace and a slave auction.

Alone in the cell, Matthew sat and sighed. Surrounded by three thick stone walls and one of iron bars, with only a small barred window to let the night and the cold in, he knew he was stuck until morning. He huffed and sighed and lay on his side, huddling his fists into a pillow of sorts. Matthew didn't once think that he'd be able to sleep but he did.

In the dead of night he is woken by a noise, a quiet scraping sound; metal on metal. He looks through the barred wall of his cell but can see nothing but a sleeping guard at the far end of a corridor. He turns to see one of the urchins at the barred window. Matthew gasped. The urchin raised a finger to his lips, warning the princess to stay quiet, before continuing to saw through the bars. With all three bars removed, Matthew pushed himself through to see three of the urchins stood on each others shoulders in order to reach the high window. Four more are on the ground with beckoning arms. They encourage the princess to jump. The height panicked Matthew but he had nothing to lose. It was a struggle to squeeze his voluminous dress through the small opening, but eventually he managed it and landed in a heap on top of the urchins. “What are you doing?” Matthew loudly whispered as he tended his skirts, brushing off dust and checking for damage whilst neatly arranging its many pleats.

“We're helping you escape Princess.” they told him. “Come, quickly... and put this on.” they said, giving him a tatty old blanket to conceal his elegant gown. They scurried quietly through the dark, over a wall and up a ladder, eventually reaching the rooftop. The alarm is raised and the gaol courtyard below is filled with light. Matthew's heart is racing. He has no head for heights. The urchins run ahead and Matthew follows as best he can, holding the blanket around him with one hand and his skirts with the other, tottering over the shingles and slates in his dainty little shoes. They leap from one building to the next, pausing occasionally to watch the guards frantically searching the streets and alleyways below.

The guards, convinced that the princess could not have gotten so far from the gaol in such a short time begin to double back on themselves. The urchins lead the princess over the rooftops toward the outskirts of the city and eventually Matthew finds himself on the flat roof of a barn with seemingly nowhere else to go. “Through here Princess.” one of the urchins said, opening a roof hatch. Three of them waste no time climbing down into the hayloft below and Matthew is told to go next.

“Oh not this again.” Matthew sighed. His dress is far bigger than the hatch he has to go through, and just as he'd done when fleeing the castle, he has no option but to go through in the most undignified manner; feet first, legs next, along with his shimmering silk stockings and pretty princess panties. His skirts and petticoats are once again inside out and upside down, encasing his upper body in vivid blue satin as he climbs down through the hatch. Once in the hayloft and dignified once more, Princess Matthew cursed the fact that he was wearing a ball gown of all things. He became bashful when one of the younger urchins told him that his underwear is very pretty. “Oh, erm... thank you.” Matthew coyly said before apologising for his ungainly entrance as he arranged his skirts.

“How can you do anything in such an enormous dress?” one of them asked.

“I've been thinking that very thing since yesterday evening.” Matthew replied as he cast his eyes over the seven faces of his saviours; four boys and three girls aged from around eight years old to their early teens, each wearing ragged pants and tattered tunics; a stark contrast from Matthew's elegant gown. He thanked them, then asked them why they'd rescued him. “It's what we do.” one of the older girls said. “You'd have been sold if we hadn't. I overheard that Corrinthian soldier talking to the guard.” she informed. “Where are you from?”

Matthew perched on a hay bale and told them his story. Much to Matthew's perplexity, they seemed unmoved by the fact that Matthew's own mother had plotted to sell him into slavery. It was revealed that each of the boys had been sold into service by their mothers too, and that is a common practice in the poor households. “But I'm a princess. My mother is a baroness. I thought she was noble.” Matthew said.

“If you really are from Tiathena then it doesn't surprise me!” the other girl said. “They only ever think of themselves. If they want something they take it. They will lie, and cheat, and deceive and it's high time the Queendom was toppled.” she told him. Princess Matthew began to defend his nation, claiming that what they did against the Motherland was a hundred years ago and all they did was topple a queen who was a bit of a rotter anyway. The oldest girl informed the princess that the Tiathenes occupied the Motherland for twenty-seven years and in that time they enslaved everyone, took away their clothes and gave them shackles, collars and branks. Matthew didn't want to believe it but he had no reason to doubt her word. She continued, “That was beyond cruel. A whole generation treated worse than animals, and to add insult to injury, the Tiathenes exported their children and sold them to the slave traders in the new world. They were never seen again.” Hearing this, Princess Matthew felt shamed and humbled. He told them that he didn't know any of what really happened until now. “Why would you? You're a princess.” the girl snarled.

“I'm sorry.” Matthew said. “But... if you hate the Tiathenes so much, why did you rescue me?”

“Because we didn't know you were a Tiathene.” another girl abruptly told him.

“And you're just a boy.” the oldest boy added. Many boys throughout the continent, in particular those in the lower classes, are prepared for service from a very young age and don't receive the same broad education that girls are given. They go into service at the age of ten and provide a decent income for their families. If a house cannot be found to take a boy into service, he may continue his education, but that is expensive so ideally boys become servants and like princesses, they are generally naïve when it comes to politics and history and things that needn't concern them.

“He's not 'just' a boy.” one of the younger boys said. “He's a princess.”

“He's a Tiathene.” one of the older girls said. “We'd be paid money for him.”

“And we'd have wasted our time rescuing him if all we're going to do is send him back to the gaol.” the eldest girl stated. “One princess can't be held responsible for something that happened long before he was born.”

“Sometimes I wish I wasn't a princess at all.” Matthew glumly tells them. “I wish I was just an ordinary boy.”

“You'd be scrubbing floors and peeling potatoes from dawn 'til dusk and if you're lucky you'd get to sleep on a cold stone floor in a corridor.” an older boy told him. This boy went on to describe his own plight; sold by his family to a wealthy household with a strict mistress who kept her boy servants in tightly laced corsets, ill fitting shoes and narrow frocks that constricted their gait... then she'd berate them for not being quick enough when sent out on an errand, and when they weren't being worked she kept them in jougs so they had to sleep standing up. He endured that for many months until the girls rescued him, and now he's a beggar and seems contended with that. “Still wish you were an ordinary boy, Princess?” he snarled.

“Oh I don't know. If I were just a normal boy none of this would have happened.” Matthew sighed. “So... what next?” he asked. “Are you going to turn me in for a big reward?”

“You should flee.” they told him. “And tell no one that you're from Tiathena.”

Beneath the hayloft is a fully laden haywain and they suggest that Matthew should hide himself in that. At first light it'll go north, taking him far from the city where he'll be safer. They advise him to head westward, find a port and if possible, seek passage to the island of Enniskur because apparently people are nicer there. “I can't thank you enough for helping me.” Matthew said as they burrowed a hole under the hay. “Please, take this.” He removed the tiara from his head. “You can sell it and eat proper food.” he told them. They politely decline the offer, although he can see how tempted they are. Matthew tells them that he has nothing else to give and that he must repay them somehow. “It's just a tiara. I don't need it.” he insisted.

“You're not a proper princess without it.” one of the younger girls told him.

Matthew offered it to each and every one of them but none would so much as touch it. Matthew told them that it could fetch fifty gilders or more. “It's worth a whole lot more than that, Princess.” the oldest girl informed him, sniggering at his naivety.

Matthew felt disappointed that they wouldn't take the tiara as payment. He tried to leave it on a bail so they could have it once he'd gone but the oldest boy picket it up and gave it back to Princess Matthew as he burrowed himself under the hay. “Thank you.” Matthew said. “For everything.” he added. “And please, stop breaking into the gaol... you'll only end up in there yourselves.” 

The urchins just smile at one another before closing up the hole and returning to the hayloft to sleep. Matthew sleeps soundly too. It's so comfy and cosy, even if the occasional bit of straw does tickle his nose

The seven courageous street urchins assemble themselves on the roof of the barn and watch the sunrise. “If anyone knew we'd helped a Tiathene escape gaol... we'd be sent to the colonies as slaves.” one of the older girls mused.

“Would you have helped rescue him if you'd known?” the other girl asked.

“I'd have at least thought twice about it.” the older girl replied. “But I think we did the right thing.” she said. Below they watch as a brace of horses are brought to the barn and soon the haywain emerges. The urchins watch it head toward the open countryside, satisfied that no one would ever suspect that there's a princess hiding under all that hay.

It's a rough ride for Matthew as the wain travelled the rutted cart track, but considering the prison wagon he'd travelled in the previous day, this is comparative luxury. Occasionally the horses are jeered to canter and the concealed princess is bustled and bounced about with too much vigour. It's a relief when they slow to a trot and he can almost feel relaxed. They travel for several hours and the princess is taken many miles from the city. Eventually the cart draws to a halt. Voices are heard and Matthew hears that the wain is about to be unloaded... with pitchforks!

Matthew had no idea where they were or what he could do. He became increasingly panicked as the sound of pitchforks plunging swiftly into the hay whispered down to him. He could hear each lump of hay land with a rustled thud on the ground beside the cart. He counted three pitchforks in total, all working to a regular rhythm; pitch, pitch, thud, pitch, thud, thud, pause... pitch, pitch, thud, pitch, thud, thud, pause... . Matthew could feel the weight of hey lighten and it's only a matter of time before his presence is revealed, or he's stabbed with a pitchfork. Matthew listened with intent. Pitch pitch thud pitch thud thud... Matthew leapt to his feet sending a plume of straw upwards and outwards, startling the farmhands. “Sorry!” Matthew said as he picked up his skirts and jumped from the haywain. The three farmworkers stood bewildered and aghast as a princess in a beautiful blue ball gown appeared from nowhere and darted across the pasture. Matthew ran and ran and glancing behind he saw that they weren't pursuing him. He slowed to a canter and tried to catch his breath. Matthew brushed the straw and dust from his hair and dress, regularly glancing back at the now distant farmhands who only seemed concerned with unloading the haywain and ferrying the hay into a small barn and showing no interest in the fleeing princess.

The open pasture is a beautiful place to be. Buttercups and daisies pepper the verdant grass. Sheep and goats flock here and there in the middle distance. Rolling hills fill one horizon, a distant mountain range fills the other. Matthew reminds himself that he should head west. He gets his bearings from the distant mountains which he remembers from the map in the yacht are on the north side of the island. He enjoys the warmth of the sun on his arms and shoulders and looks in wondrous awe at how bright and blue his satin dress looks on such a beautiful sunny day. The voluminous skirt with its numerous petticoats seem to float around him with a life of their own. The gentle breeze lightly tosses his hair and softly brushes his shoulders.  He'd never felt such serenity and he revelled in every long moment.

For hours Matthew walked. He'd cursed his voluminous dress numerous times but in this moment, he was so happy to be clad in such finery. He loved the cute yet impractical sleeves, and marvelled at the embroidered bodice. The way the skirt threw itself outward from his waist seemed like a feat of engineering, and his feet felt so dainty and divine in his satin blue dancing shoes. The rolling hills lead him down from the pastures toward a forest. "What a wonderful place to be." he thought... but as he drew ever closer to the forest, an uneasy feeling began the brew in his tummy.

The forest is so very dark and foreboding that Matthew considered skirting around it... but that could take the rest of the day, he figured. From high on the pasture he could see that the whole valley is filled with trees and beyond those the rolling hills rise once more... so he knows it will be quicker to go straight through the trees.

Matthew may be a typical princess knowing little more than needlecraft, dancing, dressage and music, yet he does try to keep his feet on the ground in his whimsical world of privilege. He doesn't believe in fairies or magic, mermaids or unicorns and he certainly doesn't believe in ghosts... but that doesn't stop his sense of tension rising as he entered what could only be described as a haunted forest. The leaves high in the treetops block out much of the sunlight and an eerie mist defuses what little light there is into a gloomy hue. Barely nothing seems to be growing out of the forest floor, littered with dead leaves, broken twigs and fallen branches. Withered grasses and grumpy weeds encircle the murky puddles. The tree trunks groan and creek. A gentle yet chilled breeze whispers around and Matthew realised that he'd left his tatty blanket on the haywain. He lifts his skirt to step over a branch. Dropping it he huddles his arms and looks around. “Maybe I should have gone around it after all.” he mused, wondering where to head and worrying that he might be going in circles. He looks upwards but without the sun or even a shadow he can't figure out a bearing. Matthew thinks for a moment about where he is and where he's heading. He studies the terrain and sees that it's not completely flat but slightly sloping in one direction, and since the woods fill a valley that he's trying to cross, he should head downhill and then back up the other side. Confidently Matthew strides through the gloom but it soon becomes boggy underfoot and there's no avoiding getting his dainty dancing shoes wet and muddy. The undergrowth thickens also. Moribund branches snag at his skirts and hinder his progress. The bog becomes and quagmire, then a swamp and with his skirts tattered and torn and dripping with mud, he happened across a crooked little house on a rare patch of dry land. “No such thing as ghosts. No such thing as witches.” Matthew muttered to himself as he headed directly towards it. He arranged what remained of his skirts and as best he could, instinctively trying to look his best before hesitantly approaching the dilapidated hovel and knocking on the door.

A cranky old crone opens the door. Princess Matthew asks for help. “Come inside my boy.” she tells him. Matthew ducked under the door frame. The old lady shut the creaking door so slowly that the sound began the grate. “Thank you.” Matthew said once she'd finally closed the door. “It's so chilly outside.” he huddled his arms and looked toward the tiny glowing stove.

“Well you're inside now.” the old woman said. “Let's have a look at you.” she said, bringing him into the light and gasping at the tattered state of his dress. “This won't do. This won't do at all!” she told him as Matthew cast his eyes around. The crooked little house seemed to have double the space on the inside than out, but it was no less crooked. The creaky stairs are completely skew-whiff and climbing them is an unnerving experience. Upstairs is a room with two beds; one is large and comfy looking despite having a rustic build and tatty looking bedding. The other bed is low to the floor made from sticks. It is narrow, lopsided and short with just a couple of tatty blankets and no pillow. The cranky old woman offered him a clean dress to wear, making it clear that all she can offer is a lowly servant's dress which is not at all fit for a princess.

Matthew humbly accepted and removed what was left of his once beautiful gown. The woman took his exquisite underwear and silk stockings, promising to clean them for him. She laced him into a dirty old corset and pulled it far too tight for comfort. She gave him some itchy hessian stockings and a pair of ill fitting ankle boots that crippled his toes from the outset. The drab black dress didn't have any buttons so he stood in his agonising footwear for far too long whilst the wicked old wench stitched him in. It fit him snugly and being made from sackcloth it was a most discomforting garment. Being a princess, Matthew politely thanked the wretched crone and didn't complain of his discomfort. He donned an off-white apron and instinctively tied a perfect bow at the small of his back. “Very good.” the old crone cackled. Matthew found himself facing a dirty cracked mirror. After battling through the quagmire, his hair is unkempt and dank. Only his tiara suggests that Matthew is anything more than a lowly boy servant. The callous old hag cackled as she hid his tiara under a dirty yet dainty lace cap before stepping back to admire him. “Not at all fit for a princess but it's all you've got, boy.” she told him.

Matthew spared a thought for the street urchin who described the discomfort that his servile garments caused. At the time Matthew couldn't appreciate what he was being told but he can certainly appreciate it now. He winces his way down the wonky stairs. The ill fitting boots pinch at his toes and gnaw at his ankles and have uneven heels which unnerve him all the more. The frock is rigid and narrow and falls just below the knee, interrupting his gait with each and every uncomfortable step. The tight corset shortens his breath and every inch of fabric from his neck down to his toes feels abrasive and itchy.

The old crone gives him a bucket and a scrubbing brush and tells the boy to scrub the floor. Since Matthew had trodden his muddy shoes inside and the marks were right there by his feet, he did get on his knees and clean that section of floor. Thinking he'd finished, Matthew apologised for making the mess and proudly said it was clean again. “You've made a clean patch boy. You'll have to scrub the rest of it now.” the old woman sternly told him. With Matthew on his hands and knees, the cranky old woman sat by the little stove barking orders at the boy. “Scrub harder. You've missed a bit. Under the table, not around it, you useless boy!” she snarled. “It'll take you all night at this rate!” she growled. “Once you've finished that there's laundry to do, pots to scrub, shoes to clean and my bedpan to empty.”

“I only came here for help. I'm not your servant.” Matthew told her.

“Are you not?” the old woman smugly asked.

“No.” Matthew stated.

“Answer me this, boy. How many times have you wished you weren't a princess?”

Matthew gulped but otherwise didn't reply.

“This is what you wished for... to be a normal boy.” she told him. “It's perfectly normal for a boy to be put into service and it's perfectly normal for boys in service to spend every waking moment scrubbing and washing and cleaning whilst being constantly berated by their mistress.”

“But I don’t want to be a normal boy! I want to be a princess!” Matthew insisted.

“You're either a princess or you're not.” the cranky old woman told him. “Look at yourself.” she said. “You're exactly what you wished for.” she smugly yacked. Matthew recalled all the times he'd said that he wished he wasn't a princess and the times he'd been advised against wanting to be a normal boy. How on earth could this woman know what I'd wished for? Matthew wondered as she told him to get back to scrubbing floor.

Solemnly Matthew dropped to his knees and continued scrubbing. The cruel old woman had him slaving away all night. He scrubbed the floors, cleaned the windows, washed and polished the cooking pots. He polished her boots and darned her stockings which filled his nose with the most rancid scent. He laundered her clothes and her bedding, wrung them in an inefficient mangle and hung them to dry near the stove. He built up a sweat and asked for some water. The wretched wench told him that if he speaks out of turn one more time, he'll be branked, and revealed a brutal scold's bridle. Matthew held his tongue and lowered his eyes.

Matthew is ordered to empty her bedpan in the swamp outside. The sweat he'd built up has quickly cooled and he felt cold and clammy in the morning mist. After a whole night working he understandably feels exhausted but so irritable is his clothing that he doesn't feel in the least bit sleepy and since the horrible old woman stitched Matthew into the dress, he won't be taking it off any time soon.

The dawn chorus sang but it isn't the usual mix of birdsong. It's a cacophonous blend of squawks, shrieks and squeals. The old lady came out and using a wonky cane to steady herself, she hobbled toward a twisted ancient tree that looms menacingly over her crooked little home. Matthew is crouched beside the swamp rinsing the corroded copper bedpan. She tells him to bring it to her and as she inspects the pan, she tells Matthew that he's worked hard and has earned himself a rest. He considered the rickety little bed on the floor beside hers and imagined that she probably snores and grunts and probably even farts in her sleep. Suddenly a terrific metallic rattling noise forced Matthew to look upwards and in the blink of an eye he finds himself surrounded by bars.

Matthew gasped and grasped the bars. The old woman cackled as she danced her way around the cage, stomping on a series of latches before skipping to the trunk of the ancient twisted tree where she began the wind a rusty windlass. The noisy sound of the ratchet drowned out the shrieking dawn chorus and Matthew found himself being lifted higher and higher. “Please let me out. Please, Please!” he begged, pulling on the bars of what can only be described as a man-sized birdcage. The base of the cage is made of slimy wooden planks that were hidden in the mud right where Matthew stood. The old woman leaves the cage hanging high above the house and cackled proudly as she shuffled her way back inside.

Matthew looks down at the swamp and the roof of the dilapidated hovel. It looks even more crooked from up here and being even higher than its chimney and seemingly slightly downwind, Matthew is frequently being enveloped in the smoke from the stagnant swamp wood the old hag burns. He huddles himself, shivering in the cool mist. There's a chilled breeze up here in the trees that flows so readily through the loose weave of his coarse sack-cloth frock and hessian stockings it gives Matthew an uneasy feeling of being completely naked. If it weren't for the irritable nature of the fabric against his skin, Matthew might have had to check that his clothing hadn't disappeared.

Having been worked all night, Matthew does try to rest but but he cannot sleep. The corset grips his waist too tightly. His frock and stockings itch all over. His toes are cramped by the ill fitting ankle boots and he can feel the blisters on his heels and ankles. He'd remove them if he could but the laces have been tied in knots so he'd need to cut them. Matthew slumped his head against the bars and considered his predicament. He's been transported in a caged wagon, held in a caged cell and now he's in yet another cage. You'll be a prized possession, kept in a gilded cage. Matthew's mother's words echoed in his mind. He cast his eyes around the tarnished metal bars. What isn't rusting metal is sickly anaemic lichen clinging on for dear life. The cage that confines our princess is the farthest thing from being gilded that one could imagine.

Matthew found himself in a plume of wood smoke and moved to the other side of the cage. The limb from which it hangs creaks unnervingly. He grabs at the bars and tries to pull them apart but can't. When first constructed this would have been a fine piece of ironwork, the princess mused as he pulled at the bars. But for what purpose could such a large and finely crafted cage be for? It's too big for a bird and too confined for a lion or bear, however considering what the street urchins had told Matthew about the cruel treatment of their people during the Tiathene occupation, it's highly likely that such a cage was constructed for human slaves, the princess deduced as he frantically and haphazardly tugged at the bars. 

As if by chance he clutched a bar that rattled a little. The bars beside it rattled a little too and Matthew was amazed to find an opening, six bars wide and tall enough to get through, but it wouldn't open. The left hand side has the least amount of movement suggesting that that must be the hinge side, so it must be held shut on the other side. But there's no obvious lock or latch or hasp and staple. “Aah!” Matthew uttered as he lifted the bars then rattled them, edging them upwards some half an inch. “Come on.” he said through gritted teeth as he eased the bars up a little more and abruptly the bars swung open. Princess Matthew breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The relief was short lived because Matthew quickly realised that he's too high up to even consider dropping to the ground, and too far from the crooked little house to leap onto its roof, and the opening is on the wrong side of the cage that might give him a passage down via the tree it's suspended from. However after a little flustered thinking and pacing, Matthew begins to shift his body weight to try to get the cage swinging and hopefully rotating too. It takes a great deal of effort to get the cage to sway but one it's moving Matthew finds it relatively easy to work with the momentum and cause it to swing more. Turning the cage is just a case of moving himself around the perimeter in small considered steps. “Yes.” he expressed as the opening slowly turned toward the tree. The princess felt proud of his ingenuity, but he's not free yet. The gnarly limb creaked and groaned. Matthew positioned himself for his exit and got the cage swing as much as he needed. Hitching up his frock so it couldn't hinder him, Matthew too a deep breath as he swung toward the tree and in a single great leap he wrapped his four limps around the thick damp gnarly limb and hung on for dear life. “Phew!” Matthew thought as the cage swung away. He is quickly filled with panic as the cage swings back toward him and Matthew briskly shimmied down the crooked limb. The hefty metal cage struck the tree barely a foot above his head and sent a splintered branch crashing into the swamp below.

The princess made a swift yet undignified descent with the hem of his frock up around his hips and his itchy rustic stocking tops on display as the cackling old crone shuffles out of the crooked little house. Matthew drops onto the boggy ground below. With deep swamp on either side and the old woman approaching and ranting and wielding her cane, Matthew quickly studies the ground around him. “Cart ruts!” he noticed. They lead to the house which means they must lead away from it too. Matthew turned and ran, following the vague track into the thickening forest. Even in his uneven heels, Matthew has the lead on the wretched old woman and with his hobble skirt held high, Matthew runs along the cart ruts as quickly as he can... which is a slow canter at best. It is however quick enough to outrun the crone who hollered “You're just a servant now, Princess! No matter where you go, you'll only be a servant.”

With her cackles and curses fading into silence, Matthew finally paused for breath, leaning against a knotty swamp-oak. He looks behind and can't even see the crooked little cottage, let alone the wicked old woman. His boots are muddy on the toes but otherwise he's clean. He lowered the hobble skirt back to where it belongs, straightened his apron, retied the bow and tottered on his way.

Eventually Matthew can see something bright and verdant beyond the murk and soon he is strolling through pastures green once more. His feet are dead to the pain. He frequently scrats at his itchy stocking tops and pulls at the constricting collar of his frock. He brushes some leaf debris from his apron, straightens its bib and checks that the bow on the back is neat and even before lifting his fingers to his head to check that his tiny lace cap is in place and that his tiara is beneath it. “Did my wish really come true?” he thought. “Am I just a servant now?” he mused, wondering if that woman could have been an actual witch. “But I don't believe in magic and I don't believe in witches and I don't believe in wishes actually coming true!” Matthew told himself.

Once higher on the pasture, Matthew paused and turned and looked back over the forest. “What a menacing place that was.” he said, although it doesn't look so bad from afar. The breeze is warm and unhindered by the sack-cloth and hessian clothing he wears. It licks around his skin which feels clammy and grimy and itchy and grubby. The uneven heels give him an ungainly gate as he continued heading west as the street urchins advised.

After some miles Matthew happened across a cart track and followed it. Soon a carriage passes and stopped. One of the occupants is a well to do man who wants to know why a mere servant is out here, all alone with no chaperone. “You have no basket boy, so you're not on an errand.” the man tells him, before asking if he'd fled his mistress.

“No sir!” Matthew said, “I mean... kind of.” he confessed as the man climbed out of the carriage. “I got lost in the woods...” Matthew explained. “...an old woman locked me in a cage. I'm fleeing from her... but I've never met her before yesterday. Whoever she was, she was not my mistress.”

The well heeled man asked whom his mistress was, and when Matthew couldn't answer, the man revealed himself to be a police inspector and Matthew is promptly arrested. “But I've done nothing wrong.” Matthew said as his wrists are put in leather cuffs.

“You're either lost, stray or have bolted, which means you need to be returned.” the inspector said, fastening the bright brass buckles. Matthew hung his head. “And until then you'll be kept on a leash, so you won't get lost or wonder off.” the inspector explained, offering a leather collar to him. With a sigh and being surrounded by the other occupants of the carriage, Matthew deduced that the best thing to do was comply. He held his head high so the collar could be fitted and secured with a shiny brass buckle. Unable to tell the truth about him being from Tiathena, Matthew remained silent for the journey. He is taken to a château where the coach is heading. The butler casts Matthew a merciless gaze as he is sheepishly lead inside by the leash around his neck. “I picked up a stray servant with apparently no mistress.” the inspector told the butler. “Can you put it in the brig whilst I await the Duke?”

A brig is commonplace in all the grand houses that keep servants, and those who misbehave are put there as punishment. Usually it's a hole in the ground covered with a secure grate, but sometimes a small cage of wood or iron or a stone built structure. Not wanting to be put in any of those, Matthew has to get away from the butler. But that won't be easy since his crippling shoes and uneven heels make it hard for him to even walk properly.

They pass an open cupboard. Inside is just buckets and brooms and noticing the key in the lock, Matthew stops and complains that his feet are too sore to walk any more. The Butler berates the boy and gets right in his face. Big mistake as that is exactly what Matthew had hoped for. He shoves the butler into the cupboard, slams the door and locks him inside before darting noisily along the many corridors of the grand manor house. He drops the key in to a plant pot but doesn't stop scurrying. He uses his teeth to undo the buckles of his cuffs whilst he scampers in his ungainly footwear down a labyrinth of grand corridors. Taking every turn he can, briefly stopping to unbuckle his collar and tossing it inside a huge ceramic vase, Matthew ran through another corridor and began randomly trying doors. Suddenly he found one that's unlocked and cautiously stepped inside. “A servant must first knock and then wait to be called.” a voice said.

“I'm sorry my lady. I'm not really a servant. I'm a princess.” Matthew timidly replied

“Nonsense.” the lady said. “I just called for a servant and you turned up, so serve me you shall.” she told him.

“Yes my lady.” Matthew obediently replied, thankful that she hadn't immediately raised an alarm.

“My jewellery. Fetch it boy.”

Matthew fetched the tray from the dresser. Each step is lopsided and clunky. The lady watches with amused bemusement as he placed the jewellery tray beside her. He handed her the earrings, fastened her necklace and finally she asked for her tiara. “In the satin box boy.” she impatiently told him. Dutifully Matthew opened the box and gasped. “It's beautiful isn't it. And old family heirloom. There's only three in the whole wide world.” the lady told him.

“A family heirloom?” he quizzed. “What family, if I may ask?”

“The royal family of course! Don't you know who I am boy?” the lady asked. It was clear that he was ignorant. The lady revealed herself to be the Queen of Mindenhold and is astonished that one of the servants wasn't aware of her presence here at Château Montrose. Matthew confessed that he wasn't a servant and reiterated that the was in fact a princess, and removing his servile little cap, revealed a tiara identical to the Queen's. “I... I don’t understand.” she gasped. “How can it be?” the Queen said. Matthew told her that he'd had it all his life, and that his mother always said it was magic. “How is it magic?” the Queen asked.

“Well... it's not really magic.” Matthew replied. “I don’t' believe in magic.” he added. “But mother always said it was magic because I could take it off whenever I wanted to, but no one can take it from me.” he told her.

The Queen gasped. “It must be you... but how can it be true?!” she exclaimed, embracing the young boy servant and screwing her nose at his acrid aroma. “Let me look at you.” she said. “Step back.” she asked. “That's better.” she breathed, relieved as his mordacious scent ebbed from her vicinity. “Have you been a servant all these years?” she asked, clearly repulsed by the coarse rustic garments he wears.

“I haven't.” he told her. “I was a princess until yesterday... but... I wished I was just a normal boy and a wicked old woman in the woods turned me into one.”

As Matthew spoke the Queen looked into his weary eyes. They're dark and blue, like polished lapis marbles... just like her own eyes are and everyone else's in her bloodline. Shamefully Matthew confessed to being a Tiathene princess and spoke of the invasion and attack on the castle three days since... and his own mother's treachery. Matthew was too young to remember. The Queen explained that he'd been missing since he was a toddler. Foul play was suspected but for all anyone knew, he just seemed to vanish one day and his mother has been longing for him every day since. “We looked.” she told him. “All over Anastacia we searched...” she claimed, clutching his grubby hands as a loving mother would.

A knock at the door silenced her. “Enter.” the Queen said. The butler entered and gasped seeing the fugitive servant in the Queen's quarters. He marched forward and ordered the boy to move away from the Queen. “Please stop. Higgins.” the Queen said in a most authoritative tone.

“But Ma'am he's a fugitive. Inspector Spencer found him stray and asked me to put him in the brig. The boy overpowered me and fled.” the butler stated.

“That may be true Higgins, however as I'm sure you're aware, my son has been missing since infancy and I believe that this boy is my son.” the Queen stated.

“But he's just a servant Ma'am. Look at him.” the butler replied. “I'll have to fetch Inspector Spencer.”

“No need.” the Queen replied. “Matthew and I shall go with you to Inspector Spencer.”

In the grand hall of Château Montrose, Matthew stood in front of the Duke, the inspector, the butler and the Queen. He explained that he was raised on the wealthy island of Tiathena and knowing what he knows now, he was likely raised by the very people who'd had him kidnapped as an infant. “I had no idea that the woman I called mother wasn't my real mother.” Matthew told them. “I thought she was rescuing me when the castle was attacked but all she wanted was to sell me as a slave.” he explained. “I didn't understand why she was prepared to sell her own son, and if what the Queen says is true... I was never that woman's son.” he told them. Matthew went on to tell them about the street urchins who helped him escape the gaol and flee the city hidden in a haywain, and how he was almost stabbed by pitchforks. He told them about the haunted forest and the old crone who'd turned him into a humble servant. They enjoyed his dramatic explanation as to how he escaped the cage and found a passage out of the forest, and since it was the police inspector who'd picked him up as a stray and brought him to Château Montrose cuffed and collared like a common criminal, there was little more for Matthew to tell.

The inspector and their host, the Duke, are dubious if his story but who can question the word of a Queen? She sensed their doubt and challenged them to remove the tiara from Matthew's head. Jovially they declined, refusing to even try. The Queen insisted but they declined again. “Gentlemen. You believe this boy to be a mere servant and as such, a tiara does not belong on his head.” the Queen told them. “Perhaps he has stolen it.” she suggested. “Inspector. It is your duty, is it not, to retrieve stolen goods?”

“Yes Ma'am. You're absolutely right.” Inspector Spencer replied. He stood and approached the boy but once within reach, he began to make excuses and declined the opportunity to remove the tiara from Matthew's head.

“Princess Matthew... offer your tiara to the inspector.” the queen said to him.

Matthew removed his tiara and offered it. “Please, take it, you can hold it.” he tells him. Matthew offered it to the Duke instead, but neither could will themselves to take hold of it. Matthew was just as baffled as anyone. “Why won't they take it?” he asked the Queen.

“Because it truly is a magic tiara Princess Matthew.” the Queen told him. “No one can take it from you, even if you offer it freely.” she explained. “That in itself is proof beyond doubt that you are my long lost son; Princess Matthew of Mindenhold.” The Queen stated. The Duke and Inspector have no choice but to believe what the Queen says is true.

The butler is instructed to prepare the room next to the Queen's for Matthew, and to fetch a gown fit for a princess. Boy servants dressed in smart servile attire scurry around fetching bedlinen, food and refreshments. They're swift and obedient and Matthew is appreciative of the labours as one by one they ferry buckets up from the kitchen, filling a tub with clean warm water, full of fragrant bubbles.

Matthew is bathed by the Queen. The boy winces as she gently tends his injured feet, applying ointment a cream to sooth and heal his blisters. She paints his nails with a pearlescent gloss, and winds his hair onto hand crafted bobbins and holds them in place with silver pins. A polished cotton chemise feels luxuriant as it drops over his skin. He's laced into a finely crafted corset that feels secure and comforting. Silk stockings cover his slender legs and one of the servants carefully clips them to his suspender straps. Another boy servant holds open a pair of panties for Matthew to step into. He lifts them to Matthew's thigh and the princess lifts them the rest of the way. The panties have countless rows of frills and four satin bows; one on the back, one on the front of each leg-hole and one over his tummy button. Being a princess Matthew is used to wearing beautiful undergarments but these are beyond divine. A pair low heeled open toed slippers nestle his injured feet, each fitted by a willing and obedient servant.

Matthew soon finds himself donning a most beautiful dress; the palest pink with elaborate embroidery around the bodice, tiny puffed sleeves and the most elegant asymmetric skirt; knee length at the back and shorter at the front. The Queen asked if he liked it. “Oh it's divine.” Matthew enthused as he looked down at himself. “I've never worn a dress so elegant and easy.” he excitedly said, performing a brief little dance. “I can see my feet.” he smiled approvingly as he looked down his silken clad legs to the dainty open-toed kitten heeled slippers he wore. “May I see it properly?” he asked, glancing toward a huge free standing mirror on the far side of the room.

“In a moment Princess.” the Queen said. She removed the bobbins from his hair and it tumbled onto his shoulders in a mass of loose yet bouncy curls. “Your tiara.” the Queen said, handing it to him. Matthew gleefully donned it and skipped toward the mirror where he looked at his new dress from every angle. “I'm never going to wish I wasn't a princess ever again.” he declared.

Princess Matthew dines with the Duke, the inspector and his mother the Queen whilst the butler and servants tend their every need. Matthew learned that the Queen is visiting Matriarlia as a diplomat to arrange a trade agreement between their nations and shall be returning to Mindenhold in two days' time. In the meantime Matthew would be treated like a princess should, with servants to pander to his every whim. When Matthew was a princess in Tianthia, he was always discouraged from thanking the servants or showing them any appreciation. But today, having empathy for their plight, Princess Matthew makes certain that he thanks the servants often and begs the butler to treat them well.

The Duke and Inspector bid Princess Matthew and his mother the Queen a safe journey as they prepare to leave the château. “Are we sailing to Mindenhold?” Matthew presumed. His mother the Queen said they were, and Matthew asked how far it was to the port. “Oh about fifty miles.” the Queen replied. “But we're not going by sea.” she told him. Perplexed, Princess Matthew furrowed his brow. “We're sailing through the sky.” she told him.

Outside in a vast enclosed courtyard, a most wondrous balloon is being inflated; crimson and blue with golden ropes. It casts a huge shadow and Matthew is filled with awe such a spectacular sight. An enclosed gondola hangs beneath and atop that is the pilots box and space for luggage. The skyship is driven with large ornate propellers and steered with a set of equally ornate fins and rudders. Inside the gondola is two broad plush velvet sofas that face one another. His mother sits opposite and gazes loving into his eyes. “I've never been in a skyship before.” Matthew tells her. “I must admit I'm slightly nervous.”

“Oh you needn't worry princess. You'll have a spectacular view over Abbis Bay and Enniskur, the island of Drum and of course, Mindenhold.” the Queen told him. The gondola rocked as the pilots climbed aboard and before long the skyship rose into the sky. “I still can't quite believe I’ve found you Princess.” the Queen tells him.

After everything he's been through this last few days, Matthew can't quite believe it either. For as long as he's known, the woman he believed was his mother was really his captor and kept him in a gilded cage of privilege. He now believes with all his heart that the woman opposite is his real mother, but that is going to take time to get used to. He and the Queen peer out of the windows and watch the verdant landscape glide beneath. It's such a wonderful feeling to be floating in the sky, but once they're out over the sea Matthew finds it worrisome and returns to the seat. He arranged his skirts neatly around his lap and relished how smooth and silky his knees looked. After those itchy hessian stockings and the irritable sackcloth dress, he'll never again take nice fabrics for granted. His mother the Queen told him all about Mindhaven which seemed much like any other place in Anastacia; women tend to govern, men tend to labour, girls have lots of opportunities and boys are groomed for service. "Oh, and are you afraid of spiders, Princess?" the Queen asked. Confidently, Matthew said that he wasn't. "That's good." the Queen replied. "There's some really big ones on Mindenhold." she told him. Matthew bit a worried lip and gulped. 

They were soon sailing over the island of Enniskur and as they peered out of the windows, the Queen told him that by nightfall they'd be landing on Mindenhold... the one place in all of Anastacia where Princess Matthew really belongs.

~o0o~

EPILOGUE

Exiting the Virtual Realm of Wonder, Matthew sees his father waiting for him. Filled with joy he runs over and gives his father the biggest hug, saying it's so great to see him again. “It's only been a few hours Matty.” his bemused father told him. “So how was it?” he asked, giving his son his backpack back.

“It was beyond amazing.” Matthew enthused. “I never knew virtual reality could feel so real.”

“As good as they say then hey?” his dad replied. “A hundred and ten percent immersive.” he quoted from the adverts.

“And the rest.” Matthew said. “It felt like I was there for a week!” he claimed as he glanced down at his jeans and plimsolls. After a week wearing dresses it felt weird seeing two legs and no skirts. It also felt odd wearing flat soles and not hearing his heels tip-tapping underfoot.

“So what was it?” his father asked. “Star Wars, the wild west?”

“Erm... a kind of Dickensian fantasy... of sorts.” Matthew told him. He was cautious not to reveal too much of his virtual adventure. He didn't want anyone to know that he was a princess or have to explain why he was a boy princess and how it seemed completely normal that a boy would be a princess. He also didn't want to tell them that he wore the most beautiful ball gown for much of his adventure until that got ruined, then he had to wear an uncomfortable maids outfit, and after that the most elegant dress in palest pink and that he truly lived being a princess in the end.

“Well... that's vague.” his father replied.

A few days later, on their last day at the Disneyland resort, Matthew is strolling around the shops with his mother and the most elegant princess dress in a window caught his eye. “I can't help but notice you looking at all the princess dresses.” his mother said.

“Only because they're all so big.” Matthew claimed.

“Can you imagine wearing one.” she asked.

“Yeah.” Matthew said. “It'd be great... until you need to go through a door.” he knowingly replied.

His mother chuckled. They browsed the gift shops and bookshops and Matthew's eyes are drawn to a revolving book stand displaying a range of personalised storybooks. Each have a different name but the same title; so Alice's Adventure in Space, Brian's Adventure in Space, Claire's Adventure in Space, etc. Matthew turned the stand to find Andrew in the Wild West, Beth in the Wild West, Carl in the Wild West, and so on. Turning the stand again caused a sharp intake of breath. This set of personalised storybooks are titled Anna and the Magic Tiara, Bella and the Magic Tiara, Charlotte and the Magic Tiara, Daisy and the Magic Tiara... and the tiara on the cover is just like the tiara he'd worn throughout his princess adventure. “Oh what are you looking at?” his mother asked, appearing behind him.

“Err.. nothing.” Matthew stammered, turning the display to the next set of storybooks.

“Oh look.” his mother chirped, reading down the names of the Magic Tiara books. “Matthew and the Magic Tiara.” she chuckled. “We should buy it.” she grinned, removing it from the stand.

“Mum I'm a thirteen year old boy. What do I want girls storybook for?”

“It's got your name on, and we're on holiday, so it's a souvenir.” she said flicking quickly through the pages which appeared to be mostly text with the occasional picture panel.

Matthew complained that it's not only a girls book, but a book aimed at eight year old girls. His mother said it may well be a children's book but it's personalised with a boy's name, therefore it can't be a girls book. “None of the others have boys names on them.” Matthew said, looking at the same book with the names Kirsten, Lucy, Mary, Nancy, Olivia, Penelope. “And it's still a kid's book.” he grumped, grabbing Sally and the Magic Tiara off the shelf and opening it.

Matthew gasped to see a map of Anastacia set in the Aqueous Ocean on the inside cover. Tiathena, Matriarlia, Enniskur and Mindenhold are all marked. Could this really be the book of his adventure in the Virtual Realm of Wonder? Matthew wondered. “Mum where you going?” he asked when his mother wondered off. He closed the book at put it back, following his mother. “Oh Mu-um what did you buy me that for?” he moaned as they excited the book store.

“It's a souvenir.” his mother told him. “Just a bit of fun.” she said. “You don't have to read it.”

“I won't!” he claimed.

Being their final day at Disneyland, they packed most of their bags before bedtime ready to leave next morning. The Princess storybook his mother couldn't resist buying for him is in a Disney branded paper bag is on the chest of drawers in his hotel bedroom. Gulping, Matthew removes the book and grimaced at its infantile effeminate cover art depicting a pair of dainty hands holding a familiar silver tiara. Matthew apathetically flicks through the pages from back to front, pausing at the colourful picture panels and reading the occasional line of text. He sat on his bed, totally aghast. “It really is my adventure.” he realised.

Matthew returned to the first pages and found a list of chapters:

1. Princess Matthew Goes to the Dance
2. The Beach and the Boat
3. The Gaol and the Street Urchins
4. The Haywain and the Haunted Forest
5. The Crooked House and a Wish Come True?
6. The Servant and the Château
7. The Princess and the Queen
8. Princess Matthew Goes Home

Knowing that his parents had gone to bed, Matthew sat and read the whole Princess storybook and he loved every moment as he relived the most amazing adventure. It even had pictures of him exploring the cavern, escaping the gaol and jumping out of the haywain in his ball gown, and scrubbing the floors, being trapped like a bird, escaping the butler and meeting the queen wearing his servant clothes, and finally preparing to board the skyship in his palest pink dress, his favourite one of all. Every detail, every colour, every line of dialogue was exactly as it happened. This was to become one of Matthews most cherished books.