Mairead slipped out of her nursemaid’s sight the moment the carriage stopped.

Her legs tingled with numbness from sitting still hour upon hour, and the nooks and alleys of the town begged to be explored. She darted across cobblestones, through sunlight and shade, dodging grown-ups’ legs like a fish dodging stones in a stream.

Past the shops, beyond the crush of the crowd, she stopped at the foot of a tree. It must have been an apple tree, for the overripe fruit littered the ground around it, but children, instead of apples, swung from the branches above. They laughed and crowed to one another, competing for the highest perch.

“What art thou doing?” Mairead called up to them.

“We are trying to catch sight of yonder princess.” A small boy shouted down.

“What Princess dost thou speaketh of?” Mairead asked. “I saw no princess.”

“The Princess Berkshire of the Upland Kingdom is come to-day.” Said one child.

“I hear she hath golden hair and violet eyes.” Said another.

“I hear she is to wed the prince of Eaglehead.”

“I hear she weareth gowns of gold.”

Mairead’s brown eyes widened, like saucers brim-ful of tea. She touched her dusty, platted hair and smoothed down her sensible travel dress. Could a person as exquisite as this princess exist?

“I wish to see the princess!” Cried Mairead, and ran to the tree, reaching her small arms up to the closest branch. She had hardly touched the bark, however, when a familiar voice called out behind her.

“Mairead! Thou naughty child! Come away at once!”

And before she could protest, the nursemaid picked up Mairead and carried her back to the carriage.

Tears streamed down Mairead’s small face, and a sob escaped her lips, so fraught was she with disappointment.

“The princess hath long golden hair and violet eyes, she weareth gowns of gold and is to wed the prince of Eaglehead! I must see the princess, Clara!”

Clara the nursemaid smiled as she stepped into the royal carriage, cradling the little girl in her arms. “Mairead Berkshire of the Upland Kingdom. There is no need to make such a fuss over a princess, they are no different from you or I.”

docendo disco scribendo cogito

(I learn by teaching and think by writing.)

Millie Florence