Darren Dreamer had wandered the art museum. He liked to go here. He liked it very much. But it brought him right back to the thoughts he had been trying to avoid.
He'd brought some sausages and bread with him. He grilled them slowly. He began folding bread around the finished sausages. It was a trick he borrowed from the peasants. Not all peasants have a fork or an extra bit of cloth. Bread keeps the fingers from burning while eating the sausage. Darren didn't use the bread for any of these reasons. He thought it tasted good. Today this hardly mattered. Darren wasn't hungry. This was less to fill his belly and more to fill his mind. It didn't work. Nothing worked.
Being a lowly merchant man, I did not seek her hand. Who doth she marry? A merchant man! Woe is me, oh woe! She is wed. Next there will be babies and they will not be mine.
Darren picked up the sausages and began setting them out.
May as well feed the masses.
Plucking up the last plate for himself he turned to find a place to sit.
There sat the king. Darren couldn't resist, he sat across from King Mortimer.
"How was Princess Cassandra's wedding?"
Mortimer stopped eating.
A part of Darren knew he should stop, but he kept going.
"Is she very happy then?"
"Happy about what?" Mortimer asked grimly.
So he is not happy about the match! Darren was elated. But she is still married. Darren deflated.
"Princess Cassandra deserves to be happy."
"I do not know that any of us deserve to be happy."
"My king, tell me please, does she find joy in her new husband?"
King Mortimer glowered at Darren.
"Who are you to ask after my daughter?"
"Is the princess not a concern to all her subjects?"
"You sound fond of her."
"Is not every man who meets her?"
Darren took a bite of sausage, which he had quite forgotten about.
"Apparently not. Don Lothario left her at the altar."
Darren almost choked. He swallowed the sausage as if it were a rock.
"Is she...is she..."
"Available?" Mortimer sighed. "Yes."
"I meant to ask, is she all right?"
Mortimer's expression changed.
"She is quite sad."
"Mine as well."
"And Prince Xander?"
"All three of us wept the night he left her. Xander was bearing his sister leaving Goth Manor as best he could....well, at least that will not be fretting the young prince any longer."
"It is most shameful he did that."
"Xander? He is but a young boy, and his sister is like a mother to him!"
"No, not Xander. I agree with you on that. Lothario, breaking her heart like that. That is no way to treat a princess, or any bride."
"Indeed. You are a good man to say so."
"It is only the truth, Your Majesty."
"But not a truth all men would see."
This surprised Darren. He forgets at times that not everyone sees the way he does.
King Mortimer rose. Darren rose as well out of respect for his king.
"I expect I will be seeing you," Mortimer said. Then he left without further explanation.
What doth that mean? Permission to court the princess? Could he mean that in so few words? It matters not. I will not be courting Cassandra...at least, not yet. Let her broken heart heal. In the meantime, I shall paint.
When Darren arrived home, he set up a canvas.
While he painted Darren's mind drifted to Cassandra. This time he didn't push the thoughts away.
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