Princess Fruletta

Once upon a time in a far away land lived a sweet princess named Fruletta. She was fourteen years old, and her father, King Harton, was the king of the land of Gertram. He was generally seen as a loving, kind, and peaceful king. He had made alliances with four of Gertram’s surrounding kingdoms, including Thurtuse, the notoriously violent land of warriors. Not that that mattered, because King Harton had also created peace treaties with most other countries, with the exception of about six kingdoms that were said to be just as peaceful as Gertram, and so a treaty was not necessary.
Fruletta was proud of her father. Incredibly proud, in fact. And in addition to being proud of him, she loved him, more than anybody else. More than her cat, Julep, and certainly far more than her brother, Kilste, the heir to the throne. Yes, her father didn’t have a whole lot of time for father-daughter bonding, but Fruletta was perfectly content with spending her days roaming the castle grounds with her friends.
It was on one of the rare occasions when Fruletta ate supper at the table with father that things changed. The only time she supped with the king was on special occasions or when he had something important to say. Most other nights he had guests, or he was simply too busy to leave the throne room even to eat. On this particular evening, Fruletta had been sure he had something to say just to her, because there was no occasion, and Kilste wasn’t even there. It was just Fruletta and King Harton enjoying their duck at the expansive dining room table.
But by the third course, King Harton had yet to say anything. They had talked certainly, but that was just idle conversation. Nothing of particular significance had come up, and Fruletta was quite puzzled indeed. She racked her brain to see if she had missed anyone’s birthday. Yes, Julep’s was coming up rather soon, but the king didn’t really like Julep and certainly wouldn’t be planning a birthday celebration for her. She was just a cat after all. Otherwise though, no birthdays.
“Papa,” asked Fruletta at last. “Why are you eating with me? Where’s Kilste?” King Harton’s face blanched white, then went red. He took a sip of wine to calm down, followed by a rather large bite of duck. He then smiled at Fruletta and pointed to his stuffed cheeks to show that he couldn’t speak; his mouth was full. Fruletta frowned. Why was he trying to buy time? What was so bad about her question?
“That’s okay Papa,” she said. “You can answer my question when you’ve swallowed.” She stared at his face to gauge his reaction to her words. His brows knitted in the center of his wrinkled forehead, and the corners of his full mouth turned down. His cheeks flushed. At last, he swallowed. His face relaxed, and he no longer seemed angry.
“Fru,” he began, “I didn’t want to do this.”
Fruletta was quite confused. “Do what, Papa?”
“Fru, my darling Fruletta,” he now seemed upset. “Do you know a boy named Gilbred?”
Fruletta nodded. Gilbred was one of her closest friends. He was Cook’s son, and Fruletta enjoyed nothing more than running around outside with him. What did it matter that he was the son of a servant?
King Harton went on. “Well, Cook is… concerned, I suppose. See, she doesn’t trust me.”
“Why ever not, Papa?” Fruletta couldn’t understand how anybody could dislike her father for anything even the slightest bit.
“She’s had some bad experiences with kings before. Now, you know I have no problems with your friendship with Gilbred, but Cook doesn’t believe that I am telling the truth. I don’t know if you knew this, Fru, but Cook used to serve the king of Frold, and he was not a particularly kind man.”
“But Papa, don’t you have an alliance with him?” Fruletta did her best to keep in the know of everything her father accomplished.
“Fruity,” he said, using her nickname, “Cook served the old king. The king of Frold now is very kind indeed, and yes, we have an alliance. But the king before him was quite cruel. He believed that because he was royal, he was above and beyond all others, including Cook.
“Now, this king, Jerl his name was, had a son. This son struck up a friendship with Cook’s daughter. Yes, she used to have a daughter as well. She was a beautiful child, so I’m told. Her name was Adelisa. And so Adelisa became close to Jerl’s son, unbeknownst to the king himself. But when he did find out, he was angry. He went immediately to Cook’s quarters, where Adelisa was working her loom, waiting for her mother to come back from the kitchen. In a fit of rage, King Jerl bashed Adelisa in the head with his bare fist, but I doubt he thought it would be enough to…” King Harton’s voice cracked and he stared down at his plate. “Adelisa died the next day.”
Fruletta gasped. “Cook had a daughter? She…died?”
King Harton nodded solemnly. “Cook now believes that all kings feel the same way as Jerl. I continuously remind her that your friendship with Gilbred matters not to me, but she believes that I must be bottling up my hatred for her and for him, and she is sure that I will eventually snap and she will lose yet another child to a raging king. I cannot say I blame her, though I do wish she would come to her senses.”
Fruletta nodded, understanding. “I see, Papa. So, you want me to talk to her?”
Her father’s eyes went wide. “No! No, Fruity, I don’t think she’d listen to you and not me. What I need you to do is… much worse. And believe me, I truly hate to do this to you, but… you can’t be friends with Gilbred anymore. I… I’m so sorry, Fru, really.
Fruletta’s fork dropped to her plate with a clatter. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t think, she couldn’t do anything. At last she regained her senses, and pushed her chair away from the table. She hadn’t realized up until now how much Gilbred meant to her. She had always just regarded him as a friend, a close friend maybe, but… was he more? She realized then that she would never know, as she would never again spend time with him. The realization was too much, and Fruletta rose to her feet and ran from the room with out a word.