As a princess, I had a simple relationship with knights.

They protected me with life and limb, swearing oaths beneath starlit vigils as they forfeited their souls to an eternity of damnation in the event they fail in their sworn duty to catch me one-handed when I toppled over the hem of my dress.

In return, I nodded when they spoke to me.

… Sometimes.

A trade skewed wholly in their favour. But I was nothing if not generous with my kingdom’s most vaunted defenders–especially when each nod was taken as an invitation to compare my hair to the cascading waters of Lissoine’s Fontaine de l'éternel printemps. 

A fine compliment, if I did not hear the same words uttered to the giggling maids.

Still, their ceaseless philandering aside, they were the foremost protectors of the realm. 

The lance and shield which kept our enemies at bay. Clad in as much chivalry as shining armour, they swept injustice from our lands as keenly as they did innocent maidens from their feet. 

Valorous, brave, and obeying every knightly tenant except fidelity, these officially sanctioned rogues loyally ensured the fathers of my kingdom kept their ire onto the flames they stoked and not the tax rises squeezing their livelihoods.

Indeed, I had much to thank them for.

Which is why–

As I peered down upon a muddy field marred by a smattering of patched tents, I offered a nod.

As I smelled the stain of spilled alcohol watering the unnaturally yellow grass, I offered a nod.

As I listened to the whinnying of horses and the revelling of drunken laughter, I offered a nod.

Ringing a crumbling wooden stables as though it were my own bedroom tower, a dozen tents as crudely stitched as a wound upon a battlefield lay before me.

Amidst them, a small group of figures sat upon makeshift wooden tables, their slovenliness as loud as the tankards clinking in their hands and tossed high to the heavens. Armour which might have once shone was scrubbed with soil and disregard. But it was the vulgarity sketched in their faces which gave away what they truly were. 

Vagrants who had stolen slightly better possessions.

I nodded a final time, and then turned to Coppelia. 

“Who are these hoodlums?!”

These … These were not knights!

Knights had one job and one job only–and that’s to not slack in their personal grooming!

Indeed, to be a knight was more than to die valiantly while defending me! 

… Not much more, but even so! 

Their appearance was no amendment, it was their function! 

How else were they to woo foreign queens into a highly damaging personal scandal, or disarm giggling dignitaries into forgetting to scrutinise the footnotes of our trade agreements? 

Why, if my knights had looked like this when jesting with the ambassadors from the Summer Kingdoms, they never would have overlooked the stipulation to purchase a crate of carrots from the Royal Villa for each damask carpet they sold us!

“Your knights sure know how to slack, huh?” mused Coppelia, standing on her tip-toes as she peered down at the field of concentrated unruliness. “That’s great! Everyone should learn how to relax. It’s good for the soul.”

I looked on in horror as a man’s beverage was sent to the clouds, liquid falling into his waiting mouth before the rest was caught squarely with a chin which wasn’t his own.

Raucous laughter filled the air, bouncing amidst the surrounding pine trees.

“These are quite clearly not knights, Coppelia! Mine possess smiles as varnished as my mahogany table! These pretenders are as unkempt as rogues freshly released from the sewers!” 

Indeed, the most unbreakable vow sworn was to capture the hearts of maidens everywhere! 

Seeing the absolute disgrace before me, I was certain a barmaid was more likely to offer another drink than the wrath of their fathers!

“Eh, I’ve seen worse,” said Coppelia, clearly bemused at the libel before us. “Besides, workplace stress means low productivity. Goofing off prevents that.”

“Goofing off and banditry both. I can smell the illicitness.”

“That’s just the mead. It usually hits harder than the other stuff.”

“Then it’s gone to the heads of all who look upon them, if commoners believe them to be ordained knights. It’s an insult they’re mistaken for anything but knaves in stolen armour.”

I wrinkled my nose, seeing my kingdom’s reputation falling before me. 

Damage which went beyond any fine these louts could pay. And so it was time to offer a choice of my many financial repayment plans available–with the first instalment today.

“To feign a knightly title is no small crime. They douse disrepute over all my defenders … no, this will not do. A polite query is in order.”

“Okie~”

I tugged on Apple’s reins. He finished his daisy before he began trotting onwards. 

A rare moment of reluctance. And as we approached the small gathering, I soon understood why.

It was the upset whinnying of his brethren. 

Horses tightly packed beneath the shadows of the pine trees, neither permitted to roam nor to enjoy the sunlight scarcely out of reach. A poor display of equine care. But to do so while their keepers revelled in ignorance nearby was inexcusable.

As we made our way past the first of the patchwork tents, Apple snorted an appropriate greeting.

It was answered by the stench of vagrancy, followed by the sound of tankards falling to a table as the group of men half rose. Their hands proved faster than their legs, palms falling against hilts as swiftly as the laughter faded from their lips. 

It was exactly 1/4 of the way to a bow. They’d exceeded expectations.

“All of you,” I said, as eyes blacker than the dirt on their armour met me. “Decide amongst yourselves a representative to be insulted.”

Silence met my simple request.

And then–an exchange of glances, the suspicion falling away to sheer, overwhelming confusion.

Understandable, of course. A princess had no right to be amongst such company. And yet such company had even less right to desecrate my fields.

At last, the hoodlum with a seat of honour at the centre of the stolen picnic table allowed his tankard to drop. Distinguished by a cloak which had long lost its colour, he was the only one not to have reached for his sword. And the only one to have remained sitting.

“A moment, my lady,” he called out to me, his words accented with knavery. “I’m afraid you’ve not the permission to be riding here. This is a private gathering.”

“My apologies, I failed to discern any of you amidst the mud. Do you perhaps require assistance? If necessary, my horse can drag you from here to the nearest stream.”

A hard smile met me.

It said less warmth than in his eyes, which went straight to the sword by my side.

“Your kind offer is appreciated. But the gesture would be wasted. For those of us in the field, mud is as much our calling as it is our mother’s blanket. We’d be loath to be rid of it.”

“A bold claim. The worms will be disheartened.”

“The worms have no right to complain. They have a better home. Right here in Mangy Mill’s hair.”

A chorus of low laughter erupted. 

Hands moved away from hilts and back towards tankards as the men took their seats once again. The man called Mangy Mill gave a toothless smile as he offered a dip of his head. 

The first to bow. But not the first to be given soap.

That was for the group’s leader. His hand had never left his drink. And yet it was now magically nearer the pommel of his sword.

“Now, my lady, may I ask what brings such delicate company into our midst? If you’re seeking the fineries of Hartzwiese, the gates is but a corner away.”

“I came in search of a stable for my horse. I see it’s already full. How curious that your horses are tied. And not comfortably so. I see and hear nothing past your walls.”

The newly come laughter was suddenly extinguished. 

All except from the leader of the hoodlums, who offered a wave of feigned apology. 

“Nor would you. Our loyal horses are resting within. Should you wish to find a place for your own, I’m afraid we’ve no hay left to offer, let alone a stall. You’ll have to tie up yours, just as we have. Hopefully, your hand will be gentler.”

“I’m known far and wide for my gentleness. But also my impatience for those who would erroneously claim to be knights. Are you aware this is a crime?”

“More than most, my lady. It’s a charge that’s been levelled against me more than once.” He raised a tankard without taking a sip. “I’m happy to say I’ve always been cleared.”

I wrinkled my nose in response. And very little due to the burning of a campfire garnished with discarded bones and carcasses.

“I have seen more knights than the barmaids of Reitzlake. Which order do you hail from?”

“The Order of the Road, my lady. And all here share the same hall as I do, upon our beds of mud.”

A round of cheers erupted once more. All in contrast to my gasp of horror.

These … These were not just knaves.

They were ordained knaves.

Landless knights. 

Those titled by lesser lords and even themselves, making mockery of traditions spanning longer than only this kingdom.

I knew whispers of them. And even that was too galling. 

Outlaws knights who neither belonged, nor aspired to belong to the chivalric orders which made up my kingdom’s defenders. Their loyalty was to crowns. 

And sometimes, those who paid them too.

Why, I had no doubt in my mind … these were the types of knights to stop bowing the moment I passed! Perhaps they even scratched their backs too!

Truly no better than upmarket brigands. Here was the aristocracy of highwaymen.

And somehow, they were congregated in defiance of their natural instinct to rule their own road.

“The Order of the Road,” I said, my dented brows aimed towards all. “A name whose honours elude me. What brings such an unstoried gathering to the mud outside Hartzwiese?”

“Preserving the peace, my lady. The wicked lurk these woods.”

“So I can see. Under whose authority are you here?”

“By all the good folk who wish us to be.” 

“An insufficient answer.”

“Yet it’s all we have to offer.”

“You shall offer more, beginning by disclosing why you’re here and who ordered you to be. If you cannot, I shall assume tax discrepancies. In which case, I’m compelled to inspect what’s inside the stables which necessitates your horses being offered the warmth of the sky instead.”

The last of the smiles faded.

The leader of the outlaw knights looked at me coldly, his grip loose on the handle of his tankard. He did the same at Coppelia as she started rolling her shoulders. 

It should have been all the warning he needed.

Instead, he broke out into a low chuckle.

“I could see the copper of your ring more than you could count how many sit at this table. There are eight of us here. And more you don’t see around you. But I suppose that’s typical of your kind. Always wading where your noses aren’t needed. A shame. With your foolishness, you’d made a great knight of the road. A shame you’ll be found by the side of it instead.”

I raised my hand.

The response was immediate. Swords drawn with deft speed, matching even those of truer colours who sparred in my courtyard.

And then–my hand continued to rise, until it barely covered my smile.

“Ohhohohohoho … is that a threat?”

“What?”

“How quaint. It’s been so long since I’ve experienced impudence from those who would call themselves knights. You see, I’ve been inducing horror in them longer than I’ve been able to form coherent sentences.”

The leader of the knights frowned as he revealed his blade. A cruel thing, less a sword and more a knife held by alleyway murderers. His eyes kept to my side, but didn’t move to seize the advantage.

“Bested knights before, have you?”

“Of course. Have no doubt, Sir Vagrant. I have seen stronger, taller and prouder knights than you reduced to husks upon their knees.” 

Indeed, for what were knights, other than servants in shinier uniform?

Ohohohoho … whether forced to hold in a sneeze even as I purposefully slowed my footsteps, or compelled to admit that the figure seen sneaking into the kitchens at night to quality assess a shortcake was themselves and not me, I had reduced knights to bawling tears as they lived to serve my every whim!

What need did I have to fear mere outlaws and bandits?

Thus–against the strength of my smile, and very likely Coppelia’s as well, a clear calculation as cold as the edge of this leader’s knife ran through his mind. A brutal cost estimate based on the worth of testing my boot versus demonstrating the loyalty he was paid to provide.

And the result … was the smallest gulp.

Seizing on the hesitation, I raised the regalness of my smile–all the way until I witnessed my investigation of the stables already beginning.

Pwam!

A pair of heavy doors suddenly flew open. 

My hand went from my lips to my nose, recoiling at a foul odour heralded by a rushing mob. An array of hoodlums dressed in the finest shades of swamp waste came storming out, the speed of their feet taking even their cohorts by surprise.

But not for long.

The hesitancy was dismissed from the leader’s face. He replaced his cold look with an even bleaker smile as he turned his knife’s edge towards me.

“Looks like we’re not eight any longer,” he said, shameless in his sudden confidence.

He smiled as his compatriots from the stables came to his side.

“Move!!”

“Get out of the way!”

“Fasterfasterfasterfasterfaster!!”

And then slammed past him.

Ignoring the entire scene of these outlaw knights readying their blades against the most esteemed guests they’d seen since their pale faces last enjoyed daylight, they made no notion of offering a glance, much less assistance.

Instead, they ran … no, they fled, their faces contorted with desperation as they moved as though I’d rung the servant’s bell and the 2nd chime had already been allowed to sound.

For a moment, all the outlaw knights exchanged looks of bewilderment with each other.

And then–

“Out my way! I was first!”

“Get stuffed, you muppet! Move!”

They ran too.

All of them. Not in any orderly fashion. Adhering to their greater instincts, several tripped in their rush to peel around the picnic table. Some stuck their ankles out. The leader of the group took an elbow to the face, blood spilling as the sound of a broken nose filled the air. Coppelia whistled innocently as she withdrew said elbow.

A moment later, I was met with the most bizarre sight yet.

“Haah … hahh … ahhh …”

A young woman in a maid uniform, following at the end of the fleeing hoodlums.

Hardly enough for me to remember her, and yet the nature of her dress and the familiar look of deep regret upon her face as she pondered all her life’s choices struck a chord in my memory.

Just as she passed, her large eyes blinked.

She took in the sight of Coppelia and me.

Then, with her breathing ragged and sweat caking her flushed cheeks, she came to a sudden halt, holding onto the picnic table to stop her momentum as readily as any maid when suddenly called to line for an inspection.

I did so.

6.5/10. Room for improvement. Particularly given the sweaty strands of her hair. 

“Good evening.” Lady Renise Rimeaux curtsied, revealing what appeared to be knives strapped to her thighs, before glancing behind herself in overwhelming concern. “It is a welcome surprise to see the both of you again, Miss Juliette and Miss Coppelia. My apologies, but I have little time to explain. We should immediately … um … ?”

“Hm?” I tilted my head slightly … as I queried her from my prone position, flat on the ground and with my hands covering my hair. “Oh, please don’t concern yourself. There’s no need to explain.” 

Beside me, Coppelia was hiding under the picnic table. Apple was leaning slightly lower than normal while nibbling at a daisy.

Lady Renise blinked at the sight.

“Oh, that’s good.”

BWWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMM!!