Bosomella sat frozen for a moment, watching the great hairy beast bolt down the palace corridor with Miss Borka’s new leg tight in it’s slavering jaws.
“By all that is Holy!” She shouted straight toward the princes horrified face. “Look at that superb craftsmanship. This girl’s leg is a work of art.”
Then she wrestled her way out of her Mistresses hair do and lept into flight, zipping around corners, through the doors of the great hall, and directly through a stack of artfully arranged shortcakes that shuddered and tipped as the princes’ dog plopped the leg onto the closest refreshment table and proceeded to gnaw.
Just as Bosomella had procured an ornately glazed ham with which to bludgeon the beast, Miss Borka hopped into the room, one hand on the wall to steady herself and one wildly waving Bosomella to her side. The fairy gave their hairy friend a couple of passing bops and tossed the ham aside to flit to her lady’s aid. Miss Borka snatched her up and bounced wildly out the hall doors and onto a thickly curtained balcony.
“Can you lower me if I jump?”
“Are you kidding? You’re probably 75 times my body weight.”
“He can’t see me like this. I’ll sleep here until daybreak tomorrow if I have to, But nothing in the entire sordid history of husband enchantment has ever been as mortifying as this.”
It was a good plan, as far as cowardly retreats go, but was simply not destined for success. For when Bosomella looked down over the castle walls to the thick green sludge of the moat below, she saw a small collection of hooded farmers urging two sick oxen forward as they pulled a lumpy wagon toward the castle walls. And glinting out from beneath the crusty brown sacking that covered their load Bosomella saw a glint of metal and the gentle shine of a polished blade.
The prince should know about this. But one look at her humiliated mistress told the small undergarment fairy that this was one job that would take every last mote of her considerable diplomatic talent. And then the men below slowly so slowly began to chant.