Chapter Text
The kingdom was shaking - to the capital, to the capital! All carts with honey, wine, fowl and meat flowed into the capital. Hotels, taverns, and even some attics and basements were crowded with a variety of people, and guests only arrived and arrived.
Flags were hung on the streets, in some places people painted and repaired the very rickety houses and fences, dug apple trees and cherries, and especially lemon trees in the royal garden.
Traders of fabrics and various accessories of the ladies' toilet crowded all day at the gates of the castle in the hope that His Majesty’s steward would come out and honor them with his attention.
An accidental foreigner would have decided that the kingdom had won the war or was preparing some great state holiday - such was the scope of preparations and such was the mood of the people. This foreigner, in general, would not be so far from the truth - the holiday was fast approaching, and all the inhabitants of the kingdom hoped to properly celebrate it.
The eighteenth birthday of the princess was approaching.
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"His Highness, august Prince Wheatleybald!" - with excessive pathos announced the ceremoniesmaster. Chell pulled on a sour smile, struggling to quietly scratch her elbow on the fence. Near the gate, she and her father met high-ranking guests who arrived, as always, in advance.
A skinny and stooping young man in gold-rimmed glasses, making his already big silly eyes simply huge, got out of a carriage with a coat of arms in the form of a pale blue fir cone in the halo of dark green needles. A silver-embroidered suit of blue and dark blue silk, although noticeably sewn, hung a little on the prince.
August Wheatleybald awkwardly bowed before the king and the princess. Chell reluctantly made an elegant, albeit somewhat cheeky curtsy. Her father, the King, only nodded, pursing his lips with all his might so as not to laugh.
"Your Majesty, how good it is to see you again!" - the prince exclaimed a little more servile than it should be. The king nodded again. Chell could not stand it and covered her mouth with a palm, diligently portraying a cough.
"Sorry, Wheatley", - she smiled softly, mentally smiling from the way the prince shook from such a reduction in his name, - "I got a little cold. Glad to see you, prince".
"M-m-me too, Your H-Highness", - Wheatley forced a reciprocal smile and held out his hand so that the princess would put her hand in it, and he could kiss it. However, Chell just stared at the outstretched hand with curiosity, pretending not to understand what the prince needed. After standing for a few seconds, Wheatley drew back his hand, as if from a fire, nervously adjusted his glasses and bowed his head meekly. - "L-let me ... L-leave and take a rest from the road?"
"We let you, my friend", - the king nodded a third time, lifting the corners of his lips. Chell kindly stepped aside, and Wheatley was able to escape to the guest quarters, without looking at anyone.
As the prince's footsteps subsided, Chell and the king snorted for so long a pent-up laugh.
"August!" - Cave the First laughed so that the buckles on his boots tinkled. - "He is as august as I am a baker!"
"Did you see how he twitched?" - Chell wiped the tears from her laughter, trying to catch her breath. - "Wheatley! Well, the real Wheatley! The same important bump, as always!"
"And again, he couldn’t even squeeze out “hand, dear”!" - Cave slapped his pocket on his trousers and grinned. - "Sagging like a milk-and-water girl! I swear by all the Gods, such a fool in front of the peacock in the royal garden will begin to shy! Well, I hope, child, we don’t even consider him?"
Chell frowned.
"You know, dad. I wouldn’t..."
"Well, well, we discussed it already, sweetie", - Cave took off his impressive leather glove, stretched out his hand, and gently stroked the top of his daughter's hair. She herself would never begin to lay her hair in such an intricate figure, but the princess was required to amaze visitors with her splendor.
This part, however, was not loved by both the daughter and father.
The princess bowed her head and sighed.
"I know, dad. Traditions and all that".
"You see, you are my clever girl", - the king himself sighed and looked at a string of carriages with various emblems. - "You know... Maybe you shouldn't stand here? It’s not necessary to amaze all of them with how pretty you are. There is a reason why they all dragged here! I will meet them myself. Run".
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Quickly rising to her room, Chell carefully locked the door and began to turn in front of the mirror. Few people knew this, but Crown Princess Johnson preferred to change clothes on her own, and the king father, being unable to resist the requests of his beloved daughter, ordered her dresses that allowed her to do this. Therefore, having tinkered a bit, the girl herself unlaced the corset and loosened the belt on her skirt, easily threw off her dress and remained in some trousers hidden under her skirt with rolled up trouser legs. Chell straightened them, fastened her bodice and a wide men's shirt, threw an orange vest on top.
No matter how strange it may sound, the princess felt much better in trousers than in a dress. She knew very well that not all the women of the kingdom wore dresses, but, as her father said, she "seemed to be supposed to be of origin." Cave often spoke of this or that duty of the monarch, spoke with a wistful sigh, or rolled his eyes. Sometimes Chell thought that her father would have been much more fun if he had been born not as a future king, but at least a small nobleman, and even better - just a free citizen. Maybe he would be carried away by alchemy, in the end he would build a big house, and there would constantly be something fun exploded.
The girl shook her head, driving away gloomy thoughts, and began with particular displeasure to sort her hairstyle. No, she liked the skill of the court hairdresser, but too many hairpins had to be pulled out of the hair. And in general, to dissolve hair after the artist’s artistic delights, Chell had to spend about half an hour - and this despite the fact that she cut her hair quite short, almost to the shoulder blades!
Finally, when the last hairpin came to be on the dressing table, the princess shook her freed head with pleasure, pulled her hair into a high ponytail and pulled a hat with a low sharp top over her forehead. She looked at herself and, satisfied, not wearing shoes, in stockings visible from under her trousers, Chell ran out of the room.