A King's Crown

The young boy, almost a man now and possessing the swaggering confidence that comes with it, prowled through the silent Palace. He stepped carefully, avoiding the patches of light and the gaze of the yawning guard. His destination was the armoury, situated on the third floor of the Palace.

The creaking first-floor stairs were a problem, so he solved the problem. He slipped out of a large window, left open by a servant to let the cool breeze in, and, digging his feet in, began to climb the crumbling wall.

When he reached the second floor, he swarmed over a balcony and pulled himself through the nearest window. He padded up a flight of stairs and down a silent hall until he reached a looming metal door, barred and locked. He unbarred it, then considered the lock.
Checking that nobody was watching, he muttered a word, and the lock clicked open.
He pushed the door open to view the room.

The armoury was large, lit with the warm glow of a fireplace in the corner. Racks of gleaming weapons adorned the walls, and a stand in the middle displayed a golden and ostentatious crown.

But the boy’s gaze went straight to the burly man admiring the bejewelled crown.
He wore a leather apron and had a thick, untrimmed beard. He turned as the boy cleared his throat.

The boy drew back the cowl of his cloak, revealing thick and curly black hair, stubble, and bright aqua eyes.

‘Greetings, Blacksmith.’ he said calmly.

The Blacksmith’s eyes bulged.

‘Prince Marc!’ A frown crossed his face. ‘Wasn’t the door locked?’

‘You must’ve forgotten to lock it,’ The boy - Prince Marc - said easily, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. ‘Anyway, is that my crown?’

He gestured to the stand in the middle of the room.

‘Future crown.’ The Blacksmith corrected. This was obviously Prince Marc, with his clothing and manner, but something about this seemed off. Prince Marc spoke with a slightly different accent, and usually had guards with him. He also didn't tend to sneak up on people, instead waltzing loudly into a room with plenty of fanfare.

‘Semantics,’ Prince Marc shrugged. 'Tomorrow, it will be my crown. And that’s what I’m here to talk to you about.’

He paused.
‘Tomorrow, at my coronation, we want the crown to arrive dramatically. To that end, we, being me and my parents, would like you to deliver the crown to the outskirts of the Foreboding Forest. Wrap the crown in plain canvas, and place it at the bottom of the Poison Oak tree.’

‘Canvas, Foreboding Forest, Poison Oak,’ The Blacksmith muttered. ‘Are you sure this is what your parents’ wishes are? The possibility of catastrophe… Well, there are many people who would wish to get their hands on a magical crown with almost unlimited power before it has been bonded to a new King.’

‘I’m sure.’ He looked supremely unconcerned at this prospect. In fact, the blacksmith thought, leaning closer, it was possible that he looked... eager? He dismissed this with a shake of his head. That was a ridiculous idea. Prince Marc would never want for his crown to fall into unsavoury hands.

‘Very well then.’ The Blacksmith said sceptically. ‘I will do as you order.’

The Blacksmith bowed his head as the prince swept out of the room, slipping his cowl back on.

Looking carefully, the boy-prince found his way into a deserted corner in which there was no chance of him being found. He began to shimmer with a soft purple light. 

When the light faded, there stood a beautiful woman, tall and pale, with a voluminous blue dress on. She stretched her arms above her head.

She snapped her fingers, and as the purple fog crept in, she smiled a wicked little smile, and vanished, leaving no trace that she had ever arrived. 

...

That same woman was in the Swamplands. The treacherous place was filled with dangerous magic, hungry oversized wolves, and thick fog made it almost impossible to see.

The woman didn't mind. The place suited her just fine. 

Another woman came out of the hut that sat behind her. With russet-coloured hair and dark green clothing, she looks like a forest spirit. 

That woman speaks. 
'You're back. Is it done?'

The other woman nods. 'The Blacksmith is unaware that I was not the real Prince Marc, and they will receive the crown soon. We have done as he asked. Our reward will come soon.'

'Remind me why you couldn't just send an animal in to get it?'

'That's not what he wanted. He needed Prince Marc to be the one last seen with the crown.'