Once upon a time there lived a prince and a princess in a beautiful castle on the western edge of a deep forest. Brother and sister, Prince Daylate and Princess Dollarshort had ruled together a pleasant kingdom, with fertile fields well-tended by efficient peasants, since the death of their parents.

It was the custom of that time that children were given names by the midwife in attendance which both commented on the occasion of the birth and the circumstance of it, thus marking the child, as names generally do. Prince Daylate had been born, in fact, a day late, making the fairy midwife miss the opening of a conference in magic and spell-lore. At the birth of his sister, the castle coffers were hard pressed due to a visit from the Emperor that year on top of poor crops, so the midwife fee was a dollar short.

And so they grew up: Daylate a good boy but a late bloomer, conscientious but always slow, and Dollarshort, beautiful and sweet-tempered, nearly always overspent her allowance by a little. The kingdom adjusted to their peculiarities; the princess’s lady-in-waiting was given most of princess’s money to hold for her, and the prince’s valet scheduled the prince a day early for whatever event he took part in. Early to bed and early to rise, early to plant and sow and reap, the populace was healthy and fairly wealthy (despite Princess Dollarshort’s love of charity), but somewhat unwise.

The prince and the princess ruled well and fairly, but unlike the errant knights of nineteen and twenty, Prince Daylate became restless at thirty, not having married or provided an heir. He had tired of reading of the exploits of the neighboring princes and felt that he too must be off adventuring before he found a wife. Many such wives he had seen these same princes bring home and he had no taste for such, nor had he seen man fit for his sister. Thus he would set out to find a quest to still the longings of his heart.

His sister cried when he came to her to say goodbye. "No, my brother, you can not leave, for I cannot rule alone. We will surely perish if you leave the kingdom to itself."

"Nonsense! The kingdom runs itself, your lady manages your money, and I shall leave my valet to manage things as he does in his own time now. How can I ever call myself King if I have no adventures to prove myself?" "By marrying a Queen, and setting down to what you do best, keeping everyone else on time and task."

"Who would you have me marry?"

"Princess Dawn of the southern kingdom is beautiful." "She is always in a hurry to get something done, flitting like a bird. I should have no rest."

"Princess Plentiful to the north is very wealthy."

"I don’t need her money nor her plentiful words ringing constantly in my ears or her plentiful cousins eating us out of home. Besides, no one will marry me if I have no adventures. They all say so." He waved to his large library of romances: harlequins, silhouettes, westerns and trilogies.

"And I am approaching thirty."

"Thirty-two," she said.

"All the more reason!" he said, ringing the bell for his valet to prepare him for his journey. Daylate was adamant. He would not listen to any of his advisors, nor would he even take along a squire or companion, only his horse Desire.

Somewhere he would find a dragon to kill, a princess to rescue, a spell to break (his own spelling being impeccable) or other humane deed to prone his own true self and his own true Queen. It was late when he set out, so he spent his first evening in the tavern of the nearest village to the castle. A new minstrel had come from the East through the Great Forest with stories and songs of a new knight who had come from the kingdom of the east by the sea. This knight had slain a Beast, outdone ogres that attacked his home castle, and had solved the riddle that had bound the Treekeepers to the will of the Shadows of the Forest.

With the Treekeepers’ help, a new road was being made to link his Eastern Kingdom with the kingdoms of the West, Daylate’s lands being the easternmost of the Western kingdoms. This knight, Sir Donealot, had passed by the Prince’s keep only due to the lack of a road; he had gone to the south in search of a great Lion who was devouring the folk at Grayne on Wyne. "So, are there no other adventures to be had? Has this Donealot done everything?" cried the prince.

"No, Sire," the minstrel said, "For there was a dragon spotted to the north at Rocky Keep, and a town bespelled at the Great River and yet other towns and villages with all sorts of evil times. There are surely enough adventures to go around."

"Thank goodness!" Daylate said, not thinking of how it sounded. "Sire," said the minstrel while on his break, "Take me with you. I could be your squire, could cheer you with song, and serve you on your journey. I will make songs of your exploits and spread them throughout the land when you return victorious."

"No, good minstrel, for I must do this alone. I would not endanger another, but go to my castle there and sing to my sister, and when I return you shall indeed make songs and music for all the land." "As you will, Sire," the minstrel said, and he began again to sing of adventure and romance well into the night when they all retired. Without his trusty valet to wake him, Daylate slept through the next morning and into the next evening. He missed the minstrel who had already gone on his way, but made sure to pay the innkeeper a gold coin to wake him early in the morn.

At dawn Daylate set out earnestly to Grayne on Wyne for he knew a short cut he had used as a child to reach the village. He hoped to tame or capture or, if necessary, kill the Lion to save the people. Soon he could hear its ferocious roaring and thrashing through the fields. Abruptly it stopped, and after seconds of silence, cheers and cries of joy floated across the ways. By the time he reached the village, wine was flowing, bread was baking for a feast, and the skin of the lion was stretched across the market square to cure.

In the tavern all talk was of Sir Donealot, his bravery in attacking the beast, his strength in killing it and his silence in leaving, not even waiting to be thanked or to join the festivities.

"He left only this," the innkeeper said, showing Daylate a small silver dagger, "and rode away."

"Here is a gold coin," Daylate said. "Take it for my horse and wake me early in the morning. I, too, am looking for wrongs to right." But the people celebrated late into the night, so that the prince could not sleep. When finally things were quiet, it was nearly dawn and the innkeeper himself had passed out.

Daylate awoke in the afternoon, and leaving the coin with the innkeeper, he went to saddle his horse to head north to find the dragon. A youth was feeding Desire as Daylate entered the stable.

"Are you really a prince on a quest?" the youth asked shyly. His hair was in his eyes that shone with fantasy and imagination. Daylate nodded and smiled grimly.

"Take me with you," the youth said. "I will care for your horse and clean your appointments and tend your fire at night."

"I must go alone," Daylate said, "I would not put such a fine youth in danger. But if you come to my castle in the East, when I return, I will put you to work in my stables and make you stable master." Although it was nearly evening, it was summer and not uncomfortable. The sun set late and the full moon rose, each orb equally fiery red on the horizon, so that Daylate became confused as to which was which, and so turned south instead of north. The wide, well-tended road was easy to see in the moonlight. Desire walked steadily through the peaceful sounds of the night: an owl’s fatal swoop, a fox’s bark and a chorus of happy frogs.

Near midnight they passed the camp of a fellow traveler, his small fire only coals glowing in the dark. Not to disturb them Daylate traveled on until he reached a bridge over a wide river as the moon set and the sun rose. Here too the people were just going to bed, having rejoiced all night. The bridge of Bridgetown, which had been made invisible by an angry sorcerer, had been just the evening before been restored. Trade could begin again and the lands of the East could be united with the lands of the West. Already the word had spread and boats were coming to the landings from north and south and traders from the west brought goods to trade. And everyone sang the praises of Sir Donealot except our prince, who sat alone eating breakfast in the tavern.

The barmaid who brought his food commented on his sad countenance, for she could see his noble bearing and the devices woven into his clothing. "Be happy for the town, Sire," she said, "for we have been delivered. You came over the bridge yourself this morning. Why you must have passed Sir Donealot along the way in the night. Did you see him? How exciting it must be to be on a quest!"

"So, I have followed him again. I fear I shall never find my own quest." His voice was so bitter that his ale soured in the mug and his eggs curdled on the trencher.

His voice touched her heart, and she spoke again. "Have you a Queen far away that waits for your return?"

"No, only my sister."

"Take me with you," she said. "I can be your guide, for I have traveled along the roads. I can cook for you and keep you warm in the nights." Before he could answer no, he looked into her eyes. They were as green and gold and deep as the fabled Eastern Sea. He lost his heart, but his resolve stayed firm. "I can not take you, but if you will but give me a small favor, a token, I will return for you and make you my queen." "Me? You don’t want a barmaid, Sire. I would go with you, but I am no lady for a prince." She stared at him boldly, eye to eye as his face shone with star-crossed love and darkened with frustrated hopes. "Ah, but you will forget me, so here, take my hair ribbon, if it will make you happy." She untied the dirty string of linen that held fast the braid of her hair and handed it to him. Loosened, her hair flowed over her back like a river of hammered copper.

He kissed the twine and her hand. She laughed at him and hurried him on his way north.

Before he had gone two days’ travel, the northern dragon was slain. And so on, through every village Sir Daylate found happy people feasting or rebuilding their huts from dragon scales or singing as they repaired the damage that the conquest of evil had done to their villages. And the praises were always to Sir Donealot who had passed that way only yesterday, last week, a fortnight ago, or maybe was only riding out of the other side of town, having left behind some small silver trinket. Daylate grew despondent. His steed was lamed, so they both hobbled into the next village. He paid the innkeeper to tend to Desire and paid his board with his last gold coin.

Several days passed and market day arrived. The newly liberated brought out all the wares they had hidden to make a merry profit which they spent in the very same tavern, sharing the news of deeds done and wonders seen. But at one tale, far into the night, the prince’s ears twitched. A solitary princess had lost her prince, her keep was ravaged by animals that ate the peasants and trampled the crops and terrified all the servants so that the gates were locked, and the people were shut inside. In her looming poverty, she must be rescued, she and her people, else they would starve. She was reputed to be beautiful, and would make, no doubt a fine wife for one who would deliver her.

"Sir Donealot should go there," one patron said , "He’d make the princess a fine husband and have her lands to add to his own." "He’s likely the roving type, always rescuing and hunting, never coming home to his own." said the ruddy barmaid, winking as she set down the mugs of ale. "Like a man, not to know when to go home!" At that they all laughed and called for another round. Daylate called for his horse, for despite all, he knew his last chance had come. Although no one knew the name of the princess or her keep, it lay back in the direction of his home, so he resolved to return, even as a failure, if he could not help the princess; at least Donealot would be finished as well. Desire’s lameness was cured and they set off in the early hours of the morning. They rode as fast as they could through the dark villages that had returned to their routines, stopping only on the third evening to rest at an inn just outside his own lands. At every place where he had stopped to eat and feed Desire, the story was the same. He thought that if he passed his sister on the way, she might know the name of the princess in the fallen keep, and perhaps it might even be the kinswoman of the Saint Donealot himself who had been gone away so long from his palace in the East. How well it would serve Donealot to return home to find his own rescued by Daylate. He built a fantasy to stay awake, imagining greeting Donealot at the door of his own Keep.

But the truth was not long in meeting him: his father’s lands were ravaged and deserted, huts empty and crops eaten to the roots by wild pigs. Vines had begun to take over the gardens and the roads were cogged with weeds. Dejected and overcome with guilt, he rode slowly across the ridge to the plains surrounding their castle. Just as his ancestral home came into view, banners and flags rose in all colors, and in seconds the blaring of trumpets and the cheers of the people touched in his ears. Surely they could not recognize him at such a distance! He urged his steed to a stately canter and as he approached, the drawbridge lowered as a procession came out to meet him. Musicians were playing and the people were dressed in bright colors, dancing around his lovely sister in a flowing white and gold gown. Like the prodigal son, he had been forgiven his selfish quest, he was welcomed home! He was...he was...seeing...the bridal procession...of his sister...and Sir Donealot.

Daylate’s mind snapped. Drawing his sword and screaming in blood rage, he galloped towards the bride and her mate. Three people ran from the crowd and blocked his way to the knight in his sister’s arms: a minstrel, a youth and a barmaid. Desire balked, nearly throwing Daylate. He dismounted, still gripping his sword and confronted them.

The minstrel knelt. "Kill me, Sire, but do not kill Sir Donealot for he saved the kingdom when you were gone. I am yours to command. Kill me." "No, Sire, kill me," said the youth, "for I am nothing. Sir Donealot has made the princess happy again. Kill me."

The barmaid came out in front of the other two. "You have returned, O my King," she said. She kissed him and took his sword as it fell from his hand, putting it back in its scabbard. She supported him as he swooned from exhaustion.

"Sir Prince," said Donealot, leaving the side of his bride and facing Daylate.

Dollarshort cried, "He is my brother! Don’t hurt him!" "Welcome home, Brother Daylate," Donealot said, "As you can see, I have married your sister, and my sister says you have promised to wed her." The prince, finally resigned to his disgrace, replied, "No, Brother Donealot, I am handfasted to this barmaid, though I have no adventure to report to her honor."

"Hail again and well met, Brother, for she is my sister Sunset, and these two louts my younger brothers, Singsalot and Horsefeathers." (Now that is a story for another time!) Donealot embraced Daylate as the people cheered. And finally, Daylate hugged back.

And so the one-day wedding became a three-day wedding, and all the exploits of all the adventurers were told and explained.

"Only I have no story to recount, no happy tale to add," said Daylate sadly. "I have done nothing but bring my own land to ruins." "Not true, Brother," said Singsalot, "Although you did not kill anything, you helped every village you entered. Because of the general prosperity from the defeat of evil, the Emperor laid down a new tax for every village of a gold coin. Everywhere you went, the town had a coin to pay. You are called the Traveling Prince," and he went on to sing of the wandering prince who saved each town from the evil tax collector. Everyone toasted Daylate until he hid his blushing face in his new bride’s lap. At the end of the third day, Daylate called the priest to him and his new family with a request. "Father," he said, "As we all enter a new life, may we all change our names together? My brother shall become Done, and stay home with my sister who shall be called Dollar as it is a done deal. And I shall be called Day for my Sunset shall be the end of me." The priest agreed. The names were changed, trade was set up through the Great Forest and the two kingdoms prospered until their happy rulers died of old age.

The end

Charlotte Babb is a redneck with a couple of coats of varnish. Red mud and sweet tea flow in her veins; this "Girl Raised In The South" teaches English and computer applications at a technical college in South Carolina. She lives with her two cats, Nyx and Hex, and is working on a Maven novel between studying web design and The Craft.