The Road Less Traveled

The sun, a rather indifferent orb as far as Aurelia was concerned, had barely begun its ascent over the jagged peaks of the Whispering Mountains when she slipped out of the castle. No clatter of gilded carriages, no mournful trumpets heralding a departure, just the soft scuff of worn leather boots on the dewy cobblestones. The royal train, that voluminous testament to her former life, had been replaced by a surprisingly sturdy backpack, stuffed with what she imagined were the essentials for a life beyond the velvet confines of the palace. A loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese, a rather sensible pair of walking shoes, and, tucked away at the very bottom, a small, chipped wooden flute she’d once found in a forgotten corner of the royal gardens.

Beside her, practically vibrating with an energy that seemed to defy the early hour, was Pip. The Traveling Jester, now her traveling companion, was a whirlwind of mismatched socks and infectious enthusiasm. His jester’s motley, usually a riot of clashing colours and bells that announced his arrival from a mile off, had been swapped for a more practical, if still rather flamboyant, tunic and breeches. A jaunty cap, adorned with a single, slightly wilted feather, perched precariously on his head. He practically skipped, his eyes, bright as polished obsidian, scanning the horizon with an eagerness that Aurelia was, to her astonishment, beginning to share.

“First day of adventure, Princess!” Pip chirped, his voice a cheerful explosion in the quiet morning. He nudged her gently with his elbow, a gesture that would have sent a ripple of scandal through the court. “Or should I say, first day of Aurelia-ness?”