Over dinner you were unusually quiet
Puzzled I ask, ‘What is it my love?
What bothers you this night?’
Your eyes narrow, I’ve seen that look before
The evil you manifest seeping through.
‘The princess has grown up.’
‘Growing up happens my love
We all grow up, we cannot stop that.’
‘We can,’ you say ‘If she is not living.’
‘She is a threat, she will undermine my kingdom
I want her head, and I want it now
You’ll bring me her head, on a platter or else.’
Or else is not where I want to go
I must act at once, a plan formats.
I grab my sword; tuck the platter under my arm.
Beautiful princesses are a risk,
Every year so it seems another emerges
All dealt with in the same swift manner.
This princess is the former Kings daughter
A red haired spoilt wench with a silver spoon
A woman child with many admirers.
The princess’s chambers are easy to enter
The guard, lackadaisically on guard
Are little competition, eliminated, disposed of.
The princess sleeps, the blinds drawn,
I see her outline within her bed
She has no idea of her impending doom.
My sword is drawn, I raise it to strike
I feel the steel slide between my ribs
My heart ripped apart, the princess’ laugh.
In the days that follow my love receives her platter
My head laid out tastefully, a small note in my ear
‘Your platter madam, don’t come knocking again.’