Ravings of a Textual Deviant

Twenty mattresses made a mountain of ticking and feathers on the kingdom’s tallest four-poster bed.

“A true princess is so sensitive, so delicate, that she feels a single pea underneath all that,” explained the chancellor. The king nodded wisely. The prince looked dubious, but held his tongue.

The latest candidate had a freckled nose that wrinkled attractively when the chancellor described the sleeping arrangements. A skeptical eyebrow quirked as she listened politely.

“A true princess recognizes nonsense when she hears it,” Lady Danadevi opined. “And she’s not afraid to say so.”

The prince beamed as he asked for her hand.

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