The Prince's House

The prince walked home through the dark woods, stepping over fallen branches and crackly leaves. He grumbled to himself as he went. Prince of all the land and what did he have to live in? Did he have a magnificent palace with turrets and towers and banners? Was his home even made of impressive stone? No! His house was a tiny, rickety, one-room wooden shack in the middle of a dark wood. The injustice!
Nearing his door, he shouted out his dismay. “Why must you be what I come home to?” he shouted to his house. “How will I ever live happily ever after if I have to sweep my princess off to this?”
He walked through the door that opened before him. “Now, Drake, you know that there are good reasons for your parents to give you to me,” the House answered him. “Or me to you,” it mused, “whichever.” It laughed softly.
Drake sighed in exasperation as he dropped into a chair facing the fire that had set itself when he entered. It wasn’t so bad, really, having a house to look after him. And it was rather cozy inside, he had to admit. The furniture wasn’t bad, and it kept itself clean. The little spirits that flitted about made his food and poured his wine and drew hot baths for him, and there was nothing he could complain about there. But he could think of no princess who would stoop to living within such dilapidated exteriors, even for the comforts of ghostly servants. Princess Margaret could never live in a house that didn’t measure up to her father’s island palaces. Lord William’s daughter, Elaina, had not one but five impressive homes scattered in various exotic lands, all ready and waiting for her to vacation. She was always vacationing. Even the widowed Lady Charlotte could afford to keep her daughter within fully armed and outfitted ramparts. And just last week, the Princess Meredith passed up a young, handsome prince for one far older but with holdings far more vast.
It’s not that Drake was poor. He had a claim to all of his parents’ wealth, but that had been given over to his kindly but eccentric uncle for safe keeping. He could reclaim it the day he married and inherited his father’s title. Therein lay the problem that he obviously wasn’t going to win over a fair maiden’s heart without his wealth.
Drake himself had grown accustomed to the house; he rather liked it. They had great conversations together and the little hut had quite a sense of humor. In fact, Drake was a little sad at the thought that he might have to one day move out of the cottage for a great big, non-sentient palace just for his wife. But, as a prince he had obligations which could not be ignored.
When Drake left for the May feast, he expected it to be like any other. It was to be held at Lord William’s coastline abode, a fair ride from Drake’s forest. He had long since decided that, if he could, he would never again go to this sort of gathering. Unfortunately, it was another of those unpleasant responsibilities that was his birthright. My only birthright, Drake reflected as he rode. It seems I was born into plenty of responsibilities and little that seems to make it worth while.
Drake arrived at the palace, marveling at the display of lights, and a boy took his horse. He stifled a rather spiteful smirk as a pair of elegantly attired retainers swung open the doors for him to enter.
Being the prince, and, in station at least, superior to his host and the rest of the guests, Drake was naturally introduced. The ballroom bowed as one, making a great show of reverence that Drake brushed off, mentally, as he always did. Outwardly it would have been rude to do anything less than start off the dancing with the Lord William’s daughter, and so that is what Drake did.
Drake spent most of the times at such events “getting air” on balconies or roofs while trying to avoid people. He could dance; he just preferred not to. He liked watching all the people around him, from a distance, but he never saw those of them who were watching him. He never noticed that since their dance had ended, Elaina had not taken her eyes off him.
It was days later that his house answered a knock on his door. It was Elaina, who was hawking with a small escort that stood several paces behind her.
Drake was terribly embarrassed to invite her into such a home, but the house had already taken the liberty.
“I didn’t realize that you had such a unique house, Your Highness,” Elaina said as the door closed itself behind her. She turned to watch it, laughing brightly.
Drake blushed. “Yes, well, it is… unique,” he replied. Then as an afterthought he added, “And please, it’s Drake.” He spoke as if he thought it very odd to be called “Highness.”
She grinned. “Did you think that no one would ever come here?” she asked. “Are you afraid to let people see this place?”
Drake looked at her, caught a little off guard at her perception. “Oh no, I couldn’t say I’m embarrassed of it,” he spoke to both her and the house. “If I did, it would burn my meals for a month. Or worse.”
She liked the house! She laughed every time something moved on its own, a silvery laugh that came to her so easily and sounded so right and perfect that Drake found himself asking the house to do one thing after another just to hear it.
“It’s such a clever little house,” Elaina told him as she was leaving. She stopped suddenly, as if remembering something. “I was going to invite you to dinner,” she said. “I completely forgot. But please come.” Drake nodded and told her that certainly he would come.

A little over a year later, Drake had claimed his title and fortune from his uncle. The ceremony was something to see. I had to watch from the doors myself; I’m not really important enough to merit an invitation. But I saw the couple pass down the aisle afterward, and they were gorgeous.
They never tore down the old house. In fact, they built up a magnificent palace around it. It stands in the courtyard for anyone to talk to. The king and queen both visit regularly. The palace they built stands taller and more splendid than any of those that belong to Elaina’s father, but I’m not sure that it means so much to Drake now.
I can’t tell you if they lived happily ever after, because who knows what will happen in the future. Perhaps I will tell you next time, if you come back for the stories of their children.