William Shakespeare, who was living not far from the Interkingdom Games at the time of the events chronicled in these pages, wrote the lines mentioned above after hearing about the Games from a very handsome itinerant minstrel, Ravendra.

Ravendra had arrived at the marquee early in the day to guarantee a good viewing spot,* at the right side of the tent near the front. He stood on an apple crate with his quill, ink, and parchment and recorded all the best lines so he could sell them to Shakespeare for a hefty sum.**

Now that you know I am one of the few living authors who influenced Shakespeare's work, I shall give you a moment to be impressed.

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Finished?

All righty then.

Princess Ashley, still in her disguise, sat upon a golden throne*** beside Prince Charming, hands clasped in her lap, a rose-scented fog swirling inside her head. Behind Ashley and the prince loomed the Seneschal, Borin, and the enormous trophy carved in Charming's image. One of them smelled like a chamberpot, probably the Seneschal. Oddly, it was the trophy's gaze she felt upon her neck. She knew this because when she turned to look, its metallic eyes seemed to avert from hers.

Prince Charming, a benevolent smile pasted upon his face, leaned over the arm of his much larger throne and observed: "See how many people have come to rejoice in my ascendancy as ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and accept the trophy confirming me as the greatest athlete ever to breathe? I'd say this is the largest crowd size in all of history. Never before has any ruler been as beloved as I." He opened his arms wide as if embracing the masses. "Behold!"

Ashley beheld. The audience, a medley of humankind, from the lowliest serfs dressed in filthy rags to the wealthiest aristocrats in velvets and silks, were crammed together arm to arm, shoulder to shoulder. As news of the execution spread amongst the Games' attendees, the crowd inside the tent swelled, coalescing into more of a multi-limbed beast than an assembly of individuals. The rhythm of the shouts, cries, and laughter rose and fell as if uttered by a single entity. Eventually, the hoard spilled out of the tent.

Nothing drew people together like the promise of blood.

Guards dressed in uniforms from all the kingdoms pushed through the throng to the stage, forming a blockade of muscle and flesh.

All the while, Ashley's spirit floated above the fray, like a puffy white cloud on a perfect summer's day where children and fairies come out to play.

Yes, she was so content, even a lousy rhyme like that couldn't bring her down.

Deep in her subconscious, a voice tried to burble to the surface, blathering on about friendship and trust and true love, but at this moment of peace and bliss, Ashley fought back. "I will not burden my remembrances with a heaviness that's gone," she cried.

"What was that?" Charming said.

"Just musing," Ashley said. "Perhaps someday it will be used as a line in a play."****

"My Princess," Charming said, touching Ashley's arm and drawing her near. He smelled like rosewater tinged with rusty blood. How odd. "Say it one more time," he panted in her ear. "For me."

"I will not burden my—"

"Not that! The other thing."

"What thing, My Prince?"

"Off with his head."

Ashley wrinkled her brow. "Whyever would you want me to repeat that?" she teased.

"It's so sexy. I never knew you were such a bloodthirsty demon. Rawr." He scratched the air.

Am I a bloodthirsty demon? Well, if her prince liked her better that way, then no harm. "Oh, alright. Off with his head."

"No, speak with gusto, like before."

"I'll try." Ashley thought of Druscilla. The curl of her lips. The bloodlust in her eyes. "Off with his head."

"Ooooh, baby," Prince Charming said. "Perfect." Then he frowned at the guards, "Well?"

Had she angered him? "What is wrong, My Prince?" Ashley said.

"Where are my royal executioners?"

"You brought royal executioners to a sporting event?" Ashley said.

"But of course. You never know when you'll need to execute someone. I never leave home without them. How did you think we would remove the traitor's head?"

"I didn't think we'd do it right now. We're supposed to be awarding you the trophy, getting married for the people who think I am Druscilla and having a coronation to rule over the Seven Kingdoms, My Prince. Is that not why we're here? Also, when do we break the news that you're not marrying Druscilla and that you're marrying me even though we're already married?"

"All in good time, My Princess. They will know the truth. As far as the execution, there's always time for such entertainments. You will learn that a good beheading is a real crowd-pleaser."

Ashley found herself nodding but didn't quite understand why. Having executioners at your beck and call 24/7 seemed like overkill. Something was wrong with her brain. She didn't think she'd typically support an execution. It was as if she was a carriage horse, and someone was guiding her actions with invisible reins and a whip.

"Ah, here they are at last," Charming said. Two men dressed in all black, wearing face coverings, climbed the steps at the stage. One guard was a behemoth—his chest as barrel-shaped as ... well ... a wine barrel and as tall as the Prince Charming trophy. The other short and thin. The massive executioner carried an excessively long battle-ax, the preferred weapon of men overcompensating for their shortcomings. Ashley had never witnessed an execution before, she was reasonably sure, but was a battle-ax the weapon of choice for such things?

The short one hefted a basket in one arm and a tree stump in the other, as easily as one might carry a babe. The apprentice executioner turned his head toward Ashley and appeared to wink through the eye slit in his mask. Ashley drew in a sharp breath. She knew that thin, mischievous, soft brown eye. But from where? Her brain refused to provide an answer.

"Why are there two executioners?" Ashley said.

"One is the executioner, and the other is his apprentice. Guild rules. Total waste of money, but it's a very powerful guild, what with all the weapons and decapitation training."

The prisoner struggled to escape from his guards to no avail. "Ashley, Ashely. It's me, Gerald. Your favorite groom. I mean, you knighted me, too. So I'm Sir Gerald."

"He addresses the princess by her given name," came Borin's growl from behind. "That's another capital offense! He shall die twice."

Ashley wrinkled her brow. "Is that even possible? Can one die multiple times? I thought it was only cats who had the skill. And perhaps humans turned into vampires."

"It's poppycock," said the condemned man. "Come on, Ashley. How can you forget me? Gerald? What has this royal poser done to you?"

The name did sound familiar. Ashley turned toward her shining prince, blinking her eyes at the piercing light of his aura. "Darling, are you sure I don't know him?"

Charming gritted his teeth. "How could you possibly know a traitor," he said in an oily tone that made Ashley's empty stomach curdle. "Executioner, gag the prisoner. He's ruining everything. Get him in position." The massive executioner shrugged his shoulders.

"You've brought no gag?" Charming spat.

"Nae," said the executioner in a deep, familiar brogue. Now Ashley was sure her imagination had run off with her hold on reality. Did she know everyone?

Charming stamped his foot. "Borin! A gag! Now!"

Borin stepped out from behind the throne, then hopping on one foot, he removed a stocking and tossed it at the smaller executioner.

The prisoner blanched. "You're not putting that in my mouth. Who knows where that man's foot has been? Oh, sorry, we already know. Halfway up the prince's arse."

The executioner shrugged his shoulders again, balled up the stocking, and forced it into Gerald's mouth before forcing his head onto the stump. Ashley straightened her back and tightened her grip on the throne's sharp gemmed arms, so hard she drew blood. Surely something was awry. But what was it? Everything was moving too quickly. "Wait," Ashley said. "Isn't there supposed to be a trial and sentencing before the punishment?"

"I am the law, dearest," Charming drawled. "He is guilty if I say it is so."

"Okay," Ashley said. That made sense. He was the prince, after all. "But shouldn't he be blindfolded? I can't stand the way he's looking at me like a pathetic puppy."

"Blindfold the prisoner," Charming ordered.

Borin sighed and removed the other stocking.

"And what about tying the prisoner's hands? I am the prince. Why do I have to think of everything? Borin?" Borin looked down at his remaining clothing, eyes wide. "Quickly. I grow bored."

Borin untied his jodhpurs, dropped them, and tossed them too. Ashley winced as the smell of chamberpot wafted through the air. Borin quickly drew together the edges of his cape, concealing his pasty-white bony legs.

In a blink, the prisoner was blindfolded with Borin's stocking and had his wrists tied behind his back with Borin's jodhpurs.

"Perfect. I think we've got everything organized now," Charming said. "You may proceed."

The gargantuan executioner raised his battle-ax. The crowd went wild. "Blood, blood, blood," they chanted. Gerald threw out his feet and scraped them against the stage.

"Oh, nae," the executioner said, lowering the ax, not on the prisoner's neck, but in front of his own face. He ran a finger along the blade. "Aye. As I thought."

Charming's face turned red like an ember. Spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. "What is the meaning of this delay?"

"Forgot to sharpen me weapon."

"You have one job. One job!" the prince screamed, the tendons in his neck popping out. "To cut off people's heads. Borin, file a report with the Executioner's Guild, and bring me the backup executioner! We will have him take care of both his sadly unprepared coworkers and the prisoner."

"We're gonna need a bigger basket," grumbled the apprentice.

Ashley peered over the crowd looking for the replacement. But no one materialized.

"Uh, sir?" Borin said at last.

Charming held his head in his hands. "What now?"

"There is no backup executioner."

"Why the hell not?"

"Cost-cutting measures? You ordered ..." Charming glared. "I mean I decided—"

"Inconceivable! You do the executions then," Charming said.

Borin shook his head. "But, Your Highness—"

"Darling," Ashley interrupted the bickering, "I was thinking."

Charming turned to face her, and his expression calmed. "Dangerous thing for a woman to do."

"Oh, yes, truly," Ashley smiled, "you are right as always. I mean, you do have a penis, which grants you the right to hold the drawbridge remote and automatically makes you smarter than a mere female, but may I speak anyway, my lord and master?"

Charming waggled his head and adjusted his ruby-infested cloak broach. "Well, when you put it that way."

Ashley took Charming's hand in hers. His sleeve fell, exposing a long arched bite wound across his wrist. Acrid black smoke curled from the scar. He frowned and pushed down his sleeve, causing something to prickle in Ashley's memory. Didn't Charming always wear long gloves? Her head throbbed as she tried to recall. All she knew was she needed time to figure out what to do. "Dearest, what if we get remarried first and then celebrate with the executions? I just can't wait to marry you in front of this assembly. And every anniversary, we can rejoice at my first time ordering an execution. It could be your wedding gift to me."

"That is actually a good idea. I almost thought of it myself. " Charming tweaked Ashley's nose frowned at his fingers, then wiped a white substance off on her skirts. "But don't go thinking too much. I wouldn't want that pretty little head of yours to explode." He stood, hands on hips, tapping his foot. Ashley realized he was waiting for her. She rose. "Borin, you may proceed with the ceremony. And cover those legs. We're not in a zombie bordello, man!"

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Ashley and Charming stood before Borin, their backs to the silent crowd, facing the statue, which seemed to glare at Ashley. She turned away from its gaze.

Borin cleared his throat and paged through his bible, before finally managing to speak. "Marriage. Marriage is an institution long revered for its powerful ..."

"Get moving," Charming hissed. "You've never even been married, Borin. No giving out advice to the professional."

"Sorry, Highness. Borin tugged at his collar. "We are gathered together today to join this prince and his bride in holy matrimony."

"Boring!" Charming yelled. "Move it."

"If there is anyone present who possesses a reason why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace," Borin said in one breath.

"Borin! Why would you utter those words? No one uses them anymore unless they're in a poorly-written novel or play, and even then, they are an utter cliché. Someone, usually a disgruntled ex, comes forward and complains, "me! I have a problem with it. He should be marrying me. Whine, whine, whine." You know what, Borin? I grow tired of your incompetence. I think someone in the audience should be my volunteer executioner, and your head would make an excellent addition to the basket. What do you think?"

"I volunteer to marry you!" said someone in the crowd.

"Prince Charming! Prince Charming! We love you," said another.

"Marry me."

"No, marry me."

Audience members were elbowing and knocking each other down, trying to get the Prince's attention.

Soon, Charming had at least a dozen offers of marriage but no executioners.

"Fine, I'll do the executions myself," Charming said.

"Sorry, Your Highness," Borin said, tears streaming down his haggard cheeks. "I will strike that from the ceremony. Can we pretend it didn't happen?"

"No!" came a cry from the audience. A hush spread over the crowd. "I have something to say."

Charming spun. "Who said that?" People looked around at one another, most likely to see which head would end up joining the others in the basket.

A path opened between the crowd, a man, dressed in embroidered green satin slacks with a matching jacket, swaggered through.

"I said it, Charming." The handsome man hopped onto the stage, his bare chest peeking through the lapels of his jacket. His green hair was slicked back, while a white-toothed smile gleamed from between pouty lips.

"Derek, bu-bu-but," Charming stuttered. "But you are dead."

The man called Derek pinched himself. "Ouch, apparently not. One hundred percent alive."

Charming's red cheeks puffed out, dangerously close to explosion territory. "What? What are you doing here?"

"Did you miss me, darling?"

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"Guards! Seize him. He is another traitor." The burly guards at the front of the stage did not move.

"If you'll allow me a few words," Derek said.

Charming balled his hands into fists. "I will do nothing of the sort. Guards! I mean it."

"Sorry, Your Highness," said one of the guards. "We'd like to hear from Prince Derek. My name's Paris. I'm a friend of Derek's. I mean, kind of a new friend," Paris blushed, "but still, I'd like to hear what he's going to say."

"Traitors everywhere," Charming hissed. "I will have you all imprisoned. Borin, you do it. Bind this traitor in whatever clothing you have remaining."

"No, sir," Borin said, folding his arms over his bony chest.

"You dare defy me?"

"I guess I am. You've never been nice to me. You've done nothing but put me down since I began serving you. Plus, you sentenced me to die just now."

"But that's how it works," Charming said, incredulous. "The prince denigrates his underlings and treats them as expendable pawns in the chess game of life, and the underlings are grateful."

Borin looked at Ashley with an odd expression. Hope? "I don't think it has to be that way." Why had he looked at her with hope? Ashley had no real power. That annoying inner voice said, "ahem." So rude!

Charming slapped Borin across the cheek. "What do you know? You're a fool!"

"See?" Borin said, dropping his bible and stalking off the stage to the hisses and boos of the audience, who began throwing fried food items at the defeated Seneschal.

Charming spun on Derek. "Look what you've done." Froth issued forth from Charming's mouth. "What is your problem?"

"That you are already married, of course. To me."

Charming smiled at the audience. "I know not what you're talking about."

"And you're married to me," said a beautiful woman in a silvery, watery voice. The guards at the front parted, allowing the woman to flow onto the stage, her black hair twinkling with gold, like moonlight on a glassy ocean.

"Me too," said another woman with dark brown hair, bedroom eyes, and an angel's voice.

"Don't forget me," came another woman, her long brown hair trailing behind her like a bridal veil.

"And me," said a pale woman with ebony hair and rosebud lips.

"Me seven," said the tiny executioner, removing her mask. "Surprised, dear husband? We're all here."

Ashley gasped. "But, you're a woman."

"Interesting how she's more bothered that one of the executioners is a female than the fact that Prince Charming is married to six other people," Derek said.

"Oh, my god. You weren't faking. You truly don't remember us? What kind of spell is she under, Terry-poo?"

The giant guard removed his mask, revealing shaggy brown hair with a shaggier brown beard. "I dunna know, Princess Layyin," he said.

Princess?

"I'll have you strung up by your own beard, Terrowin," Charming said. "Traitor!"

"You will do nothing of the sort, husband," Layyin growled. "I'm terribly fond of Terry-poo!"

Terrowin tweaked Layyin's nose. "And I am fond of you too, lass."

Charming chortled. "And just how are you going to stop me, you lily-livered little "lass?"

Layyin turned some ninja cartwheels across the stage until she stood directly behind the prince, who gasped as she wrapped an elbow around his neck. "Like this," she said.

The gagged prisoner squealed.

"I dunna think Ashley's faking," Terrowin said.

Ashley's head ached. That little voice in her subconscious grew more obnoxious, pounding at the inside of her skull like a drum. "What would I be faking? And what are you implying about a spell?"

"Ignore them, My Princess," Charming said, violently throwing off Layyin's arms and leaping toward his beloved trophy. He ran a hand creepily down its leg. The interlopers marched toward Charming, forming an arc around him. Ashley placed herself between them and her prince. They did look familiar. But how was that possible? And they had to be lying about being married to him. Prince Charming was hers. Her one true love.

"Let's tear Charming limb from limb," Layyin suggested, cracking her knuckles. "Me first. I get the head."