the traveler
She appeared for their rescheduled meeting as agreed, apologizing again in person. The traveler, in all sincerity, told her he was simply glad she was feeling herself again. It was as though her absence had never happened.
Yet it happened again the following week. And then again, a few days later. The traveler was confused; was it something he'd done or said? Had he misunderstood the nature of their relationship? He wasn't sure he could ask, so he said nothing.
Her next absence lasted longer than the others, her note of regrets more delayed. With battling instincts, he went to the castle, standing uncertainly outside the main gate. From a distance, it had seemed quite welcoming and approachable, but up close he could see it was more tightly fortified than he'd realized. The bunting seemed a bit too artfully draped, the banners a bit too relentlessly cheerful. He hesitated with his hand on the bell for several moments, then let it fall to his side. As he turned away, he thought he caught some movement in one of the heavily curtained windows, but when he looked back, there was nothing.
After that incident, the traveler grew rather obsessed with gaining entry to the castle. He was consumed with curiosity about what it was like, especially given that the princess spent so much time there. Did it reflect her spirit? Offer any clues to the depths in her character he could sense, but had not yet been able to reach? He felt he had to know, and so he began dropping hints. First subtle, then increasingly less so.
She deflected him politely, and with good humor, but firmly. "That old place?" she'd say. "Oh, but it's so much nicer out here in the village. You're missing nothing, I assure you." Other times, she claimed it was the maid's day off, or that the roof had sprung a leak and the castle was overrun with workmen noisily making repairs. "Trust me," she told him,"you're much better off away from that racket and mess." Then she would change the subject.
During her absences, no matter how long, the villagers continued to go about their regular business. "You get used to it," they told him. "Sometimes she's around, sometimes she's not. That's just the way of things around here."
After a few months of deepening acquaintance, which served only to increase the traveler's fondness of her despite her occasionally erratic behavior, the princess sent him a note. "Terribly sorry," she'd scrawled,"but I must go out of town on sudden business. Not sure how long I'll be away; I'll be in touch as soon as I return. Meanwhile, be well! And please learn some new juggling tricks, as the old ones have grown tiresome. ;) Yours, P. xxx" The traveler was both disappointed at the news, and heartened by the implied sentiment. He looked forward greatly to her return, at which point he hoped to progress their union. For the first time in many years, the traveler found himself making long-term plans.
During her absence, she wrote regularly, if briefly: a silly observation, a description of an unusual stranger she'd come across, a charming story of some part of her day. He replied eagerly with news of the village's goings on in her absence. She signed all of her notes as before, expressing her desire to see him on her return, ending always with "Yours, P. xxx." He missed her more seemingly every hour.
She was gone for nearly a month.
When he next saw the princess, something had palpably changed, though he couldn't quite describe it. She seemed detached, as though a light within her had dimmed, or they were merely cordial acquaintances rather than... whatever they were to each other. Surely more than that? Had she--he could barely allow himself to formulate the thought--met someone else while she'd been away? He realized that, despite their frequent correspondence, he had little idea of the nature of the business that had required her attendance for so long. He mustered his courage to ask about it as casually as possible.
At first she laughed off his concerns, ribbing him for being overly solicitous. Could he possibly be jealous? she teased. When pressed, however, the princess eventually grew serious. "I can't tell you," she said simply. "I wish I could, but I can't. Some days... I can't leave the castle. Other times I need to go away for a while, for business. That's all. That's just the way of things around here."
"I could come visit you there!" the traveler offered impetuously. "In the castle, or on one of your trips. Or all of them. To keep you company. I... well, I quite enjoy your company. As you've probably noticed."
Far from buoying her spirits, his suggestion seemed to sadden her further. She looked at him for a long moment in silence. "I'm sorry," she finally said, her voice quiet. "That's just not possible. I... I should go now." She rose, and walked away without looking back.
When the princess had neither made an appearance nor contacted him for over a week, even to reply to his own increasingly frantic messages, the traveler finally gave up. He realized his time in the village had run its course, although he failed to understand exactly why. He gathered his belongings, saluted the friends he'd made during his stay, donated his juggling pins to an excitedly grateful village boy, and set off along the road once again. On his way out of the village, he paused one last time at the castle gate, which he'd not visited since that first occasion. He stared at the cold stone façade, willing a window to open, for her to lean out, hair gleaming in the sunlight, and wave at him. Invite him in, finally.
Nothing happened. After a few minutes, he continued down the road, eventually disappearing over the next hill into the horizon.