A travel-worn girl garbed in a once splendid silver dress made her way across the old stone bridge that separated the eastern plains from the western. The Turquoise River roared far beneath her, and she took care not to look at it. She was not a fan of rivers. A sigh escaped her lips when she was safe on the dirt road once more. She shaded her eyes from the low sun with a freckled hand and scanned the horizon.

There, nestled at the base of a distant hill alongside the winding river, was a camp of the royal army. The recently kidnapped and newly escaped Princess Lynne perked up and quickened her pace, her aches forgotten. Soon she would return home to the castle and her guardian Lord Argock.

As she neared the strictly erected tents, a small figure hurtled into Lynne. Thin arms wrapped themselves around her. She stumbled, regained her footing, and looked down at the terrified, rag-clad child attached to her waist.

"Whatever is the matter?" she asked him, astonished. It had been long indeed since she had been in such close proximity to a child, and never a commoner at that.

"They think I'm the prince," he sobbed, burying his face in her skirts. Raucous shouts sounded; half a dozen men were running toward them, weapons drawn.

"You're not my brother," Lynne said to the boy. She pushed him back to arm's length and examined him. He looked about the right age, eight or nine to her thirteen years, with freckled skin and curls the same red-blonde as her straight hair. But he lacked the noble features of the de Trona family. This was not the missing heir to the throne.

The quickest of the soldiers reached them then.

"A'right, boy," he panted, brushing the dripping hair from his face with an arm. The neck of his shirt was darkly stained. He beckoned. "Let's 'ave 'im, then." The rest of the soldiers pounded to a halt behind him.

"He's not the prince," Lynne told the sweaty, leering men. They didn't seem to recognize her.

"No matter," said one, running his tongue over rotten teeth. "'And 'im over." He loomed forward threateningly.

"What is his crime?"

"No crime," spoke up another man through a thick black beard. "You know the law. All boys of nine summers or thereabouts are t' be questioned by the crown, in 'opes of finding our good prince. All those found traitorous are t' be punished by means of be'eading."

Lynne tossed her loosed hair and declared haughtily, "Take me to Lord Argock. I know nothing of this law. As your sovereign, I command you to release the child from your bondage."

"Well, we've no orders on what t' do wi' girls claiming to be royalty. Everyone knows the princess is dead."

"Oi say we take her too," said the man with the bad teeth. "What say you, lads? Can't leave a poor fool to wander about like this."

More men advanced, forcing the girl to back up nearly to the edge of the raging river. The village boy stayed close beside her, chin trembling even as he stuck it forward in fearful defiance. Lynne took his hand in hers and he gripped it tightly.

Lynne was at a loss for what to do. Trained in the fighting arts though she was, one small, unarmed girl could not fare well against six grown men with swords and battle axes. Even so, she would take her chances did she not have the little boy beside her. And though fleeing was not in her nature, she would even brave the icy black waters of the Turquoise if she thought the little one could make it; but she was sure he could not. She was bound to protect him, for she would one day be his queen.

A tickle on her upper arm caught the desperate princess' attention. A butterfly clung to her, wings black as night with white speckles glittering like stars.

She pressed a finger to her arm. The insect crawled onto the perch and she brought it before her face. She blew; the butterfly's wings caught her gentle breath and it was lifted into the air.

The sky darkened and grew harsh with a rustling. The noise became deafening. The soldiers and the boy peered into the sky, hands pressed to ears. Lynne waited, eyes closed, entire body tensed. She did not release her hold on the boy.

A million veined wings beat in harmony. Thousands of butterflies darted back and forth in the air, blocking out the sun with their brilliant black and violet hues. The swarm stopped dead, hanging in the sky like doom.

Lynne's eyes snapped open. A strong wind buffeted her, dragging the men to their knees and whipping her golden hair around her head violently. The swarming insects plummeted. Jewel-colored wings beat against the terrified soldiers' skin. Their clothes were heavy with the weight of hundreds of bugs, creeping and crawling and prickling. The air was so thick with them that there was nothing left to breathe.

The butterflies contracted, forming a thick quivering pillar around Lynne and the boy. They flew around and around, a hurling cyclone with the two children in its eye. Wind screamed outward with every breath the princess released.

Suddenly the cyclone burst. The butterflies flew in all directions at an unnatural speed. The wind howled a final time, and died away.

As the pressure dissipated, the soldiers gathered the courage to stand up. The late summer sun shone lazily. No breeze stirred the barley grass, and not a single fluttering butterfly could be seen. The princess and her ward were gone.