A Royal Mistake

The campfire cast dancing shadows across worried faces as the bandits huddled in their forest hideout. Jak paced back and forth, running calloused hands through his graying hair. The other five sat on logs, their usual post-raid celebrations replaced by dread.

"We're dead men," Jak muttered for the tenth time. "Dead men walking. The King's own daughter!"

Princess Isolde watched their panic with raised eyebrows from where she sat bound to the central pole of their camp. Her fine blue dress was travel-stained but her posture remained regal.

"If we'd known who she was—" young Till started.

"But we didn't check, did we?" Jak rounded on him. "Just grabbed the pretty lady from the fancy carriage. Brilliant plan that was!"

"We could ransom her," suggested Cort, the band's treasurer. "Ask for enough gold to retire somewhere far away."

"Retire?" barked Marten with a harsh laugh. "The King won't pay ransom. He'll send his entire army to scour these woods. They'll torture us to death as an example."

"Then we kill her quick," whispered Vinn, the youngest of them. "Bury her deep. No one would ever know—"

"Oh yes, brilliant idea," the Princess spoke up for the first time, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Murder the King's favorite child. I'm sure that would improve your situation tremendously. He'd only hunt you until the end of time instead of merely having you drawn and quartered."

Vinn withered under her withering gaze.

"She's right," Jak said. "Killing her would be even worse. The King might show mercy if we return her unharmed. Might."

"Mercy?" Marten spat. "When has King Roland ever shown mercy? Remember what he did to the Blackwood Raiders?"

"What about letting her go?" Till suggested. "Leave her somewhere she can find her way back?"

"And trust her not to identify us?" Cort shook his head. "She's seen all our faces."

"I have indeed," Isolde agreed pleasantly. "And I have an excellent memory for faces. Though I must say, you lot are providing quite the entertaining evening with all this dithering."

The bandits stared at her, then resumed their arguing with renewed desperation. Isolde settled back against her pole, watching their increasingly frantic debate with barely concealed amusement. For men who had seemed so competent during the raid, they were proving remarkably bad at handling its consequences.

"We could flee the kingdom," someone suggested.

"All the neighboring kingdoms would hand us right back!"

"What if we—"

"No, that's even worse!"

As the argument circled back on itself for the third time, Isolde sighed and closed her eyes. The ropes weren't even tied particularly well. This was going to be a very long night.