Did you want to save me now or does later fit better into your schedule?

His princess was dusty.

He jammed the sodden cap back on. The lumps of cloth clung to his skull like an overweight cat afraid of heights, and ruined the image of dignity.

His princess was dusty. Arpien should have expected that. Anything lying undisturbed for a hundred years would gather dust. He'd crossed the ocean to find the right sword for this venture, but neglected to pack a feather duster.

Arpien didn't like tears. On the few occasions he'd tried to ease a maiden's tears, she inexplicably started producing more. How to fix this? He assumed the Sixth Stance of Deep Mourning and flourished the Bow of Esteemed Members of Foreign Nation States. "My condolences on the loss of your-" "Pickle?" She offered him one from the clay crock.