The wind in my hair was better than any crown.
It was my first day out, and I had no plans — just the open road, a full coin pouch, and the fastest horse in the realm. Valor was eager too, hooves pounding the dirt as if he, too, had grown tired of castle life.
His mane whipped behind him like a banner of rebellion, and I was all too happy to push him harder, faster. Birds scattered as we thundered past, startled squirrels darted into bushes, and a few sleepy farmers nearly dropped their hay bales when I flew past, laughing like a madman.
"You're going to give the old folk heart attacks, Valor!" I yelled, ducking low as a low branch whipped over us.
He neighed proudly, clearly unbothered. I leaned forward, giving him a quick scratch behind the ears.
"Good boy."
We passed the occasional traveler — a few cloaked merchants, a couple of bards playing sad little tunes on their lutes, and one very confused monk on a donkey who muttered something about "too much sun and lightning in the brain."
Most just stared at me, eyebrows raised as I tore across the road with a grin on my face that stretched ear to ear.
One woman selling fruit tried to wave at me, but I sped by so quickly her apples went flying.
"Sorry, my bad!!" I called over my shoulder. "Nice apples, though!"
The world beyond the palace was so alive — birdsong, the scent of pine, the low hum of distant rivers. I couldn't believe I'd spent so many years locked behind marble walls and velvet drapes. This was where I belonged. Out here. Among the wildflowers and mud.
By late afternoon, the sky had begun to dim, kissed with orange and streaked with lazy purple clouds. The road eventually narrowed, winding through a grove of trees and spilling into a quiet little valley with a cluster of buildings.
Nestled near the base of a rocky hill was a modest tavern — The Rusty Acorn, if the wooden sign hanging from its post could be trusted.
"That looks promising," I muttered to Valor, patting his flank.
The tavern looked like it had seen better decades — chipped shutters, ivy crawling up one side, and a slightly slanted roof that might just fall in with a sneeze. But there was smoke rising from the chimney, and that meant warmth and food, two things my stomach was very interested in.
I tied Valor out front beside a very old, very droopy mule and headed in.
The interior was exactly what I'd hoped for — warm fire, creaky floorboards, and the scent of roasted meat and old ale. A few locals nursed tankards in silence, their faces worn and weathered from long days of honest work.
The owner, a balding man with a red nose and kind eyes, perked up from behind the bar when he saw me.
"Welcome, traveler!" he called. "Come in, come in. Sit where you like."
"Thank you kindly," I replied, easing into a seat near the hearth. "Got a room for the night?"
"Course. One silver gets you bed and board. Extra silver for a hot bath."
"Two silvers it is," I said, flipping the coins onto the counter.
The man raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle. "Don't see many with coin to spare these days. You're not a noble, are you?"
"Would you believe me if I said no?"
He chuckled and waved me off. "Fair enough. You eat meat?"
"Do bird migrate south in the winter?"
He laughed again and went to fetch my meal, shouting something into the back where I caught a glimpse of a young girl stirring a pot. She had curly dark hair and big eyes — maybe twelve or thirteen — and gave me a shy wave before ducking behind the door.
Cute girl.
I let my legs stretch out before the fire, the warmth creeping into my bones after a long day in the saddle. There was something sacred about that first meal on the road.
A bite of freedom, a taste of rebellion. I could already smell the roast coming my way, and my mouth began to water like a leaky fountain.
Unfortunately, the moment of peace didn't last long.
The tavern doors slammed open with a drunken bang, and in stumbled three large men who looked like they'd been pickled in cheap ale. All broad shoulders and filthy tunics, with the collective intelligence of a brick wall. They staggered in laughing, one of them kicking over a stool just for the hell of it.
"Oi, Terrel!" the biggest of them slurred at the barkeep. "We're back, and thirsty!" The owner froze. His hands trembled slightly as he set down a pitcher.
"Milo, please," he said quietly. "Not tonight. I've got a guest. And my daughter's just finished supper—"
"Shut your mouth, old man!" the one named Milo snapped. He grinned, showing three teeth too many. "We ain't here for your sob story."
The other two chuckled darkly, already eyeing the girl as she peeked from the back room. My smile faded.
"I said shut the door," Terrel tried again, this time more firmly.
Milo turned slowly, his gaze locking on the girl. "Look at that," he said with a leer. "Little petal's all grown up, isn't she? Bet she'd serve a drink better than you, Terrel."
I've quite enough.
"Now, that's no way to talk in front of a lady," I said cheerfully, brushing imaginary dust off my sleeves. The three men turned to me in unison. Drunk as they were, they noticed the sword at my hip, and the faint sparkle of magic that still clung to my boots from an earlier spell.
Milo squinted. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"
"Just a traveler," I said. "One with excellent hearing and a distaste for jackasses."
The third goon, who hadn't spoken yet, cracked his knuckles. "You pickin' a fight, boy?" I looked at them, then at the bar. Then at the girl.
Then back at them. "I wouldn't call it a fight," I said, rolling my shoulders. "I'd call it a public service." With that, I reached forward, grabbed Milo by the collar, and flung him out the door, literally.
The tavern patrons gasped as his body soared through the air, bounced off the water trough, and landed in a puddle with a grunt.
The other two hesitated just long enough for me to duck a wild punch, sweep the legs of the one closest, and slam him down with a crack of my knee. The third pulled a dagger from his pouch.
Bad move.
I flicked my wrist, and a small arc of blue lightning snapped through the air, shocking the blade out of his hand and sending him dancing back with a yelp.
"Y-you're a mage?!" he sputtered.
"Among other things," I said, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and hauling him outside to join his friends. When I was done, the three of them were groaning in a muddy heap behind the trough, their faces bruised and pride thoroughly shattered.
I dusted off my hands and walked back inside to silence and wide eyes. Terrel was gaping at me.
"You're — you're not a knight, are you?"
"Nope," I said, plopping back into my seat. "Knights are too shiny. I prefer the humble traveller aesthetic." He stared for a second longer, then broke into a slow, incredulous smile.
"You've got the gods' favour, lad. That was… well, that was something."
The girl peeked out again, this time less shy. "You really knocked them all out?"
"I gave them a wooping. They wont be bothering you anymore." She giggled, and the sound was pure sunshine.
Dinner came shortly after — a roasted leg of lamb, buttered potatoes, and warm bread with honey. Best meal I'd had in years. Or maybe it just tasted better because I'd earned it.
[A/N: Say what you may but I would prefer homemade food over fancy restaurants and fast foods. They just taste better.]
As the tavern slowly returned to normal, people began murmuring their thanks. One old man even offered me a carved wooden pipe, which I accepted with a smile (though I had no idea how to use it).
Later that night, as I lay in the small but clean bed upstairs, full and warm and satisfied, I stared up at the wooden beams and smiled.
[Next Morning]
[3rd POV]
Birds sang as if they were mocking the idea that anything bad could happen on such a fine day. Camden had eaten well, slept like a log, and left the Rusty Acorn with a grateful wave from Terrel and a bag of leftover honey bread hanging from his saddle.
Valor's hooves clopped eagerly against the hard-packed earth, a steady rhythm that echoed through the waking countryside as they approached the rocky incline of the Dunwilde Pass.
The mountains rose ahead like the jagged teeth of some great beast, all snow-dusted peaks and narrow winding trails.
It was one of the few ways east, and the perfect place for an ambush if someone had a grudge and very little imagination.
Which, as it turned out, was exactly the case.
Camden didn't even get halfway into the pass before trouble came strutting out from behind the rocks like a traveling circus of poor hygiene and worse attitudes.
"Well, well, well," came a voice as greasy as the man it belonged to. "If it ain't our fancy mage lad."
Camden sighed before even looking up. "You again?"
Milo, the burly brute he'd tossed into a trough just the night before, now stood grinning with a bruised jaw and an eye the colour of old grapes. And he wasn't alone. At least a dozen others fanned out around him, all armed with clubs, blades, or the kind of intelligence that makes you mistake a tree stump for a horse.
"You didn't think we'd let that little bar stunt slide, did you?" Milo sneered. "You humiliated us!"
"You humiliated yourselves," Camden said, casually ruffling my hair, pretending to actually care. "I just helped highlight it."
"Boys!" Milo barked, pointing his blade at Camden. "Let's make sure this prick don't walk out of here with his teeth!"
Camden tilted his head.
"You know, I was really hoping for a peaceful morning," he muttered. "But if you insist—"
He rolled his shoulders, sparks of crackling fire and flickers of blue lightning licking up his arms. Valor snorted behind him, almost in anticipation.
But just as Camden's fingers began to glow, a sudden blur of orange dropped down from above.
A small figure landed squarely in front of him with a thump and a flamboyant flourish, kicking up dust and snow. The figure stood no taller than Camden's knee, wore polished leather boots that shone in the morning sun, a wide-brimmed feathered hat that tilted dramatically over one ear, and a black Zorro-style mask that clung to his furry orange face. Oh... and a tiny, curved rapier hung at his hip.
The figure extended one paw dramatically to the side, tail twitching behind him.
"I would advise," said a deep, silky voice laced with an unmistakable Spanish accent, "that you find some other road, mis amigos."
Camden blinked. "Is that… a cat?"
The bandits all froze too, staring. One even lowered his weapon. "It's a cat," another whispered. "Wearing boots."
The cat's whiskers twitched as he turned slightly, his eyes sharp and golden beneath the brim of his hat. "Ah, yes. But not just any cat…" He drew his rapier with a metallic shing, and pointed it straight at the group.
"I am… Puss in Boots. Hero, rogue, lover of ladies. Defender of the innocent!"
Camden mouthed the name, stunned. "Puss… in Boots?"
"Sí," the feline said with a bow, cape fluttering slightly. "At your service." Milo broke out laughing, clutching his sides. "You brought a cat? You think a tiny cat is gonna save you?!"
"I am not tiny," Puss said, flicking his blade. "I am compact, deadly and full of... panache."(A/N: flamboyant confidence of style or manner)
With that, he launched forward.
What followed was, in Camden's honest opinion, one of the most bizarre yet beautiful things he'd ever seen. The goons hadn't even fully raised their weapons when Puss in Boots became a whirlwind of orange fur, flashing steel, and acrobatic chaos.
He danced between their legs, leapt off shoulders, and slashed at belts, boots, and beards with dazzling finesse.
One man reached for him — and found his sword arm neatly disarmed, his belt undone, and his trousers around his ankles in one dizzying instant.
Another tried to stomp on him — only for Puss to leap atop his head, twist his ears like reins, and send him crashing into a boulder.
Camden just stood there, arms crossed, watching the beatdown unfold with mild astonishment.
"Are you seeing this, Valor?" he asked his horse.
Valor whinnied, probably in agreement. In under two minutes, half the thugs were groaning on the ground. The rest had backed away slowly, unsure whether to fight or flee.
Milo, now less cocky and far more confused, raised his sword. "You little demon!" Puss licked his paw. "Demon? Please. I am merely gifted."
He launched forward again with a fierce "Yah!"
Milo swung wildly, missed, spun — and received a sharp rap to the shin followed by a kick to the knee. He stumbled, and before he could recover, Puss sprang from the ground, sword drawn high, and landed directly on his chest. The blade stopped just beneath Milo's throat.
"Say meow," Puss said calmly.
Milo gulped. "Meow."
"Good boy."
The cat leapt off him, landing lightly beside Camden. "I believe your morning is now free of trouble," Puss said with a smug flick of his tail. Camden clapped slowly. "You are something else, my friend."
"I get that a lot," Puss replied, sliding his rapier back into its sheath with flair.
The remaining thugs, realizing they were no match for a magical teen and a sword-wielding cat, grabbed their fallen comrades and scampered off, some limping, some tripping, and all questioning their life choices.
Camden turned to Puss, who now stood proudly with his paws on his hips, chest puffed out.
"Well," Camden said. "That was... deeply satisfying. I usually do the beatings myself, but I'm happy to share the spotlight for a show like that."
Puss gave him a grin. "You are welcome. I sensed you were noble of heart, and I could not ignore such injustice."
"Also, you just like a good brawl, don't you?"
"Maybe a little."
They shared a laugh. Camden knelt slightly so they were eye to eye. "Thank you. I mean that. Want some honey bread?"
"Does a cat like cream?"
Camden handed him a piece from his saddlebag, which Puss took with delight, nibbling at it with delicate bites.
"So," Camden began, watching the cat munch. "Do you, uh… live around here?" Puss shook his head. "I travel. Adventure calls, and I answer. Sometimes, I nap first. But then I answer."
"Well, I'm on a bit of a journey myself. Got tired of palaces and titles. Thought I'd see the world. Find some trouble, fight a few monsters, rescue a few maidens in need. Maybe learn to cook." [A/N: Who should be the first princess/heroine/female? Doesn't have to be a princess. Keep in mind that they to be characters depicted to be in the 1700s-1800s.]
Puss's ears perked up. "I also enjoy cooking! Especially omelettes. And bread. And fish. And fish in bread."
Camden laughed. "Then maybe you should come with me." Puss blinked, "Seriously?" he asked.
"Sure. You've got style. And I could use someone who knows how to disarm bandits using their own pants." Puss twirled his hat and bowed. "Then I accept, humble traveller. We shall ride together into the unknown!"
He paused. "Do you have a horse for me?"
Camden scratched his head. "Uh… you're a bit small for a horse."
"I will ride in your saddlebag," Puss declared.
And so, with one final chuckle, Camden lifted the cat and placed him gently into a cozy spot on Valor's side pouch. Puss settled in with a contented sigh, curling his tail around himself like a child.
"Forward, mighty steed!" he cried. Valor rolled his eyes but obliged.
[Camden POV]
We were maybe a few hours past the Dunwilde Pass, just following a dirt road that wound through grassy hills and sleepy woods. The sun was gentle, not too hot, with that perfect kind of breeze that flaps your cloak just enough to make you feel like a hero in a painting.
Valor trotted along casually, and stuffed into my saddlebag like a loaf of arrogant bread was none other than Puss in Boots — the weirdest cat I had ever met. Every few minutes he'd pop his head out, eyes scanning the horizon, hat tilted just so, like he expected a monster to jump out of the bushes and challenge him to a duel.
It was honestly kind of great.
"You know," I said, giving Valor a light nudge with my heels, "you're pretty good with a sword, but you've got a flair for theatric violence."
"Ah, gracias," Puss said, paw over his chest. "Violence is an art. If one must fight, one must do so beautifully."
I laughed. "You sound like my mom whenever she used to choreograph court dances. Except her 'beautiful' usually involved high kicks and whacking unprepared suitors in the ribs."
"Your mother sounds like my kind of woman," Puss said with a purr.
I chuckled, but something in me twisted a bit, (no son wanted to hear a guy compliment their mom). That was the old life. I didn't miss any of it, not even a little.
But I did miss her.
"So, what's your story?" I asked, mostly to distract myself. "How does a cat end up sword-fighting in mountain passes and making bandits wet themselves?"
"Ahhh," Puss said, eyes gleaming. "Now you ask the real questions. Sit back, my friend. You are in for a tale of danger… betrayal… romance… and one very, very large goose."
"…A goose?"
"Shhh! Let me set the scene."
I relaxed in the saddle, listening to the swaying grass and the occasional flap of Puss's hat as he started weaving his tale.
"It all began in the town of San Ricardo," he said, voice dipping low and dramatic. "I was but a young orphan, raised in a home of many children, but very few beds. My only friend was a boy named Humpty…"
I snorted. "Like the egg?"
"Exactly like the egg," Puss replied, very seriously. "We were brothers in everything but blood. Trouble-makers we were, dreamed of doing great things. He wanted to find magic beans. I wanted… glory."
He stretched out dramatically from the saddlebag, paws toward the sky.
"Together, we dreamt of finding the Giant's Castle, where the legendary Golden Goose laid eggs of solid gold. Do you know what we could've bought with one golden egg?"
"I'm gonna guess… a lot?"
"An island, a fleet of ships, twenty-seven barrels of milk, and a diamond-studded litter box." I nearly choked laughing. "The essentials."
"Precisely." Puss cleared his throat.
"So, years pass. I become the legend you now see before you. But Humpty… he changed. Became obsessed, he betrayed me. Set me up for a bank robbery I didn't commit. I was shamed, hunted and forced to flee like some common alley cat."
[A/N: This is from Puss in Boots (2011)]
He made a sound that was half growl, half dramatic sigh. "But I did not give up. I tracked him down. Found him and — you will like this part — I also found the woman who stole my heart. The only one who ever beat me at swordplay…"
"Let me guess — a talking cat, too?"
"Sí," Puss said dreamily. "Kitty Softpaws. So quick, so clever. Her paws, the softest velvet. Her claws, the sharpest truth. She was the moon to my sun. The fish to my cream. The furball to my—"
"Okay, okay!" I said, laughing. "Spare me the poetry, Casanova."
Puss smirked and continued, "We teamed up. Found the magic beans. Planted them. And lo — a beanstalk taller than the sky!"
"You actually climbed a beanstalk?" I asked, eyebrow raised.
"I did not climb. I leapt. With grace unmatched." (It was not graceful)
"Right, of course."
"We reached the top. And there… there was the castle." He got quieter now, voice dipping into something softer, almost nostalgic.
"But it was not just treasure we found. The Golden Goose… she had a mother. A great, towering beast, taller than towers and angrier than a mother hen without breakfast." He shuddered.
"Let me tell you, Camden — I have fought ogres. I have wrestled a bear. I have even stolen a fish from a tiger once. But nothing… nothing… is more terrifying than a mother goose." I laughed so hard I had to grip the reins tighter to keep from slipping.
"Anyway," Puss continued, "we barely escaped. Eggs in hand. Adventure complete. But in the end… Humpty sacrificed himself to save us."
His voice dropped again, just a little.
"I was angry at him for a long time. But in that final moment, he did what was right. And for that… I forgave him."
For a while, we just rode in silence. The wind was kind, the road even kinder. I looked down at the little cat curled back up in the saddlebag, eyes closed but ears still twitching.
"…That's actually a pretty great story," I said.
"Of course it is," Puss murmured. "It is my story."
"And now you're here. With me."
He cracked one eye open. "And where, may I ask, are we going?"
I shrugged. "Don't know. East, maybe. Follow the road. Find something exciting."
"Monsters?"
"Hopefully."
"Gold?"
"Only if it's not cursed."
"Romance?"
I smiled faintly. "Maybe."
Puss grinned and tucked himself back in. "Then we ride, compañero. Two vagabonds. Two legends. One slightly overqualified horse." Valor snorted loudly.
"Don't let him hear you say that," I warned. Puss only chuckled, and I laughed right along with him.
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[A/N: Just a heads up, I will not keep to the general location of some kingdoms. Like Cinderella and co in Britain, Moana in Hawaii or Pirates half way across the world or that one princess in New Orleans (somewhere in America, not sure.)
Yes some kingdoms will need trecking across the seas for (cough* spoiler) but not all. By the way I would appreciate some characters (Not main characters) you would like to see. From any folklore or myth you know.
Anyways toodles. ]