“That’s twenty sire,” the sweating security man gasped, “Shall I continue?”“No, you, you take over, twenty more, then twenty more again!�... the prince insisted, “Now will you marry me!”“No never!” Mitzy cried, “I would rather die!”“You,” Boris snapped, “You with the sword, shave her head!” “No!” Mitzy cried, “It took me years to grow this!” she declared referring to her mass of golden ringlets.“Marry me or go bald, your call,” Boris insisted.Mitzy knew she was beaten, her hair was her trademark,. When the wind through the willows had bored his purposefully blank conscience, he ambled back towards the desk, folded the paper, and neatly slipped it into a gold-washed envelop. With a heavy, rubber seal he stamped the envelope shut and left the room with it in hand. He would use one of the patrons at the Tavern to deliver it in Drakalen’s absence. And yet something disturbed him. What he had written in the letter was appalling enough it would still send the girl down to inspect the. More

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