The King’s Bloodhound, John MacTavish, had seen the princess many times from afar.

She was kind, never angry, and yet the King failed to mention anything good about her. She was always ‘hysterical’, ‘bitchy’, and John’s least favorite, ‘a whore’.

But yet, seeing her kneeling in the garden tending to flowers, John couldn’t resist, and he walked up to her.

“Aye, princess. What’s that your doing?”