What's a Princess?

Brutus and Braff were patrolling the western border, watching carefully for signs of intruders or predators getting too close to the herd.

Brutus liked Braff. The older stag was gruff and tough and a good warrior.

Braff didn't like Brutus. The idiot could talk all day and still not manage to say anything worth listening to. He was tolerable on the days when he kept his jabbering trap shut, but today was not one of those days. 

"Did I tell you about the time surprised a group of guards and does in Glenmore? It was funny; all the guards circled up around the lightest colored of the does and left the others to fend for themselves. Glenmores are so strange, huh." Brutus said.

Braff rolled his eyes. How had this fuzzball make it to fourteen winters darting in and out of their neighboring kingdom without learning anything? "That was probably a Princess, idiot. The Glenmores hold them as precious as we hold our does, they're about as rare. They have some funny magic that counters Blackwood magic."

Brutus chewed on that thought for a moment. "Oooooh. So the guards were all gathered around her so she could protect them from me 'cause they thought I had magic?"

Thoroughly stumped by this conclusion, Braff stopped and stared at his traveling companion. "Think about it, Brutus. Glenmores don't think their does capable of much of anything but making babies. They were protecting her from you. They see these Princesses as valuable possessions and nothing more."

Brutus blinked a few times. "But if they have a magic that counters their enemy's magic, why don't they use an army of Princesses to protect their border?"

Patience was one of Braff's strong suits, or at least it had been until he'd met Brutus. "Like I just said. They don't think their does capable of much of anything, and the Princess types are rare. They usually keep them squirreled away in their Great Wood, as far from raiders as they can get. They marry them off to some Royal who's supposed to take care of them and protect them."

With a squint Brutus asked, "They have to stay with their Royal thingy? They can't choose a new stag if they find one they like better?"

Sigh. "No, they don't choose their stag. Their king chooses their stag and they're stuck with them until they die."

"What if they don't like him? What if he's weak?"

"I don't think they care whether the Princesses do or do not like their assigned stag, Brutus. Princesses are possessions to them."

Brutus thought about that for a moment and they resumed walking.

"I bet Princesses are unhappy. I bet it'd be easy to convince them to leave and learn about the Mother here."

"The palest paleface pets, raised in the land of plenty and denied even the most basic survival training? Good luck with that Brutus."

With that Braff grunted and sped up his pace, effectively ending the conversation. It took all of Brutus's breath to keep up with the new faster pace, and that meant none left over for stupid questions.