The grappling hook clattered its way through the window and scraped back across the floor until it caught on the ledge. Sir Alba, both hands resting on his hips, stared up along the length of knotted rope that led to the lone window at the top of the tower and smirked. This was going even better than expected. All he needed now was to scale the stonework, rescue the princess and he’d be the richest man in the kingdom.
It would’ve helped if the tower had a door he could have kicked down, but no one ever expected this kind of thing to be easy. Still, manners dictated that just barging in would be rude. Cupping one hand to his mouth, he called up in his deepest, most powerful bellow, “my princess, your saviour has arrived.”
He’d expected, at the very least, a joyous shriek. Not for a bread roll to come flying through the window, plummeting towards his head.
