It had been a few peaceful weeks since the... incident at the Harvest Festival of Rosewood City—if one could even call it that without downplaying the sheer scale of absurdity that occurred. The festival was still a favorite subject in taverns and tea shops, whispered about between chuckles and wide eyes. Children reenacted scenes of Gunther the Goose's romantic misstep in puppet shows. Theo's "Alliance of Wings and Webbed Feet" had somehow become a schoolyard oath. And Mother Goose? Well...
She was trying to forget.
That is, until this morning.
The sun was barely peeking through the windows of the Hearth House when she heard the door creak open downstairs. She didn't think much of it—Gunther often snuck out for early walks or to chase squirrels away from the vegetable patch. But when he returned, humming. HUMMING. And with a spring in his waddle? That raised a few too many feathers.
She followed. Silently. Suspiciously.
And then she saw it—a letter. Neatly tucked beneath Gunther's wing. Sealed with a pale pink wax stamp bearing the unmistakable crest of the Flamingo Kingdom.
Her eyes twitched.
Gunther, sensing a presence, turned slowly to see her standing there—arms crossed, eyes narrowed, and an aura of impending motherly judgment radiating from her very being.
"Well?" she asked, arms folding tighter.
Gunther fumbled. Honked nervously. Tried to hide the letter in a potted plant.
"Oh, don't even think about it, mister."
Reluctantly, he handed it over with the most sheepish honk she had ever heard.
She opened it.
Read it.
Paused.
Read it again.
"...Gideon?"
Gunther honked in what he clearly hoped sounded like confirmation, but came out more like a dying kettle.
"Prince Gideon?" she repeated, louder. "You're dating Prince Gideon of the Flamingo Kingdom?!"
Gunther nodded slowly.
"I thought that was just a one-time flirtation nightmare brought on by too much candied yam and not enough water!"
He honked again, more confidently this time, and pulled out a little pink flower—pressed and tied with a ribbon. A gift from Gideon, apparently. One of many.
"Oh my stars…" Mother Goose pinched the bridge of her beak. "You're courting a royal. A flamingo. A male flamingo, no less—who was introduced to us in the middle of a turnip crate crash. I'm never going to live this down."
Gunther gently handed her a second letter—this one addressed to Lady Goose of the Hearth. It was written in the most elegant cursive she had ever seen, faintly perfumed with lilies.
Dear Lady Goose,
It is with the deepest respect and heartfelt affection that I express my sincere admiration for your companion, Gunther. He is bold, charming, and unlike anyone I've ever met. We have shared walks beneath moonlight, poetry recited over tea, and an earnest understanding that transcends feathers and tradition.
With your permission, I would be honored to continue this courtship and, perhaps, visit your home on the next solstice. My heart, as flamboyant as my wings, belongs to him.
Yours in honesty and affection,
Prince Gideon of the Rose-Feathered Court
There was a long silence.
Mother Goose exhaled, long and slow.
Then: "He writes better than most nobles I've known."
Gunther honked proudly.
"...If he turns out to be a drama king like Herbert, I will be plucking feathers."
Gunther saluted with a wing.
"And you're absolutely telling Father Hearth yourself."
Gunther gulped.
Upstairs, Father Hearth sipped his tea with an amused smile. He had known for weeks—ever since he caught Gunther sneaking out at dusk with a small satchel of rose petals and a handwritten poem. But, as always, he preferred to let things unfold naturally.
Besides, Zephyrion owed him five silver coins for losing their bet.
And as for Mother Goose?
She wasn't happy about it.
But as she watched Gunther pace the garden with a dreamy, love-struck look and a letter pressed to his chest, she sighed and murmured:
"Well… at least he's dating someone royal this time."
And in the far distance, somewhere atop a pink-silk balcony, Prince Gideon clutched his latest poem and blushed furiously, his feathers fluffing as he prepared for his next grand romantic gesture—a serenade. Backed by flamingo violinists.
Whether Gunther was ready or not.