Queen of Gold and Straw: A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling

by Shari L. Tapscott

  As Nanette sorts through my wares, smiling in a pleased way that always makes me feel useful and clever—something Father reminds me constantly I am not—I think of a life with Rune. It’s a daydream. He doesn’t want to marry me, not truly. He spoke before he thought, and I’m sure he’s already realized his mistake. But he doesn’t have to fear I’ll bring the subject up again. I’m not foolish enough to think there’s a future for us.

  But still, it doesn’t hurt to dream.

  “I’ll take them all,” Nanette says, carefully loading my creations into a woven basket on her counter.

  “Will you really?” Unable to stop myself, I beam at her. “The potpourris and the pressings as well?”

  The woman nods. “Travel will slow when the snow falls, but I’ve had plenty of business as of late, and I don’t expect a rapid decline this winter.”

  Our kingdom of Morgenbruch is remote, on the eastern side of the continent, surrounded by thick forest, but we are rich in resources—namely timber. Our village uniquely, just a quarter hour’s ride from King Conrad’s castle, also boasts a variety of artisans and confectioners.

  People travel here specifically to walk our cobblestone streets, take in the shops, admire the bronzed statue of the Golden Stag that proudly stands in our main square and graces the intricately carved doorways and windowsills of all the shops. They buy delicate painted eggs and try the decadent, flaky squares of nut and honey pastries or dark slices of layered chocolate cakes with bright red cherries.

  When my mother was alive, when Father was more merchant than peddler, we had enough gold to visit the shops. I remember the flaky baklava and the way it melted in my mouth. But that was long ago, and we haven’t had money for those sorts of frivolities in years.

  “How is Millicent?” I ask as I carefully tuck the coins Nanette gives me into the deep pocket of my apron. I won’t feel settled until I get them home. Most will go to Father, but I’ll hide a few in my hope chest, at the very bottom with the threads of gold Rune has created for me throughout the years and the few things Mother collected or made before she died.

  “She misses you,” Nanette says almost reproachfully.

  I wince. “She’s been busy setting up her home. I didn’t want to intrude.”

  I worry Millicent won’t have time for idle chatter now that she has a husband to care for and a house to maintain. We are the same age, but I feel young and naive, still a child.

  “My daughter loves you dearly,” Nanette says, though her voice is kind enough I believe she understands. “And she misses you.”

  “I’ll visit her,” I promise.

  “Go this afternoon—Rembright has gone to Kursted for new tools, and the walk isn’t so long in nice weather.”

  I nod, thinking it over. There’s a patch of silvernettle that grows deep in the forest, beyond the cottage Rembright built Millicent only a few months ago. It’s lovely in dried arrangements, and I’m almost out.

  I can visit Millicent and then walk the forest path and see if it’s succumbed to the cold nights.

  Before I leave the shop, Nanette squeezes my hand. “Don’t be a stranger, Greta. I get lonely on the long winter days. You are welcome to come to the shop, sit by the fire and keep me company.”

  We both know what she’s offering—a respite from the miserable afternoons spent with my father. He can’t push his cart for long in the snow—not if he wants to keep all his toes—and patrons don’t like to linger in the streets when it’s cold anyway. Often, he comes home early. Far too early.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, unable to meet her eyes, heartbroken that people realize what he’s become. He was a kind man once, honest, quick to smile.

  I wish I were enough for him, that he could find joy in our tiny family even after Mother’s death. But I wasn’t enough, and I understand. I really do.

  After all, I miss her too. Some days are just harder than others.

  With a goodbye, I leave Nanette’s shop and head to the north, eventually to the path that leads deeper into the forest, toward Millicent’s new home.

  Millicent crushes me into an embrace that’s so tight, it makes me laugh. “Don’t stay away so long this time.”

  I could remind her that she is capable of visiting me as well, but she’s terrified of Father, so I know she won’t.

  “I’ll visit soon.” I move my head so I don’t suffocate on her mess of sunny blond curls. “I promise.”

  She lets me go, beaming at me, as happy as a girl can be. Her lovely new cottage smells like freshly cut wood, and the curtains are bright and cheery. The creek bubbles nearby—making fetching water less of a chore. Rembright found a lovely spot.

  “And you’ll help me plant a garden in the spring?” she asks, setting her hands on her hips.

  I nod. “I will.”

  She frowns, almost as if she’s worried about me. “I just don’t understand why Sigwald hasn’t asked for your hand yet. He talked to Rembright about it nearly a fortnight ago.”

  Grimacing, I shake my head. She’s gone on about him all afternoon—apparently she’s trying to marry me off as soon as possible.

  “Millicent, you must believe me. I don’t want to marry Sigwald.”

  She has it in her head I’m being coy about the whole matter, and I’m not sure I will ever convince her otherwise.

  “I have to go,” I tell her, stepping away, ending the conversation before she can get started again. The sun is already low in the sky, and it’s a good walk to the silvernettle.

  Millicent frowns. “Be careful in the forest. It’s awfully late.”

  “I’ll stay on the trail,” I call back to her as I leave the cottage.

  In the shade of the towering firs, the air is cold. I clutch my cloak tighter about my shoulders, grateful I brought it with me.

  Besides the cool breeze, the walk is pleasant, and I soon grow warm. The path narrows, and the hem of my dress catches on bushes and brambles. Thankfully, the fabric is thick, and it doesn’t tear.

  We had a storm last week, and it must have brought down a tree in the path. I stop, wondering if I should attempt to climb over the massive trunk or go under. Eventually, I decide climbing is preferable to crawling on my belly, and I heft myself up, using its prickly limbs for leverage.

  I leap down, but my cloak snags on a branch and jerks me back, making me stumble. I fall to the ground, my arms flailing as I try to regain my balance. I let out a shriek as I crash, face first, onto the forest floor.

  My ankle twists at a funny angle, and pain radiates up my leg, taking my breath away. I let out a whimper as I attempt to push myself off the ground and realize that I’ve sliced my palm on a rock as well. Something hot trickles down my face.

  Aching, I bring my fingers to my temple, and they come back stained with blood. The sight nearly makes me woozy, along with the fire in my ankle and the sting of my palm.

  So much for collecting the silvernettle today.

  Gritting my teeth, preparing for more pain, I try to push myself up again. I yelp the moment I transfer weight to my injured leg, and I nearly fall again. Frustrated tears sting my eyes as I look around and realize how dark it is in the forest. Soon, night will fall, and who will come looking for me?

  Only Millicent knows I’m here, but she’ll have no way of knowing I didn’t return home.

  I think of Rune, wishing I’d waited to make the trip when he could have come with me. Now what will I do?

  I sink onto the path, hoping if I rest, the pain will subside. Yes. I just need to wait, give myself a moment.

  A stiff breeze blows through the trees, making me shiver. The hem of my cloak is still snagged on that wretched branch, and I yank it free.

  The wind carries a noise. Tensed, I listen, my limbs beginning to shake. Thoughts of the trolls that ate our pigs play in my mind.

  But that was a fluke. Surely they wouldn’t return.

  The noise grows louder, as do the shadows. I scoot closer to the fallen tree, hoping to hide from w
hatever approaches.

  Only when it’s close do I realize it sounds like a rider, not a troll. Unless a troll has stolen a horse.

  What if it’s a bandit? Will he take the money tucked deep in my apron pocket? Will he even check to see if it’s there? Will he leave me be or kill me for the sport of it?

  Just as the rider draws close, a dark, hairy figure emerges from the brush ahead. My eyes go wide, and a scream lodges in my throat. The only thing that keeps me from crying out is the knowledge that I must stay silent, just in case it hasn’t noticed me yet.

  The cave troll is huge—taller than a man and covered in matted, black fur. He lumbers forward on two legs, and his massive arms dangle at his sides.

  I stay frozen in place, hoping, praying he won’t see me. He lifts his nose in the air, his nostrils widening as he sniffs the breeze. Suddenly, he turns his head sharply, and his black eyes land on me.

  Chapter 6

  The troll hunches down, taking me in, and then it leaps into the air, running toward me on all fours like an awkward bear. I reach behind me, grasping for something to protect myself with. I’m just coming to terms with the fact that I’m going to die when a horse leaps clean over the massive fallen tree and lands in front of me, blocking the troll’s path.

  The dark horse’s rider drops to the ground, fluidly drawing his sword, and strides toward the beast as if the monster were a sparring partner and this was a match for sport.

  Without slowing, the troll lunges at the man, howling when the sword slashes its arm. The man moves back as the creature lashes out with its other arm, barely stepping clear of the monster’s long, dark talons.

  Eager for blood, the troll roars again, charging forward, but it foolishly leaves its midsection exposed. Seeing his opening, the man leaps forward, sword extended, and plunges the blade into the troll’s belly. The beast stumbles back and lets out a gurgling cry that sends chills racing down my spine.

  I close my eyes, unable to watch the man finish the job.

  After several long moments, the woods fall silent. All I hear is the bubbling of the nearby creek. Slowly, I open my eyes, preparing myself for the grim sight. Sure enough, the troll lies ahead of me, limbs still, scraggly fur barely moving in the slight breeze.

  It all happened so fast.

  I stare at the monster, unable to look away. I’ve never seen a troll before, not in the flesh. I’ve heard tales, listened to the travelers boast about slaying them, but I’ve never seen one myself.

  My rescuer’s boots crunch on fallen leaves and pine needles as he walks my way. I inhale sharply when he crouches in front of me, barely resisting the urge to press my back against the fallen log. The man rests an arm on his knee, the picture of ease. He’s young and striking, far more handsome up close. And I know him.

  Everyone knows him.

  My jaw begins to tremble when I realize my chances might have been better with the troll.

  “Come now. Enough with the praise—it was no trouble,” says the young king of all Morgenbruch, his face bright with amusement when I can’t find words to even thank him for saving me from the monster. “I’m glad to be of assistance.”

  His eyes are dark brown; his hair is even darker. His lightly tanned skin flushes with color from the brief fight. This close, I can make out the fragrance of his soap—spicy, foreign, royal. It’s a rich scent but light enough not to be cloying. Combined with a smell that’s uniquely male, it’s downright intoxicating. He wears a long gray jacket, one that’s made of fabric so fine I long to run my fingers over it, bury my nose against the soft weave and breathe him in.

  “Thank you,” I manage, reason slowly returning after the scare. I draw in a deep, shaky breath.

  He raises an eyebrow. “I know you.”

  I look down, my stomach tightening. He doesn’t remember me. He couldn’t.

  “You’re the girl from the wedding,” he continues, “the one who sat alone.”

  Or maybe he does.

  He studies me, looking almost amused. “Are you in love with the groom? Is that the reason you separated yourself, brooding while the rest rejoiced?”

  “No,” I breathe, horrified at the thought.

  “Why then?”

  I shake my head, struggling for an answer but finding none I’m comfortable sharing with the young king.

  After a moment, he must come to terms with the fact that I’m not going to satisfy his curiosity, and his eyes rove over me, taking in my bedraggled appearance. “I thought I intercepted the troll before it reached you.”

  “You did.”

  Only now do I realize there’s a dagger in his hand. He casually waves it as he speaks, using it like a conductor would a baton. He frowns when he notices the fearful way I eye it.

  “You were in this state before you ventured into the forest?” he asks after he sheaths the dagger.

  My heart still beats too quickly, and I can’t slow its pace. I glance over my shoulder, at the tree directly behind me. “I tripped.”

  The king’s eyes follow mine. “I see. You had an encounter with this fallen tree here, and the tree bested you?”

  “It didn’t fight fair.”

  A swift smile flashes over his face, making him even more handsome. “They rarely do.”

  “You’re the king,” I blurt out before I can stop myself, and then I immediately wish I could take the words back. I press my fingers over my mouth to keep from saying anything else.

  He cocks his head to the side. “How hard did you hit your head?”

  Slowly, I lower my hand. “You’re…not the king?”

  “No, I am.” That smile grows. “I ask because there’s blood trailing from your temple, and you look like you might be seeing double.”

  Two kings. That would be far worse than just one. After all, one’s bad enough. Especially when this one has a rather bloodthirsty reputation—as the troll could attest to.

  If he weren’t a troll.

  Or dead.

  I let out a hysterical laugh before I cover my mouth again. His Majesty’s smile becomes crooked, beautifully wicked even, and he takes the liberty of tugging my hand down himself. “What’s your name?”

  “Greta.”

  “Does your husband know you’re lost in the woods?”

  My chest tightens. “I don’t have a husband, and I’m not lost.”

  “Your father then?”

  I study him, knowing I look a mess. “I don’t…I don’t know if I should answer that.”

  Genuinely amused, he tips back his head and laughs. The sound is deep and rich, just like his velvet voice, and it does funny things to my stomach.

  “Smart girl,” he finally says, and then he stands, extending his hand.

  I stare at it for several moments before I meet his eyes.

  “It’s all right,” he coaxes. “I don’t bite. Not often, anyway.”

  After a moment of hesitation, I accept his help. When he gives me a gentle tug, drawing me to my feet, I cry out and stumble forward, favoring my ankle.

  Unfortunately, I end up right in his arms, pressed against his very royal chest. Even though there’s fire in my ankle, I push away from him, horrified. “Forgive me,” I breathe, stumbling back, nearly falling on my tail end once again.

  He catches me, holding me by the arms, and chuckles. “You know, Greta, from the way you’re acting, I’d almost think that you’ve never had a king come to your rescue by killing a troll after you injured yourself while fighting a tree before.”

  I blink at him, wondering if the rumors are true. They say he’s mad. But he doesn’t seem mad. Just…

  Sort of charming.

  “I take it you injured your ankle as well?” he asks when I don’t answer his first question. He nods toward my foot, which is hovering awkwardly behind me.

  “Yes.”

  “Can you put weight on it?”

  I shake my head. Now that I’m thinking about it, it hurts even worse.

  He nods just once before he le
ans forward and scoops me into his arms like a proper damsel in distress. I gasp, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck as he carries me toward his horse.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, hating that my voice comes out soft and fluttery. But that soap fragrance is even stronger now, and he’s solid underneath his kingly finery. What girl wouldn’t swoon at least a little?

  At the thought, I press my lips together, fighting a grin. Wait until I tell Emma.

  But she’ll never believe me—who would?

  “I’m going to examine your ankle.” He gives me a pointed look. “Would you rather sit on the ground?”

  To be honest, I’d rather disappear into the ground, but I doubt that’s an option. I gulp and shake my head.

  “Good.” He then deposits me atop his horse, leaving me to quickly adjust my skirts for modesty’s sake. The horse shifts underneath me, and I frantically grab for the saddle.

  “Frank won’t go anywhere.” He gives the massive, black horse a pat. “Will you, Frank?”

  The horse tosses his head, almost as if he’s answering.

  “Frank?” I give my skirt a final tug, watching the horse’s twitching ears, not quick to trust an animal who could throw me from his back without a moment’s notice.

  “May I?” the king asks, ignoring me as he gestures to my booted foot.

  “I’m fine,” I say, though I can tell he doesn’t believe me. “It barely hurts.”

  “Fine?” He sets a hand on his hip, effectively questioning me with a tilt of his brows.

  “Truly, Your Majesty.” I’ve never said those words together before. It feels…unreal.

  He grimaces. “Yes…let’s not do that. Call me Conrad.”

  My cheeks go cold as the color drains from my face. “I couldn’t.”

  “It’s actually quite simple.” Gently, without my permission, he reaches for my boot. “Con-rad. Go on. Try it.”

  I shake my head.