The Golden Princess and the Moon

by Anna Mendell

  She softly stole over to the weeping queen and whispered, “Please, why are you crying?”

  The faerie queen ceased weeping and raised her bowed head, so that Rosa looked into endless pools of sky brimming with tears like the summer rain.

  “I am weeping because a great evil will soon befall the kingdom,” the faerie queen answered.

  The princess knelt down before her and clasped her hands. “Please tell me, gentle queen and godmother, for I know that you are one of my godmothers, how I can prevent this evil from happening, how I can save my father and the kingdom.”

  The faerie queen’s fingers brushed against Rosa’s cheeks as light as feathers. “I do not know how long the evil can be averted. And yet, love works mysteriously and its strength cannot be measured. You love your father and your mother, do you not, little one?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “Do you love your kingdom as well?”

  Rosa hesitated, for she wished to be truthful. “I do not know the kingdom,” she said at last. “But I love my parents, Alice, Edwina, and Neirin, and they are part of the kingdom.”

  The queen’s gaze turned sadder. “Should you not know the plight of your people?”

  Rosa looked down at her feet and said in a small voice, “I never thought about it. Or at least, I start to think about it, but then I forget.”

  Again the queen touched the princess’ cheek. “You love those who have entered into your life, and that is a good beginning, but the happiness of many rests on your shoulders, and you must not shrink from that burden.”

  “Please tell me what I should do.”

  The queen shook her head. “You are no longer a little child to only receive instruction. You must seek to understand the bond between a ruler and the people for yourself. When does the king see his people?”

  “In his public audiences. The people come to him to ask for justice.”

  “Then you should attend them.”

  “But how?” Rosa asked. “I do not think that my father would wish it. I know he wants to set me apart from the rest of the kingdom, though I do not know why.”

  The queen gazed long into the princess’s eyes.

  “I can ask father if I can attend his audiences as a gift. He promised me a gift just this morning!” Rosa said, brightening.

  The queen gathered Rosa’s hands into her own. “This trial will be especially difficult for you, my princess. Only know that you have been gifted with a merciful heart, and it will guide you.”

  Rosa whispered, “And this will save my father?”

  “There is still hope for your father. His heart is not yet stone.”

  The queen rose and led Rosa to the large double doors of the throne room and pressed the princess’ hand. “Remember that you are not alone, my child, even if you feel alone. Ask for help when things feel darkest, for you never know from whence help may unexpectedly spring.”

  She kissed Rosa on the forehead, giving her a gentle smile of such tenderness that it put the princess’ heart at ease. They both bid each other good night, and the princess returned to her quarters, bravely determined to face whatever tomorrow would bring.

  The first thing Rosa did the next morning was to tell her father that she wished to attend his public audiences. He burst out into laughter and, taking both of her tiny hands into his very large one, said, “My little Rose has become too serious. Ask for something else. Believe me when I say that you would find the audiences very boring.”

  Rosa shook her head and said, “You promised me a gift, and kings do not break their promises.”

  His face flamed as he dropped her hands. “Once again you ask for the one thing that I would not have you do.”

  Rosa stood straight before her father’s brimming anger, and it took all her courage to repeat, “You promised me a gift, and kings do not break their promises.”

  The king trembled in rage, but Rosa reached again for his hand and said, “Is it so strange that I wish to see how you rule your kingdom? Father, it is you most of all that I want to know, how you rule your people with justice and kindness.”

  The king’s face softened as his anger dissolved, and he laid his hand on Rosa’s shoulder. “You speak of justice and kindness, but people only understand fear. It is an ugly world, Rosa, and there is no reason for you to shoulder its burden.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? Isn’t that my duty?” she asked in surprise.

  The king smiled sorrowfully, and Rosa’s heart ached. She realized that he was thinking of the curse and that he thought that she wouldn’t be awake long enough to be involved in the kingdom’s troubles.

  “I will let you have your way, my little Rose. You will grow tired of these audiences, and then you can ask me for something else.”

  That afternoon, Rosa attended an audience for the first time. A chair was placed for her a little to the side below her parent’s thrones on the dais. She found the following proceedings bewildering. Many noblemen she recognized from her father’s court were complaining over this or that petty dispute or the mismanagement of their estates. Her eyes strained past all the richly attired, self-important courtiers in the throne room to the throngs of people with lackluster eyes and ragged clothes waiting outside in the hall. Surely those were the people they were meant to help? she thought. But the king called the audience to a close before they were allowed into the throne room.

  When the king kissed Rosa goodnight that evening, he asked, “Now, Rosa, wasn’t that dreary? Don’t you regret the waste of my gift? Name something else, and I will give it to you.”

  Rosa shook her head, “I will go to the audience tomorrow, father.”

  The king gave an exasperated huff.

  FOR the next few days, Rosa attended the king’s audiences. Each day, her father settled the noblemen’s disputes in the throne room, and the poor in the hall were sent home unheard. Rosa suspected that her father was doing this deliberately, so that she would tire of the proceedings, but she waited patiently, knowing that speaking to him would only make him more resolved against her.

  Finally the day came when, before the close of the audience, the king signaled the guard to let a few people in from the hall. Rosa was touched by the unlooked for hope on their faces. A man past the prime of life limped forward to the center of the throne room and stood, without daring to raise his eyes up to the king.

  “Please, your majesty. I do not have enough food to feed my family.” He spoke so low that Rosa had to lean forward to hear him.

  The king shook his head impatiently. “What is it that you would have me to do? How are you different from anyone else that I should empty the coffers of my treasury for you? You are not starving. I see that you have meat on your bones, your arms are strong, and you can work. Speak!”

  The man did not answer; despair seemed to weigh down his dangling arms and bowed head. The king waved to the guards to lead the man away, but was interrupted by Rosa’s cry as she leapt up from her seat.

  “Wait!”

  She dashed down the dais, pulled off her sparkling earrings, and thrust them in the man’s hand. “Here,” she said, “sell these so you can feed your family.”

  The man glanced at up her in surprise and then quickly looked back down toward the floor. He drew back, murmuring incoherent thanks, while the guards led him out of the throne room.

  The king rose. “And so,” he proclaimed, “the tenderheartedness of our princess tempers the king’s justice with mercy.”

  The audience chamber broke out into cheers, and the royal family left the throne room amid thunderous applause.

  Once inside their private chamber, her father rounded on Rosa in white fury. “How dare you cross my authority! How am I to maintain law and order in my kingdom, if I am undermined at every turn? I have put others to death for less!”

  “What did I do wrong?” she whimpered. “I do not understand… I was only trying to help.”

  “You acted against my judgment.” The king paced the floor in anger. �
�You made me look cruel. Now everyone will believe that my judgment can be swayed by a little girl. You are banished from any further audiences.”

  “No!” Rosa cried and fell on her knees. “I promise I will say nothing, do nothing from now on. But you gave me your word that I could attend your audiences.”

  The king stopped pacing and muttered to himself, “I do not want the people to think that I punished the princess for her act of kindness.” He glared at her and spat out, “I will allow you to continue attending the audiences with the condition you mentioned—you may not speak or act in any way that seems to oppose my judgment.”

  He stomped out of the room, leaving Rosa and her mother alone.

  Rosa turned to her mother. “Is what I did so wrong? I only wanted to help.”

  “You meddle in things you do not understand,” the queen sighed in exasperation. “The kingdom’s poor are innumerable, and you cannot help every single one of them. What happens when you run out of earrings, when the treasury is emptied? Then the bordering countries will attack us, when they see that we do not have enough money to pay our armies. And how do we know that what the man said is true? What proof did he have that he could not feed his family? He fooled your tender little heart, and you, in turn, made a fool of your father. He has every right to be angry with you.”

  Rosa’s head swam with confusion, but then she thought of all the suffering faces passed over in the hall and said, “How do we know that he was not telling the truth? We cannot dismiss those suffering so lightly.”

  “There is no reasoning with you, Rosa. You are fortunate that your father will still allow you to attend his audiences. I would not have been so lenient. Go to your room before you give me another one of my headaches.”

  Later that night Rosa went to the throne room, hoping to find the weeping faerie queen, but the room was empty. I hope I did right in promising not to speak, she thought.

  THE audience the next day tested her promise, for the proceedings were so horrifying it was all Rosa could do not to cry out. Near the close of the audience, an old man with a tall, heavy staff hobbled to the center of the throne room.

  Rosa’s eyes darted up to her father and saw a look of genuine concern pass over his features. He leaned forward and asked, “What can I do for you, old father?”

  “Someone has stolen my only treasure,” the old man groaned.

  “That is a terrible crime, to steal from someone of your years, who cannot defend himself. Tell me who stole from you, and he shall be punished.”

  The old man thrust out a shaking arm and his eyes rested on one of the noblemen in the court. “That is the man. He has stolen my little lamb, my only treasure. I ask you to have him give her back to me.”

  The king turned to the nobleman, storm clouds on his brow. “What does the old man mean by this? Why have you taken his only lamb?”

  “I think he means his daughter,” the nobleman said. “She was a fair maid and happy to leave her father’s home.”

  The old man leaned against his staff, painfully sinking down on his knees. “See how he mocks me, your majesty. She was crying when he took her away. I beg you command him to give my daughter back to me, where I can care for her and dry her tears.”

  “She does not want to go back, my lord, and neither do I wish to return her,” the nobleman spoke, and Rosa watched as he and her father exchanged glances. The nobleman’s eyes contained a challenge, and her father visibly drooped before his gaze. She felt her whole body stiffen as she realized that her father was afraid of this man. She bit her lip and tasted the tangy salt of her blood. She had promised her father she would not speak.

  The king sighed, his face growing suddenly weary with age. His shoulders sagged, and, when he spoke, his words were hollow. “You have heard the nobleman, old man. It is your word against his and I hold him in high esteem. Your daughter is fortunate in her present company, and you should be pleased that she is so well taken care of. I will, however, soften this unfortunate business and compensate you for her loss out of my own treasury, so that you will never feel her want in your old age. So speaks the generosity of the king.”

  “What?” the old man choked. “What is this I hear? I came to the court for justice, but instead encounter lies and false gold.”

  He clung to his staff as he pulled himself back on his feet. His body shook, and Rosa could not tell if he was shaking in anger or if he was crying. He straightened his spine and thrust away his staff, so that it landed with a sharp clang on the floor. His eyes grew into fiery wheels of rage as he stretched out both his arms as if to encompass the whole court as he cried, “You have taken away the prop of my old age, and I will never walk again. A curse upon your household!” His wild eyes rested on Rosa, and he pointed at her with a long, boy finger, “May you lose that which is most precious to you and feel the sorrow of this old man.”

  The king sprang to his feet. “Guards, remove him,” he cried, and armed guards dragged the old man from the throne room.

  Rosa’s body grew numb in shock, and the throne room swam before her eyes. All she was aware of were the words of the old man’s curse echoing in her ears. Did they not deserve it? she thought. They had all stood by and said nothing. Perhaps even without the Dark Lady her curse would have been inevitable.

  ROSA could not sleep that night, but turned over and over in restless despair. She felt ill and, when the morning came, she could not drag herself out of bed to attend her father’s audience. There was no point. She had promised not to speak, and her father would not listen to her anyway. She imagined her father, tall and strong, with his gentle smile. She buried her face in her pillow as the image of her beloved father splintered into pieces. Rosa refused to leave her chambers for the next two days. Nothing could rouse her, not even Neirin’s music.

  The third night, she stayed in bed and woke to the sounds of sobbing. Rosa did not want to get up, but the slow, steady persistence of the sobs grew unbearable. She dragged her feet to the throne room, where her queenly godmother sat weeping on the throne, her dark head bowed. Rosa waited dumbly beside the weeping queen, knowing that she had not done what she had been asked to do. The queen continued to sob, until Rosa could stand it no more.

  “Please, please, godmother, please stop crying. I know that I have done wrong in not going to my father’s audiences, but there is nothing I can do, and it is too horrible to watch.”

  The queen raised her head, tears streaming down her face. “Do you think I do not know how terrible it is? I can never stop watching.”

  The princess hung her head. “I am sorry, godmother. I did not know. But surely nothing very bad will happen because I did not go? There is nothing I can do after all, and it has only been a few days. I will go back tomorrow.”

  “A great evil will befall your kingdom,” the faerie queen said sadly.

  “Surely that is not my fault!” Rosa gasped.

  “It is the fault of all those who stand by and do nothing.” The faerie queen rose from the golden throne and began gliding away.

  “Wait!” The princess called after her. “Tell me what I can do to change things. How can I save my kingdom?”

  “The evil will come to pass.” The faerie queen paused and said, “Too much blood has been shed and too much injustice done.”

  A wave of fear stifled Rosa’s breath.

  “But there is still a chance that you may save your father’s heart,” the faerie queen murmured.

  “How?” Rosa cried faintly.

  But the queen was gone.

  ROSA sat in the audience chamber, petty disputes sapping her of her strength and the warning of the coming evil still ringing in her ears. She roused herself to pay attention when she saw the guards bring forth a frightened, wide-eyed boy, chains clanking around his small, thin wrists. Her heart reached out to him instantly, and it pitter-pattered in fear that once again she would be powerless to do anything to help. Next to the boy stood a hard-faced man swathed in furs with a large medallion hang
ing over his chest, his fingers studded with rings of gold and precious gems. Behind the man and the boy moaned a tear-stained woman, battling to hold back her sobs.

  The king addressed the hard-faced man. “You have brought a complaint against this boy. What has he done and speak plainly. I do not like to see children in chains.”

  The man bowed and then spoke in a silky, persuasive voice. “This young boy is my indentured servant. His mother sold him to me for fifteen silver pieces to labor on my estate. All he does is cause trouble, and he has run away back to his mother’s home. She begs me to let her keep him, despite the fact that she will not return the silver she sold him for, and has gone so far as to incite the townspeople against me. They call out vile insults whenever I pass by, so that I fear for my life. I ask that you pass judgment in my favor and return the boy, so that the town no longer has the right to murmur against me.”

  The king turned to the mother. “Is what this man says true? Did you sell the boy into his service?”

  “Yes,” the woman sobbed. “But I had no choice. My husband died soon after my boy was born, and I have tried so hard to raise him on my own. But I cannot feed him, and he is always growing. I thought that, if I gave him away, at least he would be able to eat…” Her breast heaved. “But I did not know that my boy would be mistreated. The monster beats him, and my young boy goes almost as hungry as before.”

  Rosa heard an intake of breath behind her and turned to see that her mother’s face had turned a bloodless white. She shifted her attention back to the boy and his mother, and her father was speaking. “But you took the fifteen silver pieces. Can you not give them back?”

  The woman shook her head in despair. “I had to eat,” came the hoarse reply, “and I had other debts to pay.”