The Golden Princess and the Moon

by Anna Mendell

  Was that it? Was her trial over? She looked about for Edmund and saw that he was still by the door, but that he was not looking at her or the wheel, but at the darkest corner of the room furthest from the door and the fire. She followed his gaze, and the darkness in the corner took shape and a figure emerged.

  A lady stepped into the firelight, tall, her face white, her lips blood red, and Rosa recognized the Dark Lady who had cursed her on her christening day. She was dressed in black, but the black was not so much a color, but an absence of light that drew in the firelight and annihilated it. Around her neck she wore a necklace in the shape of a serpent as white as a skull. Rosa stood unmoving and unspeaking, not wishing to put herself in the power of so terrible and fearsome a faery. The faery gazed at Rosa for time immeasurable and then smiled softly, but there was no kindness in her smile.

  “The time has come for you to receive your final gift, Princess Rosamund. Some may call it a curse, but many call death a blessing.” The Dark Lady spoke in a whisper, but the whisper filled the room.

  “I do not think they mean your kind of death,” Rosa replied. She did not whisper and, though she tried to speak firmly, her voice sounded very small. “And in case you have forgotten, it is sleep, not death, that is the final gift.”

  The faery let out a small laugh, and its very smallness was frightening. “Do you think that your faerie godparents have any power over me and over death? Their promise of sleep was to save you from despair, and it is a weak promise, as are all such false hopes. Know the truth: there is no sleep, only death.”

  Rosa stood rooted in fear. Was everything her godparents told her a lie? Was she such a child that only she had believed in Faerie. No one else had been fooled. Edmund, her father and mother, Alice; they had all known that she would never wake up. The princess backed up against the wall, her hands clutching each other behind her back. She would not touch the spindle!

  The faery uttered another low and small laugh. “Do you truly believe that if I wished you to touch the spindle that you could resist me? I am here to offer you a choice.”

  Rosa eyes darted wildly. A choice? Was her sleep not inevitable, then?

  The Dark Lady laughed at the emotions plainly visible on Rosa’s face.

  “I will let you go back to your father, your friends, and to your kingdom, if, in return, you give your hand in marriage to Edmund. It is a simple choice really, death or marriage to one whom you might have chosen for yourself. I am not as cruel as others would have you believe, am I, Princess Rosamund?”

  Rosa could scarcely understand what the Dark Lady was saying. Was it truly so simple? What was she missing? Why was this marriage so important to the Dark Lady, and was it a coincidence that she had been tempted by this same marriage to avoid the curse? She looked over to Edmund for help, but realized that he could not see her, nor had he moved since she first entered the room. Rosa’s gaze returned to the faery, and she saw that the skull white serpent around her neck was undulating. It was not a necklace in the form of a snake, but was instead the white serpent that had once been Edmund’s mother.

  “He knew,” she whispered, “he knew that you would offer me this choice.”

  The faery said nothing.

  “What did he promise you in return?”

  In the silence Rosa’s voice grew stronger. “If I married Edmund, he would forever be in your debt because you gave me to him. He would be yours, and, if he is yours, then so would I and the kingdom for accepting the condition.”

  “Make your choice, Princess Rosamund,” the Dark Lady said in her relentless whisper.

  Rosa did not move or speak.

  “You must choose. You are in Faerie, and time will not start again until you make your choice.”

  Rosa looked again at Edmund, frozen and ensorcelled to the Dark Lady. She listened to the whirring of the spinning wheel, turning and turning, and then faintly she heard the melody that the stars had been singing in her dream and, before that, on the top of the mountain. The melody grew louder, and she reached deeper into her memory and recalled that it was the same song that the three sisters had been singing as they spun the Grey Lady’s spindle, singing of the past, present, and the future. The songs were one and the same, only she had not realized this until now.

  Rosa bravely looked into the Dark Lady’s eyes. “I would rather die than be enslaved to you, and my death would save Edmund and the kingdom. But I do not believe that I will die. I have faith in my godmother’s promise. She loves me, but you have every reason to lie.” Rosa stepped forward without fear. Her finger floated over the spindle only for an instant, and then she pricked her finger.

  Rosa crumpled down to the ground, but did not land on the floor, however, but in the Green Lady’s arms that caught her as she fell.

  The Dark Lady laughed, but her eyes could barely contain the fury that blazed within them. “So you did not save her after all, but left her to her sleep. No wonder so few mortals seek your aid, if this is how you treat them.”

  “You know nothing. Though you imagine yourself crafting a web of fate, you belong to the same pattern that we all do. Moreover, you have no more power here. Be gone,” the Green Lady ordered.

  “I will go. But do not think that you have saved the princess. She has escaped my power, but Time’s turning wheel will complete its cycle, and a new age will dawn with the next revolution of the wheel, and it will be an age that does not know Faerie, nor will it love and know what the princess loves and knows, and it will crush what does belong to it. How do you think this new world will treat the princess when she wakens?”

  After her terrible warning, the Dark Lady departed, and time re-entered the room. Edmund woke from his daze and saw the Green Lady and the princess, lying in her arms. He let out a cry. “No! Why did she choose death? I could have saved her!”

  “Poor Edmund, striving so hard to fight the curse, you became the very one to bring it about.”

  The Green Lady’s pity rent through him like a knife.

  “You,” he snarled. “You are the one to blame. If she did not have such blind faith in you, she would not have made such a desperate choice. Otherwise, why would she have chosen the curse over me?”

  The Green Lady spoke softly. “She did choose you, Edmund. She did this to save you. That is why you will let her go.”

  Edmund let out another cry, this time full of pain and disbelief, and rushed out of the room. The Green Lady gathered the princess in her arms and kissed her pale forehead. The room returned to its natural state, and a stream of moonlight shone full and bright through the window. The moonbeam shimmered, and a young maiden, tall and with flaxen hair as white as pale silver, stood where the moonbeam was before.

  She approached the princess and also kissed her forehead, “The time of madness is approaching, but the princess shall be safe and have peaceful dreams in my soft light until the time ordained when she shall waken.”

  The shadow of night cloaked the castle, and the moon shone gently upon the princess who not so long ago wished to wear the moon as a necklace, but who now belonged to the moon in her sleep.

  TWO YOUNG MEN on horseback paused on the high ridge overlooking a valley, with the mountains rising in the distance. They wore simple tunics that did not draw attention, though, if one looked closely, one could tell that both were battle-hardened and noble in bearing.

  More noticeable were their two magnificent horses. The tall, dark-haired, young man was astride a horse of midnight black with a white diamond that shone like a star on its forehead. His fair-haired companion rode a chestnut stallion whose coat gleamed red in the sun. Both horses shifted and snorted, pawing the ground, and the fair-haired young man absentmindedly rubbed his horse’s neck, as the other gazed across the valley at the castle nestled in the mountains’ rocky depths.

  The prince said with a deep breath that was almost a sigh, “It is hard to believe that it has been four years.”

  His companion grinned. “Well, let’s not add another da
y to your absence. We should move on, or we shall not reach the castle until nightfall.”

  Erik swung about his horse—named Lodestar, after the northernmost star in the sky—and began his slow descent into the valley. He was lost in thought, but his fair-haired companion drew him out of it.

  “Erik, thinking about that pretty little thing at the inn last night? I saw you eyeing her. Don’t deny it. If I had known you liked them fair and blue-eyed, I would have introduced you to a few girls I knew back in town.”

  “I was not eyeing anyone,” Erik said dryly and then, after a pause, “She reminded me of someone.”

  “Who? Someone at the castle? Could you introduce me?”

  The prince smiled and shook his head. “No, she is not at the castle.”

  “Oh, that explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you didn’t even look at the girls at Wallstone castle. Some tragic tale of unrequited love, I warrant. It’s written all over your face. Something about your dreaming and lost expression draws girls in like moths to a flame, and you never notice. Waste, really.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Erik snorted. “Some of us don’t have time to go running after skirts all the day long, Dunstan.”

  “Well you know what they say about all work and no play.”

  “Not really,” said the prince as he set off at a gallop.

  THE two made good progress, and, as they neared the castle, Erik reflected on the years he had been away. With the onset of the civil war, which was now long over, he had been sent to stay with his aunt and uncle up at Castle Wallstone on the northeastern coast of Lothene, which was constantly under attack by raiding ships from the north. Castle Wallstone was the first line of defense against pirate raiders, but there was not much fighting to be had when he and Kenelm first arrived. Winter was just beginning, and the pirate raiders would not harry the coastline until spring. So instead, his aunt, the Lady Elisenda, schooled him in manners—a subject which she declared had been rudely ignored in his upbringing. She was born overseas from the southeast, where she claimed that the people were more civilized, and had brought with her a tutor under whose care Erik had studied foreign languages, history, and philosophy. The prince learned about the wide world and discovered that Lothene was only a small part of it.

  It was during the long winter that Erik had met his friend Dunstan. The fast-talking and fun-loving boy had not been put off by the prince’s reserved manner and had recognized the shyness at the root of it. He slowly drew out the quiet and more serious prince, and they became close companions, fighting by each other’s side when spring came and the pirate ships arrived to plunder the coast and raid the villages. In the years that followed, Erik learned the boldness that came from leading men.

  Erik had most recently conceived and executed a successful night raid on the enemy ships, and he wondered if his father had heard of his success and if that was the reason he was being summoned back to the castle.

  The prince pulled his horse to a halt and Dunstan reined in beside him.

  “What is it?” Dunstan asked.

  “I am not sure. I thought I saw something.”

  “A wild animal?”

  Erik smiled to himself. “Perhaps, shall we go on?”

  THE two young men reached the castle well before dark. They were greeted by King Mark and Queen Sigrid in the great hall.

  “Father, it is good to be home,” Erik said, kneeling before his father.

  King Mark lifted up his son and, placing both hands on Erik’s shoulders, gazed into his eyes. The king seemed pleased at what he saw there. “Welcome home,” he said, pulling Erik into a tight embrace.

  The queen looked at the prince with visible interest, and he wondered cynically if the news of his exploits had raised him up to her notice. She no longer seemed the terrifying figure she had been when he was a young boy, and he presented his friend to her with ease.

  “This is my close friend and companion, Dunstan. We have fought side by side through numberless battles, and he has saved my life not a few times. You could not ask for a truer friend.”

  Dunstan bowed. “What the prince fails to mention is that he has saved my life more times than I can count. He is the best swordfighter at Castle Wallstone.”

  The king’s eyes gleamed at Dunstan’s words, when they were interrupted by a ringing voice calling out from behind them.

  “He should be after all the training I put him through.”

  As he turned, Erik exclaimed. “Kenelm! When did you arrive?”

  “A full day before you, my prince. You must have dallied on the way.”

  “Or you traveled a short cut known only to you and bribed the innkeeper to hold us back with his best beer and ale. Your ways are forever devious, Kenelm,” Dunstan retorted.

  “None of your lip, pup. You are in the presence of the king and queen, not in a tavern brimming with wenches and brigands.”

  Erik chuckled at the familiar exchange, but the queen interrupted. “Enough of this talk. The young men should go to their rooms and wash off the stain of travel from their clothes. There will be a feast in the evening in honor of your return, Prince Erik.”

  The prince bowed. “My gratitude, my queen. We will see you shortly, then.” He and Dunstan departed to refresh themselves.

  WHEN time came for the feast, the queen made room for the prince to sit beside her at the feasting table. She was all smiles and graciousness and plied him with questions about his life away from the castle. “You have come back a great warrior.” She smiled, and the candlelight glittered off her rings, and her eyes sparkled.

  Erik shrugged. “Hardly, I play but a small part in the defense of the kingdom. You must go to the king if you wish to hear heroic tales.”

  “Lady Elisenda may have taught you the virtue of modesty, but a warrior’s prowess must be celebrated, particularly if he is to one day be king.”

  Erik inclined his head.

  “Not only must your deeds evoke respect and even fear from your subjects, but you must think of marrying to produce an heir. The king and I have been discussing this, and that is why you were called back from Wallstone Castle. You are of age, and I can think of a few young ladies who would be suitable.”

  Erik’s usual self-possession deserted him, and his eyes widened in alarm. This he had not been expecting.

  The king broke into their conversation, “What have you been saying to the boy, my queen? He looks as if you had challenged him to single-combat. Erik, my boy, are you discovering that my queen is as dangerous an opponent as any armed warrior?”

  Erik stared down at his plate to compose himself. He had a pretty fair idea of what sort of suitable lady the queen had in mind: one obedient only to her. Not a single word would pass between him and his wife that would not also be whispered in his step-mother’s ear.

  The queen turned to her husband. “Not anything so frightening, my king. I merely mentioned to the prince that it was time for him to consider a bride.”

  The king laughed. “I can see why his blood froze within him. Such news should not be suddenly sprung on a young man.”

  “The prince has proven his valor, but life is dangerous on the battlefield. We must consider the throne.”

  There was an awkward silence. Queen Sigrid had borne no children, and Erik was the only direct heir to the throne. Erik wondered if the queen would still be as considerate of his wellbeing if she had also produced an heir.

  “You know that we have discussed a bride of the old blood for the prince, in order to placate the clans in the west,” the queen continued.

  King Mark had defeated Lord Biron and subjugated the western lands under his iron rule. He had appointed Lord Clovis as the new Lord of Westhane, so that the western lands were now nominally loyal to him. Biron’s son Gavin, however, had escaped and was still in hiding, stirring up trouble and civil unrest in the western lands. So his own marriage was to be another maneuver in their game to subjugate the west, as had
been his father’s first marriage before, Erik realized.

  Turning to the king, he said, “I understand the political advantages of a good marriage, but surely you will let me have some say in the choice of a bride. After all, you and the queen are living proof to the happiness of a marriage of your own choosing. You would not deny me the same happiness?”

  The queen flashed a hard smile. “The prince argues well. He wishes to score a point through flattery.”

  “What are you afraid of, my boy?” King Mark laughed. “Do you think I would match my own son to a hag? The girl will be pretty, never worry. But enough! We are here to celebrate your return. We have time before we settle you with a bride.”

  Erik pretended to be cheerful for the rest of the evening, but, inside his head, his thoughts were awhirl with many questions that needed answers, and he knew he would find no answers in the castle.

  EARLY the next morning, Erik went out to the margin between the castle grounds and the forest. The air was chill and damp, and a faint mist still clung to the forest floor. There sat Mnemosyne waiting for him by the stump of the blasted tree. The grey cat blended in with the mist, and Erik would have missed her if it had not been for her yellow eyes.

  The prince stilled, feelings surging within him that he had not experienced since he left the castle many years ago. Erik knelt, caught between belief and disbelief, as he rubbed the cat in the usual place behind her ears.

  “It was you I saw yesterday in the forest, was it not? You witnessed my homecoming,” he murmured. “I did not know if you would still be here.”

  The cat purred and rubbed up against him, wrapping her tail around his legs. He followed her on the winding path to Ninny Nanny’s cottage, and each step seemed to him to be a step farther back into his past. When he knocked against the door, Erik felt that he was a child again, visiting the cottage for the very first time.