Once Upon A Kiss: Seventeen Romantic Faerie Tales

by Alethea Kontis

  He surprised her by not choosing to avoid her. “I’ll take the chair, if that’s all right. The floor is too much like the ledge I slept on last night, and my bones still haven’t forgiven me.”

  Sabine set the tea and cakes on the table before returning to the ivy cupboard—this time when she opened it, it provided two bowls of hearty stew. “So that’s where you were.”

  He downed four of the decorated cakes before tucking into the stew. Sabine gathered one of the pillows from her nest by the brazier and settled herself at his feet.

  “I had cleared several ledges along the way for resting,” he explained as they ate. “Now they need to be wide enough for two, so I was working on that. By the time I finished, I was too tired to climb back down again.”

  Sabine swallowed a sip of her tea. “Next time, I can clear the canopy and you can jump down.”

  “That would be welcome,” he said. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to stay down here a while and give you some climbing instruction. I’d rather not be all the way up there while you’re falling off the wall down here.”

  His suggestion made a great deal of sense, but she never would have expected him to offer instruction without being asked first. “That would be welcome,” she said in return, before he changed his mind. “Thank you.”

  For the next bunch of days, or weeks—Sabine knew it had not yet been a month only because her internal female clock had not told her so—Rinkrank instructed her on the art of climbing. It was slow going at first. There was as much mocking as there was teaching—usually with laughter, but sometimes not. Rinkrank was not the best teacher, and Sabine was not the best student. Both had far more stubbornness than patience. Periodically Rinkrank disappeared up the mountain, offering Sabine a break from her lessons—mostly to give her muscles a chance to heal, but at least twice to avoid an argument. Both times he had referred to her as “Princess” before scaling the wall into oblivion.

  The third time it happened, Sabine threw her helmet off and stomped into the water closet to cool off. After splashing her face in the basin, she stared at herself in the looking glass. In the beginning, he’d told her that three things marked her as a princess: clothes, skin, and hair. Her skin was a map of scrapes and bruises now, and dresses of any color were things of the past…which left only one item.

  The shears were waiting for her in the cabinet.

  When the deed was done, she felt lighter and freer than she ever had before. No hair that remained on her head was longer than a handbreadth, making her feel the exact opposite of a princess. With such a weight lifted, she’d fly up the side of that mountain and all the way home.

  She had fallen asleep in the chair waiting for him, but woke in the bed. He sat in the chair instead, legs splayed, head bowed. As she squinted into the shadows, a rare burst of flame from the brazier lit the room.

  Sabine’s mouth fell open.

  It seemed that he had found her shears…and a razor. In some show of—remorse? Solidarity?—he had chopped off his own scraggly mane and removed his beard completely.

  She slipped out of bed to get a closer look. Without all the hair masking his face he looked much younger than she’d originally guessed, and Sabine felt a wave of relief pass through her. It meant that, however many years he had passed down here, it wasn’t nearly as long as she’d feared. But he still looked hard…and sad…and beautiful, in his own way.

  She reached out a hand; he caught it before she could touch him. He turned his smooth cheek into her palm, breathed her in. “Oh, Mandrake,” he said. “I don’t want to fight. I’m not good at talking to girls—to anyone, really. Whatever I said, I’m sorry. I never meant for you to…disfigure yourself.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” She tried to be harsh, but his rare show of softness pulled at her heart. “I did it to save myself the trouble of brushing it every day. And so that my helmet would fit better. And…so you would stop calling me ‘Princess.’”

  He stood, took her in his arms, and held her tight. The warmth of his large body was welcome in the dank room. The warmth of his soul threatened to melt her completely. “You are my Mandrake, always,” he said into her newly-shorn hair. “And I can’t imagine living without you.”

  His milky jade eyes met her storm clouds, and for a brief moment they were lost in each other. He lowered his head for a kiss…

  …and she stepped back.

  “I can’t.” She looked at the floor—if their eyes met again, her control would slip completely. “I’m engaged.”

  In the silence that followed she saw his hands ball into fists, felt the temperature of the room drop. She could sense the disappointment that radiated from him. “Clearly,” he said drily, “you love your betrothed so much, you haven’t been able to stop talking about him since you arrived.”

  She hadn’t said a word about Prince Eldon, and he knew it. “I love my kingdom,” she said. “But this isn’t about love. It’s about hope.”

  He snorted in disbelief, or disgust, or both.

  Sabine pointed up into the abyss. “As long as you keep working, and as long as I keep getting stronger, we have a chance to escape. And if there is a chance to escape, there’s a chance that my kingdom—and consequently my betrothed—is waiting for me. He’s not a bad man; he didn’t deserve my disappearance any more than I did. As heir to my father’s throne, I am bound to honor my alliance to him.”

  “I could stop,” Rinkrank whispered. “I could throw away my tools and trap us down here forever.”

  His threat hung in the air between them.

  “But you won’t, will you?” she asked. She had come to know him well in their time together. Well enough to know that he would not lie to her.

  “No,” he answered, as she knew he would. Sabine reached for him in an attempt to console him, but this time it was he who pulled away. He strode right past her and threw himself upon the bed. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she said softly.

  He didn’t call her Mandrake after that, nor Princess—he didn’t speak to her much at all. He arranged it so that he climbed while she slept, and he slept while she cleaned. She was proficient enough to oversee her own climbing instruction, so she practiced rigorously, with not so much as a goad or kind word from him. The day she made it as high as the first ledge, he didn’t even stop to congratulate her. He just climbed right past.

  Months passed, by her internal clock’s reckoning. His beard returned. There was no more laughter, from either of them, for any reason. The air grew colder and the cavern seemed to grow darker, if that were even possible.

  Finally, Sabine decided to confront him. She was in the bath after a long day’s climb; Rinkrank had disappeared up the mountainside several sleeps ago, and she hadn’t seen him since. But when he returned—and probably after he’d gotten a good night’s sleep—they were going to talk about their situation. Because she was going to go mad if it continued like this any longer.

  She pulled a towel over her still-short hair and donned the robe the cabinet had provided—an ivory silk with emerald trim that reminded her of a robe she once wore in her old life—and turned the knob to open the door.

  But the door did not open.

  Sabine turned the knob again, pulled at the door with all her might, thrust her weight against it and pulled again—all to no avail. She pounded on the door and yelled for a bit before she remembered that there was no one to hear her…and even if he did, he’d probably ignore her.

  “Is there not a key for this?” she asked the angel on the cabinet. Inside the cabinet, she found only a cup of tea and another book. Exactly how long did the closet plan on keeping her prisoner? She tried the door again. Nothing. “Mountain, I demand you let me out right now!” she yelled and tried the door again. Nothing. She sat on the edge of the tub, finished drying her hair, and continued trying the door every few minutes. Nothing.

  And then the most spectacular crash rocked the room. The rumble of it deafened Sabine briefly, and
the shaking of the closet knocked her off her feet. If she’d had to guess, she would have said the mountain had caved in upon itself. The closet had locked her inside to save her from the avalanche.

  But who had saved Rinkrank?

  Sabine threw herself at the door again, pounding and yanking at the handle until it finally yielded.

  From the light of the closet, Sabine could see that the cavern was awash with dark rubble and sparkling stones, as if the night sky itself had fallen down upon them. The worst of it had landed on the canopy, which had subsequently collapsed, crushing the brazier beneath it. The bed and chest of drawers remained unscathed and the chair had toppled over, but the table was broken, and everything was covered in a layer of glass dust.

  Sabine opened the cabinet again, extracted a lit candlestick and a fresh pair of thick-soled slippers, and went to find Rinkrank. She collected the magical basket first—thankfully it, too, was still in one piece—and used it to clear a path to the climbing wall.

  She found him among the rocks and glass, covered in blood and dirt and twisted at odd angles.

  “Rinkrank!” she yelled. “Can you hear me?”

  “Sabine,” was all he said before his head fell limply to the side.

  Sabine screamed, and let the fear fuel her. She was able to clear all but one of the rocks around him. Instead of breaking herself trying to lift the last one, she tipped the basket over it instead and—blessedly—the boulder disappeared. She pulled the cleanest blanket off the bed and, praying that she would not injure him further, rolled his body onto it so that she could drag him into the water closet.

  Heaving him up into the bath was the most difficult part. She used the shears to cut away his clothes—needing to examine him for wounds took precedence over modesty—and, with all the new strength she’d developed from climbing, she somehow got him inside the tub.

  She used the rinser and cloths to clear him of the worst filth. One of the deepest cuts on his face ran into his beard, so she asked the cabinet for a razor and prayed she didn’t accidentally slit his throat while trying to tend to his wounds. When he was clean enough, she filled the tub to the brim. There was only so much she could do—the mountain’s magical water would have to heal the rest. She just hoped it was enough.

  Sabine surveyed the room by candlelight: there would be no cleaning this. The tall cupboard did provide a broom, so she swept a path as best she could from the closet door to the bed. Perhaps whatever the magical water did not heal, sleep could cure. Assuming he ever got out of the tub at all.

  When she finished changing the sheets on the bed, she sat down upon it and allowed herself to cry, huge wracking sobs.

  “Surely those tears aren’t for me.”

  Sabine looked up to see him standing—standing!—in the doorway of the closet. Either the cabinet had only given him trousers, or that was all he’d been able to don…it mattered not.

  “But they are,” she said. “If you died, who would ignore me?” She rushed to him, tucking herself under one arm. With her aid, he made it to the other side of the room and collapsed upon the bed.

  “Stay with me,” he said, and patted the mattress beside him. His voice was strained, as if it hurt to speak. He’d probably broken a few ribs and gods knew what else on the way down.

  “What happened?” she asked as she crawled onto the bed.

  “A shelf collapsed,” he said, “and a large part of the wall with it.” He paused. Took a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid there’s no escape for us now.”

  Her tears sprang forth again, unbidden. “It is I who should be apologizing to you,” she said.

  He gently wiped her tears away as they came. “Why is that?”

  “I might have…” How did she explain and not sound ridiculous? “I might have wished for this to happen. Not in this way, and certainly not for you to be hurt in the process, but, deep down, I wanted there to be no escape. I never said it aloud, but secretly…I wished for us to be trapped down here forever. Together.” She cupped his face, traced the line where the deep cut along his jaw was already mending. “I am so, so sorry.”

  “Mandrake,” he said quietly. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  Sabine moved closer. Their heads now shared the same pillow, so that she might hear whatever horrible truth he meant to impart. He looked at her with those cool green eyes she’d almost never seen again.

  “I wished for it too,” he said.

  And then, finally, the kiss that had been waiting forever to happen, happened.

  As soon as their lips met, Sabine couldn’t imagine kissing anyone else for the rest of her life. Her father might have matched her with one man, but the gods had matched her with this one. It was as if the glass mountain had been created with no other purpose than to bring them together. Rinkrank angered her, pushed her, drove her to madness—for heaven’s sake, she didn’t even know his real name!—but she knew that he loved her. He would do whatever it took to make her happy, whatever it took to be near her…including falling down the inside of a glass mountain and surviving. Twice. Sabine put all of herself into that kiss, and he gave as much in return. Whatever their future held, in this forgotten darkness, they would face it together.

  The next time she woke, it was to birdsong.

  Sabine opened her eyes and then immediately closed them again because the sunlight—sunlight!—was too bright for her. She was still surrounded by bedsheets and tangled in her lover’s limbs, but they were on the outside of the mountain, not inside.

  Outside.

  Sabine snuck another peek beneath the sheets—she had on the same dress she’d been wearing when she’d fallen all that time ago, the one she’d secreted under the mattress for safe keeping.

  “Rinkrank,” she said as she jostled his arm.

  He nuzzled her neck for a moment before turning his head. He opened his eyes and then slammed them shut again, just as she had. He turned back to her and squinted. “You were right,” he whispered, and then bellowed a laugh that echoed down the mountainside. “It was the kiss! You were right!”

  Beyond the birdsong, Sabine made out the distinct beat of horse hooves in the distance. “Hide,” she said to him.

  “Why?”

  “Because my presence on this mountain will be easier to explain without you.” Her mind was racing. “Quick. Take the bed sheets and go hide behind that boulder over there. I’ll get everything sorted out and meet you back here as soon as I can.”

  “But…”

  “Just go! Quickly!”

  Thankfully, he didn’t stay to argue. He collected the sheets and darted behind the boulder just as the first horse came up the ridge.

  Sabine was pleased to see that the rider was Sir Ronald Marelon, head of her father’s guard and a dear family friend. He seemed more than pleased—indeed, shocked—to see her in return.

  “Princess Sabine? Your Majesty?” He leapt off his horse and fell to his knees before her. “Is it really you? Are you hurt?”

  “Yes, it is I, and no, I am not hurt,” she said as he helped her to stand. “More than that is a tale I should tell my father. Can you take me to him?”

  Sir Ronald suddenly became very rigid and serious. “Highness, you’ve been gone for almost a year. I hate to be the bearer of ill tidings, but in that time, your esteemed father passed away. Your sister is queen now. And…Eldon is her king.”

  Sabine suddenly found it very difficult to walk. Or stand. Or breathe. She collapsed into Sir Ronald’s arms. “Take me to my sister, then,” she whispered.

  “Yes, Highness,” said Sir Ronald. He helped her onto his horse, and together they made their way down the mountain, into Upper Reaches.

  Where her father was no longer king.

  Two of Sir Ronald’s men raced before them to make Sabine’s arrival known to the new king and queen. Her long-overdue presence was not announced at the front gates with pomp and circumstance; that formal ceremony would come later. Instead, she was secreted in through
a side door for a private audience with her sister. The queen.

  As soon as Zona saw Sabine, she rushed to embrace her sister with welcome enthusiasm. Over her sister’s shoulder, Sabine spotted Eldon, standing apart, looking very uncomfortable. Sabine smiled at him and nodded slightly, forgiving him in that one small gesture. They were royalty. Eldon had stepped up and done what needed to be done at the time, for the good of the kingdom. She could not fault him for that.

  Sabine reached out to Eldon, taking his hand in one of hers and Zona’s in the other. “I wish you both all the happiness in the world,” she said. Because she truly did.

  “What happened to you?” asked Zona.

  Sabine had prepared the answer to this question on the way down the mountain. She told Zona and Eldon a version of the true story, where she’d fallen into the mountain and been trapped there by an old wizard with a long beard. The wizard kept a magical ladder in his pocket, she said, which he used to climb out of the mountain every day and climb back in every night. Eventually, she’d devised a way to create a rockslide and trap him by his beard, at which point she’d used the magic ladder to escape.

  Zona and Eldon listened to the tale with great skepticism, but they accepted it—she stood before them in the same dress she’d disappeared in; who would have dared contradict her? It was better this way. Sabine knew they never would have believed the truth.

  Zona embraced Sabine again and kissed her cheek. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. How fortunate you were to have escaped that wretched man.”

  “It is all in the past now,” said Sabine. “I’m just glad to be home.”

  “Indeed,” said Zona. “You’ve heard about father?”

  “I did,” Sabine answered, though the knowledge had not yet sunk in. “My heart breaks that I wasn’t here for him in his final hours. But from what little I’ve seen of the kingdom, our people look to be faring well. You and Eldon have done a marvelous job.”