Once Upon a Happy Ending: An Anthology of Reimagined Fairy Tales

by Casey Lane

  “Father,” Maxence strode into my line of vision, “I thought Lowah Beurden might be helpful.”

  That was strange. Why would he bring a holy man? Unless . . .

  “What is this about, Maxence?”

  “I think my betrothed is lying. In fact, I don’t think this woman is my betrothed at all.”

  The king studied my betrayer then turned to me. “Am I to assume you think this is your true betrothed? The goose girl?”

  “Something is wrong, though.” Maxence frowned at me. “Whenever I ask her a direct question as to who she is, she either cannot or will not answer me.” He looked at the holy man. “Lowah, can you help?”

  The holy man was rather portly and struggled to catch his breath from their brisk walk as he squinted at me through a pair of spectacles. It was a moment before he could speak, but when he did, he had a surprisingly rich baritone voice. “There is certainly an evil about this girl.”

  That wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  “But it doesn’t flow from her,” he amended. “It’s this.” He pointed at my neck.

  Without thinking, I reached up and clasped my necklace. Then I realized what he was saying. “My mother’s jewel?”

  He nodded. “Someone has placed a charm on it. Give it to me.”

  I stared at him for a long moment before slowly removing the chain from my neck. My heart hurt as I let the little jewel fall into the priest’s thick hand. As soon as he took the necklace and held it away from me, however, I felt an invisible weight lift from my shoulders. I tested a sentence of truth, afraid that somehow the charm would stick even without the jewel.

  “My name is Evony.”

  For the first time that week, I uttered my own name. Now that the necklace was gone and the curse with it, I felt as though I’d just shed a momentous burden I didn’t know existed.

  “Now,” Maxence folded his arms, “tell us who you really are.”

  This time, I made sure my voice was loud enough to ring inside the great hall. “My name is Evony Kerstin Isole Richelle of the clan Frei, daughter of the late Franco the Second and the late Queen Faithful, his wife.” My voice cracked upon the word late each time, but I had to go on. “I have been betrothed to Maxence Jamal Alfonse Moreu since birth. Two weeks ago upon my mother’s death, I was sent with my handmaiden, Ina, and six guards to arrive here for my wedding ceremony.

  “She’s lying!“ my betrayer shouted, but the king silenced her with a deadly look, so I went on.

  “We stopped at a spring for some water and rest. My handmaiden brought water to the men, then she went down to the bank with me to get a drink straight from the stream.” As I spoke, I realized exactly how much she must have planned. Down to the smallest heart-shaped detail. “She held my necklace for me,” I said more slowly. “I never take it off, but she said it might fall in the water while I drank, so I handed it to her for safekeeping. I asked her then to hand me my goblet so I could dip it into the water. When she failed to do as I asked, I turned around to see her examining the jewel.” How could I have been so blind? “I didn’t know she was a practitioner of Sorthiliege,” I turned and told the holy man.

  To my surprise, however, he only shrugged. “One does not need to be a Sorthiliege practitioner to come into such powers. Little charms can be sold easily and placed on enemy’s belongings.” He glared at Ina. “I can only guess this would be a charm of silence, allowing its purchaser to forbid its victim from uttering a word or committing an act that might betray a secret.”

  I nodded before going on. “Ina then held a knife to me and demanded I exchange clothes with her. I was allowed only to keep my reticule . . .” I eyed the necklace longingly. “ . . .and my mother’s jewel. She said I was never to speak a word about my identity, or commit an act to disclose the truth. I was to act as her handmaiden, to serve her and treat her as royalty. I screamed but no guard came to my assistance. They were already dead, I found out soon after, poisoned by Ina. I had no choice but to obey. The day we arrived here, I was assigned to work as a goose girl and have been there ever since.”

  “You cannot prove it!” Ina cried piteously. “She cannot prove that she is the princess.” She struggled against her captor, but he held her with firm hands.

  “If all you say is true,” the king tilted his head at me, “there will be dire consequences for the imposter. But,” he looked at Maxence, who was still standing before me, “this woman has a point. What proof do we have? I would rather you not marry at all and to pass the kingdom to your nephew than to marry the wrong one.”

  To my surprise, the prince merely smiled. He walked over to Ina, his boots clicking ominously on the stone floor. “If you are my betrothed,” he asked her, “then answer me this. What name did I ask you to address me by when we are in private and no one else is around to hear?”

  She stopped struggling against her guard and stared at him, open mouthed. “There are so many . . .” Her voice was hardly a whisper.

  “Just answer.”

  “Darling?”

  At this, the prince’s smile grew even wider.

  “Maxence?” she cried out as he turned and began walking toward me. “Sweet? My prince? Love?”

  Then it was my turn. He swallowed hard and lifted his hand to cup my face. His fingers trembled a bit, but the warmth of his hand was divine. Closing my eyes, I basked in the moment that should have been mine six days ago.

  “What did I ask you to call me?” he breathed.

  His touch was pure bliss.

  “Well?” the king echoed.

  I smiled and reached up with both hands to touch his eyes, nose, then to trace his lips with my thumbs. My mother would have been horrified at such a public display, but my triumph was too great to care.

  “Max.”

  Epilogue

  We were married the next day. As the victim of Ina’s heinous act, Max gave me full responsibility for her punishment. I had prayed for justice during my time as a goose girl, but when the day came for me to decide, I left both Ina and Joseph’s sentences to the king. I had no desire for more blood.

  I did, however, have a desire to finally grow close to the man I had loved for so long. And Max was everything and more that I had imagined him to be. He was certainly a terrible dancer, as he nearly broke my toe during the first dance of the wedding, but he turned out to be a delightful friend.

  Despite our proximity, we continued to write letters to one another over the years. Sometimes they were silly and laid the scene for practical jokes. At other times they were ways to sort out disagreements we had, the kind where words were too difficult to find except in deep thought. But most of all, our letters celebrated the moments of exhilaration and the moments of contentment.

  Some of the letters we would share and laugh about with our children and close friends. Max had an ornery streak nearly as awful as mine was. Of course, however, there were some moments that were too personal to share. Those were the letters we read together late at night after all the courtiers had gone to bed and we were finally allowed to sit in our room by ourselves. Not as king or queen, but as two friends, each needing the respite of the other. And though we’ve traded hundreds of letters over the years, there is one that my husband keeps under his pillow in our bed. Its edges are faded and burned, but the ink is still visible enough to read its beginning:

  “Dear Max, . . .”

  “This is my beloved and this is my friend . . .”

  —Song of Solomon 5:16

  About the Author

  Brittany lives with her Prince Charming and their little fairy in a sparkling (decently clean) castle in whatever kingdom the Air Force has most recently placed them. When she’s not writing, Brittany can be found with her family (including their spoiled black Labrador), doing chores (she would rather be writing), going to church, belting Disney songs, exercising, and decorating cakes. You can find more of her work on her website.

  BrittanyFichterFiction.com

  The Princess Who Chased
Sheep

  By K.M. Shea

  Princess Colette was known throughout her father’s kingdom for being clever. For any other girl, it would have been considered praise. Unfortunately for Colette, her lot in life was to marry in order to further her father’s kingdom, and cleverness was not often listed as a trait found desirable by most princes. So instead, Colette’s cleverness was viewed as an oddity. More often than not she was misunderstood by those around her.

  Colette knew this, and often compensated by keeping her cleverness to herself, but sometimes she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Such was the case when her father approached her and her older sister, Princess Arianna, as they were taking their tea in the garden.

  “Father! What a pleasant surprise. Come, sit with us and have some tea.” Princess Arianna smiled—which turned her beautiful face downright dazzling—and motioned for their father to take a seat in an empty wicker chair.

  King Louis lowered himself into the chair with a groan and rubbed the dark circles under his eyes. “Good afternoon girls,” he said.

  Colette shut the book she had been paging through and set it aside. “What’s wrong, Father?”

  “Politics, land rights, military campaigns, the usual. You girls wouldn’t understand.” King Louis leaned back in his chair and stared at the sky. An orange butterfly almost landed on his nose.

  Princess Arianna poured a cup of tea and placed the teacup in front of their father with the elegance of a dancer. “Military campaigns? Has someone declared war against us?”

  “No.” King Louis swatted the butterfly away. “Though I fear they may soon. That hairy, bloated, King Gunther of the north and his prancing prat of a son have been making inroads towards our sweet lands. If they set their eyes upon my throne, we are finished.”

  Colette picked at her nails, stopping guiltily when her father eyed her hands. “I thought King Gunther had finished his military campaigns,” she said.

  King Louis considered his teacup. “He claims he has. Though now his son is of marriageable age, I imagine he’ll try to expand his empire through marriage. May the heavens preserve those poor countries around them.”

  “Oh dear,” Arianna murmured.

  King Louis leaned across the tiny tea table and patted his older daughter’s hand. “Fear not my sweet. Perhaps nothing will come of it.”

  “I do hope so,” Arianna said. “But if marriage is all it takes to put off a war, I will—”

  “Nonsense. I would never willingly let that hairy king or any of his offspring spirit you north.” King Louis’ hand drifted to the sword strapped to his waist.

  Arianna glanced worriedly at Colette, who took the unspoken hint. “Be that as it may, technically speaking it would be far wiser for King Gunther to request a daughter from the ruler of one of his neighboring lands. As we don’t share a border, I don’t believe Arianna or I would be a target,” she said.

  King Louis’ stately brow glistened in the morning sun. “Yes, possibly. But enough of such dark topics. I’ve discussed the issue endlessly with your mother and my advisors, and I tire of it. Instead I find myself longing for proof of love and light. Tell me, how much do you love me?”

  Arianna laughed, a beautiful noise that Colette privately suspected made songbirds jealous. “Father, surely you must know that you are the apple of my eye!”

  “Arianna, my darling, you are a father’s dream!” King Louis laughed and clasped Arianna’s hands. “You always bring such delight to me. I am so blessed to call you my daughter.”

  Colette considered returning to her book—for her father frequently cooed over Arianna for hours at a time—but sweet Arianna shook her head. “But Father, what about Colette?”

  King Louis tilted his head and smiled first at Arianna and then at Colette. “What of Colette?”

  Arianna—kind and thoughtful at all times, even moments Colette wished she wasn’t—raised her chin. “Why don’t you ask Colette how much she loves you as well?”

  “Ah, yes! Very well, tell me, Colette, how much do you love me?”

  Though King Louis smiled and his voice was warm, the lack of endearment stung Colette, and her usual control buckled. She couldn’t stop herself, and said, “Why, Father, I love you as much as I love the salt that seasons my food.”

  King Louis’ smile turned into a frown. “You compare me to a seasoning?”

  Slightly peeved with his reaction, Colette pointed out, “Arianna compared you to a fruit, and I meant it as a compliment.”

  Arianna glanced back and forth between Colette and King Louis. “Father, have you tried the date bread yet? It is quite delicious. Here, let me get you a piece.” The tea set clanked as she piled tea treats on a plate and placed it in front of King Louis.

  King Louis held up his hand, forestalling her distraction. “A compliment? Is it not one of your clever backhanded retorts?”

  Colette sighed. I should have known better. He is tired, and his worries shorten his temper so he does not even pretend to understand my words. “I meant it sincerely, but if the comparison troubles you, I will gladly restate it.”

  “No. Too many times you have used tricky words, and I have refrained from punishing you due to your mother’s insistence and your sister’s begging. Today I will not tolerate your cheek. For one year, I will banish you from this palace.”

  Colette stared at him, stunned. He cannot be serious.

  A slight breeze rustled the delicate garden flowers, filling the air with their sweet fragrance.

  Arianna gasped. “Father, you can’t possibly mean that!”

  “I do,” King Louis declared. “For one year, you are not allowed to set foot in this Castle. You may take no animals or carriages with you when you depart. When you return, I hope you will have learned proper humility and gentleness!” King Louis stood and strode from the garden, his face creased with a storm cloud of fury.

  Arianna clung to her chair. “Take heart, sister, it is only because King Gunther has upset him so! Let me talk to him; let our mother talk to him! Surely he would not declare this if he was not so aggravated.”

  Colette curled her hands into fists, and something in her snapped. Too long she had bridled herself, yet she was still held in displeasure. Too long she had tried being the kind of daughter King Louis wanted, and he still judged her a failure. Enough! I will do this no more! “No.”

  Arianna blinked. “No?”

  The elegant stack of cucumber sandwiches piled on a china plate collapsed when Colette bumped the table as she stood. “No. I will not wait for our mother to talk him out of this. I will not wait for you to beg on my behalf. I will do as he orders, and I will leave this place.”

  “Sister, I know he has hurt your feelings, but be reasonable! Where will you—oh! Unless, do you mean to stay with a friend?”

  “No.” Colette made her way towards the castle, already mentally packing the few belongings she would be able to carry.

  “No?” Arianna glided after her, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Then what will you do? Where will you go? Oh, Collie!” Arianna had to be quite upset if she was using her old childhood nickname for Colette.

  Unfortunately, Colette was still too angry to notice. “I don’t know. I’ll use my cleverness to survive.”

  “But how can you…what will you…” Arianna burst into tears—real tears, the ones she shed when she was upset for they made her face red and squished.

  Colette paused her determined march and embraced her sister. “I’ll be fine.”

  Arianna took in a shaky breath and wiped her face. “You have to tell me when you find a place to stay. It isn’t right, you leaving without any way of sustaining yourself.”

  Colette smirked. “That’s not entirely true. Father said I couldn’t take any animals, but he said nothing about my clothing or jewelry.”

  Two weeks later, Colette was no longer certain that her plan was quite so clever.

  After packing a single dress and a rather hefty load of jewels into a sturdy leat
her satchel, Colette fled from the palace before her mother could talk any sense into King Louis. Arianna had cried the whole time Colette packed, but she had agreed to keep her silence as long as Colette contacted her when she found a place of employment.

  For safety’s sake, before she set out, Colette had swiped a kitchen maid uniform and rubbed dirt and mud all over her face, hands, and every scrap of skin that was seen. The disguise made Arianna cry even harder, but Colette knew a noble young lady on foot was far more likely to be robbed than a scruffy beggar girl.

  The farce worked, for Colette had been mostly ignored during her travels. Unfortunately, it seemed that nobody wanted to hire a scruffy beggar girl any more than they would want to hire a noble lady. For two weeks, she zigzagged across the countryside looking for employment of any kind. There was none to be found, though often times she was sent off with a crust of bread out of pity.

  Perhaps father should stop worrying about King Gunther, and begin worrying about the economic development of our own country.

  Colette squinted in the sunlight and scratched her back. A large, magnificent farm spread out in front of her, dotted with cows, goats, and chickens. It was surrounded by fields of growing seedlings. Might as well try my luck here. If she didn’t find someplace to work soon, she’d have to hawk a piece of jewelry and rent a room at an inn, or admit her pride and seek out living quarters with a friend.

  Colette limped her way up the dirt road that led to the farm, her feet aching after days of walking. She tugged on the kerchief that covered her honey-blond hair and cleared her throat, trying to rid her voice of the road dust that coated it.

  A portly farmer wiped his face on a square of cloth and waved to Colette. He (along with a stout woman who was presumably his wife) was in the process of carrying buckets back and forth between a well and a water trough by which two furry donkeys waited. Colette was much encouraged by the size of his girth. A plump farmer meant prosperity!