Millissa
A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling
Cordelia Castel
www.CordeliaCastel.com
Copyright © 2017 by Cordelia Castel
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.
www.CordeliaCastel.com
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Also by Cordelia Castel
About the Author
Introduction
I hope you enjoy this Rumpelstiltskin retelling. It is based on the Brothers Grimm version of the fairytale, and it takes place in the same universe as the Perrault Chronicles and shows how Millissa, the daughter of a miller and a major character in The Academy, became the Queen of Autumn.
This Rumpelstiltskin story also combines elements of Donkeyskin and The Tinderbox, and it contains a few dark themes.
Chapter 1
Millissa was brewing ale when the Soldiers of Fortune rapped on her door. It wasn’t the first time they had come to arrest Father for being drunk and disorderly, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Recently, Father had taken to spending his evenings in the tavern, drinking strong beer and telling outlandish tales of sorcery and riches. This suited her fine, as alcohol turned him into a monster, only fit to be locked outside. She secured the lid on the wooden barrel and wiped her hands on her apron.
If they were in any other country in the United Kingdom of Seven, Father’s fantastical tales would get him arrested. Luckily, for them, the Soldiers of Fortune cared little about keeping magic under control. They were just puppets, working for the usurper, Donovan the Tinder King.
“In the name of the King, I demand you open this door!” shouted a soldier.
Millissa pursed her lips. Didn’t these people understand that mills were bigger than cottages? She jogged to the front door. “I’m coming.”
The soldier continued to bang, and Millissa felt the first rumblings of fear in her gut. She stopped at the front door and checked that her wimple wasn’t revealing any hair. Why Father insisted she wear the ridiculous garment, she didn’t know, but she’d learned the hard way not to let even one strand show in the presence of a man.
Millissa cracked open the door, letting in a gust of fresh air, along with the scent of rotting leaves. Instead of the usual foot soldiers, a captain, two sergeants and a dozen corporals lined up on her garden path. She frowned, making sure to hold the back of the door with her weight. “Yes, officers?”
“Mistress Barleigh?” said the captain. He was an imposing man of six feet, with hair the color of wheat, and eyes as hard and gray as flint. “King Donovan requires your presence.”
Her heart ground to a halt. A cold wave of shock rocked her body, but she tried not to let it show. “You mean Father? He’s not home.”
“His Majesty asked specifically for you,” he replied.
Millissa’s heart restarted, clanking hard in her ribcage. Everyone knew that when the King requested a young woman, she came back days later, damaged, if she returned at all. Making sure her feet were firmly behind the door, she said, “All right. Let me put on some shoes and turn off the stove.”
The officer nodded and stepped back. Millissa closed the door and slid both bolts, smooth as an eel, so they wouldn’t make a sound. She rushed toward the back door. It would be easy enough to sneak out through the back gate and into the cornfields. Aunt Clover lived in the next village, and she could help Millissa hide for some time until the Tinder King’s attentions had moved on to someone else.
She cleared the hallway, entered the kitchen, turned to the back door and skidded to a halt. Half a dozen soldiers stood at the back window.
“Captain!” shouted a rotund man with ruddy cheeks. “She’s making an escape!”
“Ram the doors down!” yelled a voice from the front of the house.
A whimper escaped Millissa’s throat. It would take only a few kicks to break down the back door, and then...She shook those thoughts out of her head and started up the spiral stairs, each footstep pounding hard on the stone tread. The staircase wound around the circular interior of the mill. Millissa had to steady her palm against the stone walls in case her nerves caused her to tumble over.
At last, she reached the ceiling, and with fingers as jittery as spiders’ legs, she fumbled open the window latch and crawled out to the roof.
A cool breeze meandered around the tower, and although Millissa’s toes teetered over the ledge of the roof, she felt a calm run through her body. It slowed her heart and deepened her breath. She hoped the soldiers would give up on her if she threatened to jump, but she thought the prospect unlikely. And if she broke her neck, she wouldn’t have to endure the unspeakable torments suffered by those blonde women summoned to the palace.
Millissa closed her eyes and exhaled. The sloshing and clanking of the water mill drowned out the panicked shouts of soldiers below. Birds chirped in the distance, and Millissa wondered whether she would drown or break her neck. Either was preferable to being captured by the Tinder King. Leaning back on the sloped roof, she edged around to the East side, furthest away from the window.
She thought about another blonde woman, Lunette, who had returned from the Palace a decade ago. She had raved of three monstrous hounds. One with eyes as big as saucers, the other’s bigger than mill wheels and largest had eyes bigger than the Round Tower of Clement. Lunette would rattle on about their mesmerizing gazes and the horrific torments she suffered. No one had believed Lunette until other girls returned just as crazed, telling garbled tales of similar ill treatment. Now, Lunette and the others roamed the forest in rags, shadows of their former beauty and sanity.
“Mistress Barleigh, please come back.” The soldier’s voice shook.
Millissa supposed King Donovan would punish the soldiers for failing to bring in his prey. She felt no remorse for the plight of these men. Any of them could depose the usurper and be a better ruler. The man after all had been a soldier who deposed the rightful King by slaughtering the entire royal court. He’d left one survivor, Princess Acacia, whom he had married to secure his claim to the throne. But now that his wife was dead and his daughter, Princess Calluna, was missing, anyone could depose the Tinder King.
Her toes teetered over the edge of the roof and she swallowed.
“Millissa!”
She turned, her breaths coming out in shallow pants. The captain’s head poked around from the curve of the roof.
“Don’t jump.” He held out his hand. “Please, come back to the window.”
A hysterical laugh escaped her throat. “I know what the King wants, and I’d rather jump to my death than end up like all those other girls.” She straightened and spread out her arms, her heart clattering like out-of-control gears. “Goodbye.”
“Wait!” There was something in his voice. A desperate whine that spiked her curiosity.
“King Donovan has your Father.”
She snorted, still feeling the effect of his last drunken rage. “Maybe when the King finishes with him, he’ll learn not to drink so much!”
“He’s going to be executed if you don’t come!”
If Millissa hadn’t been frantic with worry about Father, she would have felt humiliated at being paraded through the village like a prized pig. The captain put her in a golden litter, and the soldiers carried her
through the main road. She couldn’t decide whether she was in a coffin or a cage, but she, along with everyone in the village knew of her condemnation. People left their houses to stare, and many women she’d known through the years shed tears for her. Even Marjorie, who never had a kind word to say to Millissa stared on in open-mouthed horror.
The butcher’s son ran alongside the procession, his eyes wide. “Where are you going, Millissa?”
She bowed her head, not wanting the boy to say something wrong in front of the Soldiers of Fortune. These days, even a small child could be arrested on charges of sedition.
Nobody spoke to her for the rest of the journey. She supposed it was because the wrath of King Donovan knew no bounds. Ever since Princess Calluna had disappeared, the soldiers had dragged more and more girls to the palace and fewer came back.
They left the village and marched over the road separating orchards of Golden Kallisti apple trees. The fruit glistened in the morning light, reminding Millissa of her peculiar shade of hair. Her heart sank, and a lump formed in her throat at the thought of the only person who had seen her hair. Father. She didn’t want to imagine what the King was doing to him, but she hoped he would recover in time.
At last, they reached Majesty Mount, the hill that housed the palace and its grounds. As usual, the sight of the place made her shudder. Not because of the rumored atrocities that took place within the King’s residence but because of what sat next to it. Next to the splendid building was a rusted copper palace, which was home to the remains of previous monarch whom the Tinder King had murdered. Some said the spirits of the dead would howl at night, rattling the walls with their anguished wails. Others talked of the blood splatters that would appear and disappear on the walls, driving King Donovan crazy. Millissa hadn’t believed any of those tales. It was more likely that Princess Acacia refused to dwell in the place where the bodies of her family still lay, ripped apart and unburied.
New Autumn Palace was a marble imposition which stood twice as tall as its predecessor. With its windowless facade, intricate carvings and domed roof, it reminded Millissa of a nobleman's mausoleum. A pediment depicting a scene of three monstrous dogs ripping apart a royal court stood on six ornate pillars.
The soldiers stopped in the courtyard of the new palace and set down the litter. Captain Sprout helped her out and marched her to the front steps. A small figure, obscured in a cloak made of donkey pelts, knelt next to a pail, scrubbing the marble steps.
“Make way for the King’s guard,” shouted a soldier.
The person stood, picked up the pail and turned. It was a girl, about three years younger than Millissa. Underneath the grime on her face were full lips, high cheekbones, and eyes the exact same shade of Millissa’s aquamarine.
As soon as the girl locked eyes with Millissa, she gasped, spilling water over her grimy, bare feet.
“Shouldn’t you be in the kitchens, Donkeyskin?” Captain Sprout’s voice was not unkind.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” whispered the girl. She glanced again at Millissa before scurrying away.
Despite her terror, she wondered why the girl would keep herself so filthy, and why everyone seemed to tolerate her appearance. She walked with the guards through the doors and down the widest marble hallway she had ever seen.
On the wall hung portraits of a handsome, bearded, young soldier in various scenes of victory. He wore a foreign, white uniform with a gold-edged cap and gold epaulettes. On his breast were medals of varying sizes, worn over a red sash. As they progressed down the hallway, the portraits of the soldiers depicted a more mature man. He donned the same uniform but with more medals and wearing the cloak and crown of the Kingdom of Autumn.
At last, they reached a set of wooden double doors. Four guards holding spears saluted, and the most senior in rank shouted, “Captain Sprout has arrived with the girl, Your Majesty!”
The door opened, letting out a gust of warm, yeasty air, which made Millissa frown, despite her nerves. Instead of a throne room, she walked into the largest tavern she had ever seen. She took in the sights of cob walls, oak floors and beams on the ceiling. The head of a dragon hung mounted above a roaring fireplace. Along one wall stood barrels, piled on top of each other. Another wall was lined with shelves containing bottles of wine and spirits.
To Millissa’s surprise, Father sat at a wood table opposite a huge man of about the same age. A wave of relief washed over Millissa and calmed her erratic heart. Her shoulders fell, and she smiled. Father was well if not a little stooped by drink.
He raised his pewter tankard, sloshing ale all over himself. “There she is, Your Majesty! Ain’t she a beauty?”
Millissa sucked in a breath. This fat, common-looking man was the Tinder King? Apart from the beard, he looked nothing like the solider in the portraits. She ducked her head, not wanting to make eye contact.
Wood scraped against wood, and Millissa peered through her lashes. The King stood and strode into her space. Millssa’s nose twitched. The only thing drowning out his pungent body odor was the stench of urine on his fingers as he lifted her chin.
Her entire body tightened, her face scrunched, and she squeezed her eyes shut, ready for a blow, but he let go and stepped back.
“A comely wench, but I’ve had better.”
Father roared with laughter. Although Millissa had experienced far worse from him when he was drunk, the barb still stung. Since she wasn’t good enough for the King, she hoped he would let her go.
“Do you know the penalty for sorcery in these lands?” asked King Donovan.
Millissa nodded.
“Good, because in exchange for not reporting you to the Anti-Magic Army, you will spin an acre of straw into gold.”
Millissa’s eyes widened. “Your Majesty, I can’t do—”
He pointed his gold tankard toward the soldiers at the door. “Make the gold, or I will have you executed as a witch.”
Chapter 2
No matter how many times Millissa protested, the King would not believe her. Captain Sprout led her to an underground chamber wider than the entire mill. Stacks of straw filled the room, reaching almost to the ceiling. A single lantern shone on a spinning wheel and reel, which stood in a clearing along with a stool and chamberpot. He pushed her into the room and shut the heavy, wood door.
Millissa whirled around and banged her fists on the door. “But I don’t know how to make gold. It’s impossible!”
The hatch opened, and the King’s ruddy visage loomed into the window space. “Your dad tells me you do it all the time. Consider this task taxation on witchcraft.” He grinned, revealing blunt, yellow teeth. “Because if this room isn’t filled with gold when I return tomorrow morning, I will make you suffer before you’re executed.”
Millissa’s mouth hung open, and her shallow breaths made her lightheaded. Her legs trembled, and she staggered to the stool and wrung her hands. How she was going to get out of this predicament, she had no idea. If she had jumped instead of believing that Father would be killed if she didn’t come, she would be free of her awful life and reunited with Mother.
Father poked his drunken red face through the hatch. “Do as the King says and spin the gold, will you?”
“You know I can do nothing of the sort.”
Father snickered. “That’s what a witch would say, ain’t it, Your Majesty?”
“She sure sounds like a witch to me.” The King’s voice echoed from afar. “Come, Bartlet, let us sup while we wait for the gold.”
“Why are you doing this?” Millissa shrieked.
“Be a good girl, poppet. See you in the morning.” Father left, and his running footsteps echoed away.
Millissa’s head hung to her chest, her tears splattering on her embroidered apron. The drink had finally gone to Father’s head and rendered him insane. And he’d dragged the King into his madness. This time, no apologizing for his drunken acts would fix this mess. She gripped the sides of the stool. Only a miracle could save her now. She would hav
e called on her fairy godmother for help, but the opening of the fairy iron mine had driven all such beings from the Seven Kingdoms. Millissa sniffled. Ever since Mother had died, her life had been one miserable day after another.
She waited for the footsteps to recede and checked her pockets for useful items. There was only a handkerchief and a wooden comb. A story came to mind of Simon the Thief who had been hung for burglary a few years ago. He would use his wife’s hairpins to force open locks. Millissa searched under her wimple, pulled out her thinnest metal hair stick and walked to the door. There was no keyhole, and she wondered how in the Known World Simon had managed to open doors with such an implement.
When that plan failed, she burrowed into the straw, trying to feel around for a window, a grate, or a second door. She was glad her clothing covered so much of her body, as the straw scratched at her exposed skin and made her sneeze. For what seemed like hours, she scrambled around on her hands and knees, searching for a way out. But she stopped when the sounds of boisterous laughter exploded from behind.
A familiar face leered at her from the opening in the door. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Prim Mill.”
Millissa stood and brushed off the straw. She had nothing to say to Gustav, Marjorie’s older and much more spiteful brother.
“Let’s have a look at the new prey.” Another soldier pushed him aside and grimaced. “I thought she’d be more appealing.”
Gustav shoved his way back to the opening. “That’s the thing. No one’s seen Mill uncovered since we were small. I for one am looking forward to seeing her brought low when His Majesty turns her over to us for the hunt.”
Millissa: A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling (Cendrilla Perrault Chronicles) Page 1