“Mind yourself, Your Majesty, or I may be tempted to do it again,” the princess declared.
Her comment made us all laugh, something we sorely needed after hearing the king’s tale. Despite its happy conclusion and obvious success, it was still rather sobering, not least because of the alternative outcomes the king had avoided. What if he had never changed himself and remained a frog forever? What if he had and still remained a frog forever? What if the prince and I hadn’t been amused with his slimy purple coat and had thrown him back into the water instead of taking him along for “further study”? And if the princess had never thrown him against the wall?
Perhaps I shouldn’t have thought so deeply into the king’s story, but I was used to questioning the convoluted ones Bestaymor would tell her granddaughters, so it was an automatic response I had yet to be rid of. I shifted my gaze out the window and let my mind drift with the falling snow outside. It was only when someone sat down beside me that I realized the room had cleared, the others surely off to bed. Except for Prince Arlando. And me.
He watched the snow fall with me, one hand holding back the curtain on his side. The air was amiable between us, the low cackle of the slowly dying fire not loud enough to disrupt the comfortable silence.
“What a story,” the prince spoke first.
“Perhaps His Highness will bring me a book about it someday,” I agreed.
The prince nodded. “That would be something.”
Despite the dark and the swirling snowflakes, I was sure I saw a flash of red somewhere in the clearing outside. Truth is, I didn’t need to see it to know that Sienna was out there somewhere, cooling her burning feet. I could even imagine her kicking up the snow as she walked through it, as if it were ocean surf and not frozen grains of water.
The prince turned his gaze from the window, though I don’t know if he saw her out there, too, and settled it entirely on me. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Nothing of import,” I tried to dismiss the question. “Little musings on this and that.”
The prince wasn’t about to let up. “King Heinrich’s story?” he asked.
“King Heinrich’s story,” I reluctantly yielded.
“Which part?” he pressed.
“All of it, Highness,” I immediately replied, then realizing it wasn’t enough of an answer for him added, “It’s difficult to think of such a delightful man being forever trapped within such a decidedly not delightful body.”
I could feel the prince sharpening his gaze as he listened, then tried to look past my words at the things I hadn’t said. I’m not sure what he found, but I do know what he decided to say next.
“A person need not be trapped in a frog’s body to be trapped in a frog’s body.”
Was I supposed to recognize that from one of the books he’d lent me?
“I don’t understand,” I said carefully.
“There are some who feel they are trapped in a frog’s body,” the prince elaborated, “but there are also some who are not afraid of frogs and do not find them ugly. Rather, they are somewhat intrigued by them and their distinctness.”
“His Highness is still using words that disguise his true meaning,” I said pointedly.
Whatever the prince was angling at, I was pretty sure we were no longer talking about the king. I supposed that could be why the prince didn’t feel comfortable speaking plainly, because he didn’t know if I’d accept what he had to say. I can appreciate the sentiment, because I probably wouldn’t have, but it did make the conversation slightly awkward.
The prince thought a moment before responding. “Think on it this way,” he tried again, “imagine a chicken pecking through the dirt of a barnyard. Should he happen upon a hard, dirty, but shiny object, he would cast it aside, because it is not a kernel he can eat. Even if the shiny object is an expensive jewel, it has no value to a chicken, which cannot appreciate it.”
“His Highness is no longer talking about the king,” I said directly.
“No, I am not,” the prince admitted. “But his story has me thinking about the notion of people and the skins they wear.”
“Very well,” I said uneasily, allowing him to continue, unsure that I wanted him to.
I’d much rather we’d kept the conversation on King Heinrich, it was much less personal that way. I suspect that’s why the prince changed the topic to begin with, though I still don’t know how he was so close to the truth of me then.
“Were a human to dig around in that same dirt,” the prince continued, his eyes sparkling with meaning, “he would cast aside the kernels for the jewel, even covered in dirt as it would be, because he understands and appreciates its true value.”
“Which is to say…” I prompted.
“Which is to say,” the prince took up the thread, “that some of us are like the chicken, we seek out the kernels because they can be eaten, they have instant worth that lasts until used. But some of us appreciate the jewel, because its value is more refined and remains long after the kernel has been eaten.”
I let his words sink in. “The chicken would starve if he chose the jewel over the kernel,” I pointed out.
“But the human would not,” he countered.
“It makes for an interesting thought,” I allowed.
“I think so,” he said simply. “So I shall leave you with it.” He stood and stretched, succeeding little in stifling the yawn to follow. “Good night, Ariel.”
“Good night, Your Highness,” I whispered back.
The prince smiled and left the room with a little bow.
I stayed at the window a while longer, thinking about the stories I’d heard that night and trying to divine their import to me. For King Heinrich’s, the lesson was clear, as was my actual part in the story. I hadn’t done anything noteworthy, but it was nice to know I’d done something to help return him to himself. Would that I could do the same for Sienna.
At the same time, I was quite befuddled by the prince’s analogy of the chicken and the jewel. I have confirmed since that many teachers use that story in their lessons to demonstrate the difference between those who live a life with an emphasis on the body, and immediate material gains, and those who live a life with an emphasis on the soul, and the long-term gains that come to those who appreciate its real value.
Had the prince told the story to Sienna, I would have been sure that was what he’d been referring to. But he hadn’t. He’d told the story to me, and right after King Heinrich had told his, too. It would take more than one night, plus a few small, but significant encounters, to understand that the prince’s words were spurred by King Heinrich’s story even though they had little to do with His Majesty.
But they had everything to do with me.
The best part of the trip was that King Heinrich proved to be the perfect guest and a welcome addition to our small group, so much so it was impossible to imagine that the time there could have been without him.
And all this not just because he was intelligent, cordial, truly possessed a wonderful sense of humor, and was an overall warm ray of sunshine even in the snowy weather; I enjoyed his company because he made Princess Cordelia smile in ways I hadn’t seen in the handful of months I knew her. Ways that included delighted little giggles at sudden and unexpected gifts, secret smiles to herself long after she’d retired to her rooms, impulsive bursts into happy song, and a generally amiable attitude that was almost bubbly compared to the usual efficacy with which she purposefully bustled about the palace.
King Heinrich seemed mutually affected by the princess’s companionship, and he left the next week with easily received permission to write to her, plus her promise that she would visit him in his kingdom on an extended visit, the rest of her life to be exact. Six short weeks after we returned from the mountains, King Heinrich returned for the princess in a lovely ivory carriage pulled by eight white horses, each with an ostrich feather fluttering proudly atop its mane.
Before all that, however, we spent two more
wonderful weeks in the snow, and I couldn’t get enough of all there was to do. With the princess, I built my very first snowman. With Sienna, I rode on my very first sleigh. With the prince, I rode on my very first horse.
That was something not originally planned, but only happened because I was standing outside the lodge one day when he pranced up to the door. I don’t quite remember if I was just coming in or just leaving. I do remember holding a part of an interesting branch from a tree I hadn’t seen closer to shore. It had very thin, sharp leaves and a rather distinct smell, even stronger than freshly cut hedges. One of the servants told me it was called pine, and I was lost in thought about the possibility of shaping it into something from the sea. Kelp, perhaps. A seaweed forest, more likely.
My studies were interrupted by a hard stomping of footsteps in the snow. Then the prince trotted into view, sitting tall on a very magnificent chestnut colored horse.
“Have you seen the king?” he called down to me.
“Which one, Your Highness?” I jovially called in return.
I had to lean my head back to see him and I feared it seemed I was shouting at him. The prince didn’t seem to think anything of it.
“King Heinrich,” he replied. “We’re to see if we can scare up any rabbits today.”
“I saw His Majesty going toward the stables with the princess,” I replied. “The king seemed to think she could best advise him on which horse to choose for the afternoon’s excursions.”
The prince rolled his eyes good-naturedly, yielding to his sister because the king was leaving the next day. “That makes me ready far too early for once,” he said. He focused on me and my pine branch a moment before the next idea came. “Saddle up a horse and join us,” he offered. “Then please distract the princess long enough for us to hunt.”
“Well—I—uh,” I stammered.
“I can’t hear you,” the prince teased.
I swallowed deeply. I may as well get it out and hope to Heaven it didn’t get me into trouble. “I don’t know, um, riding, and, uh, horses, Your Highness,” I confessed.
Even from below, I could see how large the prince’s eyes widened at my words. He slid down from his horse and walked it over to me.
“Ariel, are you telling me that you’ve never ridden a horse before?” he asked incredulously.
I shook my head. “Never,” I confirmed.
I suppose we had a type of horse under the sea, but they were too small for a mermaid to ride. Even if we did magically make them bigger, which some had been for the few ceremonial times King Trident rode out in his carriage, merfolk didn’t really need to ride them. We could swim much faster than any other sea creature, anyway. Relying on them seemed rather pointless.
Now the prince shook his head at me. “I refuse to think there is even one person in my company who has never ridden a horse,” he proclaimed.
“I don’t need a horse to garden, Your Highness,” I pointed out.
But the prince wouldn’t hear any more about it. “I personally take it upon myself to teach you,” he announced. “Your first lesson begins now.”
He knelt in the snow and cupped his hands together near the horse’s stirrup. I shook my head and stepped away in shock.
“I couldn’t,” I whispered.
The prince wouldn’t budge. “You cannot very well reach the stirrup on your own,” he insisted. “Come now, this is how it is done.”
Still shaking my head, I inched forward. Hesitantly, I reached for the saddle and clumsily leaned over the prince to grab it with both hands. Slowly, not quite believing what was happening, I stepped into the cupped surface of the prince’s palms. My foot hardly touched down when I felt myself being pushed upward. I tried to help as best I could by grabbing the saddle and swinging my other leg over, but I only ended up ungracefully flopped on my stomach across the horse, desperately clutching the leather with both hands.
“Good,” the prince said in a tone that was all business, undeterred by my embarrassing gracelessness, “now pull yourself up and swing your other leg over. I’m afraid it’s how a man would ride, but I don’t have the right saddle for a lady.”
I attempted to follow his directions, and my ungainly attempts yielded many moments I’ve since tried to forget. I have succeeded in blocking out most of them. The rest I can hardly think on without blushing.
Finally, finally, I managed to get myself upright in the saddle, where I sat uncomfortably toward the front of it, my knuckles white from gripping the edge. Before I could register what was happening, the prince had effortlessly swung himself up behind me and quite forwardly reached around me to grab the reins.
“To ensure you don’t fall off,” he murmured, his voice a tickle behind my neck. “You’ll learn this all for yourself, but right now, you must get a feel for it.”
I nodded, quite at a loss for words. The prince was too close to me; the ground was not. I was sure I didn’t want to learn how to ride a horse at all.
But the prince wasn’t asking. He prompted the horse into a slow walk around the clearing, during which I firmly clamped my teeth together and tried to mimic the easy sway of his body behind me.
I was not very successful.
After a few circles, the prince mercifully decided my lesson was long enough and slid off his horse to help me down. I grabbed his hands tightly as I descended, praying I wouldn’t crash forward and land with my face in the snow at his feet.
The prince was quite enthusiastic about whatever learning had just occurred and he seemed quite pleased with the progress I surely hadn’t made.
“An excellent start,” he beamed at me. “A little each day, and soon you won’t need any help at all.”
I nodded dumbly in return. I clearly had no choice in the matter and, like his penchant to bring me books, the prince seemed quite set on making sure I would indeed learn how to ride a horse. I silently prayed a miracle would occur to return me—and Sienna—to the sea before my clumsy self had to endure another lesson.
The prince swung back onto his horse and set off in search of King Heinrich and his sister. I knew whatever had just happened had left him in quite a good mood, because the wind carried his cheerful whistling back to me.
That night, he brought me a book about horses, which he excitedly encouraged me to study before my next riding lesson.
“Perhaps, I can just read it and not take any lessons at all,” I suggested hopefully.
The prince wagged a finger at me. “Do not try to get out of this,” he warned half-seriously. “I will have you riding comfortable in the saddle before we are back at the palace.”
“His Highness is quite determined,” I observed.
He replied with a cheeky grin. “When we first met, I confessed to being a romantic, remember? As such, I cannot allow myself to miss an opportunity to take a pretty girl for sunset rides on the beach.”
I was too stunned to answer. Even after he bid me goodnight and I mustered some jumble of words in response, I stood like a rock in the sea, unable to move, sure my foundation was slowly eroding away.
I couldn’t get past the fact that this most handsome prince had just called me pretty. Even in jest.
My next thought was, had he ever said the same to Sienna?
Seeking Extraordinary
We returned from the mountains to a flurry of activity that would only cease after the wedding of Her Royal Highness, Princess Cordelia Gennyver Orabel to His Majesty King Heinrich Amaury Helimut of Vidallia. Princess Cordelia had very specific ideas about her wedding, which placed much of the palace staff on edge in their anxious efforts to please her. No one either wanted to disappoint King Earwyn or Queen Edlyn in preparing and arranging the long anticipated celebration of their only daughter. An added bonus to the new union was that Vidallia, which had always been regarded as a friendly neighbor, would now be an official ally of the kingdom. This was rather beneficial for all sides because King Earwyn had fleets of ships for importing and exporting goods, and King Heinrich�
��s strategically located kingdom had established trade routes through various mountain ranges, which would cut shipping costs by moving certain goods faster over applicable overland routes.
As for me, I returned from the mountains with a new determination to get Sienna back to the sea—especially before wedding fever hit her or the prince—no longer just for her sake, but for mine as well. The excited dizzy of preparations made me realize just how dangerous it was to stay among humans for too long, and I hated to admit that I had started worrying for myself as much as King Trident’s daughter. Fortunately, unlike Sienna, I wasn’t head-over-heels infatuated with a man I’d never have, older and human as he was; it was much simpler than that. I was making friends and beginning to care for them, enjoying my time with them, becoming too comfortable in my temporary life, and that simply could not be. I decided then that one way or another, I would bring Sienna back, even if I had to knock her out and haul her all the way down to the sea witch’s lair myself.
The biggest mistake I made then was to convince myself to wait the six weeks until after the wedding. It was so short a time, still well within the year and some that Sienna had, and yet it completely overturned all my intentions, changing everything.
Because I intended to leave soon, I wanted to give the princess something extra special for her wedding, not just in celebration but also appreciation. I spent a long while wondering just what a disguised mermaid tottering around in human form on borrowed legs could possibly give a princess. I first thought to make a particular hedge with a specific meaning, but she’d have to leave it behind when she traveled to her new home, and then Marel would have me redesign it anyway. Perhaps a song? A painting? A heartfelt letter?
I eventually concluded there was only one place I could find something appropriate enough for someone who meant so much to me.
So I set off down the shore in the direction of where I’d first walked on land and followed it until the flat stretch of sand gave way to a rocky coast bordering the forest that swallowed the road. At the base was a cluster of rocks jutting into the sea, in which the waves had eroded little pockets over the years and sea spray filled them with water so they were well populated with sea life. I studied the tide pools carefully, calling out to the clams I sought.
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