Queen of Gold and Straw: A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling

by Shari L. Tapscott

“Fine,” he says with a snort. “It’s a royal command. Call me by my name.”

  “Conrad,” I whisper, feeling like I’m going to be sick.

  His dark eyes meet mine. “There. Was that so bad?”

  As he says it, he slides off my boot, making me gasp. While the pain paralyzes me, he gently tugs down my long stocking, pulling it free from my foot. He hands me both the boot and the stocking, and then his fingers are on my ankle, against my skin, examining the damage with a touch so careful I almost melt into the saddle.

  “Hmmm,” he murmurs, less amused than he seemed to be a moment ago.

  “Is it broken?” I ask, my voice small in the growing night.

  He looks up, meeting my gaze. “How should I know? I’m not a physician.”

  Before I can stop myself, I bark out an irritated laugh and give his shoulder a nudge. When I realize what I’ve done, I recoil.

  Conrad frowns at my reaction. “To ease your fears, I feel I should inform you I don’t break that easily.”

  “I shouldn’t have touched you,” I whisper, looking down at the ground, which seems so much farther from atop his large horse. “I apologize.”

  “Touch me again.” He waits a moment, letting the words sink in. “I didn’t mind the first time; I doubt I’ll mind the second.” He waits until I look at him, and then he gives me another crooked smile. “Let’s find out.”

  “What are you doing here?” I say after several lingering moments, changing the subject as I look around. “Where are your guards?”

  He leans forward, dropping his voice. “Are you asking if I’ve run away from home?”

  “May I speak freely?”

  The young king shrugs. “Why not?”

  Because you might behead me.

  I gulp and take confidence in the fact that he probably won’t order my death after he took the trouble to save my life. “Do you regularly prowl the woods, looking for young women to—”

  “Rescue from trolls?” he interrupts, his tone wry.

  “Something like that.”

  He takes a step back, crossing his arms as he watches me. “You’re my first.” When I don’t answer, he narrows his eyes. “Why are you looking at me like I’m as villainous as the beast? Do you think I’m going to hurt you?”

  Hurt me? Of course not. Why would I be uncomfortable alone in the dark woods with a possibly mad ruler whose fiancées—all four of them—either mysteriously died or were put to death?

  “Yes, well. I’m not,” he says when I still don’t answer. “I think you’ve sprained your ankle. It’s nothing serious, but you should stay off it for a few days.”

  “I thought you weren’t a physician.”

  He leans a fraction closer, still keeping his distance…but almost looking like he doesn’t necessarily want to. “I’m a king. I’ve been told since birth I know everything.”

  “You’re not what I expected,” I say, yet again speaking my mind before I have time to think about the words.

  “In a good way or a bad way?” He clasps his horse’s reins, drawing me closer.

  “In a way that doesn’t matter because I’m the daughter of a peddler and you’re my king.”

  And I love another.

  Conrad—the king, I correct myself—laughs again, a low soft chuckle. He acts like I’m the most amusing thing he’s ever come across. Then he swings himself atop his horse. “Scoot back,” he commands when he’s halfway up.

  I do as he instructs, though I wonder if I should leap from the animal and take my chances with the woods. The king settles into the saddle in front of me and then looks at me over his shoulder. “You’ll have to hold on.”

  “Where?”

  His lips twitch with amusement. “Wrap your arms around my waist.”

  That does it. This isn’t happening—I must have hit my head when I fell from the tree, and all this is a very vivid dream, likely brought on by Emma’s rambling at the wedding.

  “Where are we going?” I ask before I steel my courage and set my hands on the sides of his waist.

  “You’re going to fall if you don’t make more of an effort.”

  With a huff, I press myself against his back and hold him tightly.

  “See? Was that so hard?” he asks, and though I can’t see him, I can hear the smile in his tone.

  I’d answer, but my cheek is pressed against his very expensive, decadently soft jacket, and just because I’ll never, not ever, be in this position again, I allow myself to revel in the moment.

  “I’m taking you home,” he finally says, answering my previous question. “Just as soon as you tell me where home is.”

  “You can’t,” I mumble, imagining the look Father would wear if I were to show up with Conrad. I mean, not Conrad. The king.

  Oh, I give up.

  Frank the Horse walks down the path, his movements as smooth as freshly churned butter. I’ve never ridden a horse before, but I have a feeling they’re not all this magnificent.

  “Can’t?” he asks. “Your words insinuate you have no home. You don’t look homeless. If you are, then you’re the prettiest beggar I’ve ever come across.”

  My cheeks grow warm, and I remind myself this man is as dangerous as they come.

  “My father…you just can’t.”

  “Embarrassed to be seen with the king?” He shakes his head. “I get the impression you’re one of those hard-to-please girls.”

  I close my eyes, wishing he weren’t quite so likable. It makes it hard to remember he’s royal—and murderous.

  “If I’m not taking you home, where am I taking you?” he asks.

  I almost tell him to leave me here, but that’s asking for death. What if more trolls lurk nearby?

  “We’ll go around the back,” I finally say. “You may drop me off near the cottage, where I can holler for help and they’ll hear me.”

  “While that is an intriguing idea, I’m not leaving you in the woods.”

  “We live in a meadow.”

  “Oh, well then,” he says lightly. “That’s another matter entirely. Of course I have no qualms about depositing you alone, in the dark, injured, as long as it’s in a meadow and not the forest.”

  Emboldened by his friendly, sane tone, I poke him in the side. “May I speak freely once more?”

  “Why not? Who’s here to stop you?”

  Taking that as permission, I find a more comfortable hold on him and say, “Be honest. Did they kick you out of the castle for the day? Just for a brief respite?”

  His answering laughter vibrates through his core and into my chest.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly after several moments pass. “For rescuing me.”

  He looks back again, his expression warm and a touch questioning. “You’re welcome.”

  Chapter 7

  Night falls as we make our way through the forest. We skirt the village for obvious reasons—one of which I’m sure is that Conrad doesn’t want to be seen with me. Which is fine. I don’t need that kind of gossip following me. I’m already the subject of enough.

  “It’s just a little way through the trees,” I instruct, shivering when the autumn breeze whips at my cloak. “Toward the middle of the meadow.”

  Clouds cover the sky, making it a dark night. So dark, I almost don’t notice the lone figure lingering near the edge of the clearing, waiting by the side of the road.

  His Majesty tenses marginally when the man steps out, blocking our path. Conrad’s hand finds the hilt of the sword that hangs at his side, but he makes no move to draw the blade yet.

  The clouds shift, allowing a sliver of light from the newly risen moon to fall on the forest, and the man’s features become clear.

  I set my hand on Conrad’s shoulder, conscious of my proximity to the king. “It’s all right. I know him.”

  I’m already shifting, ready to leap from the horse—wondering how I’ll accomplish it with my ankle throbbing as it does—when Conrad moves the reins to one hand and reaches back to hold me s
till with the other. “Not yet.”

  “Good evening.” Rune steps forward, moving with the natural grace his people are known for. He looks at home in the darkened forest, at ease.

  “Elf,” Conrad says, tipping his head in a cool greeting.

  Rune’s eyes shift to me. “Are you well, Greta?”

  I glance at the back of Conrad’s head before I turn back to Rune. “I injured my ankle,” I admit and then motion to the king. “He found me, rescued me from a cave troll.”

  The elf narrows his eyes ever so slightly. He’s told me not to wander the woods, said many times that it’s not safe. “Are you all right?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  Rune’s gaze moves to Conrad. “Thank you for your assistance. I’ll see her home from here.”

  He either doesn’t know he’s standing in the presence of the human king of Morgenbruch…or he doesn’t care. As I stare at him, my stomach knotting, I conclude it’s the latter.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather see her safely home myself,” Conrad says easily.

  “I do mind. You’re in elven territory.”

  I draw in a breath.

  Conrad straightens further. He’s so tall, so broad. I feel like a small child as I crane my neck to see around him.

  “You might want to brush up on your boundaries, elf. Your territory doesn’t begin until the trees at the other end of the clearing.”

  Rune takes a step forward and turns his eyes on me. “Greta?”

  “It’s fine,” I whisper to Conrad. “He’s a friend.”

  The king looks over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. “A friend?” His tone is incredulous, as if he believes the elf has bewitched me in some way. And maybe he has, but that’s not the point.

  I draw away from the king and lower my eyes to the ground as I whisper, “I’ll need some help down.”

  Rune waits, patient, as Conrad dismounts and then assists me to the ground. The king’s hands are hot on my waist, and his very royal scent tickles my senses. I don’t want to touch him, not in front of Rune, but I set my palms atop his shoulders to keep my balance.

  He steadies me, making sure I won’t topple over, and then offers his arm. I should resist, but I can’t walk on my own, not yet. I slide my hand through the crook of his arm and slowly limp my way to Rune with Conrad’s assistance.

  When we’re near, Rune takes me from the king, wrapping his arm around my back. “Are you all right?” he whispers.

  I glance at Conrad and nod.

  The king watches us, arms crossed, half amused, half…something else. “See that she makes it home.”

  “Do you offer this level of personal assistance to all your subjects?” Rune tilts his head to the side, challenging the man.

  Conrad only smiles. His eyes then slide to mine, and they hold for several moments too long. I inhale in a soft breath, feeling off-kilter from the strange events.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Greta,” Conrad says, ignoring Rune. He bows his head to me in a way that almost has my knees buckling.

  Don’t treat me like one of your courtiers.

  I’ll never measure up.

  “No more wandering the woods at dusk,” he commands.

  I nod dumbly.

  Part of me wants to ask if I’ll see him again. The rest of me knows that would be a ridiculous thing to do. Thankfully, the reasonable part is strong enough to control the wayward one.

  Without another word, the young king turns on his heel and walks to his waiting horse. He mounts, gives me one last long look, and then turns back the way we came, disappearing into the shadows.

  After he’s gone, Rune turns to me. “You’re the only girl I know who can not only find a cave troll in the forest but have a king come to her rescue when she falls into trouble as well.”

  I’m also the only girl who has an elf for a friend.

  “How’s your ankle?” Rune asks, nodding his chin toward my foot.

  “It hurts, but Conrad doesn’t think it’s broken.”

  Rune jerks his gaze back to me, meeting my eyes. “Conrad?”

  My cheeks go hot, and the knot in my stomach winds tighter. “He asked me to use his name.”

  Rune frowns, but he doesn’t answer.

  “What? Did you expect me to limp home?” I demand. “Perhaps let the troll eat me?”

  Laughing and shaking his head, Rune clutches me closer. “Of course not.”

  “Well, then…”

  Then what? I don’t even know. I’m just tired, and my ankle throbs.

  Leaning down, Rune scoops me into his arms, much like Conrad did only an hour ago. But I don’t fight Rune.

  Instead, I lay my head against his chest, taking pleasure in the closeness.

  “It hurts,” I whine, just because I can. I certainly won’t get any sympathy from Father.

  Father. He’s going to be livid that dinner’s late. He’s never struck me, not once. But with the temper he’s been in lately, I’m not sure he won’t tonight.

  But the cottage is dark when we arrive, silent.

  “He’s not home?” I ask as if Rune will know the answer to that question.

  He shakes his head. “He sold his entire inventory today to a merchant from Tribolet. He went straight to the tavern after work.”

  He’ll lose it all by morning too, and we’ll still have no money to pay for the shipment of silk Father requested this spring. I think of the coins tucked in my pocket. It won’t be enough, not even if I add it to all I’ve secretly saved.

  “How do you know of Father’s whereabouts?” I ask.

  Rune meets my eyes. “I came to warn you about the troll earlier—my people have seen signs of him in the woods. When I couldn’t find you, I went into the village, asked if anyone knew where you were.”

  “You went into the village?” That’s not something the elves do often, if ever. “Did they recognize you?”

  Though elves are practically identical to humans, there’s something otherworldly about them, something that sets them apart. It’s not difficult to spot them in a crowd.

  “I wore a cloak, hid my face in shadows.”

  “Still…are you sure it was wise?”

  “I don’t abide by the rules set forth by humans.” Rune studies me for a long moment. “If I did, would I be holding you now?”

  I gulp, feeling warm and fluttery.

  We reach the cottage, and Rune opens the door without setting me down. He strides inside like he’s been here a dozen times. The drapes are still open, letting in the meager light from the cloud-covered moon. It washes over our humble cottage, illuminating it enough Rune can find his way to a chair by the table and lower me into it.

  I’m about to ask him to light a candle when he holds up his hand, and a ball of golden light gathers in his palm, brightening the room. My eyes widen as I look around, taking it in.

  “I haven’t seen that particular trick before,” I murmur, more to myself than my elf companion.

  He kneels in front of me, his eyes almost level with mine. “We’re seldom together after dark.”

  He’s right. We’re never together at night, just the two of us, tucked away and cozy. For a moment, I picture it. I pretend this is our cottage, that he’s mine, and I’m his, and this is our life.

  It’s a pretty image, though it hurts my heart to imagine it.

  “May I see your ankle?” His fingers toy with the hem of my skirt.

  Unbidden, I remember the king doing the same, though he certainly didn’t ask. Shaking the thought away, I nod.

  Gently, Rune encases my ankle in his hands, and then he narrows his eyes, focusing. Suddenly, heat radiates from his palms, sinking into my skin, offering relief that’s so sudden, I almost cry from the pleasure of it.

  After a moment, he removes his hands and sits back on his heels.

  “What did you do?” I whisper, carefully moving my ankle. It still hurts, but it’s a dull pain now, manageable. “You can do that?”

  Rune
chuckles, amused by the question. “Obviously, seeing as I just did.”

  “That’s remarkable.”

  He shakes his head and stands. “There are many more talented than I. My healing skills are parlor tricks at best.”

  “Always modest.”

  “Have you met your king before?” Rune asks, abruptly changing the subject. He clasps his hands behind his back and looks out the darkened window.

  I study him. Rune carries himself exactly as Conrad: noble, important, somehow above. I’ve always assumed it’s because of the elf blood, but I’ve never met another to know.

  “No,” I finally answer.

  He looks back. “Are you sure?”

  Growing agitated, I cross my arms. “I believe I’d remember if I met the king.”

  “But would you tell me?”

  If I weren’t stuck in this chair, I’d rise out of agitation. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Our eyes lock. Several moments pass before his shoulders sag, and he looks away, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m…”

  “Jealous?” I tease. I press my lips together, trying not to smile.

  He looks back. “Yes.”

  The admission takes me off guard, makes me nervous and fluttery and warm.

  “Oh,” I say, looking down.

  “I should go.” He glances toward the door. “Before your father returns.”

  He walks about the cottage, closing the shutters and drapes and lighting candles. Before he leaves, he starts a fire in the hearth and rummages in the cupboard for cheese and bread, which he brings to me on a wooden plate.

  “Will you have some?” I ask. “I made the loaf this morning, so it’s fresh.”

  He nods and brings me a knife as well. I slice it, trying not to let my mind wander. I offer him the first slice, which he accepts with a small smile.

  “Well?” I ask after he takes a bite.

  “It’s good, Greta.” He starts for the door. “Lucky is the man who marries you.”

  “Rune,” I call before he steps out the door. He pauses, waiting for me to continue. “Did you mean it? The offer? Was it real?”

  He studies me, and the intensity of the gaze makes my stomach flutter. “I did. Say the word, and we’ll elope.”

  But where will we go? Where will we live? We couldn’t stay here.