Queen of Gold and Straw: A Rumpelstiltskin Retelling

by Shari L. Tapscott

  “The lily bells will bloom in a few weeks,” I say absently, enjoying myself even more than I thought I would.

  “What do they look like?”

  I turn back to Conrad, surprised. “You’ve never seen the lily bells? They’re white, and they grow in dainty clusters. They’re one of the first flowers to bloom in the spring.”

  “How is it you know more about the things that grow in my kingdom than I do?”

  I find myself smiling despite myself. “I love your kingdom. Very much.” He gives me a quizzical look, and I motion toward the window. “How couldn’t I? Is there anywhere as fair as our forest or meadows?” I shake my head. “I highly doubt it.”

  “And yet…you would leave it?”

  I find myself sucking in a breath, unsure how to answer.

  He looks out his window, his expression distant.

  “Conrad,” I say, softly.

  After several heartbeats, he looks back.

  “Maybe I don’t—”

  I’m unable to finish because the driver hollers to Conrad. We’ve reached the village, and he needs further instruction.

  I murmur directions to Conrad, who in turn gives them to the driver. We begin moving once more, but the moment is gone, the conversation forgotten, and I don’t know how to return to it.

  Chapter 26

  I sit back in my seat, feeling a little stunned.

  Was I honestly going to tell Conrad that I don’t want to leave? That I want to stay here, by his side?

  Do I mean it? I do one minute, and then the next… Maybe it’s better I was interrupted.

  I partially close the drapes and stay in the shadows, choosing not to make myself known as we make our way through the village. Still, people flock outside. I can hear them chattering, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

  “You’re quite popular,” Conrad says lightly, letting our last conversation fade into memory.

  “You would be too if you were one of them before you became royalty.”

  “Are you saying I’m not popular with the people?”

  I look over at him. He smirks, telling me he’s not upset.

  “You are. Half the population is in love with you, even the ones who believe you to be mad.”

  “Is that so?” He leans a little closer. “And what about you? What do you think?”

  I can’t help but smile. “Oh, I know you’re mad.”

  His answering grin is swift and bright and entirely disarming. He towers over me, even sitting. I suddenly feel very small, very helpless, very out of my element.

  He drops his voice and shifts closer. “But are you in the half who are in love with me?”

  Before I can find an answer to that, the carriage comes to a stop. I pull back the curtain, and my muscles relax. After all this time, I feel as if I’ve finally come home. But it’s not my home.

  Conrad helps me from the carriage just as Emma opens the door, her eyes wide. She gapes at our entourage like a fish deprived of water.

  “Hello, Emma,” I say, grinning.

  “Greta,” she breathes. When she sees Conrad, she blanches and falls into a curtsy that’s just about the clumsiest thing I’ve ever seen. “Your Majesty.”

  Conrad stands by the carriage, his arms crossed, smiling absently—like this showing up on a peasant’s doorstep business is somewhat amusing.

  “Pack your things,” I tell Millicent’s younger sister. “You’re coming with me.”

  Her eyes grow even larger. “Where?”

  “I’m in need of a companion,” I tell her, “and if I remember correctly, you’re in need of adventure.”

  I’m also in need of a friend, someone I know well enough to trust. Emma is loyal, and though she was taken with Conrad from afar, I know she’ll never look at him the way my other ladies do.

  Her mouth falls open, and then she glances at the men on horseback. They wait patiently, looking both curious and slightly appalled. What queen picks a peasant girl for one of her ladies?

  Honestly, what’s the kingdom coming to?

  After Emma recovers, she hurries to me and drops her voice. “You can’t be serious—oh, your gown is gorgeous. I can’t be one of your ladies—I’m not a courtier. Is it silk? Mother will die.”

  “I am serious, and I have no idea. It might be silk.”

  Emma glances at Conrad and looks like she’s going to faint dead away. Before she has a chance, Nanette and Emma’s father appear from around the back of the house.

  “Greta,” Nanette says, her face crumpling with what looks very much like joy. She runs for me, nearly tripping, and pulls me into her arms. “Oh, child. Look at you.”

  She pulls back, holding me at arm’s length.

  “If your mother could see you,” she whispers, and then she takes the corner of her apron to her face.

  I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in months. “Nanette, you must forgive me, but I have come to steal your daughter.”

  Nanette looks at Emma. “What’s this?”

  “I have need of a companion,” I explain. “And I’d like her to take the position.”

  After almost half an hour of more tears, packing, and then transferring Emma’s things to the carriage, we’re finally ready to be on our way.

  “Write often,” Nanette says, blinking.

  “Visit us when we return to the castle,” I call as I step into the carriage. “And bring Millicent!”

  Conrad catches my arm before I step into the carriage. “I’ll leave the two of you to get reacquainted.”

  I linger here for another moment, just looking at him. “Thank you.”

  He nods and then turns for his waiting horse.

  Emma peers out the window, watching the men on horseback. “They’re all so handsome.”

  I snort out a laugh.

  The girl turns, grinning. “That was a very dignified sound, Your Majesty.”

  “Tell me about your family. How is Millicent?”

  “She’s doing well,” Emma says. “Though she misses you. I swear you’re all anyone talks about anymore.” She leans forward. “How did you do it?”

  I avert my gaze. “How did I do what?”

  Dropping her voice to a whisper, she says, “Spin the gold.”

  Refusing to answer, I only shake my head.

  Emma laughs. “Fine. Keep your secrets.” She looks out the window again. “That man there. What’s his name?”

  “Tall? Reddish hair?”

  “That’s right.” She nibbles her lip as she stares at him, hiding behind the drape so he won’t notice her.

  “Phillip.”

  She looks back, her eyes bright. “Is he married?”

  I shake my head.

  “Hmmm.” She lets the curtain drop, smiling to herself. “I feel like I’ve stumbled into a fairy story.”

  “I know the feeling.”

  She leans forward. “Greta…you married the king. What’s it like?”

  I shrug, helpless to find an answer that will satisfy her.

  “He’s very handsome,” she says, giggling softly.

  “He is,” I agree.

  “And he has a presence about him…”

  I nod, feeling it’s safe to agree with that too.

  “And he looks at you as though you’re the only woman in the world.” She sighs, sitting back on her bench, a dreamy, far-off look lighting her face.

  “I don’t think…” I clear my throat. “I believe that’s an exaggeration.”

  She looks back. “Are you daft? Have you paid any attention? His eyes follow you, and he wears this little smile when he’s looking at you—only you. Oh, how I want a man to look at me like that.”

  After a few minutes, she changes the subject, but I lean back, mulling her words over. She’s fanciful, always has been. Her imagination often ran away with her when she was very young.

  I lean forward just a little, peering out the window. Conrad’s just ahead, speaking with Benjamin. He’s atop his black horse, and I rem
ember riding together, wrapping my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his back.

  Feeling my eyes on him, he glances toward the carriage. Quickly, I sit back, careful to move out of his view, and then turn my attention back to the girl across from me.

  It’s so good to have Emma’s company again, even if she reminds me so much of Millicent it hurts. I didn’t realize how much I missed them. After the wedding, I pushed everything aside, worried that if I let myself feel anything, I’d feel everything. Now it’s as though I’m waking from a deep slumber.

  We venture forward, very soon entering a part of the forest I’ve never set foot in. Light shines through the thick pines, dappling the ground. The snow that lies in the shadows is gray-tinged and icy—the result of melting in the gradually warming afternoons and freezing again when the sun goes down.

  Emma looks out the window often, chattering like a squirrel. At midday, the men set out a cold feast, spreading a blanket on the ground.

  Conrad escorts me from the carriage. His face is flushed from the ride, and his hair is slightly wind-blown, making him look even less like a king and more like a dashing huntsman.

  Although the sun’s shining down upon us, I’m glad for my heavy cloak. We dine on cold slices of meat and cheese, along with small loaves of brown bread, wine, and bright green grapes grown in the castle’s greenhouse.

  I watch Emma eat, amused. She’s overwhelmed by the opulence, the sheer amount of food that’s provided for the midday meal. Their family was lucky if they had this sort of meal on a holiday. I realize with a tinge of dismay that I’ve grown accustomed to it.

  Soon, we continue on our way, Conrad once again riding, giving Emma and me privacy.

  I stifle a yawn, still exhausted from my sleepless night. Thankfully, Emma’s excitement keeps me awake.

  “What are they muttering about?” Emma asks after we’ve traveled several hours. The carriage slows and then eventually comes to a stop. If there weren’t glass blocking her, I swear Emma would be halfway out the window.

  I listen, able to tell something is amiss but unsure what.

  “Did they just say ‘trolls?’” Emma whispers.

  A premonition of fear washes over me as I remember my one-on-one encounter with the hairy beast. And then I think of Conrad coming to my rescue, and my panic subsides.

  “We needn’t fear trolls,” I tell her. “Our men are armed and have trained since they were old enough to lift a sword.”

  She nods absently, looking more excited than worried.

  The carriage door opens abruptly, startling us both. Emma lets out a little yip and then laughs.

  Phillip stands at the entrance, blocking some of the afternoon light with his giant body. A smile flickers over his face before he bows his head in apology. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Your Majesty.”

  “We’re fine. Why have we stopped?”

  “We’ve spotted signs of trolls. King Conrad wishes to scout the area. There’s a small community of woodcutters who live nearby, and he wants to make sure they are well.”

  I nod, unsure how else to answer.

  “They won’t be long,” he promises. “Clive and I will stay, so you have nothing to fear.”

  Nothing except Clive and his dark looks.

  “May I ride with my husband?” I ask.

  He pauses. “I will ask him.” He leaves, closing the door behind him.

  A few moments later, it opens once more, but it’s Conrad this time. He focuses on me, his expression serious but his eyes laughing. “You wish to scout for trolls?”

  “I do.”

  He snorts out a laugh, and nods me toward him, silently giving his permission.

  “May I stay here?” Emma asks, peering at Phillip, who’s just outside the door. Then, swiftly grinning, she looks back at me. “Your Majesty.”

  “It’s probably for the best, considering you’ve never ridden a horse.”

  “I could manage it,” she protests, her eyes moving to the lord once more. “But…I’d rather stay.”

  Laughing under my breath, I give her permission—a strange thing really—and then step out of the carriage.

  “Which horse is mine?” I ask, walking ahead of Conrad.

  “Why don’t you ride with me?” Conrad’s words are spoken from directly behind me, so close I can feel the breath of them against my bare neck.

  “All right,” I agree, telling myself it’s the cold air that caused a shiver to pass through me and not Conrad.

  He helps me up, sitting me off to the side this time for the sake of propriety. It’s going to make it harder to hold him, but at least I don’t have to worry about my skirts riding too high.

  “Are you comfortable?” Conrad asks once he’s seated in front of me.

  My arms are around him, though the angle is far more difficult than it was the first time we rode together.

  “Mmmhmm,” I agree, clutching him a little closer when he nudges his horse to a walk.

  I should ask my seamstress for several riding gowns—then this won’t be an issue.

  And I could clutch him closer. It’s a rogue thought, one that makes my stomach tighten. Suddenly, I’m nervous. I feel flighty and too warm, and my mind wanders places it has no right to go.

  I close my eyes, reveling in the moment. Even though I wear gloves, my hands are cold. But Conrad is warm. I scoot forward, telling myself it’s because I have no desire to freeze and not because I want to be closer.

  “Are you all right back there?” he asks, noticing my squirming.

  “Fine.”

  Memories from the day we met blend with daydreams, distracting me. I imagine it’s just Conrad and me, like in the forest.

  We lose the others and stop somewhere secluded, somewhere quiet and serene. Conrad dismounts and turns to me. Then he grasps my waist and pulls me from the horse, right into his arms. My heart beats madly as he presses even closer, wrapping his fingers through my hair, tipping my head, grazing my jaw with his lips—

  Benjamin swears, jerking me from my wayward thoughts. Conrad stiffens, and I peer around him, wondering what they’ve spotted.

  Ahead of us, a cottage sits in a state of disrepair, though it’s not from years of abandonment. It’s from the three trolls that are tearing it apart. The massive beasts stand, towering over the doorway, yanking on shutters, pulling at the door. A man lies on the ground, unconscious and bleeding.

  At least, I hope he’s only unconscious.

  Immediately, Conrad and the brothers leap from their horses, already drawing their swords.

  “Stay here, Greta. Take Frank’s reins,” Conrad commands, looking back for just a moment. “And no finding logs to trip over this time.”

  A mirthless laugh escapes me, but he’s already running forward, meeting the beasts just as one successfully rips the door right from its hinges.

  And that’s when I hear it—a baby crying from somewhere inside the broken home. My blood goes cold, and Frank stomps, eager to join the fight.

  The trolls let out guttural cries when they see the king and his knights, and they turn from the house, baring their yellowed teeth at their attackers.

  But not all of them. One slips inside, using the chaos as a cover. Conrad faces one by himself, dodging as the enormous creature swipes a meaty fist at his face. He lunges forward to stab him, but the troll charges, ramming into him with his hairy shoulder, sending Conrad off balance.

  These ones are much larger than the first I encountered.

  Benjamin and Edmund are on the other troll, fighting him together. It looks like the beast is fighting a losing battle, but it won’t end fast enough to save the child inside.

  I make a split-second decision—one that is beyond foolish. I urge Frank forward and skirt the cottage, heading for the back, praying there’s a way inside that the family hasn’t barricaded.

  The crying grows louder, and it’s followed by a terrified female voice, quietly begging the baby to be silent.

  The wi
ndows are shuttered at the back of the house. Just as I’m starting to panic, realizing I have no idea what I’m doing and no weapon to protect myself or the people who are basically trapped inside, I see a set of cellar doors peeking out from a disheveled stack of cut wood. Whether it was the trolls who knocked the pile over in their haste to get into the house, or something less sinister, I don’t know.

  I stumble from Frank’s back, almost falling on my face on the way down, and hurry for the small, wooden doors. Inside, I can hear the troll bellowing, tossing things about, looking for the baby he can smell and hear but cannot find.

  Desperate, I jerk at the logs, throwing them aside, unburying the doors. When it’s mostly clear, I yank at them—only to find them locked from the inside.

  There’s a thump against the side of the wall as the troll tosses a piece of furniture. It’s heavy enough, it could be a table. There are more crashes, followed by a holler that makes my stomach writhe. It was one of the brothers, but I don’t know which one. Conrad yells too, but my entire focus is on the cellar, on freeing the children and their mother.

  I knock several times, a friendly, yet frantic, cadence that no troll would have the finesse to replicate. “Open the doors,” I hiss, trying to keep my voice low so the beast intruder won’t realize I’m at the back of the house, wholly unprotected.

  The baby continues to cry, though it’s a pitiful, hiccupping sound now. Moments later, the cellar doors are forcefully tossed open. I stumble back, nearly falling on my hind end as a toddler is thrust at me.

  “Take her,” a woman with light brown hair and wild eyes begs, and then she ducks back inside.

  I clasp the terrified girl close and stumble to my feet, nearly tripping over my cloak.

  The noises inside the house have quieted, which means one of the men has finally killed the beast—or the monster has run out of things to throw.

  The woman appears again a moment later, clutching the screaming baby to her chest. Just as she’s stumbling up the steps, there’s a crash and the sound of the inside door splintering. Light floods the woman’s hiding place, and the troll stumbles into view.