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

by Casey Lane

  Such a long night, that, no matter how I fight it, I fall asleep long before morning.

  I wake to a chorus of gasps. Bolting upright, rubbing my eyes, I turn toward the doorway. Half the castle must be gawking at me. A dozen maids, several stewards, a handful of advisers, the chamberlain, a man who appears to be the constable, and too many guards to count all loiter with the king at the threshold of the room, wide-eyed and seemingly speechless.

  Sunlight shines through the window, illuminating the gold that hangs like spider webs from every imaginable surface. Rune is gone. I don’t even remember him leaving.

  The king looks about, his mouth open and his eyes narrowed. He turns to me, perplexed. “How?”

  All eyes are on me, and I feel their curiosity burning into my skin. I swallow and then shrug, for I have no answer.

  “Very well. Keep your secrets.” His Majesty nods once, too shocked to ramble. “Join me for breakfast while someone”—he waves his hand about—“tidies this up.”

  The way he says it makes it sound as if a toddler got into the master’s paints and had a bit of fun—not like there is enough golden thread in the room to construct an elaborate, and very heavy, tapestry.

  I glance around, wondering why Rune left without saying goodbye. Is he here, somewhere in the room? Does he need me to lead these people away so he can slip out the window?

  “All right,” I finally answer.

  It’s quite safe to say that I never, not once, imagined I would dine at the right side of a king, ours or any other. I should enjoy the food; heaven knows it’s finer than anything I’ve eaten before, but my stomach churns as I worry about Rune. Did he escape? Why didn’t he say goodbye?

  The king glances at my plate. “You’ve barely eaten. Is it not to your liking? Shall I have the cooks bring something else?” Before I can stop him, he yells out, “Greta is displeased!” He turns back to me. “What do you want? Roast boar? Schnitzel? Perhaps a strudel?”

  I shake my head, helpless as the staff turns their eyes on me. Their expressions are not altogether friendly. “I’m fine. It’s all very delicious,” I murmur as I drop my gaze to my lap. “I’m not terribly hungry is all.”

  “You’re sure?” He waves to his people. “They don’t mind.”

  The looks they’re exchanging with each other make me think that they do, in fact, mind quite a lot.

  “I’m very sure, Your Majesty.”

  He narrows his eyes. “We can’t have you calling me that. Not when you’re to be my bride.”

  Panic tightens my chest, making it hard to breathe, but I push it back. I’m not going to be here long enough to be the king’s bride.

  “Call me Conrad,” he continues.

  “I couldn’t possibly.”

  “I command it, and now you have no choice.” He smiles in a way that would be charming if I weren’t so terrified of him. “And you don’t want to defy the orders of a king, do you?” He makes a chopping motion to the side of his neck.

  Because he expects it, I let out a weak laugh, which the others around us join.

  Poison, my foot. The king is mad, plain and simple. In fact, he probably dreamed up the poison theory in one of his vacant-gazed episodes. Just when I’m wondering if I can scoot my chair a little farther from Conrad without him noticing, he catches my eye and winks in a very alert, sane sort of way. As if he’s reassuring me it’s only an act.

  But how can I know? If the king is acting, he’s far too good at it.

  One of Conrad’s stewards, the rotund one, walks into the room and pauses just behind the king’s shoulder. He clears his throat, quietly alerting us to his presence. When the king waves for him to speak, the man says, “The second room has been prepared, Your Majesty.”

  “Excellent.” Conrad pushes his plate aside.

  My skin begins to prickle even before Conrad turns back to me and gives me a slightly off-kilter sort of smile. “Are you ready to spin more gold?”

  “More?”

  Conrad’s already standing. “Of course. My advisers believe we would all benefit from witnessing your skill again.”

  My head begins to spin as the king pulls me to my feet. It’s too much. Even if Rune returns this evening, he will be too exhausted from the night before. Magic takes a toll, even on Alfars.

  I pull my hand from Conrad, risking his wrath. “I couldn’t possibly, Your Majesty.”

  “Conrad,” he corrects, leaning close but looking at the others out of the corner of his eye. “And you must. Or…” he makes that chopping motion again.

  I’m not sure whether it’s a warning or a promise.

  I pace the room, this one larger and grander than the last. But, like last night, it too is full of straw. It rustles under my feet as I pace, waiting for Rune. This room is also at the top of a tower, but I have confidence Rune will make it, just as he did last night. As long as he’s not locked in the dungeon.

  Movement in the window makes me jump, and then I sag with relief. “You made it.”

  Rune makes a dashing figure, climbing over the sill. I run to him, clasp my arms around his waist, and bury my face in the rough fabric of his tunic. He smells like forest and freedom, and I want nothing more than to leave with him.

  “I was worried. I didn’t know if you escaped last night,” I say.

  He slides his arms around my waist, locking me against him. “I’m fine.”

  “I can do it,” I whisper after several moments. “I can climb down the vines. We can leave tonight.”

  “No.” He holds me close, and his breath tickles my ear. “You’ve never even climbed a tree, Greta. It’s too dangerous.”

  For once I wish I was one of those outlaw girls, the ones who wear trousers and carry swords and…climb down towers. But Rune’s right. I’m simply not.

  I twirl the ring on my finger, the last token I have of my mother, and then place it in his hand. “Can you do it?”

  He clasps the ring in his palm and nods. Again, I settle on the bed, but this time, I force myself to stay awake until morning. Watching Rune work is mesmerizing, and soon, the room is draped with gold.

  I’m half asleep when he stands and stretches his back. There are dark circles under his eyes, and I know he’s weary. “I have to leave.”

  The sky is just lightening. Down below, the kitchen girls and servants have likely lit the morning fires.

  “I will sneak away to the forest as soon as I am able,” I promise.

  Rune kneels in front of me and studies me for a long second before he brushes a strand of hair out of my face. My skin tingles where his fingers travel, and I shudder. His hand goes still on my cheek.

  The breeze from the open window is cold, and I move closer, toward his warmth. I draw my eyes up to his, waiting until he meets my gaze, and then brush my hand over the small, gold medallion at his neck.

  His pulse jumps in his throat as I move nearer. “Greta, now is not the time…”

  “Are you sure?” I let my eyes drop, and his lips part just slightly. Ignoring everything but Rune, I trace my finger over his bottom lip. He doesn’t move when I angle my head, doesn’t move when I, as light as the touch of a butterfly’s wing, brush my lips against his. “Are you very sure?”

  Rune groans low and locks his arms around me. Crushing me against his chest, he kisses me—truly kisses me. I’m delirious with joy, tipsy with the forest-smell he carries.

  Lightheaded, my lips move with his until he yanks back. He breathes hard, and his amber eyes are dark. “They’ll be coming for you soon.”

  Sure enough, the sun has crested the mountain, risen over the trees.

  “I’ll find you,” I promise.

  He squeezes my hand, and then he’s out the window.

  Chapter 4

  “Another night?” I demand, feeling as if I’m going to pass out.

  Conrad raises a kingly eyebrow, questioning my outburst. Others watch, wondering how His Majesty will react. The king’s advisers look on, their expressions eager a
nd greedy.

  I turn my gaze to the floor, trying not to look at the massive, straw-covered room in front of me, and then softly say, “I’m so tired.”

  And it’s the truth. I’m exhausted from staying up all night and then playing pleasant guest while unsuccessfully trying to find a way to sneak off. I can’t imagine how Rune is doing. But perhaps he’s sleeping off his night, safe somewhere in the forest.

  The king tilts my chin up, making me meet his glassy eyes, but he’s obviously talking for the benefit of the people around us. “Gold in her eyes, deep pools of chocolate with flecks of pure….” He stares at me for a moment longer and then turns to a steward. “Tell the tailors to make her a dress of the spun gold. We’ll marry first thing in the morning.”

  Marry in the morning?

  Conrad hides a smile when I shiver, possibly mistaking my wide eyes and fluttering eyelashes for demure joy when I am, in truth, fighting back little black dots marring my vision. He leans close to my ear. “No one will ever make you do it again. Just this one last night.”

  “I can’t,” I breathe, sinking to my knees in front of him to beg. I’ll do it if that’s what it takes. Rune was near the breaking point last night. I can’t ask him to do it again.

  Conrad catches me, and the maids around us giggle like I’ve swooned in his arms. With the jerk of his head, he sends our audience away. When they are gone, I attempt to free myself from his grasp, but he holds me firmly in place, his eyes clear once again. “One more night, and then the world is yours.”

  I shake my head and tears sting my eyes. “I don’t want the world.”

  The king purses his lips, looking, perhaps for the first time, anxious. “One more night…and then I am yours.”

  How do you a tell a king you don’t want him?

  I draw in a shaky breath. “I can’t do it. Not for you, not for anyone. Please—Let me go home.”

  “I can’t do that.” Conrad finally releases me, making sure I’m steady before he steps away. “Your Father gave you to me. By all appearances, you are already mine. If I send you away, I’ll appear weak and sentimental. I can’t afford that. Not when there are those plotting against me.”

  Conrad walks me to the spinning wheel and gently pushes my shoulders until I sit. He kneels down, taking my hands. “After tonight, you’ll never be asked to spin gold again. I swear it.”

  Rune finds me face down on the bed, sobbing.

  “It will never end,” I gasp, my face hidden in my arms.

  The bed shifts as Rune sits next to me. He strokes my hair, silent. After several long minutes, I turn to face him, not even bothering to hide my blotchy face, and tell him the king’s plans. Rune looks as disheartened as I feel.

  “And even if you had enough magic left to turn all this straw to gold”—I wave my arms about the room—“I have no gold to trade.”

  Rune grimaces and then pulls the medallion from his neck. I stop his hand, refusing to let him give that up. “Not that.”

  “There’s no other option…except…” He shakes his head, tossing whatever thought he had away.

  I sit up, resting my weight on my palm. “Except what?”

  He shakes his head. “No.”

  “What is it?” I demand, desperation clawing at me.

  Suddenly, I remember what he told me just days ago at our creek. Something worth more than gold.

  “A promise,” I whisper.

  “No.” His eyes flash, and he stands abruptly. “It’s not worth it, Greta.”

  I narrow my eyes. “We’ll never be together if I’m dead.”

  He whips around. “These promises, you’re not trading them with me. You’re trading them with my counsel, and they always come calling.” He rubs a hand over his temple. “And they always want something that’s too painful to give.”

  Rising from the bed, I stride to him and clasp his wrists. “Please.”

  “It’s not—”

  “I wish to trade a promise.” As if entering a contract, I say the words as clearly as possible. “Ask whatever you wish of me.”

  Rune looks as if I’ve stabbed him. “You shouldn’t have.”

  “But I did.”

  He yanks the medallion from his neck as if it’s burning him. “I would have traded this long before I asked that of you.”

  “That charm holds all of my love. I’m not destroying it.”

  Sinking to the ground, Rune clasps the medallion and lowers his forehead into his hands. “You’ll wish you would have.”

  By some miracle, or by magic, I suppose, Rune transforms every scrap of straw to gold before sunrise. When he’s finished, he collapses on the cold stone floor, too spent to even crawl to the bed. I lie next to him, stroking his arm as I fight sleep myself.

  “They’ll never let you out of their sight,” he murmurs just when I think he’s fallen asleep.

  I open my eyes. “We don’t know that.”

  He turns on his side and runs his hand through my hair. “You know I love you, don’t you?”

  I’m instantly awake. “Why does that sound like a goodbye?”

  “I can hear them down there, preparing for the ceremony.”

  “You can hear them?” I ask, focusing on the wrong part of his words entirely.

  He raises an eyebrow, a wry, heartbreaking smile on his face. “You’ll be a beautiful queen.”

  I sit up, angry now. “Stop it!”

  With a low, agonized groan, he pulls himself up. “They’re coming to fetch you. They’ll be here any moment.” He brushes my cheek. “I have to leave.”

  Panic builds, hot and fast. It tightens a knot in my stomach, crushes my lungs. “I’ll sneak away…”

  Without warning, Rune kisses me. It’s not passionate or beautiful. It’s a goodbye—a crushing, shattering goodbye that freezes my heart. I cling to him, refusing to let him leave, and then keys sound in the lock. I pull from Rune, stepping in front of him as if I can shield him with my body, and the door swings open.

  Conrad looks about the room, and then his eyes land on me, and he smiles. “It’s a good day for a wedding.”

  When I glance over my shoulder, Rune is gone.

  I stare out the window at the setting sun. Behind me, the ballroom is filled with people. People who are pretending to be happy—happy for the king, happy for me, happy to be here. I feel…empty.

  Numb, perhaps.

  I see Conrad approaching in the reflection of the glass. The king is striking in his fitted trousers, high boots, and navy doublet. He sets his hands on my shoulders, and we study each other in the reflection. “You’re hiding, my queen.”

  “The coronation isn’t until tomorrow,” I say.

  He catches a strand of my hair, which the maids curled with irons heated in the fire before the ceremony this morning, and twists it around his finger. “I’m sorry.”

  I meet his eyes. “For what, Your Majesty?”

  “Don’t call me that,” he says, his voice soft. “And I’m sorry for giving in to my advisers. We didn’t need more gold. It was a show of power.”

  How am I supposed to answer? I stay silent.

  He runs his hand down my bare shoulder. “Don’t be angry with me. Not tonight.”

  Tonight. Our wedding night.

  I draw in a long breath and then let it out slowly. I study the people in the reflection, watch them dance. They’re all birds, strutting about in their colorful plumage, putting on a show. Father and Gerlind stand to the side, looking overwhelmed. The ballroom is gilded and bejeweled, and the ceiling is painted—by the hand of a master, no doubt. It’s a whole different world.

  “What can I do to cheer you?” Conrad asks, his voice practically pleading.

  I’m about to answer, to tell him there’s nothing, when I notice something odd in the reflection. The portly steward stops a servant who appears to be headed our way with a silver tray holding two chalices of wine. He takes the tray, waving the confused servant away. He pauses when he believes no one is looking and
pulls a small vial from his doublet. With a quick glance to the right and then the left, he pours several drops into one of the cups.

  Several seconds later, the steward continues his course to us and very carefully angles the tray so the altered wine is closest to Conrad. “Refreshments, Your Majesties?”

  I snort, not feeling at all noble, and nod toward the man. “Here’s your culprit, Conrad. I wouldn’t drink the wine if I were you.”

  Then I sweep out of the ballroom and make my way up to one of the towers. I’m not picky, I know Rune will find me no matter which one I choose.

  I find the closest room, throw open the windows to the night, and wait for Rune.

  He never comes.

  At dawn, without a word or a question, Conrad collects me, and I begin my new life as queen.

  Chapter 5

  One Year Later

  She’s perfect, my daughter. With bright blue eyes, pink cheeks, and soft skin, she is the most beautiful princess.

  Conrad stands behind me, his hand affectionately on my shoulder as we gaze into the crib. “She’s pleasant when she’s sleeping.”

  I elbow him, and my husband laughs before he sweeps me around and pulls me into his arms. I play coy. “If she’s fussy, it’s only because she has you as a father.”

  He grins and then kisses me, and I settle against him, perfectly content.

  “And she’s beautiful because she has you as a mother,” he murmurs.

  One year ago, I felt my heart would never mend. But Conrad is nothing if not persistent, and soon I began to warm to him, until, quite suddenly, I realized I could love again.

  The king is far more tolerable now that no one is trying to poison him into submission. The poor steward found an untimely end, along with not one, but two, of Conrad’s advisers. Now life is safe, and the days are perfect.

  If there are times my heart yearns for something that never was…well, I simply dismiss it—trap it away in a compartment and refuse to think about it. Busy myself until I forget.