Ever After

by Anya Wylde

  He was quick for such a fat thing. The princess was soon huffing and puffing as she chased after him. The pug hopped over a fallen basket, turned into a small lane and disappeared from view.

  Heart in her throat, the princess began sprinting. She pushed aside a cart laden with peaches, slammed into a milk maid, spilling cans of milk all over the road, and knocked off an old woman's pink wig as she turned the corner and hurtled into the small lane.

  The pug was nowhere to be seen.

  She hastened down the lane until she almost crashed into a man. Her feet skidded to a halt a few centimetres away from him … It was the same handsome stranger. The man who did not belong to her father's kingdom. The man she had been thinking about ever since he had smiled at her. They were so close their noses were almost touching.

  "I have him," he said.

  His breath smelled of sweet, warm cinnamon.

  "Hmm," she said, feeling a strange sort of confusion.

  "Your pet, I have him."

  "Oh," she blinked and quickly stepped back.

  He held out the wriggling pug and offered it to her.

  She blushed and wondered how she had missed spotting the yowling dog in his arms. She reached out, carefully extracted her pet.

  Their fingers brushed against each other. Once, twice, three times.

  She kissed her pet, her eyes on the man.

  They smiled at each other.

  ***

  Once the princess had tasted the thrill of breaking rules, she repeated it often. She slipped out on moonlit nights and sought the stranger out. They started meeting regularly away from prying eyes. They strolled in the lover's garden, spent hours on her balcony and went riding deep into lonely fields.

  They met when the kingdom was asleep. And the princess tingled deliciously every time she held his warm brown hands. She hung onto his every word, her eyes glued to his dark mysterious face.

  One night they stole a boat and rowed out to the middle of a lake. It was a moonless night, and their only source of light was a gas lamp and fireflies that were dancing over the inky water.

  The princess tried to catch a firefly in her hands and leaned too far over the edge, almost capsizing the boat. He saved her from falling over. She smiled her thanks, but he was not pleased. He scolded her for her foolishness, his eyes full of terror at the thought of what could have happened.

  No one except her parents had ever spoken to her so sternly. No one had ever dared. She knew then looking into his angry face that she loved him.

  He saw the love shimmering in her eyes and answered it by giving her a long sweet kiss. Her first ever kiss. He said he loved her too.

  After that the princess changed. She no longer cared about breaking her promise to her father. She no longer recalled her role as the princess of the great snowcapped mountains. She even forgot about propriety with duties to fulfil and decorum to maintain. All she wanted was to spend her time with him. To feel his arms around her shoulders and hear him speak about faraway lands, strange rituals and feasts, and about a world that existed beyond her father’s lands.

  After months of courtship the day finally came when he gently tilted her chin up and told her he had to return home.

  The words pierced her heart like sharp little darts.

  He kissed her tears away. He told her that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. He couldn’t believe she had chosen him, a commoner, to love. He leaned forward and grabbed her hands and held it near his chest.

  The world stood still … waiting ….

  "Will you marry me?" he whispered feverishly. "I will do everything to keep you happy."

  The princess's throat was too full of happiness to speak, so she simply nodded in reply.

  ***

  She rushed home thrilled and bursting with news. She dashed to her father and told him about the proposal. She skipped up her mother and repeated it all. She told her maids, she told the cooks, and when she had finished telling every single person in the palace about her wedding plans, she told the walls, the furniture and even her wardrobe hooks.

  She laughed and sang and her voice rang with happiness around the palace walls.

  The king's moustache wilted at the news and he immediately called a meeting with his wise council and the young ministers. As for the queen, the moment she heard her daughter out, sixteen wrinkles appeared on her smooth, shiny skin. She grabbed her poodles and retreated into her meditation room.

  When her parents had finally consulted with wise men, astrological charts, seers and middle class housewives with oodles of common sense, they turned to their daughter.

  "No," the king said.

  "Oh, never," the queen agreed.

  "The man," they chanted together, "is a stranger."

  "Not wealthy," the king said.

  "Not royal," the queen added.

  "His blood is of question," the king continued.

  "What if it is yellow and not blue," the queen agreed.

  "His ancestors, what of them?" the king demanded.

  "They could be monkeys," the queen said, "or god forbid … giraffes."

  "His kind heart is treasure enough," the princess cried. "He may not be royal, but his love is true. He makes me wonderfully happy."

  The king grunted in response. "The council says you must not do this. You cannot break tradition. A princess must marry a prince and no other. It will reflect badly upon the subjects and cause a revolution. We must uphold the old system and continue as we are, or one day I shall no longer be king."

  The queen gasped in horror at this pronouncement.

  "Senile old turtles," the princess growled, "what do they know?"

  "That is exactly what the young ministers said, “the king continued, "but they went on to add that without a prior memorandum of understanding between the two parties and then a period of official courting followed by a contract at least three hundred and four feet long, how can you think of marrying him? They disapproved."

  "But I love him," the princess whispered.

  "A few months of coochie coos with a strange man and you forget about your parents?" the queen roared.

  "What shall I say to my subjects, knowing that my only child has diluted her blue blood? What if his blood is yellow? Is that what you want, for your children to bleed green?" the king asked.

  "And how will I face the King and Queen of Rivers, the lords and ladies of the forests?" the queen wailed. "And just when the King and Queen of the Three Seas have invited us for their fiftieth anniversary. Everyone will be there. What shall I do? What shall I say—that my daughter has run away with a garden sweeper?"

  "He is not a garden sweeper," the princess objected.

  "Pooper scooper, then. What does it matter, they are all the same," the queen sobbed. "My daughter, a pooper scooper's wife … a poopy scoopy—waaaah!"

  The king spoke above his howling wife, "How will you buy your silks, pearls, and diamonds? Do your recall your childhood dream of owning the biggest palace in the world? How will you build such a place with no coin to your name?"

  "I want to marry him," the princess replied. "I care about him not sparkling things. Does my happiness not count? Does being good and caring and kind mean nothing? Do we have to live a pretentious life forever?"

  The queen stopped crying and faced her daughter. "If that is so, then denounce your family name."

  "If you marry him, then you will have no home to return to," the king agreed.

  "Please," the princess begged. "Please give me your consent."

  "Marry him and consider us dead," they replied.

  It was their final decision.

  The princess raised her chin and on trembling legs walked out of the palace never to return again.

  (ii)

  She married him.

  And on their magical wedding night, her husband named her Anahita. It was a new name for her new life. And as Anahita she crossed over the border onto foreign soil.

  They travelled wes
t, and the further they moved away from the great snowcapped mountains, the more the landscape changed. The trees grew sparser, the flowers smelled sweeter, and the grass turned greener and greener with every passing day.

  Every now and then, her husband fed her new and exciting fruits. She bit into them, juices running down her chin. He wiped them away and kissed her head. It was the little things he did that made her heart full, his gestures replacing the shiniest diamonds in the world.

  The further inland they moved the more the temperature increased until it was so hot that they took to pouring jugs of water over themselves to keep cool, offering some respite from the heat until the blazing sun dried them out once again.

  Soon the hectic pace of their journey took a toll on her delicate form, and unused to the heat, her limbs turned into jelly. She wobbled when she walked, she jiggled when she moved, and all the rippling that her limbs were doing started making her head swim. It wasn't long before she felt awfully ill.

  Her husband bathed her hot forehead every night and fanned her while she slept. Every time they stopped in a town or village to rest, he would carry her in his arms towards the nearest stream or well.

  “This is my beautiful wife,” he crowed to one and all he met. “She is a princess,” he added, his chest puffed up proudly.”

  She smiled at his foolishness and gently reminded him that she was Anahita now, his Anahita, and no longer a princess.

  And so it continued until one day after months of exhaustive travel crossing innumerable roads, lakes and seas, they finally reached her husband's home. They journeyed through the town. Her tired eyes took in the florescent green earth and the bright yellow flowers dotting the landscape, while her dry lips smiled at the strange faces with dark, dark eyes so like her husband's.

  He took her to a house, his manner embarrassed. He showed her the sweet little cottage that he kept by the lake. It had a quaint little garden at the back. She peered out of the window and spotted a few green-hatted gnomes near the bushes. They caught her watching and swiftly scrambled out of sight.

  The house did not have marbled floors, brocade curtains or silk cushions, but to her eyes it was beautiful. She spent the next few days recovering her strength, while he filled the house with wild flowers plucked from the garden.

  When she was well again, her husband went to look for work, while she thought the time had come to acquaint herself with her new home. She began to investigate.

  He had placed wild flowers in cups, vases and shoes, but, alas, they were now dead with tiny white flies buzzing around black stems and brown petals. She further discovered that the bed was full of fleas, the curtains moth eaten, dust lay on the shelves, and the smell of unwashed feet swirled around the entire cottage. The walls were mouldy, the carpets brown with dirt, the kitchen empty save a dirty jug of water.

  Helpless, she wrung her hands, her stomach growling in hunger. She knew not how to cook or clean. She knew nothing of a commoner’s world. Nibbling on a piece of dry stale bread that she found in a drawer she waited for her husband to return.

  That evening her husband came home and kissed her cheek. He told her of his day and how he may be able to make some coin.

  She asked him questions, eager to learn and be of help.

  He smiled indulgently and told her to not worry. He had brought with him a few slices of buttered bread and a jug of milk. He consumed it all and after a satisfactory burp fell asleep.

  She woke early the next day and caught him before he left for work. She asked what she should eat and how did one clean.

  He laughed at her questions and teased her about her cosseted life. "You will learn," he said and strode out of the door.

  He came that evening with a bit of meat and some fruit. '"That should keep you from starving," he laughed and patted her head.

  She watched him, her eyes alight with love and longing as he moved towards the wardrobe. Her smile turned into puzzlement when he took out his scarlet coat and blue breeches instead of his snowy nightclothes.

  She asked him where he was going when he moved towards the door all spruced up.

  He told her his friends awaited him at an inn.

  "Friends?" she queried with a thrill.

  He nodded and then asked if she would like to come.

  “Yes, please,” she said, and her eyes lit up in excitement.

  ***

  The inn was crowded when they arrived, and a famous cat and a walrus were performing a ballad on stage. They watched the cat sing and the walrus play the piano for a few moments before making their way towards the table where his friends were sitting.

  His friends smiled at her while her husband told them all about the royal blood running in her veins. They eyed her sceptically. One of them produced a needle. They wanted to prick her to ascertain if her blood was truly blue.

  She eyed them in fear and apprehension.

  They laughed and giggled and chased her around the bar with giant needles clutched in their hands.

  She raced, skidded and summersaulted, her heart pounding in terror. A few minutes later, they collapsed on top of each other in a heap, laughing at her frightened expression.

  She smiled back uncertainly. The smile transformed her. Her teeth gleamed and her eyes lit up with a proud, regal light. The men's eyes widened in admiration while the women sent narrowed angry looks her way. Only a royal could have a smile so white.

  Suddenly, the light dimmed in the bar, turning an odd, eerie red while the shadows on the wall narrowed and stretched. The chipped, broken chandelier started swaying to and fro as if dancing to the sweet music being played on the piano. The men began swarming towards her, swatting the other women away.

  She pressed her back against a table in the corner, leaning further and further back until the back of her head almost touched her waist. Why did they stand so close, why did they leer and joke? The men in her land had never done so. She frowned and lifted her palms up to keep them away.

  The men laughed bitterly and began making fun of the way she spoke. The women joined in, giggling at the funny way she had twisted her hair into a bun.

  “Leave me alone,” she cried.

  They laughed or stared at her blankly saying they couldn’t understand a word she said. It wasn’t long before the laughs and the jeers soaked into her soul. She pressed her lips together afraid to make a single sound.

  She wanted to go home.

  Her eyes searched the many faces surrounding her, looking for her beloved husband. Her hand lifted hoping he would materialise and clutch her to his warm, solid chest.

  He was nowhere to be found.

  She wilted, cowering in her chair while the rest of them laughed and drank. Lonely and sleepy, she waited, wondering when her husband would return. She knew not the land, nor the roads or the people. How, she wondered, would she get home with no coin in her pocket? She feared going out on to the streets and meeting anyone with dark eyes. What could she say that they would understand? What if they tried to prick her too, to see how blue she bled?

  A long time later, he came and found her. His words were slurred. He took her home that night, his manner changed. "Why did you not laugh more?" he chided. "Why are you crying?" he scolded.

  She told him of her fears and how she had felt.

  "You think too much," he said. "I saw nothing of the sort."

  She wept.

  He patted her head and said it would be alright.

  After that day, she sat at home staring out at the lake, drawing flowers in the dust or sleeping until he came home. She would then stay awake all night watching his face while he slept.

  And so it went on until one day he left the house and did not return that night. She found a note placed on the table telling her of urgent work that had forced him to go north. He would return in a week.

  She sat on the chair, tears soaking the note. She had never slept alone in her entire life. Why, at home she was always surrounded by people—a wash of homesickness overtook he
r suddenly—how long had it been since she had left the snowcapped kingdom? She counted the days. An entire year had gone by. Shock rippled down her spine.

  A whole year had sped away since she had arrived in this strange alien land, and in all this time she had left her house only once.

  ***

  It was time for a change, she told herself. It wasn’t his fault, she soothed herself. He was from a different world—one that she needed to understand. She needed to learn how to be a better wife, to please him any way she could.

  So she toiled.

  She burned her hands a number of times while she experimented with cooking. She stubbed her toes, sliced her finger and bled all over the tables as she learned how to clean. She mopped and scrubbed and cooked and sewed until her hands were raw with work and her shoulders sore.

  One day she presented to him the most wonderful feast that she had cooked all by herself. She had made hearty breads, roast meats swimming in gravy; sweet, crisp vegetables, and beautiful salads decorated with delicate flowers and tart berries. For desert she presented him with a many layered cake twice the size of his head.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her anew. He praised her and asked how much coin she had spent to create it.

  She told him she had no coin, for he never gave her any. It was all from the garden and what he had brought for the house.

  Pleased, he grinned and told her she was a beauty and that he loved her.

  She smiled back in pleasure. This was the secret to his heart, she thought happily, and from then on cooked a new dish for him every day.

  Every day she cooked, and every time he offered her a short praise and told her he loved her. Yet, she remained at home while he danced with his friends, drank till dawn and travelled the world.

  Now that she could cook, her husband began bringing home his friends. She fed and watered them and plied them with wine, and when they began to dance and sing, she returned to her room to think.

  She would lie in bed and stare up at the ceiling and recall the great snowcapped mountains. She wished she could go home to meet a childhood friend, to cuddle her mother and laugh with her father once again.