Layer 5: Deals with Evils Past

Harold wandered around the lush greenery that surrounded the lily pond just off the royal gardens. He often came here to do some reflecting, and recent events had once again prompted memories that he wished he could bury: memories of mistakes he wished he could undo and of deals he wished he could unmake, especially when they harmed innocents.

Like Fiona.

Harold looked across the pond at a small frog – one of the blissfully insentient sort – croaking contentedly from its seat upon a floating lily pad. It was at another pond not unlike this one where it all began. That day so many years ago when he, a poor, cursed prince, doomed to live his life as an outcast amphibian, had spied that lovely strawberry blonde maiden. She had appeared that morning, believing she was alone, to drink in the fresh air, admire the beautiful scenery, and, he found out, perform her tai chi. Every move was exquisite and every contour divine. Harold watched, mesmerized, playing the dumb animal, as he observed the young Aphrodite only a few yards away.

To Harold’s delight, the maiden made her “lone” appearances at the pond a daily ritual, performing her tai chi for about a half hour every morning, and then often just sitting by the pond and looking out across it reflectively, sometimes meditating. Occasionally she would reach out and playfully twirl a pad with a finger.

One day she picked a particularly lovely white lily, sniffed its fragrant scent, smiled, and let the flower drop by the edge of the pond. She then turned and left, walking with her usual eloquent, gliding gait. Harold wondered what she was thinking when she had smiled. Could it be that some young man had caught her interest, and that her mind was on him? Harold felt his heart sink at the thought. He walked over on all fours to where she had dropped the flower, and then reached out a webbed hand and picked it up. “Oh, my dear,” she moaned, looking at the lily. “If only I could admire you like a man should, or have a chance to woo you as a man ought. If only. Oh, what I wouldn’t give.”

“Oh? What would you give?” a female voice spoke.

Harold looked up, startled. For a moment he feared that the maiden had returned. But then from around one of the nearby tall, ornamental shrubs stepped a woman in her mid-to-late twenties with pleasant but sharp facial features and a build that was relatively thin but hinted at the potential for plumpness. Her blonde hair fell about her shoulders and was so white that Harold doubted its naturalness; he suspected peroxide was involved. She wore a simple long-sleeved woolen kirtle. She approached him with such purposeful strides that Harold at first shrank back, but then, forcing indignation into his voice, he said, “Who the devil are you? And why were you spying on us?”

The woman stopped a few feet away. “Oh, forgive me, Your Highness,” she said, curtseying.

Harold felt himself blush and wondered if she could see it. “You know—” he gasped.

“About your unfortunate fate, Prince Harold? Yes, I had heard. And then one day when I wandered by and happened to see the young lady and recognized the way you were looking at her – well, I do have some deductive abilities.”

“I never heard you —”

“I’m also quiet.”

“How did you know I wasn’t just a…just a—”

“Just another mindless little amphibian? Well, I’m in the business of magic myself, you see. In fact, I’m quite good at it. So it’s not difficult for me to tell the difference in the demeanor of a sentient creature.”

Harold sighed. “I thought my…condition…was a secret.”

“Oh, it is. Your family certainly saw to that. However, there are certain…circles I travel in where I learned of your sad fate. In addition to that, I’m also good at learning more mundane things without arousing suspicion. For example, the young lady’s name is ‘Lillian’ – deliciously appropriate, don’t you think? She’s the daughter of a noble couple that recently moved into the area.” She paused, and then added, “She’s unattached…so far.”

Harold blinked, and then asked, “Who are you?”

“My name is Dama. Dama Fortuna,” she said, and then curtseyed again. “I am a sorceress, and I’m quite good at that, too, which is why I’m certain that I can help you in attaining a human form so that you can attain your heart’s desire.”

Harold stared at her, afraid to believe what he had heard. “You can do that?”

“From what I’ve learned of your condition, yes, I’m fairly confident that I can.”

Harold felt his heart leap. “You’d do that…for me?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “I’d do it…for a price.”

Much of Harold’s elation was quickly displaced by suspicion. “What…price?”

“Well,” she said, “once you attain human form, then your family will surely rescind your disownment. Oh, I said ‘family’, didn’t I? Actually, your father, the king, is the last surviving member of your bloodline. And have you heard that he’s quite ill at the moment? He’s in rather dire need to name a qualified successor – there’s a cousin named ‘Uther’ somewhere but nobody seems to know where, probably chasing grails or some such – lest the kingdom fall into disorder upon his demise. Your return will be most opportune, and will place you as the heir to the kingdom of Far Far Away. They’ll have to make up some story to explain your absence – they don’t want people knowing you’ve been chasing flies around lily ponds for the past many years, of course – but I’m sure something can be arranged. And then…think of it, Prince Harold. Not only will you have Lillian as your wife, but you will eventually be ruler of the most admired and envied kingdom in the land!”

“You say my father is ill?” he asked, concerned.

“Oh, yes. And just think of how much your re-appearance as a human will comfort him in his despair!”

“Yes,” he said, “but you mentioned…a price.”

“Well, first, I would expect certain considerations. I plan on moving from the field of sorcery into the Fairy Godmother business, where the clientele is more respected and the money is better. I expect to earn most of this on my own, you understand. But little things – recommendations to other royals and nobles, granting of certain key contracts that I might bid on – small things like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Harold said dubiously. “But you said ‘first.’ How many other – items – are on your list?”

“Only one,” she said. “Let me show you.”

Harold watched curiously as Dama turned and trotted back out of sight somewhere behind the hedges. A short while later she returned…holding a baby wrapped in a brown woolen blanket in her arms. She looked down at it, smiling, cooing, and shaking her head playfully, as she approached. She sank to her knees just in front of Harold and held out the baby: a boy a few months old, with an already handsome face and fair blond locks.

“Prince Harold,” she said, “meet my son, Charming…your future son-in-law.”

Harold gaped up at her. “What?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “He’s of royal heritage. He was conceived while I was married to a prince – a prince who, unfortunately, couldn’t deal with being threatened with the disownment that you now suffer. A poor sorceress from the commoner class in the family was an embarrassment for them, you see – and being rejected because you’re an embarrassment is something you can sympathize with, is it not? So although I can’t give my son the type of life he deserves right now, I do want to give him the type of future he deserves, as a future member of your royal house. Thus, my second condition: you must pledge that your firstborn daughter will marry my son.”

“I can’t do that!” Harold objected. “If I have a daughter, she needs to be able to choose for herself who she wants to marry. I can’t just choose for her like that. No. No, I won’t do it.”

“Oh, please,” Dama said disgustedly, rolling her eyes. “You monarchs do it all the time for diplomatic purposes, trading princesses around to each others’ kingdoms like they were jousting cards. They end up in lands they know little of, which speak languages they don’t even understand, and are bound to husbands they never met and who care little for them except as breeding stock. Your daughter will be lucky. She gets to remain in your kingdom, under your wing, and will end up marrying the bravest and most handsome prince in the known world.” She looked back down at her baby and her hard features transformed into a broad smiling face. “That’s what you’re going to be, aren’t you, precious?” she said, and rubbed his nose with hers. The baby smiled back and giggled.

Harold watched them for a moment, and then it dawned on him what was happening. “My God!” he said. “You’re trying to set him up to be king!”

Dama looked back up at Harold, and her hard features returned as if they had never left. “Come now,” she said. “Your precious patriarchy is still intact. I’m just asking for a pledge of your firstborn daughter. We both know that the kingship will still flow to any firstborn son you have, regardless of whether he’s born before your daughter or not.”

“That’s true,” Harold conceded. “So then why—”

“Because my son deserves to be in a royal house,” Dama snapped. “He deserves the birthright his father denied him when he…denied me. All I seek is justice for us both. This would be justice.”

Harold’s lips pursed as he mulled things over. “I…I don’t know…” he said.

“Fine,” Dama said, shrugging and rising back up off her knees. She looked down on the frog prince as she bounced the baby lightly in her arms. “If that’s your decision. Of course, the fact that now you won’t even have a daughter makes all this moot, doesn’t it? I hope you find happiness, watching the maiden and imaging what could have been.” Dama then turned and started walking away.

“No!” Harold called, suddenly panicking. “Stop!”

Dama stopped walking, waited a moment, and then turned. “Do we have a deal?” she asked, her voice hard.

Harold sighed. “Yes, yes. We have a deal,” he said reluctantly.

Dama’s broad smile sent shivers down his back.

All these events replayed in Harold’s mind for what seemed like the millionth time over the years. Meanwhile the little frog he was watching continued to croak contentedly. Harold had thought he would never envy the life of one of his inhuman cousins once he had escaped that existence. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Suddenly a stone came skipping across the pond. It struck the frog, silencing it in mid-croak and knocking it off the lily pad and sending it plopping into the water. A moment later Harold saw it floating belly-up. It was dead.

Harold looked over to where the stone had come from and gasped. Some fifteen yards away, standing by the edge of the pond, was a broad, brawny, shaven-headed man of over six foot height, dressed in simple yeoman’s clothes. Harold recognized him as one of the Fairy Godmother’s…she called them “attendants.” To Harold, they were henchmen. The man stared at Harold with steely eyes set in the hard implacable features of his face. Then he muttered “Your Majesty” and bowed slowly in an outward gesture of deference. But the man’s features remained firmly stoic and his eyes never lowered.

Harold gulped. The Godmother was sending him a message. Unsurprisingly, she had apparently not been pleased to be called out by him and Lillian at her office the other day. The henchman would not do anything without his master present – at least, Harold hoped not – but the message was clear. Harold had overstepped his bounds. And yet, Harold was king. Sweet Heaven, how had it come to this?

Of course, Harold knew how it had come. More memories came flowing back, unbidden and unwelcome. But they came nevertheless. Such as the memories from what should have been the happiest day of his life: the day that his daughter was born.

He remembered spending most of that day pacing back and forth, waiting and pacing nervously in a high-ceilinged chamber while the doctor and his nurses…did whatever doctors and nurses did in such situations. The labor was long and difficult. And Harold was sure it was difficult for Lillian, too.

Two men were in the room with Harold, both seated beside each other, their eyes trained on their king as he paced. One of the pair was the chamberlain, a tall, dark-skinned man of African descent who stood some seven feet high and sported a goatee. “What wilt thou have us do, Sire?” the chamberlain asked.

“There’s nothing to be done but wait,” Harold said, “and try to be patient.”

“Patient?” the portly, jovial man seated beside the chamberlain said. “But the king cannot be patient, for the doctor is with the queen!”

Harold whirled on the man. “Do you dare jest with me?” he demanded.

The man nodded, sending the little bells attached to the three-pointed multi-colored cap he wore jingling. “That is my job, Sire,” the jester said.

“Sorry,” Harold conceded, waving him off. Then Harold ran his hand through his hair, hair already graying at the temples. He wished that Dama had granted him a better looking or more hardy human form. The face that stared back at him from the mirror still had too much of a hint of the amphibian about the features, or at least Harold thought so.

Suddenly a door to the chamber opened and Dama flew in on the gossamer wings she had somehow grafted onto her back when she took up her quest to become the officially recognized Fairy Godmother of Far Far Away.

She spotted Harold and smiled. “I just heard,” she said happily, alighting before him. “Congratulations, your Majesty,” she said, curtseying.

Harold instinctively drew back from the almost gushing Godmother. “Thank you,” he said coolly, “but I fear congratulations are premature. Lillian is still in labor.”

“Oh, don’t fear, Your Majesty,” Dama said, rising. “I’m sure that your wife and daughter will both be fine.”

“Well, I hope you’re ri—” Harold began, then looked at her suspiciously. “How the devil do you know that she’ll have a girl?”

Dama looked taken aback for only a moment, but then shrugged and said nonchalantly, “Oh, just a feeling I have.”

Harold continued to scrutinize her. Dama had changed her appearance much since that day they met by the pond, and far beyond the fairy wings. Her hair, now worn in a high-coiffed bun, was still dyed blonde, but the color looked more natural now, and it was sprinkled with glitter. Her makeup was expertly applied, and she wore pink horn-rimmed glasses, with diamond studs adorning the corners. Instead of a woolen kirtle, she wore a light blue silken dress decorated with sequins. In one hand she carried a new, powerful star-tipped wand instead of the stick-like thing that she had used as a simple sorceress. Yes, much had changed over the years. At least, superficially.

Suddenly a door on the other side of the room opened. The chamberlain and jester rose as everybody looked to the doorway, where the stout, balding doctor, his sleeves rolled back to the elbow, stood. His wire-rimmed glasses had slipped down to the end of his bulbous nose. He looked at Harold for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Harold held his breath and had started to fear that something had gone wrong. But then, the doctor smiled.

“Congratulations, Sire,” he said. “You have a beautiful baby girl.”

The others in the room cheered and patted Harold on the back as he let out a great sigh of relief. Feeling tears start forming in his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose and covertly wiped them away. As long as his wife and child were all right, nothing mattered to him at the moment, not even Dama’s fulfilled prophesy about the baby’s gender. He dropped his hand and looked at the doctor. “May I see my wife and child now?” he asked, almost choking on the words.

“Certainly, Sire,” the doctor said, standing aside and gesturing Harold to the doorway.

Harold proceeded through the doorway and the doctor shut the door behind them. He then led Harold down a corridor and then opened the door to the birthing room, and again gestured Harold forward.

Harold entered the room and abruptly stopped only a couple of feet past the doorway. There, across the room, lying on a bed, was his wife. Lillian was covered up to her chest by fine bed linen, and her head, with hair undone, lay on a goose down pillow. She was propped up slightly by that and other pillows, and in her arms, bundled in a pink blanket, she held a baby. The queen saw Harold and smiled. “Come meet your daughter, Harold,” she said weakly.

Harold moved forward slowly, carefully, as if walking on eggshells. Off to one side of the room a group of experienced nurses who had helped with the birth looked at each other knowingly and smiled, not minding that the king didn’t even seem to be noticing their existence. Once Harold reached Lillian’s bedside he looked down at their child. The little pink-faced baby, with fair strands of red hair lacing the top of her head, was indeed beautiful. Her eyes were closed, and she appeared to be napping, but then she lifted one of her tiny hands up to her face and, after an initial clumsy attempt at trying to find it, stuck her thumb in her mouth and started sucking on it.

“My God, Lillian,” Harold said hoarsely. “She’s…she’s…”

“Fiona,” Lillian said. “Meaning fair and comely.”

“Yes,” Harold said. “Fiona.” They had decided on the name some time before, in the event a daughter was born, and it turned out that they had chosen well: she could not have fairer or more comely.

Harold shifted his gaze from his daughter to his wife. She looked back up at him with her usual kind, wise, benevolent gaze. But now her eyes seemed to have an extra sparkle about them, even though her voice sounded tired and her body seemed fatigued. “Lillian,” he said, “you can forget all the fairy godmothers and wizards and witches and other sorcerers that gravitate around us. What you’ve done here today…” his gaze shifted back to his daughter “…that is a true miracle… That…is true magic.”

Lillian smiled more deeply. Harold leaned down and they shared a kiss that lasted for several seconds…until Fiona started making sounds like she was about to cry.

“Here,” Lillian said, starting to lift their daughter toward him, “take her.”

“No!” he said. “I couldn’t! I might—”

“You’ll be fine,” she said chuckling. “Just keep supporting her head, like this…now keep your other arm beneath her…there, you’re doing splendidly.”

Harold found himself holding his daughter and looking down with awe at the little angel. She started to squirm and made more sounds as if she were about to cry and Harold instinctively started bouncing her in his arms.

“Gently!” Lillian said, and then with a little less urgency, “just do it gently.”

Harold nodded and did so. Fiona settled down and again looked to be on the verge of sleep. He remembered the way Dama had held Charming, and now he understood her a bit better. Unfortunately, he also understood something else, something that he had been mulling for a while and which now crystallized.

He couldn’t promise Fiona to Charming. He simply couldn’t stand the thought of binding this godsend to the son of such a creature as Dama.

“Why don’t you take her out and show the people the new heir to the kingdom, at least until I bear you a son?” Lillian suggested.

Harold looked down at her. She looked even more exhausted, but still seemed to be watching her husband and child with a very special contentment.

“Are you sure it would be all right?” he asked.

“Um-hum,” Lillian said, nodding.

Harold turned to the doctor. “Just have her back soon,” the physician said.

“Very well,” Harold agreed. He looked back at Lillian once more, who nodded toward the doorway. He nodded back, and then headed toward it.

A short while later Harold emerged through the doorway to the chamber where Dama, the chamberlain, and the jester were all waiting. “People,” Harold said, “meet Princess Fiona.”

The three of them flocked around the princess, oo-ing and ah-ing and congratulating Harold again on siring such a beautiful girl.

“Here, little one,” the jester said, shaking one of his hat’s bells near her, “would you like to play with this?”

“Get that away, fool,” the chamberlain reproached him. “Don’t you know that’s a choking hazard?”

Every so often Harold’s gaze met Dama’s and he had to look away – the look in her eyes seemed both knowing and accusatory, as if she were reading his mind. Eventually he could take it no longer. “Gentlemen,” he said to the two men, “thank you again very much for your kindness. Right now, however, I have something I need to discuss with Da— uh, with the Fairy Godmother. So if, you would excuse us…”

A few moments later Harold found himself alone in the chamber with Dama…and his daughter. He unconsciously pulled Fiona a little closer to him. Dama stood aside, arms crossed, watching him suspiciously, as he made sure the doors were closed and locked, careful not to drop Fiona as he did so. Then he approached her.

“Dama—” began.

“Fairy Godmother,” Dama corrected him, her tone icy.

“Oh. Uh, right. Fairy…uh, Godmother. I think we need to talk about—”

“You’re reneging, aren’t you?”

“Um…what?”

“On your promise that your daughter…Fiona…is to wed my son.”

“Yes, well, um, I wouldn’t call it reneging, actually. It’s more like, well, an adjustment to—”

There was a brief angry buzz of wings and in a flash Dama was only a foot way from him, her wand directly before his face, its white tip glowing. “You do realize that I’d be perfectly within my rights to put an end to your happily ever after right now, don’t you? You slimy little toad.”

“N-now s-s-see here!” Harold stammered, terrified, trying to force some trace of metal into his voice. Fiona, sensing something wrong, began to squirm uncomfortably. Harold continued, “I’m just t-trying to be honest and up front with you now, and not let you go on expecting—”

“Expecting what? Expecting you to keep your word?” she scoffed, and pulled back slightly. “Oh, you needn’t worry about that. Frankly, I never expected you to keep your word. I’d sooner trust a snake in the forest than the word of one of you royals.”

“I’m not saying she can’t marry Charming! Just that…that he’ll need to compete for her along with all her other suitors—”

“Right, while you poison her against him!”

“I wouldn’t do that! I swear!”

“Liar!”

“Please!” Harold objected. “You forget who you’re talking to—”

“Oh, I’m quite aware of who I’m talking to. The great frog king, who rose from muck and mire to marry the love of his life and become ruler of Far Far Away. Oh, but that origin’s a secret, isn’t it? Well, what if that origin were exposed? What if I undid all that I did? How long do you think you’d last before you were laughed out of the kingdom? And keep the love of your life after the scales had been dropped from her eyes and she realizes what you are? Ha!”

Harold’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t!”

Dama crossed her arms again. “No,” she said reluctantly, “I wouldn’t. At least not now. Like it or not, Harold, our fates are tied. My son will wed your daughter. Unfortunately, since I can’t trust you to keep your word, it appears I must take more drastic steps to ensure that outcome.” Her eyes fell on the baby in his arms.

Harold’s eyes widened in fear. “Wha—what do you mean?”

“Harold,” she said, still looking at Fiona, “you’ve forced me to do something I really don’t want to do.”

“No!” Harold said, “leave her alone!”

Harold began to turn away, but Dama whipped her wand toward his feet. “Stay!” she commanded, and Harold found he was no longer able to move his feet; it was as if they were nailed to the floor. He opened his mouth, intending to call out for his guards, but Dama whipped her wand toward his mouth. “Silence!” she commanded, and suddenly Harold’s lips adhered together as if they were glued.

Harold found himself helpless, unable to move from where he stood or to call for help. Fiona squirmed in his tightened grip. The king stared in horror as Dama slowly walked over until she stood directly before them. She looked down at the newborn for a few moments, and then closed her eyes, and seemed to be concentrating on something. Then Dama’s wings started fluttering and she rose some five feet from the floor, murmuring something in a strange language that Harold didn’t understand. She hovered there, and then held up both arms, forming a “V.” One hand still held the wand, whose white tip glowed fiercely. Then Harold noticed a few wisps of some strange yellow mist appeared above her head.

“By night one way…” Dama said, her eyes still closed, and started waving her wand in wide circles. The mist grew thicker and started swirling about her in relation to the movement of the wand.

“…by day another…” she continued.

The mist grew thicker still, and sparkles appeared in it.

“…this shall be the norm,” Dama concluded, then opened her eyes and looked down at Fiona, and then pointed the wand toward her.

The mist descended. Harold watched in horror, trying to call out but still unable to open his mouth, as the mist twirled about Fiona for a moment, and then seems to absorb into her. The newborn briefly had an odd, green glow, but that faded, and she appeared just as she did before. But Fiona had noticed something, for she started crying.

“There,” Dama said, alighting again on the floor. Her face appeared to resume its ‘benevolent Godmother’ facade as she smiled and said, “All done.”

Harold tried to say something but was still unable to open his mouth.

“Ah!” Dama said, and then waved her want about him. “There,” she said. “Feel free to move about the chamber.”

“You—you madwoman!” Harold cried, shaking with anger. “What have you done? I’ll kill you!”

Dama laughed dismissively. “Oh, really?” she said. “Well, in regards to killing me, even if you tried and succeeded, do you know what would happen? First, the service I rendered you will be terminated. Once I’m gone, Harold, you return to your amphibian state with all the repercussions I mentioned earlier. Second, you lose the chance to undo the spell I just placed on your daughter.”

“What…spell?” he asked, still shaking, but now more in trepidation than anger.

“Just something to seal the deal we already made, since I can’t trust you otherwise. It should be somewhat familiar to you, but I’ve been much kinder to Fiona than the curse you suffered. Every day Fiona will remain beautiful: just the kind of daughter to make her parents proud. But between sundown and sunrise, she will transmute into an ugly ogre.”

“An ogre?” Harold said, any color left in his face draining. “My God. How could you do that to an innocent child?”

“Remember, Harold, if it weren’t for me that child wouldn’t exist at all.”

“But…an ogre?”

“Yes. Oh, I thought about a frog – like father, like daughter, and all that – but an ogre is so much better. A frog people could, well, overlook. But an ogre – a big, green, smelly, unsightly beast – now, there’s something more difficult to hide. But hide her you will, Harold. Or would you have your daughter held up to ridicule and derision? Imagine how that would make her feel. And imagine how that would reflect on you and Lillian.”

Harold’s teeth clenched. “Take it off,” he demanded. “I swear she’ll marry your son. Just take it off.”

She laughed, and then said, “And I should trust your word now, why? But fear not, Harold. I shall take it off – or arrange for it to be taken off – in due time.”

“What do you mean, ‘in due time’?”

“In time to marry my son.”

“But…that won’t be for years!”

“True. But I can commiserate, Harold. It will seem a long time for me as well.”

“This is outrageous! I’ll…I’ll find someone else to take it off!”

She laughed yet again. “Good luck with that, Harold. I made sure that this is a particularly potent spell. Only I can cast its remedy. But by all means, try. Try, try, again. Then, once you and Lillian are desperate enough, come see me. I can make it all better…in time.”

“Why, you—I’ll break you!” Harold sputtered.

“You’ll do no such thing, you pathetic little man,” she retorted, dropping her smile. “If you value your own happily ever after or harbor hope for your daughter’s future, you’ll do just what I say when I say it. Let’s get that straight right now, Sire. You may be king, but I am the power that made that possible. I can take it away any time that I wish. Fortunately for you, it is in my interest that you remain on that throne...for now. And, again, if anything happens to me, then you revert to your creature state, and if anything happens to prevent Charming from marrying your daughter, then Fiona will die half a monster.”

Harold could only stare, dumbfounded, at Dama. He tried to think of something – anything – any way – out of his predicament, but he could not. Dama saw this, and a new, lopsided, sardonic smile creased her face. “Well, now,” she said. “You’d best present your beautiful little girl to your adoring public…but it’s getting late, so make sure you’re finished before the sun goes down.”

“But what – how will I explain what happened to cause her to…”

Dama shrugged. “Say that for some mysterious reason she was just born that way,” she suggested. “Or that a vengeful witch suddenly appeared and cast a spell on her. Whatever – use your imagination. Just don’t dare to think to implicate me, Harold. Very bad things would happen then. Very bad for all of us.”

Dama then pointed her wand at the door leading to the main part of the castle; it unlocked itself and swung open. “Your public awaits,” she said mockingly.

Casting one last hateful glance at Dama, which she treated with due disdain, Harold trudged by her and out the door. As he made his way up to the balustrade overlooking the courtyard where thousands of his subjects milled about, waiting for word on the pending royal birth, he again bounced Fiona lightly, as she had again begun crying. Eventually he appeared on the balustrade, several stories above his people. The generally mulling sound that he had heard just before his appearance hushed as people looked up to see him.

Harold started to speak but found that his throat had gone dry. He cleared it and tried again. “Good citizens of the kingdom of Far Far Away,” he announced, “I present to you your new princess and current heir to the throne, the beautiful Princess Fiona!”

Harold carefully held Fiona as far up as he safely could as the people cheered and applauded. Fiona, frightened and confused, cried more loudly.

As Harold held his daughter, his eyes drifted to the horizon, where the sun was getting very low in the sky. The multi-colored hues of the clouds about the descending orb would have appeared beautiful in other circumstances, but now the image only filled him with dread.

Harold eventually lowered his daughter and, after waving an acknowledgement to the crowd, tucked her back securely in the blanket in his arms as he turned and headed back into the castle. After what seemed a very long walk he was back in the birthing room with Lillian.

Lillian had fallen asleep, the doctor standing beside her bedside watching her to make sure she remained all right. The nurses were all gone. When the physician saw Harold appear in the doorway he leaned down and gently shook the queen to awaken her. Her eyes opened and, after looking drowsily about the room for a moment, they fixed on her husband and child. She smiled benignly. Harold walked slowly to her bedside.

“How did it go?” Lillian asked.

“What?” Harold, distracted, said hoarsely, his throat dry again as he noted the dimming light.

“With the subjects. What did they think of their new princess?” she explained as she reached for her baby.

“Oh, they were wildly enthusiastic,” he said, forcing a smile. After hesitating a moment, wanting to say something but not quite able to bring himself to do so, he gently handed Fiona to her mother. Once back in her arms, Fiona stopped crying.

“No wonder,” Lillian said, stroking Fiona’s cheek with a finger. “She’s such a heavenly child.”

Harold just stared. He so wanted to say something – to warn his wife somehow of what was about to happen – but he just could find neither the words nor the courage; he just stood there in mute, stark dread. The suffering of frightened indecision was relieved soon, though, as the sun sank below the horizon. Suddenly the golden, sparkling, swirling mist appeared around the child in Lillian’s arms.

“What on earth—” Lillian said, at first startled, but increasingly frightened as the mist grew thicker and surrounded Fiona. Lillian looked up at Harold, her eyes wide with terror. “What’s happening to our daughter?!” she cried.

Harold could only stare, speechless. He was frightened, also. Frightened for what was happening to Fiona. But frightened, too, that Lillian might tell from his demeanor that he was involved with this, and that it was, in a way, his fault. Shame duly added its unwelcome presence to the emotions plaguing the king.

Lillian looked back down as the mist suddenly dissipated. Her beautiful daughter was no longer there. In her place was a larger, heavier, olive green ogre baby, with bulbous features replacing Fiona’s dainty ones. The only hints that it might be the same being were its streaks of red hair. Lillian stared in pure horror as two unnaturally long ears unfurled themselves from either side of the creature’s head. The little ogre’s eyes opened and then seemed to focus on Lillian. It smiled, gurgled, and reached its chubby arms up toward its mother.

Lillian screamed.

Things had played out much as Dama had predicted. Over the years Harold and Lillian had turned to a number of magic users – all sworn to strict secrecy – in an attempt to rid their daughter of her dreaded curse. Some tried and failed, while others, after careful examination, admitted there was nothing they could do. Even the exertions of the then highly touted wizard who ran the magic department at Worcestershire Academy proved fruitless, and the frustrating effort had left him such a wreck that he never fully recovered. Several years later he suffered a level three fatigue and had to resign.

Meanwhile, Dama’s – or rather, the Fairy Godmother’s – reputation, wealth, and influence only grew. Since she was no longer in need of Harold’s assistance to succeed, only his willful ignorance of her activities, the two avoided each other except on social occasions when their celebrity status required their mutual presence, and then their interactions were cold and obligatory. Lillian seemed to sense something amiss, but Harold avoided or deflected any discussion about her. On retrospect, Harold thought, perhaps he should have confided in Lillian at the outset, and trusted her. But his fear and shame held him back, and the longer he hid the truth from her, the stronger his fear and shame grew.

Eventually, when all else failed, the royal couple had indeed turned to the “Fairy Godmother.” Lillian seemed to wonder at Harold’s reticence at not doing so earlier, but held her tongue. And then the Godmother had pronounced the solution to break Fiona’s frightful enchantment, but at what a cost – to lock her away in a Dragon-guarded tower for years until some brave knight might arrive, rescue her, and share a kiss with her. As Dama tauntingly confided in Harold when Lillian was out of earshot, this provided the exit to the spell that she had cast that day in the castle, with the closing incantation, “Until you find True Love’s First Kiss, and then, take love’s true form.” It was obvious and understood between the king and Dama who that “True Love”, that rescuer, was meant to be. And so Harold had no choice; he had to prepare his daughter for her exile, and to encourage her to look forward to the day that she might be rescued by her handsome “Prince Charming.” Harold privately scoffed at the ironic expression. Only Dama would have such hubris to literally name her son “Charming.”

Harold wondered if Dama had some sort of secret arrangement with the dragon to allow her son to pass; he found it hard to believe that she would place him in such a dangerous situation otherwise, however brave and skilled he grew to be. That led Harold to also wonder if Fiona’s imprisonment was a necessity, or simply a way to ensure there would be no competition for her “True Love” until Charming arrived. But, frustratingly, it didn’t matter. Dama held all the cards, and whether or not she was bluffing was irrelevant; Harold had to play the hand he was dealt through to the end.

And as for poor Fiona – Harold thought back with regret at the way he saw his daughter during the night, and the way he treated her then. Consciously, of course, he knew none of it was her fault, and that he should have treated her as kindly in the evening as during the day. But whenever he beheld her ghastly ogress image, it only reminded him of the horror of her birthday, of his own hated inhuman origins and secret, and of his impotence in Dama’s presence. He spent as little time with his daughter when she was in that state as possible. He forbade her any interaction with anyone else during the nighttime hours except for her parents and a select few trusted staff who were told of her plight. She spent most evenings closeted in her bedroom, playing with her dolls where her toy knight slew toy dragons and toy ogres and was rewarded by the fair toy princess with a toy favor. Harold had taken up Dama’s suggestion and told Fiona that her condition was due to a wicked witch’s curse – when he thought about it, was it really a lie? – and even passed along the words that Dama had used in her incantations: By night one way, by day another, this shall be the norm…until you find True Love’s first kiss, and then, take love’s true form. By the time they sent her away, Fiona despised her ogress self as much as Harold did, likely more. But was that really a bad thing? Wouldn’t that just stiffen her resolve to see the ordeal through, more dedicated to bear whatever period of isolation was required to rid herself of the nocturnal beast? Harold tried to rationalize that he had actually helped her in that regard. In his heart, though, he knew his motives were more base, and it grieved him.

A bolt of lightning somewhere in the distance and the crack of thunder that followed shortly thereafter interrupted Harold’s reminiscences and brought him back to the present. Dama’s henchman was still standing a few yards away. He reached down, still watching Harold out of the corner of his eye, and picked up another stone. He rose, rolled the stone around in his hand for a moment while looking at the king and then turned toward the pond and sent it skipping across. Harold licked his suddenly dry lips. For some reason Dama’s plan had taken too long, and Lillian, who had been reluctant to agree to the arrangement to begin with, had been urging Harold for some time to join her in demanding its suspension, and to bring Fiona home, half-ogre or not. Harold, with years of guilt nagging him worse than Lillian’s pleas, eventually relented. He knew it would not please Dama. But in a way, he didn’t care – if it prompted either the end of Fiona’s curse, or the end of his own pathetic, guilty existence living the life of a king while his daughter rotted in some tower – either would be a relief. Now, however, standing so close to Dama’s henchman, he wasn’t so sure of his resolve.

Just then he heard a vehicle approaching down the leaf-strewn cart path. He turned to see a royal coach appear, pulled by a team of fine white horses. As it pulled to a stop a door opened. Lillian leaned out, a serious expression on her face. “Harold,” she called, “you need to get in.”

“Uh, yes, right away, darling,” he said, and quickly moved to do what she’d requested.

As Harold boarded the carriage Lillian looked around him at the henchman, who continued watching the royal couple. “Who is that?” she asked, curious.

“Oh, uh, just another nature lover, I suppose,” Harold said uncomfortably as he sat down beside her.

Lillian raised a questioning eyebrow, but let it fall dismissively after a moment. She looked up at the driver, commanded, “Drive on to the destination I told you before,” and then closed the door and leaned back in her seat.

As the coach pulled away, Harold asked, “So, where are we going?”

“We’re going to free our daughter,” the queen stated.