The Princess With a Frozen Heart- A Fairytale

July 23, 2022, in association with United Adoration, this story was read aloud to an audience of 20+ people. The video recording is here if you wanted to listen while you read! The post-reading discussion is at the bottom. :)

Eventually there may be a “Forward” and “Afterward.” But for now, I will say...

Children learn best through

The games we play

The songs we sing

And the stories we tell.

Let us begin.

The Princess With a Frozen Heart

- A Fairytale by Kelsey Regan Nienna

- Very very loosely inspired by a sermon told by the Rev. Fr. Dr. Jack Gabig.

- With help from Natalie Mayberry, who dedicated an afternoon convincing me to keep all the library scenes, and helped outline the final kitchen scene.

Once upon a time in a faraway kingdom, there was a beautiful princess. She was said to have a warm and happy heart, for she was kind to all who met her, and she served her people faithfully. In large part because of her, the castle was a wonderful place of hospitality. Villagers were welcomed into the castle to read in the great library, to enter the kitchens if they were hungry, lonely, or in need of work, and eat in the banquet hall together. Whenever the princess smiled she lit up the room, and in her presence it always seemed to be springtime. All who knew her agreed there were precious few more loving and gentle than she, and she was indeed precious.

It came to pass that a wizard took notice of the princess’ beauty and desired her for himself. Understanding true beauty comes from within, and discontent to simply know and be near her, the wizard employed trickery and his dark arts to take what was not his. One evening after dinner as the princess tended the palace garden, the wizard ambushed her and tried to steal her heart while it beat within her chest. But the princess was the daughter of a great king, and she was not defenseless. The two battled and the princess was victorious. Before justice could be carried out the wizard retreated into the night, never to be seen again. For a moment all seemed well. But as midnight brought a new day, it became clear something was terribly wrong:

The princess’ heart had frozen, and she ceased to smile.

Perhaps it was a parting curse cast by the wizard as he fled. Or perhaps it was the remnant of a deflected spell… But she who had made others so happy was now unable to receive their comfort. Any attempt only drove her deeper within herself: She flinched at their voices, recoiled at their touch, and her hands lay ever trembling over her chest. Her face, once lit with an easy brightness, was now shadowed by a heavy darkness. When that sleepless night ended, the cold morning sun revealed all the roses in the princess’ garden had died, leaving behind nothing but sharp, colorless hedges.

There are many ways to lose someone, not just by death, and the princess was not who she was before. No one but she knew if the rumors were true that her heart had been taken or encompassed in ice, and in its grief for losing someone so beloved, the kingdom’s heart broke too. It was believed that this overwhelming sadness across the land is what caused the winter to come so early and harshly.

No one felt the pain of this change more deeply than the princess’s father, the King. He secretly wondered if he had been to blame for not seeing through the wizard’s trickery. But of course, evil wizards are masters of deception and will fool anybody to get what they want. The princess understood this and never blamed her father, but tragically, by the nature of her spell and his shame, the two never spoke of that night, and were unable to comfort each other.

Unable to see his daughter so, and certain time and the return to normalcy would heal, the king set out to do whatever he could to remind the princess of happier days gone by. All evidence of the wizard was removed from the castle, the memory of him banished, his name forbidden to be spoken. Days became weeks, and though all around her did their utmost to return to the happy once upon a time, the princess’ curse lingered on.

Unable to see his daughter so, and certain time and moving on would heal, the king set out to do whatever he could to promise the princess of happier days to come. The princess’ victory over the wizard was spoken of and praised. It became the king’s habit to throw great meals and parties, to sing many a song, and tell many a joke, anything to bring cheer to his daughter. And yet, each punchline caused everyone but her to laugh, each melody caused every voice but hers to raise up in song, and just as every body would rise from their tables to be swept away in the dances of a cèilidh, the princess would leave the festivities to be by herself. The king felt in his own breaking heart that he was failing her. Weeks became months, and while all around her did their utmost to reach the happily ever after, the princess’ curse lingered on.

Desperate, the king issued a proclamation: That whichever man of royal birth could return the princess to her previously happy self, he would not only have her hand in marriage, but the kingdom when the king passed away.

Kings and princes from across the world traveled to the palace, for the kingdom was vast, and the princess’ beauty and goodness were well known. Kings flaunted their great fortunes, princes told stories of daring deeds, and all said many pretty words. The garden remained blackened grey, and it became the habit of many to make paper flowers and entwine them within the branches, hiding the wounded vines with bright colors. No one walked within the winding hedges any more because it made them too sad, but each night the princess passed through its archway. The princess’ curse lingered on.

The king issued a second proclamation: That whichever man of noble birth could return the princess to her previously happy self, HE would have her hand and the kingdom.

Nobles performed great acts of heroism. Knights jousted for her hand. Wisemen and scholars used every ounce of their wits to impress. No one knew whether they should speak of the wizard or not, and compromised by whispering about him constantly. The garden’s vines were heavy-laden with paper flowers and the treasures suitors brought from distant lands. And the princess’ curse lingered on.

The king issued a third proclamation to every village and town: That any man, regardless of class, birth, or profession, if he could return the princess to her previously happy self, he would have her hand and one day be king.

The first day of each month the kingdom was overrun with men, young and old alike who had traveled far and wide to meet this challenge. The king would throw a great banquet, and each in turn would greet the princess to try and stake his claim. The princess welcomed each suitor with grace and kindness, and each visitor walked away touched by her gentleness, remembering her fondly forever. But regardless the feat, pretty words or airs, no matter the ballad or jest, drama, dance, or song, the princess’ distant face remained set like marble, with a smile that never really reached her eyes. Days, weeks and months stopped being counted.

*

It came to pass that an especially cold night brought with it a weary traveler. He was immediately welcomed into the castle to warm himself, and as it was the palace’s custom to host guests during the winter, he was invited to stay until the bitterness passed. That evening just happened to be the monthly Feast of Suitors, and it was at the festivities the traveler beheld the princess for the first time. Tales of her beauty had spread across the globe by way of her failed fanciers, and yet the traveler was unprepared for the tender loveliness of the lady who greeted and welcomed him to the banquet. A smile that never reaches the eyes is by nature false and strained. Yet even so, there was about the princess’ tired face a natural (albeit guarded) friendliness that he doubted was fully fabricated.

For the evening’s entertainment sonnets and stories were told, and while the world watched the princess, the traveler watched the world. From his seat at a communal table he observed how all performers seemed to direct their punchlines towards the princess, checking to see if perhaps they had succeeded in bringing forth that elusive smile. Shortly after all those who would try had taken their chances, and long before dinner had ended, the princess quietly excused herself and was not seen the rest of the night.

The traveler offered his services to the kitchen. As he scraped the dishes, the servants retold the famous story of the princess battling the wizard and coming away victorious and altered. As he washed the dishes, the servants recounted the months of royals, nobles, and common men who had all tried and failed to soften the heart which had once been so alive and full of joy. As the traveler dried the dishes, the servants cried, voicing the fear that the princess they had loved was gone forever.

He was shown to a guest room. Lying gratefully in his warm bed he remembered a strange detail from the evening when the princess passed his table on her way out of the great hall: Though she stood straight and walked gracefully, a hand stayed at her side, tucked in the folds of her skirt. This was perfectly natural, but the same hand had remained under the table throughout dinner. A draft had blown as she passed him, shifting the fabric to reveal the hilt of a hidden blade.

*

The following morning after scraping, washing, and drying the breakfast dishes, the traveler walked about the castle until he found the library, fully intending to pass the frigid morning in warm and comfortable solitude. Though the library was famously open to all, no villager, palace staff, nor suitor seemed to have the same idea that day. As he entered the library a cold draft forced the door open both faster and louder than he had expected. His first sight of the room were walls covered in books, and a startled princess leaping to her feet.

“I beg your pardon, my lady!” He said quickly, grabbing the door to keep it from slamming against the wall a second time.

“Worry not, sir.” Her polite, half-smile was already set, her hand was tucked in her skirt.

“Still I apologize for I did not know I would be disturbing anyone here today. I only came in search of a book to enjoy until my services are again required in the kitchen.”

“Is that all?” She cocked an eyebrow suspiciously.

“That is all.” He nodded gravely.

“What sort of story?”

“I would take any you recommend, though my preference is towards mystery or adventure.” The princess stiffened suddenly and the traveler wondered how he had offended when he too heard the pounding of nearing footsteps.

“Damn.” She whispered before gracefully leaping behind a couch and ducking out of sight. The door slammed open again, and the traveler found himself face to face with one of the suitors from the previous night.

“Have you seen the princess?” The man asked by way of greeting. “I intend to see her before the others this morning. They have told me to not expect an audience for another fortnight.”

“As you can see, there are none here but books and those who would read them.” The traveler answered, turning to the nearest shelf and browsing the titles. “Might I interest you in a novel and quiet company?” The richly dressed man openly looked the simpler man up and down, taking in his worn clothes, slightly stained and splattered from kitchen work. The traveler inclined his head and put his hand on the open door.

“If not then sir, I shall close the door behind you, so as to not let the room’s heat escape into the hallway.” And as the suitor left the room the traveler took care to close the door gently so as to not make unnecessary noise that might further agitate anyone near by.

“He is gone.” The traveler said after hearing the footsteps recede. “And I can be too if you wish, though I would truly like to find a book first.”

“Thank you.” The princess reappeared from her hiding place, the slightest flicker of relief hinting across a weary face. “You said you prefer mystery and adventure, this one has both.” She held a book out to him.

“Did you take the time to find me a book while you hid behind the couch?” He couldn’t hold back his laugh. “I thank you.” He said, taking it gratefully. “And would you oblige me with one more kindness by suggesting a warm place for me to read where I would not intrude upon anyone who desired their privacy?”

“There is a lounge down the hall.” The princess said thoughtfully. “Another a floor above. If it is friendly warmth and noise you are looking for, either of those places may suit you as both are filled this time of day with people playing games.”

“Is there a place that is warm and quiet?” She considered him.

“If it is silence, this is the only place left.” She motioned to the various chairs, tables and couches. “And today you are welcome to stay, so long as you are able to keep the secret as you already have.”

“Depend upon it.” He bowed his head. “And I thank you.” He sat at a table in view of the door but close enough to the fire to feel its warmth. She settled on the couch she had hidden behind, out of immediate view of the one door, and she glanced at it often.

The morning passed with nary a word or sound between them, save for the occasional appreciative chuckle from the traveler who was captivated by his book. Twice the room was threatened with invasion by those whose interests were far from literary, and twice the traveler parried them smoothly in a manner that none suspected there were any occupants beside himself. Peripherally the traveler noticed the princess startled at sudden sounds, and yet for all her hyper vigilance she yawned and rubbed her eyes as though staying awake was a struggle. And still her hand never strayed from her hidden blade. Eventually it was time to prepare for lunch so the traveler rose, nodded in gratitude and left, gently closing the door behind him.

A quarter hour later the traveler took scraps to the pigs and decided to stretch his legs and take a turn about the castle before lunch. During this first walk around the palace he saw the outer hedges of the garden. Not a leaf was visible for the cheery paper flowers fastened upon every branch. Set against a backdrop of dazzling snow, the sight of these brightly colored flowers was jarring: They didn’t belong.

The traveler did not see the princess at lunch, and in her absence the only entertainment was conversation. Many at his table wondered if any of the latest visitors would stay through the winter, at least until the next Feast of Suitors. Most suspected they would, as it was doubtful one would make the trip without at least trying again, perhaps one of these chilly afternoons. The traveler’s dining companions informed him that every day between lunch and dinner the princess spent an hour or two with each suitor, until all had been met or they grew tired of waiting days for their turn and left.

As he scraped the lunch dishes, the traveler asked the kitchen servants about the multicolored hedge. Sighing deeply the servants told him that since the princess’s victory, the garden had ceased to bloom. As he washed the dishes, the servants bemoaned its barren ugliness and how they all tried to hide the deadness with their colorful gifts. As he dried the dishes, the servants’ eyes welled with tears as they lamented how every evening without fail, the princess entered the gardens by herself, and walked the inner mazes no one else remembered. No storm or plummeting temperature could keep her away, and no one dared follow her; it made them too sad. By now the kitchen staff was so moved in the telling of their tale the traveler abandoned any hope of returning to the library and remained in the kitchen to ice cakes so his informants could collect themselves.

At dinner the traveler witnessed a suitor enter the great hall with the princess. Making their way to the head table he offered her his arm multiple times, becoming visibly irked when she repeatedly declined. While people around him sighed and rolled their eyes at the princess’ apparent famous refusal to be touched, the traveler wondered at her ability to remain gracious despite the clearly unwanted advances disguised as politeness. Long before the meal ended the traveler watched her leave, now knowing she was taking her nightly walk in the strange, papered garden. He spent the final hours of the evening washing dishes, and reading in his room.

*

A week passed in the same manner as the first full day, though not another word was exchanged between the traveler and the princess. He would incline his head in greeting, then questioningly towards a table or chair. Most mornings she would nod that he was welcome to sit and read. Two days she shook her head, though not in a row, and he left, always careful to not slam the door. It was not until he entered the library on the morning of the eighth day the traveler broke their comfortable silence:

“My lady, as ever I will leave if you wish. Though I would love another recommendation as I finished the first book late last night. Or early this morning, rather.”

“Did you have trouble sleeping?” The princess called softly from the balcony above, returning the book she had just finished to its home and barely stifling a yawn herself.

“Merely from the desire to solve the mystery. Were you also up late reading, or is there another reason for your tiredness today?”

“Did you manage to solve the mystery before you reached the end?”

“I did not.” He admitted, recognizing without comment her reluctance to answer his initial inquiry. “Perhaps you understood the story differently; I got the impression the point was to leave most questions unanswered. You were right: the book is filled with adventure and mystery, but the mystery is never solved.”

“Very good.” The princess walked down the stairs, and the traveler rather felt he had just been tested. “And why do you suppose that is?”

“I would guess because that is how life often is: Filled with questions that are seldom answered. What were your thoughts?”

“Much the same.” She said thoughtfully. “I have read it several times and suppose I understand it better with each reading, but I agree: I don’t think it is meant to be resolved, only contemplated and known as well as one is able, though never fully.”

“What are you reading today?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“I saw a title I thought you might like, that is if you enjoy reading and rereading the book you lent me.”

“It is a favorite.”

He found the book easily on a shelf and held it out to her.

“Are you familiar?”

“I am not.”

“It was read aloud to me, I think that is the way to go, though you could read it on your own of course, if you wanted to be left in peace.”

“What is peace?” She mumbled almost to herself, hand brushing against her hidden blade as she glanced to the closed door. To him she asked, “Does it have an unbelievably cliched and happy ending?”

“For some characters, though not all of them.”

“We can give it a try then.”

They read together through the morning. The princess gazed into the fire and listened attentively, nodding to his words, making the occasional murmur when something sad or happy occurred. When he asked if she wanted a turn, she continued the narration in a fairly animated voice, having clearly read aloud in the past. She never truly smiled. Her voice would falter if they heard a noise in the outside corridor, or if a log in the fire cracked loudly. Any reminder there was a world beyond the two of them brought her hand swiftly to her side, or herself to her feet, but the traveler did not make comment on it beyond pausing in the story so she could decide if she wanted to sit again. They continued in this way until the clocks chimed.

“I must return to the kitchen.” The traveler bookmarked their spot. “Will you be at lunch today?”

“I will not.”

“You prefer to fast between breakfast and dinner?”

“It is the only time of day where everyone is occupied, and I can leave the castle without being watched, followed, or bothered.” For the first time he heard the slight edge in her voice directed towards him, and he saw for a moment a flicker of strain cross her face though just as suddenly her marbled smile returned to her tired features. “After lunch I must entertain the king’s guests. You have all come a long way.”

“Would you like to resume tomorrow? I could leave the book with you if you did not enjoy reading with me.”

“We can.” She said, taking the offered book though not opening it, tracing the title with lightly trembling fingers. “You read it as though you know it very well. Have you read it many times?”

“It is a favorite.”

*

As the weeks and winter continued, the traveler witnessed a second Feast of Suitors, then a third. By the fourth, the kitchen servants had declared him one of their own, and their hints were not subtle that they hoped he would stay whenever if ever the winter passed, though none of them were quite sure what he did with his time when he wasn’t scraping, washing and drying dishes. While many tracked the passing time by feasts and wintery days, the traveler marked the months with books and quiet mornings in the library. After the traveler and the princess finished the second book, they found a third they both knew well. Next they chose books to read on their own, though their silence was broken from time to time with a particularly enjoyable or poignant passage read aloud by either of them.

One morning during their fifth book the traveler began to ask if the princess wanted a turn reading a chapter and paused. She had fallen asleep on her end of their couch. He covered her with the blanket ordinarily draped across the back of the couch, and chose a different book for himself from a nearby shelf. As the morning progressed, black clouds filled the sky, darkening all castle rooms. The princess stirred often, making small noises of discomfort, and the traveler wondered if she had experienced a single restful night since they had met. At least, he reasoned, the kitchen staff had mentioned whenever the weather was especially stormy the princess’ afternoon engagements tended to be cancelled. He supposed the castle was too crowded for a suitor to feel he truly had her undivided attention when their meetings were forced indoors, so at least he could in good conscience let her sleep on.

One day as the clocks chimed, the traveler closed their book and asked the princess if he might walk with her when everyone was looking the other way towards lunch. She considered him, then nodded slowly: Why not, for a little while? From behind their couch the traveler pulled his cloak which he had tucked away in hopeful anticipation of her acceptance. After everyone had settled in the banquet hall, the princess and the traveler left the castle in the opposite direction, sharing the meal he had packed for them. Following that day, they did not always spend morning and lunchtime together, but most days they did at least one. She used the dagger on her belt to cut their apples.

*

*Roses have special meaning according to color. This comes into play.*

One chilly afternoon the traveler was taking scraps to the pigs, when he remembered roses love banana peels and egg shells. He approached the ornament-laden hedges and was just wondering where best to begin when somewhere deep within the branches he heard the softest of cries. Fearing trouble, he hurried inside the arched entranceway and had only managed a few steps before stopping with a jolt. The fake flowers abruptly ended a few feet into the maze, exposing the true leaves, roses, and thorns, all utterly petrified in blacks and greys. For a moment the dark emaciation tempted him to turn back as all others had, but he could still faintly hear the princess, so he soldiered on, determined to find her.

The deeper he went the more fragile the roses appeared until he wondered if they would shatter in a cloud of smoke and ash at his touch. When the briered path had become so dark he felt he might suffocate, the labyrinth suddenly opened and its walls spread to form a large circular clearing. He stood at its edge, blinking in cold sunlight. He had found the very heart of the princess’s garden, and on a stone bench in its center she sat, hunched and shaking over cupped hands. He cleared his throat.

The princess leapt to her feet at the sudden sound, dagger already drawn. He held his hands up though he was several yards away.

“I’m sorry! I did not wish to startle you.”

“No, no, I’m-!” She looked horrified at her own reaction. “I’m sorry!” Her voice and breath shook, having been stopped mid-sob. With obvious effort she pushed her blade fully back into its sheath. “I apologize.”

“…We’ve never walked this garden together before.” He said evenly, hands still up. “May I come in?” She turned away from him to wipe her eyes, nodding her consent, and the traveler entered.

The sacred space before him was devastated. Rose bushes lay ripped from the earth, their mangled roots reaching for the sky. Carpeting the ground were hundreds if not thousands of paper roses taken from the outer hedges over the course of countless night. Within this colorless, tortured space their brightness was all the more taunting. He tread across the fake flowers, stumbling occasionally: What little he could see of the once beautiful and ornate mosaic pathway was interrupted with deep lacerations and shallow craters. A cherry blossom tree loomed over the bench, branches bare, its trunk burned by something otherworldly. Taking it all in, the traveler approached the princess who had returned to the bench and was again cradling something small in her hands.

“A rose.” He commented, noting the grey thorns surrounding the tiny white and withered bud (innocence). It seemed to be the only real flower in the garden.

“They all seem dead.” She said dully, looking ‘round at the desolation. With the presence of a witness her tears had momentarily stopped, but given who it was she did not fake her public half-smile. “And this winter has been so long. Everything should have bloomed again long ago.”

“May I?” He motioned to the dagger in her belt. Wordlessly she unsheathed it and held it out to him. Taking the blade, he turned away and examined the winding thorns that made up the wall opposite. He chose a thick branch closer to the ground and skinned off a portion before returning to the bench and handing her the dagger.

“This one isn’t.” He offered the branch to her. “The outside may seem dead, but the inside is still green. You know as well as I, winters come and go, some linger longer than others.” He continued as he sat beside her. “Many things freeze, and to survive they must withdraw into themselves. Healing requires patience, nurturing, and a little room to grow. But over time they may thaw and turn green again.” She nodded slowly, holding the wick and blackened twigs side by side. “Your winter too may pass.”

“Will it, though?” She faced him with eyes that were once told to dazzle when she used to really smile, now red from weeping. “By now you have seen how time and time again many greater, wiser, and stronger, as well as dumber, weaker, and simpler than either of us have failed to make me myself again. What makes you so certain?”

“Make you yourself again.” He considered her words. “You put a great deal of value in who you were?”

“Everyone does.” The princess sighed heavily, bending to pick up one of the many strewn paper flowers. “My father, my people… They still wish she would come back…” Her hands continued to shake as she slowly began to rip the blue rose, (The impossible, unattainable) its petals were all the more stark and cold as they fell to the charred ground at their feet. “Before… That night…” She gritted her teeth. “I had just been myself. Since the attack, my life has been divided: There is who I was before, and then there was all that was left of her. All I hear and see around me is the desire to make me like I was before. Her image follows me everywhere I go. She stalks me, and devastates the people who lost her. It would have been better for everyone if I had just…” Her voice broke as a few forbidden tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Might I speak plainly?” He asked, when it became clear she could not continue.

“You always have that freedom with me.” Her hand dropped to the empty wire stem.

“You and I have never spoken of the night you faced the wizard, though others have told me. The way they and you speak of yourself, if I did not see you sitting beside me now, I would have suspected you had died in the battle.”

“I did, I think.” She mumbled, voice dim. Her hand pressed against the space where only she could say if there was a heartbeat. “It… it certainly felt as though I had. When I returned to the castle that night and was unable to resume my life from even a mere hour before, I wondered if I had died. But no one would tell me. I understand even people who did not know me well saw the change. Everyone commented on it. I think we all expected me to… wake up.” She bowed her head in a hitherto unspoken shame: "I wasn’t hurt. I won, and should be thankful. Or at least… everyone told me I had won. But the truth is… I sometimes think it might have been better, if I had lost fully and outright.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because this pain would be justified.”

“Is it not now?” She shook her bowed head.

“I wasn’t hurt.” She recited quietly, almost obediently, though whoever must have told her this could not hear her. “I won, and should be thankful. The wizard is gone from these lands.” She bit her lip. “But every night I…” Her voice faded again and she gazed about the space.

“Every night you return here.” The traveler too looked around them, wondering at the battle that had left such a long-lasting wreckage where no eye could see.

“One way or another I always find myself here, and it’s like I’m still fighting him.” She flinched as her eyes traveled to the blackened tree trunk, a large crater on the ground, a shattered stone birdbath, finally lingering over a human-sized indentation in a thorny wall. “The battle never ended for me. Not really.”

“I have never fought a wizard,” He said softly. "Yet I understand war and how it cares not for the delicacies of innocence or time. It can take a single moment of horror and force the person to relive it endlessly. This is true of victors and losers alike. The reason we never have torches or fireworks when welcoming returning knights is we understand the sights and sounds of fire may trick his mind into believing he is again in the dragon’s lair or the battlefield. Yours may have been a brief encounter, but I would guess it was far more intimate than fighting a senseless, impersonal beast. Soldiers and knights know they are walking into battle, you were in a place you should have been safe. And soldiers have their comrades to share in their pains and sorrows; you were alone. The world is wrong when it pretends that all wounds are easily measured in blood and bandages, and there is trauma people will never recognize so long as they insist you can only be victor or victim.”

“I wasn’t a victim.” She said automatically. “I wasn’t hurt. I won, and should be thankful.”

“But you were a victim.” He said gently. “That’s not all you were, but you were at least that much. Your injuries may be hidden, but make no mistake: You fought and survived a harrowing battle. Not being permitted to accept the complications of being both, this would confuse the pain and prolong the agony, not shorten it.”

“Perhaps.” She conceded. “I don’t know if it’s true what they whisper about me: losing or having “a frozen heart.”” She touched the space again. “I can feel pain, and the chill… I feel the agony of those around me who were hurt that night.” She wiped her cheeks furiously. "That’s what they don’t tell you, what no one seems willing to admit: I alone was in the garden, I alone had to fight.” Her voice began to rise. “But victory or not, victim or not, since that night everyone I have ever known has SUFFERED!” Her anguished scream rang through the space: “How is that JUST?! How is that a VICTORY?!”

“It isn’t.” He said. “But it is not because you are weak, now or then. This wasn’t your fault, Jackie.” She stood abruptly and began to pace, no longer able to hold back her grief which at last came out in loud, sharp cries:

“They suffer because of me!” She rubbed her chest as though determined to finally peel away her skin and find a lump of ice or empty cavity. “This winter is because of me! Everything had to change because I couldn’t get better, and now all we have left is a grieving kingdom, ruled by a broken king, and doomed to be entailed to a shattered and heartless queen unless I can find what little humanity I have left and reward a suitor with what I do not have to give!” She stopped in a shallow crater, frozen but for her heaving sobs as she held herself. “I would have given my life for my people if I could, but instead I can do nothing, nothing but live on as the ever present symbol of their pain and loss because of my failure!” She slapped a hand over her mouth as though determined to swallow her agony and shame again.

He rose from the bench.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” She gasped desperately as he approached her. “I know I-I’m rambling, I shouldn’t say such things, I’m I’m sorry, I’m being foolish-!”

“No, you’re not. This is important.” He placed steady hands on her shoulders. “If our time together has meant anything to you, hear me now: No one who has lost their heart could possibly care for others as deeply as you do now. The grief of the people is the unspoken regret they were not here with you, the wish that you hadn’t faced danger alone, and that you needn’t suffer alone now. This winter, if it is indeed a result of the battle, came about because the wizard chose to hurt you.”

“I wasn’t hurt!” She choked, eyes streaming. “I was lucky. Others have had it worse, I should be thankful.”

“He hurt you.” He said firmly, urgently. “Some pains cannot be compared to others and it only worsens the agony when we try. You were not lucky, you do not need to be thankful for what it was or wasn’t because you were deeply hurt, and it wasn’t. Your. Fault."

She stood for a moment, not breathing, seeming to stand purely because of his steadying hands. Then her shoulders began to shake.

"Sage..." Her voice came out in barely a whimper. "I was so scared."

Driven by sadness and permitted by trust she closed the distance between them. He took her in his arms, and when her knees buckled he gently lowered her to the ground so they sat amidst rubble and stems. She clutched him as he cradled her.

“I was so scared.” She cried into his shoulder. “I was so scared. And it hurt. And I was all alone.”

“I’m sorry, Dearheart.” He rested his cheek on her head. “I am so sorry.”

They sat like this for a long time. He uttered no words of cheer, no assurances that things would be well. He merely held her, bearing witness to her. He held her until her sobs settled, until her rattling breath trembled into a sigh. He held her until his arms felt much of the tightness leave her body, and she slumped in exhaustion. He held her until she had calmed, and until she straightened and leaned away.

“Now it is time for me to speak plainly to you.” Her voice trembled but she carried on. “If our time together has meant anything to you, do not be cruel by raising up false hopes within yourself or anyone else I love. Do not try it. Sir I beg of you, in this regard just let me be.”

“What do you suspect me of trying?” He asked, shifting so he sat across from her.

“The proclamation of my father was never unknown to me.” Her shoulders drooped. “It was never very subtle. And whosoever might succeed in ‘making me myself again’ may have quite the prize: A kingdom, a queen.”

“I do not pretend to be unaware of the promise made by your father the king.” He said, collecting a handful of paper flowers strewn about them. The purple rose (Admiration, Royalty, Love at first sight.) he handed her to mangle, the others he twirled in his fingers. “And I do not doubt many seek your company in the hope of returning you to ‘who you were.’ But remember, I came here a stranger; we did not know each other before.”

“That has stopped no one from making an attempt.” She countered bitterly, tossing a handful of lavender and violet petals into the air so purple rained and fluttered about them. “I am to understand my legacy has been quite enough to entice. You must have been made known of me before you arrived here.”

“True, on both accounts.” He chuckled, easily catching the purple stem she flicked at him before handing her the peach rose (Sincerity, gratitude, sympathy.). “I had heard of you, and I have seen many Feasts of Suitors, but it is not why I came, it is not why I stay.”

“It cannot be done.” She said simply. “Dead, altered, or supplanted, the princess who entered the garden that night is never coming home. I would not have you waste your time on the impossible, trying to bring her back.”

“No…” He said thoughtfully, bending the purple stem into strange shapes as she frayed the peach petals. “Truthfully, I have often wondered at this entire affair… I understand better today why you have tolerated their endless barrages, but even less their desire to make you ‘as you once were.’ … Tell me, Were you somehow more tender and compassionate than you are now?”

“It was easier.” She admitted over her flower. “But I love my people, so I do what is expected of me.” He shook his head.

“No, politeness is expected. Ceremony is expected. You have done the unexpected: You have known neither safety, rest, comfort, nor peace, and yet you have chosen the harder route: You have remained kind. Kind and loving to the people who betrayed you. I speak not only of the wizard but those around you who were so determined to ‘cheer' you they robbed you of your need to grieve.” He gave her the yellow rose (Platonic friendship. To cheer or congratulate a close friend.). “Regardless how wonderful I’m sure you were before, I cannot make sense at how anyone could know you now, and wish to make you someone else.” She took the offered flower.

“I have not experienced your exact pain.” The traveler continued as she slowly folded the golden petals. “Yet I do know what it is to have a heart that is grieved, and isolation is by far the worst of curses. My hope is not that you will be changed to someone you once were, but that you may grieve and over time come to know peace and joy as you are now.” He reached behind him to the bench, took up the withered rosebud and held it out to her. “If you will allow it of me, my Lady, my wish is to remain by your side always, for as long as you would have me. For I am deeply fond of who you are." She took the blossom and held it to her chest.

“Thank you.” She whispered. He offered his hand, and she took it. She gazed around the beloved, broken space, and wept. And he sat with her.

*

The garden before the wizard.

When the traveler entered.

The following morning, servants ventured toward the castle, passing the garden to drop off new paper flowers, as was their habit. They paused. A small crowd formed, murmuring. Every paper flower was gone, rendering the blackened hedges stark and bare. In stripping the branches, the healing sunlight managed to touch the space for the first time.

Change, even for the better, can startle and frighten, and nearly always hurts. But hurt is not always the same as harm, and in the case of old wounds healing, discomfort is inevitable. The villagers had found it comforting, covering the charred canopies with their creations, confusing concealment of a cut as a cure. Now with the thorns exposed, they found the evidence of their own sorrow laid bare before them, potent and painful as that horrible night when their happy princess had staggered into the castle, uninjured and yet… broken. Several crept forward, reaching toward the blackened rosebuds, their fingers stopping just shy of the petals, remembering that sleepless night when their gentle princess first and forever recoiled at their touch. Buried heartache welled up inside as they remembered the cold and countless days and nights when their beloved princess became a distant stranger; they began to weep. Clutching one another, they hurried into the castle.

The servants’ tearful and frightened news met frustrated nobles who informed them that afternoons traditionally set aside for the princess to entertain suiters had been cancelled indefinitely. Fear and anger collided, creating panic, and most spent the morning falling behind in their chores to make as many flowers as possible to replace the ones lost.

At lunchtime (nearly an hour late) many left the castle with bouquets and bundles of hastily made blossoms, willing to sacrifice their meal to RE-cover their recovered grief. As they neared the garden they paused. A small crowd formed, murmuring. There in the sunshine the princess stood at her garden’s entrance, pruning shears in hand. The traveler collected and tossed fallen branchlets into an ever growing jumble nearby. That morning’s flower offering was among the tinder. Amidst the uncomfortably shocking events of the day, the kitchen staff at least were pleasantly surprised to learn that their favorite dishwasher was a gardener.

From that day on, if anyone royal, noble, or common desired the princess’ company, if she was to be found at all, it was at the garden, pruning back brittle hedges, the traveler by her side. Many shied away and resisted this uncomfortable change, determinedly crafting flowers, but they were always removed within the day. When a loved one changes, sometimes the way you love them must change as well. Gradually, tentatively, the more curious would approach to investigate and were warmly invited to join the two collecting leaves, taking up spades, and learning from the traveler how to decipher if a branch was wick or more worthy of removal. At first it was strange to them, but they loved their princess, and they wanted to care for who she was now.

*

Healing begins long before it can be recognized by the naked eye. A heavy weight does not roll away all at once, but gradually, imperceptibly even, grain by grain, drop by drop, and the princess had carried her burden for a very very long time. Long after the paper flowers had vanished for good someone tentatively wondered aloud if the princess seemed less sad than before? Another asked if she seemed less distracted and distant from those around her? She seemed to stand straighter. And if a hand accidentally grazed hers while reaching for a spade she did not always recoil. No one knew of the princess and traveler’s peaceful mornings spent in the quiet library, and no one would ever know how he held her and her grief in the heart of her garden one chilly day. She would still vanish in the mornings, and leave dinner early, but unbeknownst to anyone the traveler remained by her side. They did not always walk the maze.

The Feasts of Suitors continued, but the princess’ tolerance for them did not. She greeted her visitors as the lady of the palace, graciously as to her nature, but during those monthly banquets she took her meal elsewhere. Eventually it was widely understood: any attempt at matchmaking was frivolous, and entertainment was best targeted towards those committed to staying for the evening. Monthly feasts were far too embedded in the culture to quit entirely, so they became a time for neighboring towns to come together for festivities and fellowship. There were no more suitors. Those evenings she would eventually walk the garden paths, but she was not always grieving, and she was never alone. On one such night, hidden from the view of those who would stare or speculate over its significance, someone she deeply cared for said something delightful to her, and she smiled.

The following morning, servants ventured toward the castle, passing the garden to drop off banana peels and eggshells from their breakfasts, as was their habit. They paused. A small crowd formed, murmuring. Had they been passing the hedges every day and

only now noticed the burgundy and green of new leaves?

*

Spring passed quietly into summer, and many began taking their lunch out of doors. On one such afternoon, a handful of people sat on the grass in the shade of the garden’s green hedges. Conversations overlapped casually like many uneventful meals before, jokes were shared, stories exchanged, and the princess laughed. Faces turned in shock to see the princess leaning against the traveler, and he against her, both laughing easily as though it were the most natural thing in the world. Those closest to the leafy branches saw the first of the roses had begun to bloom.

Setting their dirty dishes on carts for the kitchen staff, nobles and commoners whispered the same question:

Was the spell broken?

Tending the garden’s long forgotten pathways, nobles and commoners chanced glances at the princess when they thought she wasn’t looking, and then at one another when they knew they were, wordlessly asking the same question:

Was the spell broken?

Scraping, washing, and drying the dishes, the traveler found himself cornered by the entire kitchen staff, demanding he answer their desperate question:

Was the spell broken?!

Preparing for dinner, nobles and commoners heard the report from those who had cross-examined the traveler:

No.

The kitchen staff had stood, dumbfounded at the simple bluntness of his answer.

“No?”

“No.” The traveler repeated firmly, as he dried a lunch plate.

“But something is different.” One kitchen member insisted as the rest bobbed their heads. “She’s laughing again. We’ve been in her garden, and the flowers have begun to bloom. How is this possible if the curse remains unbroken?”

“Yes… ‘The curse…’” The traveler frowned thoughtfully, reaching for another plate. “I have not known the princess as long as others, I’ll grant you. But I know magic leaves its mark, and I have never seen any signs about her that suggest of dark magic or lingering spells. Have you?” His question was met with quiet confusion. “A frozen heart cannot beat.” He continued. “And a person, when their heart stops beating, dies. She is still alive, is she not? … So perhaps… Perhaps there never was a curse. Perhaps she was simply hurt.” This outrageous suggestion was met with stunned silence.

“But she wasn’t hurt.” One voice finally challenged. “She won, we all agreed, as did she. By all accounts she was lucky-”

“Let us never say that again,” he cut in sharply. “Who are we to say if someone else’s pain is pain enough? Clearly she was hurt. When someone has been wounded, be it heart, soul, mind, or body, they have been hurt. Even suggesting they take comfort by remembering others have suffered more does nothing but shame them into suffering silently, and alone.” They backed away quickly, fearing the anger of the patient man. He raised a finger and looked away, taking long, steadying breaths. They waited. He slowly rewashed the plate he had just dried. They drew near cautiously, trusting the patience of the angry man.

Nodding his head to the window, his voice even and gentle once more, he continued. “Those roses we have all been tending? A storm may beat them down until they are uprooted and die. Slugs could eat the roots.” He took up his towel again. “And yet a drought could also kill them without touching them once. Is it not the same with us? Are there not countless ways to break a heart?” He set the plate aside. “Perhaps… you could ask a different question.”

“What sort of question?”

“You saw her laugh today, and now you are here… what do you really want to know?”

“… Is she better?” One wondered. “Can things go back the way they were before?”

“Which things?” He prompted.

“Her laughter.” Someone suggested. “And being happy again.”

“Her coming to see us here?” Another added.

“Can we touch her without her recoiling?”

“Can she stop shutting us out?”

“Can it be- can she be- as though that night never happened?”

The traveler set yet another dish on the precarious stack.

“It has happened.” His voice was firm but kind. "It will always have happened, and she is changed. A crushed and damaged branch will never regrow the flowers that were lost. But with proper care and time it may come to grow new ones… You have been asking me questions about her… what would you ask her, if you could? What is it you really, truly want?”

There was another long pause as he wiped the counter down. Finally a timid, shaking voice rose from the back:

“Can we be friends again?”

The traveler gave a small, compassionate smile.

“Why don’t you ask her?” He hung his towel on the hook to dry, and stepped away from his clean station.

Throughout the summer, many did ask. She answered. They were reunited.

*

Not everyone agreed with the traveler that there never was a curse, in fact many continued to believe (albeit quietly) that the princess’ heart had been frozen all that time. But they also believed the spell had begun to break. They were uncertain how best to describe it but to say, tentatively, though the princess’ pain had not vanished, there was a new and quiet peace about her permitting moments of unguarded joy.

Intimate observers of these gradual changes intended to keep the news from reaching the king so as to not falsely raise his hopes. But they quickly learned such an endeavor was pointless. Not because castles can’t keep secrets (which they cannot) but because one early afternoon in the late summertime, the king passed a window facing the gardens when he heard his daughter’s laughter. As he nearly flung himself from the window to gain a better look, he not only saw her smiling, but with whom.

Before the traveler could begin the lunch dishes he was summoned from his sink and brought before the court. In view of all and unashamed, the king wept, having long since given up hope of seeing his daughter happy again. The traveler was praised and commended again and again, and he was given many promises of knighthood, an eventual place on the throne, the hand of the princess, and the assurance he would never have to wash dishes again.

“I thank you, my king.” The traveler bowed. “But I do not believe I can accept these as a reward from you, though you offer so generously.”

A great murmur arose from the crowded room. Who was he to refuse such a coveted prize, and in the presence of the nobles who had all tried and failed to win her themselves?

“Explain yourself, sir!” The king demanded. “You thawed and restored the princess’ heart, and from what I understand you have done so intentionally, painstakingly, almost from the moment you met her. Do you now deny it?”

“I cannot deny it.” The traveler ignored the gossip around him and addressed only the enthroned king. “But whatever help I offered, it was not so you would be compelled to make good on a promise made in your moments of grief. I would not take advantage of such a thing.”

“What purpose then could you have had to save her heart if not to win it?” The king leaned back into his throne, shaking his head. “I have heard and seen you together, do you not love her?”

“I do, and I have told her as much.” The traveler nodded humbly. “And it is for this reason I cannot accept her hand or heart as a reward… for if I saved her heart, it was to give it back to her, so she would be free to do with it whatever she wished.”

“He saved her heart to give it back?” His words rustled amongst the people. “He saved her heart to give it back?” Like wind it seemed to travel from the castle, over the blooming roses, and through the entire kingdom in a matter of moments. “What can he mean, he saved her heart to give it back? How can he not want to keep it for himself? He saved her heart to give it back…” And yet there was one who did not react in surprise.

The princess rose from her chair beside her father, and every eye was drawn to her. She approached the traveler with a smile which, though different from what it once was, fully reached her eyes- eyes that sparkled with tears of joy, gratitude, and affection. The traveler’s confession, though shocking to all others present, was not unknown to her, for he had whispered it to her one evening in the spring. From her hair she pulled a single pink rosebud (gratitude, a happy heart), and held it out to him. Her tender response was the same that day as the night she had first uttered it:

“If you will allow it of me Sir, I want to be by your side always… You saved my heart to give it back to me, and now I give it to you, for I am deeply fond of who you are.”

The princess was not who she was before, and never would be again, but who she was now was precious. That had been true before the wizard, and it was true after, and it would remain true for the rest of her days, for there are some things that can never be lost or taken away.

The End.

Author’s Note

The princess’ name is Jaqueline. The Traveler’s name is Sage.

“Sage” means “Wise.” In gardening, sage is a companion plant to roses because it repels unwanted insects. It is also a “cleansing” herb with healing benefits including reduction of stress and depression.

“Jaqueline” means “Supplanter” (to supersede (another) especially by force or treachery.) This harkens to her confessing in the garden how she felt like she died in the attack and was replaced by someone else. There is a rose named “Jaqueline du Pré.” Last but not least, “Jaqueline” is the feminine of “Jack,” whose sermon loosely inspired the story.

Their names are only used once, to draw attention to two of the most important moments/lines of the story:

“It isn’t.” He said. “But it is not because you are weak, now or then. This wasn’t your fault, Jackie.”

- While everyone around Jacqueline declared her the winner, Sage was able to recognize the deep shame and pain she felt. Rather than also try to push it aside by insisting she be proud and focus on her 'win,' he acknowledges the loss from that night. In a NONtoxic-positive way, he firmly states three truths: It is unfair the lasting pain of the assault be laid upon her and the people who love her (as opposed to the wizard who caused the pain). None of this (the assault, the lasting effects) have anything to do with her strength as a person. The assault was not her fault. He then listens to her rage, being a non-anxious presence so she is safe to bare her shame for the first time.

"Sage..." Her voice came out in barely a whimper. "I was so scared."

- After parroting the words of others for who knows how long, doubtlessly hoping to believe it herself or oblige those around her... this is the first time she truly admits how she felt to be in the garden alone with the wizard that night. Her confession: "I was so scared. And it hurt. And I was all alone." are the simple words of a child, stripped of all diplomacy or façade. She is no longer trying to tell herself that she shouldn't feel this way, she is not trying to filter the experience with positive lenses... she is telling someone trustworthy what happened to her. She is letting him see the pain and shame, and she is letting him comfort her.

I have various reasons for not including their names from the beginning… This fairytale is meant to help those who have encountered “witches” and “wizards,” as well as their loved ones. When we don’t have a physical description of a character, and we relate to them, we are more likely to project our image into the narrative.

When I was young and my parents told me stories, it was the most mind-boggling thing that the stories had characters named after me, my brothers, and my sister! In this case, it may be very important for my readers to place their name and likeness onto certain characters. By only listing their names once, (in addition to drawing attention to important parts) their names become easily interchangeable with ours. And I don’t think the absence of their names is particularly distracting. And anyway, the old fairytales had either strange names, OR no names at all. So it keeps the tone I was going for.