The Cursed

The woods were as mystical as they were dangerous, consisting of both hope and despair, a sustained balance of love and pain. The Prince knew these woods well, despite having never entered them before. They were almost always the setting of the tales he’d read to the handmaiden when practicing his literacy by order of his father. The Prince had never enjoyed his literacy practice, that is until a new handmaiden was assigned to assist his reading. She brought all types of books, each one a tale of embarking on an adventure or avoiding curses and enchantments. And each day she’d leave the book with him to read on his own and add to his shelf in the library, a small shelf lowest to the floor beneath the many layers of shelving holding the thick manuscripts of the King. 

It was because of these books that the Prince was stumbling through the forest in the dark of the night. He longed for an adventure of his own, longed for the chance to rescue a lady from a place she didn’t belong, or free a town from the entrapment of a monster. That morning, the handmaiden brought a particularly exciting piece which encouraged him to sneak out into the moonlight in search of a danger requiring his answer of heroism. Except he had forgotten to visit the weaponry before leaving the castle– not that his small, young arms could carry anything inside of it.

The twisting trees and dark shadows partly gave way to a clearing of overgrown brush, and in it, a cottage. The Prince approached with a high amount of caution and an even higher amount of impulsivity as his adrenaline began rushing. A glisten of moonlight reflected from the cottage porch where several rusting handheld tools lay. Among them was a short dagger, not quite the sword the Prince had in mind but certainly an acceptable weapon. Running along the path of beaten down brush, the Prince arrived at the porch and observed his weapon. He had taken a single step onto the weathered wood panels when suddenly, light exploded around him. The porch lit up with the flicker of an oil lamp flame and behind him glowing in the light was an ageless woman of extreme beauty. 

“Who are you? Are you stealing from me?” 

Stammering in fear, the Prince backed away from the woman moving further upon the porch.

“No… no, I am not a thief. I was just observing your weapons. I am on a quest.”

“Lying does the soul no benefit. Do you realize the consequences to this type of behavior, boy? The Royalty enforces strict rules on theft.”

At the mention of royalty, the Prince became more confident being reminded of his familial power and took on the bravery of his beloved book characters.

“What do you want of me? Are you an Enchantress of some kind?”

The woman hesitated for a moment before revealing, “I am.” Her demeanor changed and she became more elegant in the light as she paced the width of the porch. “You are very wise for your age. I protect this side of the forest and its magic. Protecting it from those with ill will such as you.”

“So what are you going to do? Curse me? Change me into some creature until I find a way to break the curse?” The Prince did not intend for his arrogance to be as noticeable in his voice, posing a challenge to the Enchantress. The Enchantress planned to strike the child with harmless fear and watch him run free, having learned a lesson. But his demeaning confidence and unwarranted entitlement changed her mind.

“I will curse you. But not as you described. There is no lesson in the transformational redemption of those already awarded in honor and love. No. I curse you through love, but afterwards. You are to be under my enchantment for life but only affected following true love’s kiss. You will remain the human you are but once you’ve shared a kiss of genuine love, then you will transform into a monster by the time the moonlight shines that night.”

The Prince was taken by surprise as the curse was dealt. The Enchantress raised her hands and began chanting in a dead language. 

“Stop! Please, stop!” he said, tears falling down his face, all confidence he once had entirely absent. “My father is the King, he can give you anything you’d like! Please take the curse away, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

At the mention of the King, the Enchantress appeared shocked and stopped her chanting but it was too late. The Prince was already running away through the night. The Enchantress extinguished the oil lamp and grabbed her night cloak, running in the opposite direction. The moonlight shined through the forest, menacingly watching over both.

~ ~ ~

“Our condolences, Your Highness. He was a great man.”

The castle throne room was full of official people and elegant garments. The mood was ever-changing, going from heavy-hearted and somber to hopeful and celebratory. The pair of kingdom visitors wore the somber mood on their faces and the throne’s inhabitant mirrored it, slowly nodding his thanks.

As the strangers moved on, Roland, the kingdom squire, came rushing up.

“Sire, the Duchess of Sodderton’s stewardess has wished to speak to you again. I told her the Prince is not–” he abruptly stopped realizing he misspoke. “I mean, the King is not meeting with anyone who isn’t an heiress on the day of his coronation…”

The King smiled and left the throne partway through the squire’s words. Plenty of heiresses came days before the coronation but the King was largely disinterested. That was until he met one of the Duchesses who introduced herself congratulating him on both the death of his father and his newly acquired crown. It was not for her, however, that he became interested. It was the stewardess standing next to her. Her name was Eleanor and he was drawn first to her innate kindness before her stunning beauty. She had led him to where he first met with the Duchess of Sodderton, but in the short walk over, he had a more enjoyable conversation with Eleanor than any moment in the hours spent with the conceited Duchess. For most of the conversation between the two royalty, the King told jokes and looked past the Duchess to see Eleanor smile while she laughed. This continued until Eleanor laughed a little too loud and the Duchess felt threatened by her presence. The rest of the conversation was painfully static and uninteresting, but worth it for the brief time spent seeing the stewardess’s smiles. 

The King made his way through the crowd to where the heirs gathered, mingling and discussing marriages and battleplans with only their own self benefit at stake. The King never belonged to this crowd and upon seeing an uncomfortably bored Eleanor standing next to the Duchess, he could assume it wasn’t hers either. Making eye contact with the King she smiled and snuck out of the crowd.

“I was told you wanted to speak with me,” the King began.

“Yes, I was curious if there was any need for a stewardess in your kingdom,” she began playfully, “I’m thinking there’s a good chance the Duchess won’t want to keep me around longer. Something about my choice in comedic men.”

“Ah, yes, no one likes a woman with a sense of humor,” he responded sarcastically, feeling nervous just looking at her. “I can think of a couple jobs in this kingdom, but we have some rigorous methods of appointing people. You’d probably have to know someone important to put in a good word...”

“Well, I’d appreciate it if you could tell the King. I’d do it myself but I get shy whenever I see him.”

The King had never once spoken to someone he had interest in. And his  emotions toward Eleanor came so strongly. It was an expectation for him to marry, to fill a throne next to the one he was assuming. Eleanor and he went for a walk through the castle, joking that this was Eleanor’s background check as she suggested, an excuse to start conversation beyond royalty and bylaws. The two talked alone for hours, stopping outside in a courtyard overlooking a rocky beach and an ocean port that appeared like glass in the moonlight. But to the King, the gleams of moonlight that shone in the water protruded like shards of broken glass, dangerous and unforgiving. There was a reason the King refrained from showing interest in a partner.

The coronation had long ended. The guests concluded their partying and power negotiating and returned to their rooms. Some packed their belongings and sailed off while the sea was placid. The Duchess’s ship left for Sodderton and the two watched it cross the port, leaving behind the stewardess.

“I really hope you offer me a role in this kingdom or I just made a very big mistake,” Eleanor joked while the ship disappeared from sight. The King chuckled, looking down from the moon he pensively was staring toward and looked at her with the same intense gaze. His eyes met hers endearingly, falling briefly to look at her lips with a distant intimacy, and then back at her face. Eleanor moved closer holding his hand tighter than she had been for the past hour. He squeezed her hand back and Eleanor began leaning toward his face.

“No.” 

Her hand was dropped and dangled at her side.

~ ~ ~

The tailor heard the same story from each customer she measured. It was the most talked about news since the coronation and the events immediately following it from years prior. The kingdom found it strange such a small number of people were allowed to attend the wedding. Even more so, it was strange those allowed were exclusively the most trusted friends of the royals and encouraged to not speak on the details of what took place. But according to Ludwig, and Laura before him and Meredith before her, the circumstances were too curious to keep in, even for the most trusted. And now Elizabeth stood, measurement after measurement repeating the story once more. 

“And we all thought his choice for the throne would be our biggest grievance. I don’t believe they are truly wed. I mean, who doesn’t kiss the bride upon receiving the sacramental gift of matrimony. Sacramental. That used to mean something, you know.”

Deep down the King knew the word would travel. He and Eleanor did their best to prevent it, but something as peculiar as only kissing the bride’s hand was enough for conversation. 

Very few in the castle remembered his story of the Enchantress and her curse from when he was a boy. And even fewer believed it. His father had sent out a group of soldiers to inspect the area following the incident, and they in fact did find the weathered cottage the scared Prince described. But the men found no trace of a woman, or more specifically, an enchantress. Little evidence existed suggesting a person lived inside. It appeared as if the inhabitant simply vanished. Many took it as nonsense. But those who read the tales, just as the Prince did, knew of the famed woods and feared his story with caution. Never should his lips touch another person. 

But then, there was Eleanor. He had trusted her with the truth of his curse weeks after the night they shared under the moonlight. He apologized for his unexplained rejection of her kiss, but even more so for the burden he stored inside himself. He had read of curses transforming a man, only to be broken with an act. A freeing act of selfless love. But his love condemned. And his curse affected his wife who had to live without a shared kiss. Unless he was willing to become a monster.

Eleanor was surprisingly understanding. “Kisses are but the simplest transfer of love. Your curse challenges us. Your curse allows us to share our love in our own unique way.”

The King knew she was saddened by the news despite her showing it. And guilt and regret filled him whenever it came to his mind. Not for himself but for his wife. He’d tell her he would do anything for her. Anything to make up for the curse.

And she always said he solely needed to love her with his whole heart.

Several temptations and close calls occurred between the two, the King becoming ever more drawn to his wife’s lips. The night he asked for her hand in marriage was the most pained night he experienced, despite the joy he and Eleanor shared. But thinking of her smile and her laugh and the way he lifted her in the air after she said yes– he had to end the curse.

The issue expanded politically as well. He had lied that Eleanor was a Duchess from an unknown, small kingdom miles away. That was easier than convincing the kingdom he had the hand of a stewardess. If he told them the truth, what would they think of him? How would they slander his name, his position, his image? He promised Eleanor he never minded who she was or where she came from. But Eleanor couldn’t help but see the way he minded once the kingdom became involved. Once his image was married to her as well. But the two discussed it for a long time before publicly stating it, and she understood. 

A similar conversation was had about the kiss that was customary at the conclusion of a wedding. Eleanor told the King leaving it out entirely would be the smartest thing to do, the safest way for him to preserve his humanity. But he was obsessed with finding some solution.

“The kingdom will be there, Eleanor. They’ll cause an uproar in gossip. We need something. We need to do something.”

That something was kissing her upon the hand. The two debated if that was a true love’s kiss, if that would enact the curse. They couldn’t be certain but they both considered it wouldn’t count. Eleanor reminded the King she didn’t need a kiss on her wedding day, she just needed to know he’d be beside her. 

“I’ll be by you the entire day, my love,” he assured. The risk was calculated. Either he loses his image to the kingdom entirely without a kiss or he loses it in his transformation to a monster. 

His wedding night was wonderful. His joy of seeing Eleanor talk with guests and laugh while telling stories and promise to him to be his loyal partner for life made him cry with happiness. But his nervousness to kiss her hand and the painful wait until nightfall dominated his brain. He looked out the Grand Room’s window toward the ocean watching the first gleam of moonlight shine down. Nothing changed. He looked at Eleanor and smiled, relief filling his face.

“They’re all talking about it, Eleanor,” the King said through gritted teeth pacing the length of his room.

“Didn’t we expect them to? We did what we could. It’ll be okay.”

“No, Eleanor. Have you heard what they said about you? They’re rejecting you again. Claiming you aren’t truly wed to me. They’re even saying you weren’t even a Duchess.”

“Well, those clever townsfolk got something right. Maybe we should tell them I was a stewardess. I think that’d go over well…”

“Honey, please don’t joke. I’m worried about you. You deserve their admiration, You deserve to be accepted. Even more so than I do. You’ve blazed an incredible trail to the throne and I was born as a curse to taint it.”

“Don’t talk like that”

“Don’t act like it isn’t my fault plaguing us.”

Eleanor opened her mouth to rebuttal but paused seeing a tear trail down the broken expression on his face. She placed her head upon his shoulder in support and kissed the back of her hand, then pressed it against his cheek, wiping his tear.

“Eleanor,” his voice was small and came out dry and cracked, “I just want you to know how much I love you. Feel how much I love you. I promise to you that you will. I promise I will protect you from any more pain my curse brings you.”

He exited the room leaving her alone, sitting upon his bed, in silence.

~ ~ ~

For several months the King followed the same routine. Awaken, hurriedly eat his breakfast, meet with his advisors, then sit in his library, poring over many books. Books upon books of tales and stories recounting the thousands of curses and spells bound to and cast upon people. Each one cast a penance of ignorance. Each one including an act that broke it. He thumbed through his father’s heavy manuscripts. Through scrolls of information. Dissertation after dissertation of the surrounding area, the kingdom history, the mysterious woods, the legends of magic. And each day he was left with nothing.

The most difficult part of his routine occurred in his very first moments of the morning. Waking up and seeing his wife lay beside him yet truly miles away. He began waking earlier, leaving the bed before she’d even awaken. Before he was hit with the painful torment telling him to do the impossible. He never ignored the pain. He embraced it. Let it motivate him. It burned in him and rapidly grew, a feeling he only experienced once before the night he met Eleanor. It grew in him like the love for Eleanor had and through his pain his love intensified, and through his love his pain did the same.,

“I need to find her.” Eleanor didn’t respond. “The curse isn’t finished Eleanor.”

“Honey-”

“All curses can be broken. That’s what every story states. There’s rules. I need to find her. She needs to finish the spell. I want her to set us free.”

“You’re the one chaining yourself to this hunt. Love, just take a rest. I know how badly you want a solution but is this what we wanted when you asked-”

“Don’t blame me for this. Are you blaming me for this? It’s the witches fault for casting a partial spell. Men worse than me have been humbled by ruthless witches like her and have found their peace. Have found their way. Don’t put me at fault.”

Eleanor was stunned into silence. She had never heard him talk with such anger. The way he mentioned the Enchantress with a cruel growl in his throat. Eleanor longed to see his laughing, optimistic face. 

“Just please promise me you’ll rest. Do what you need.”

The King created a band of skilled warriors to be tasked with finding the witch and bringing her back to the castle. He would be their correspondence, writing back and forth to the troop commanders and supplying all the information he could. He spent sleepless nights in his room chasing his new project and scrambling to keep up with his regular kingly duties. He paged the maidens working in the castle to bring his meals to him. Eleanor ate alone. He paged the maidens to bring him late night tea to keep him continuing on. Eleanor climbed into bed alone. Weeks continued in this way and the King eventually listened to his wife’s advice. Finally, he began to call in the maidens themselves. Eleanor knew it was inevitable. 

The King had no emotional attachment toward the maidens he kissed. They provided the physical affection he lacked, but never challenged the possibility of a true love’s kiss. They gave him something Eleanor couldn’t until he found a way to undo the curse. And until then, the maidens happily participated in secrecy. Every time their lips interlocked, the King imagined it was Eleanor with him instead.

~ ~ ~

The kingdom began to loosen at its seams. Their faith in the ruling couple was shrouded in conspiracy. Their King was nearly always absent and disconnected from the concerns of his people. And then the raids began. Troops searching homes, identifying individuals and dragging women believed to be witches into the streets. No true harm was ever done. But the chronic fear was enough to deteriorate a castle’s foundations. Protests took to the dusty streets and screams echoed through the town.

Echoes filled the inside of the castle as well. It was morning and the King exited his office in an enraged state, following a maiden who was profusely apologizing. 

“Do you realize what you could have done? Did you think for me at all?” he screamed.

“Your Highness, I promise I told you as soon as I realized it. I never meant to. How was I supposed to know I’d gain feelings for you?” she walked backwards, stumbling over the uneven castle brick walkway as the King pursued. 

“You could have ruined me. You brought that sickness that is love so close to my lips and nearly destroyed what I’ve spent a lifetime trying to solve. Do you realize that?” The King was so terrified of what nearly took place he didn’t even think to hide the evidence of the affair. Not that there was much to hide. “Leave this castle at once. This is no place for a maiden without purpose.”

“Then where should I go?” Eleanor stood behind the King, a grimace across her face. She had heard the yelling from the throne room where she had been sitting, speaking with the advisors of how to respond to the cries of the citizens. The King turned around gasping for air, looking upon his wife and realizing what she saw.

“Eleanor…”

“King.”

“...my love.”

“Your Highness.”

The King trembled with guilt. He couldn’t think of where to start. “I am lost. I am terribly lost and I’m filled with pain, Eleanor. My love for you overwhelmed me. The cage of this curse broke me. I began all of this for you, my love. I just became so lost”

Eleanor turned and began walking back toward the throne room.

The King frantically followed. “Eleanor. Eleanor.” The more he said her name the more he was reminded of her beauty, of the peace she brought him, of the way she made him laugh, of the way she laughed next to that Duchess. 

The Queen entered the throne room and turned to look at the sorry man who followed. He gazed upon the advisors who looked to Eleanor for direction. 

“To begin,” Eleanor said, her regal voice filling the room, “you did all this for your image. Not for me.” She rose up the steps and stood on the platform with the thrones. She turned and looked at her husband. “And if it is your image you wish to protect and a kiss you so badly desire, I invite you to have it right here with me now. I can guarantee no curse of true love will respond. And lastly,” she sat down upon the King’s throne, “this kingdom has a rigorous method of appointing people to available positions. If you wish to remain, I recommend you find someone important to put in a good word.”

~ ~ ~

The woods that night were mystical as something dangerous wandered through, clinging to hope but drenched in despair, a collapsed balancing act of love and pain. A woman who knew the woods well sat upon her porch, the fragility of age limiting her as she slept on her outdoor rocking chair. She lived in a small cottage in a clearing of overgrown brush, the type of setting one would expect to find in a tale. This cottage had been her home for her entire life, save for the moment in time she had fled for safety as the King’s men searched for her. It was not her intention to cause chaos within the royal family, she merely told one small lie to one small child and became a mythic fugitive. An Enchantress. The “Enchantress”. Maybe she had read too many books growing up that made her think pretending to be such a thing to keep away trespassing children was humorous. However, there was nothing humorous about the wrath of those in power who are unfamiliar with the idea of consequence.

It was because of that lie that the former Prince was stumbling through the forest in the dark of the night. He longed for vengeance of his own, longed for the chance to seek revenge on Enchantresses who shouldn’t belong, for freeing himself from the entrapment of a monster. His dismissal by his wife, the former handmaiden, had encouraged him to venture off into the moonlight in search of a way heroism could be answered with danger. This time, he remembered to stop at the castle’s weaponry- brandishing a beautifully shining sword carried by his adrenaline.

The former Prince wandered for hours before the twisting trees and dark shadows gave way to a clearing of overgrown brush, and in it, the cottage. And upon the porch, the woman. And in his eyes only, the Enchantress. The man marched forward impulsively, fueled by emotion and forgetful of thought and reason. The moonlight reflected on his sword and glistened against the trees like the light of a wildfire. He had taken an aggressive step onto the dark porch, but could nonetheless still clearly see the old and frail woman sitting in her chair. His heavy footsteps had partially woken her up and the man’s following screams awoke her fully.

“Do you remember who I am? I’m here to reclaim what you stole.”

Stammering in fear, the woman blinked away her sleep and studied the man’s crazed face. His eyes were unrecognizable, but the familiar features of his expression confirmed the woman’s worst fear. She’d been found.

“Revenge does the soul no benefit. What is it that brings you back, boy?”

At the mention of revenge, the man gripped his sword tighter and hid further behind his familial power. 

“Why did you do this to me?” he screamed through clenched teeth and pained, watering eyes. The woman did not respond. She scanned the forest regretfully, knowing she had no protection from the ill-willed man before her. “Why? Answer me, witch, why?” He grew angrier with each moment of her silence. His enraged entitlement rose along with his sword. Moonlight flashed across the porch as he held it, panting and sweating, above his head, staring his victim directly in the eyes. His arms twitched as he whimpered inaudibly, unsure of what he was capable of next. He was once again a scared boy, brandishing power he did not fully understand. Entertaining consequences he’d never been warned of. Upon the porch, his childhood voice echoed “Stop! Please, stop!” Tears fell down the man’s face, absent of confidence. He squeezed his eyes shut and began his downward swing.

“You’ve transformed beyond what magic could do.” His arms froze at her words, rocking with the momentum he had begun. “Tell me, did you do it?” For the first time, she appeared to the man as just a woman. “How’d you treat your love, King?” 

At the mention of his love, the man appeared regretful for just a second, but it was too late. He was already married to his act. Moonlight flashed across the porch one final time. Swept across the cottage, across the silent woods, and through the woman known as the Enchantress.

The man felt like running but was frozen in shock, relief, and confusion. It was over. That’s what he told himself. His sword was stilled in a small patch of the moonlight. The reflection of red moonlight shone upon the man, lighting his face, dancing upon his human lips.

Upon the lips of a monster.