CHAPTER 52

The Woodcutter stood beside the King in the courtyard. Flowers and ribbons adorned every arch. A long red carpet marked the wedding party’s path to the church.

The King pounded the Woodcutter’s back. “We are honored, so honored, and pleased to have you bear witness to the wedding of our daughter.”

The Woodcutter bowed his head. “The honor is mine. This is a blessed day. Your daughter is lovely indeed, and it is well time that she should come home to her true family.”

The King sighed and placed his hand upon his heart. “If only her mother were here to see this day. It killed her, the changeling did.”

“I imagine it was quite a shock,” said the Woodcutter.

“No,” said the King, momentarily flustered. “I mean, the changeling killed her. Happened while she slept. It was quite tragic.”

The Woodcutter looked at him sharply. “Why did you not send for me?”

The King shook his head. “After my wife died and the unpleasantness of disposing of the creature…It was just too much…” His brow became furrowed. “Actually I have no idea why we never sent for you. It seems like something we should have thought to have done.”

The Woodcutter caught the smell of something, just the smallest breath of dark magic. There was just the slightest glaze to the King’s eyes. To the casual observer, it might have appeared that the King was merely exhausted.

But the Woodcutter was not a casual observer.

“How were you reunited with your daughter?” asked the Woodcutter warily.

The King’s round face lit up. “She appeared on our doorstep, bedraggled and soaked to the bone. She passed the pea test and had the mark upon her arm. Besides, a father knows his own daughter.” The King began patting his doublet. “Speaking of… Where did I put my glasses?”

They hung from a chain around the King’s neck.

Two trumpets blared, interrupting the conversation.

The Duke from the Land of the Ordinary entered the room. His eyes met the Woodcutter’s, and his face flushed with excitement and hope.

The King let out a happy sigh and then noted to the Woodcutter with a touch of pride, “That duke sent word far and wide, looking for his true love. Did you know my daughter could spin straw into gold?”

The Woodcutter watched Maid Maleen as she stepped across the courtyard. “Yes, yes, I did.”

She was dressed in the finery of the bride, face covered in a white veil. Jewels upon her dress glistened in the light, but the Woodcutter noted that, on her finger, she wore her old ring, and upon her neck, she wore her golden necklace.

There was a moment when time stood still.

The Duke’s eyes fell upon Maid Maleen, and her eyes fell upon his.

The Woodcutter felt the wild magic build as the two walked toward each other. He felt it build as one hand reached and the other hand reached back. He felt the wild magic sigh at the contact.

But just as the wild magic should have been quieted and tamed, he felt the tension build once more as a sad tear slid down Maid Maleen’s cheek. He felt her withdraw her feelings.

She believed she and the Duke could never be joined.

The Woodcutter hid his smile in his beard.

He followed the wedding party closely to the chapel. They marched throughout the city so to give the populace a view of the festivities.

Maid Maleen stared straight ahead, not daring to look at the Duke. Her face was sad and her footsteps slow.

The Woodcutter closed the distance between them as her lips began to move.

Instead of words, she began singing to the plants along the path. Her voice was heavy and sounded like her heart might break. “Oh, nettle-plant, little nettle-plant, what dost thou here alone. I have known the time, when I ate thee unboiled, when I ate thee unroasted,” she sang.

The Duke turned to her. “What is it that you sing?”

She immediately stopped and cast her eyes down to the ground. “Nothing, just thinking of a girl called Maid Maleen.”

“But you are she,” said the Duke, searching her face.

“No, you are mistaken. You marry the Crown Princess,” she replied.

A few minutes later, Maid Maleen began singing once again, a wandering tune of no matter. As they passed over the footbridge to the church, she sang, “Footbridge, do not break, I am not the true bride.”

Once again, the Duke stopped her. “What is it that you sing?”

Maid Maleen stuttered, her face drained of color, “I speak nothing. I sing a song of nonsense. I was only thinking of one I once knew named Maid Maleen.”

He touched her hand gently, and they continued on.

They stepped up the stone stairs to the church. Cheers erupted from the crowd. Inside, the waiting guests came to their feet.

But Maid Maleen paused. She ran her fingers across the oaken door of the church and sang quietly, “Church door, break not, I am not the true bride.”

The Duke turned, beckoning her to join him inside the church. She did not move, but kept her hand upon the door.

The King squinted at Maid Maleen and looked at the Woodcutter. “I say, the blushing bride is a bit reluctant.” He toddled over to her. “Come now, sweet daughter. All brides are a bit frightened on their wedding day. In you go. You look more radiant than I have ever seen. Don’t be shy. The Duke awaits.”

The Woodcutter stepped behind Maid Maleen and placed his hand upon her shoulder. “That which you promised, you must perform.” Then he whispered, “Do not fret. True love shall conquer all.”

She smiled sadly, looking at the Duke. “You know not whom you wed.”

The Duke touched the delicate golden chain that hung around her neck. “The woman who wears this necklace is indeed my true bride.”

Maid Maleen offered no more resistance. She stepped slowly into the church.

The Woodcutter took his place in the procession down the aisle.

Heads bowed in respect as he walked by, his father’s ax hanging from his belt for all to see.

But he felt the same dark taint, a sense carried on the wind that all was not as it seemed.

Then he saw in the gallery of honored guests the shapes of the Queen and the Gentleman. Surrounding them were eleven Dancing Ladies, dressed in the colors of the rainbow.

The Queen’s white skin flushed red as she stared at Maid Maleen.

And the Woodcutter smiled twice in one day.

The wedding went quickly, and the party returned to the castle. The Duke left for his chambers to dress for dinner, his eyes never leaving his bride. Maid Maleen, still veiled as tradition dictated until the bride’s wedding night, walked like a woman condemned toward the chambers of the Purple Dancing Lady.