Little Fur-Skin

"The king has become enamored!"

"But where did she come from?"

"What beauty! What utter loveliness!"

The dancing king and his dazzling partner were all anyone could talk about, and even when Otivia's people tried to approach her, the couple pretended not to see anyone there, and they twirled away. Before an hour had passed, their dance ended with the music, and the princess curtsied to the king. The crowd surged forward and in the commotion she slipped away, back to the secret stair, into Dastran's room. There she took off her golden gown and put it away. She bound up her hair and donned her rough clothes to return to the kitchens, where the cook grumbled away in his work.

"There you are, Fur-Skin! Come, you must prepare the king's soup. I've got too much to do, and he's requested it personally. But, you mustn't let a single hair fall in, or you'll get the switch!"

The woman at once complied, fetching ingredients for a bread soup- some day-old bread that was slightly stale, broth, herbs, carrot, celery, onion and garlic- she cooked them together, adding her own touches here and there, pouring her heart into the dish that would bring her to freedom. While she cooked it, the party went on, the guests astounded by the vanished princess, Dastran acting most bewildered and heartbroken. People dashed about searching every room and the gardens but not a trace of the beauty surfaced. Certainly no one thought the strange creature all in leather and fur, face smudged with ash from the hearth, could be a lovely princess.

When the soup was ready, Fur-Skin produced one of her treasures from a pocket- the golden ring. She dropped it into the bowl and then ladled the soup atop. The cook came for the finished dish soon after and brought it to the 'distraught' king, who ate it solemnly from his throne. The guests went to bed, tired out with the grand events, and only a few remained to witness Dastran supping with relish upon the soup prepared by hands that loved him so, and when he finished, at the bottom was the ring, not even big enough to fit on his littlest finger. Making a show of it, he called the cook once more to his presence.

"My good man, did you cook my soup this evening?" Dastran asked when the cook stood before him, nervous.

"Er, of course, Sire," he replied, cursing the Fur-Skin, thinking she must have let a bristle fall into the meal.

"But it was so much better than usual," Dastran teased the man. "And very different from how you usually make it. Are you certain you made the soup?" The cook was pale, but sighed.

"Ah, actually my king, it was Fur-Skin that made the soup, as I was preparing dishes for the ball." The king sat back, as if delighted.

"Well! Have her brought before me."

And so, she was, in her grubby clothes, hair hidden, face smudged and hands dusty with cleaning. The king began the game again.

"Fur-Skin, did you cook my soup this evening?"

"I did, Sire," she answered plainly.

"And where did you get the ring I found in my bowl?" He questioned.

"A ring, my Lord? I know nothing of a ring." He pressed her for more, but she denied all knowledge of the ring before his remaining guests, and when asked, she denied she was anything more but a forlorn child. Fur-Skin was dismissed and returned to the kitchens, until she retired. When she joined her king, their passions flared and they expressed them until late in the night.

The second day of the grand gathering was as wonderful at the first, and everyone was atwitter wondering if the mysterious maiden from the previous day would make another appearance.

All happened as it had before. Fur-Skin begged leave of the cook to go and see the dancing and he relented, much too busy to pay her mind. She ran off and took out her dress that was as silver as the moon, putting it on and arriving to dance once again with the king. Her arrival dazzled the guests, and excited the people from her kingdom. Try as they might, though, the pair remained elusive as they whirled about the ballroom. The nobles who knew her so well were convinced it was indeed their princess, returned. But why could they not reach her? Where had she been?

Dastran and the beauty danced seemingly endlessly, and when the music paused between one waltz and the next, the princess curtsied and vanished once again.

Fur-Skin returned to the kitchen in her drab attire, and the cook ordered her to cook the king's soup again. This time she dropped the golden thimble into the bowl. All progressed as the day before. The king called the cook, the cook was obliged to tell him Fur-Skin had cooked the soup; she was called before the king and denied knowing anything about the thimble. She returned to him that night and they mated wildly.

The third day began again in the same fashion, but when the princess appeared in the dress that glittered like the stars, lovelier than ever, Dastran was ready to bring his plan to completion. Before her arrival, he instructed the musicians to play a very long dance indeed toward the end, and thereby, delayed her return to the kitchens. During their waltz, he also slipped the golden ring upon her finger when she was not paying him mind. When the music ended and she inevitably slipped away, she had not time to properly bind up her hair. Nor could she remove her star-dress, and so threw her cloak on top. Fur-Skin ran back to the cook to make the soup, and at last dropped her gold wax-seal into the bowl.

This time, when she was brought before the king, all his guests were in attendance, waiting and watching. And this time, he pulled the mantle of furs and hide from her, and she brought down her golden hair. The star-dress sparkled, and the princess was truly radiant. Dastran strode forward and lifted her hand.

"This woman shall be my bride," he announced to one and all present.

Otivia curtsied to the gathered crowd, and greeted the familiar faces who could finally come to her at last.

"Princess!" They cried. She met them all with tears in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry I had to leave," she said, wringing her hands. "I had to escape my father." They wept with her and embraced their rightful queen, and Dastran stood with her. A silent hand-hold was all he needed to give.

Once the purpose of the ball had become clear, the visitors to Dastran's kingdom went home much lighter of heart, and abuzz with the news of his engagement. Word of Princess Otivia's sudden reappearance at that ball also reached the ears of the mad king. With the cooperation of the guests from her homeland, of course. The nobles told the princess's father that his daughter had been seen there, expressly to lure him to the rival kingdom.

The invitation to the wedding festivities was soon after, and the madman went.

He arrived too late to see his daughter wed, but was seated at the feast, just a few seats from Dastran and his new bride, who remained veiled during the celebrations.

The old king had grown impatient and angry. No one would tell him of his daughter, she was nowhere to be seen, and he hated to be reminded of Dastran's success in taking a wife. As the night wore on, he grew more incensed and aggressive, until finally, he snarled:

"Enough, Dastran! Tell me what you have done with my daughter, or it shall come to war between us. What more fitting a punishment could there be for a land that steals the crown princess of his neighbor?"

"Such a circumstance might, indeed, warrant war," Dastran answered him curtly. "If it occurred."

The bride suddenly rose in her seat, still veiled, and spoke. Her voice hushed the entire room.

"Tell me, sir, what would be a fitting punishment for a man who violates his own child, forcing her to flee the land in shame and exile and live as a wretched creature, performing mean service to live?"

The mad king hadn't heard that voice in months, and the instant it sounded, he broke. The weight of his evil and ugly obsession crushed him at last, and he knew it was all over. The older man turned to the bride, tears suddenly streaming down his face.

"He deserves nothing better than to be locked in the furthest, loneliest cell possible, deprived of all human contact, given only crusts and water to sustain him until he dies a miserable and isolated death." His eyes remained fixed upon the bride. She slowly pulled the veil from her head, and stood before him once more his own daughter. She wore a hard but pitying look.

"You have spoken your own doom," Dastran said, holding his wife fast about the waist. "Our kingdoms are now joined through marriage, and I am aware of the neglect yours suffers. For your crimes against your daughter, and for your peoples' suffering, we have no choice but to imprison you and allow Otivia to inherit your throne. Together we will return peace and prosperity to your lands."

The old king wept, and pleaded his daughter's forgiveness as he was taken in chains to the most remote cell in that castle. Otivia quietly saw that his penance and exile were not too cruel, in memory of her mother and the great love her parents once shared. It was the final mercy and healing for (and from) the man who had so deeply hurt and haunted her.

She and Dastran joined their kingdoms and became a prosperous nation together, and they ruled with love, justice, wisdom and compassion.

There, they lived happily together until their deaths.

*

Dear readers,

I hope you enjoyed this tale of deception, secrets, and triumphant love. I chose this particular story to re-imagine because it resonates with a few themes that I often find in my own work. A cunning, determined woman at the center, seeking to escape sexual abuse, and securing her own freedom through cleverness. Many of the classic fairy tales have been retold so often, I wanted to try my hand at a story that hasn't already been done. This is the result. Thanks for reading.