by Frances Raybaud
The prince had always been strange. There were whispers about him when he was a young child. He spoke to himself constantly, conducted experiments on animals, chased the maids out of his room…people would not ask the question that whirled about their heads when they saw him walk by in the castle: Is he fit to rule?
The day he brought her home to his family, the servants rejoiced. They whispered about how he had found her…awoke her from a magical sleep in a glass coffin, her face pale as ice. She was never out of his sight, refused maidservants, even on the day of her wedding. No one had known her before, and the dwarves were long gone. Had they been there, they might have declared that their girl never sat silent, never followed men. But they were not, and so she trailed behind the prince, veiled in black as though in mourning. The prince explained all this. She was a great beauty, so he said, and her beauty was such that it had ignited the rage of her stepmother. He feared for her wellbeing, and so she remained veiled. Don’t worry, he would wink. She is never veiled when we are alone.
Whatever the reason for her concealment, it did not stop him from marrying her as soon as the parents gave the blessing. The ceremony was grand, if strangely silent. She did not say her vows, and if people wondered if she was truly choosing this, they did not ask. The prince would not tolerate gossip of that sort.
It had all been lovely for the first few weeks. Then, a stench ran through the castle. Windows were opened, fans waved, and people began to ask questions. Were the cooks cleaning the kitchens? Had chamber-pots been left around? But no, all was spic and span. Whence stemmed this stench, which only grew worse with every passing day?
It became unbearable, to the point where the nobles would lean their heads out the window when receiving company in the innermost rooms.
No one knew who had discovered the source first. Perhaps a footman, or a serving-boy, but once they realized it was from the prince’s new wife, the snow white princess, they avoided her. With that came avoiding the prince. It was only a matter of time before the king and queen became aware. After interrogation by the king himself, one servant broke down.
We think the princess is dying.
No one told the prince they thought his wife was dying, but the stench could reach one’s nostrils from clear across the castle. Sometimes they would hear cracking, slipping sounds if one came too close.
Finally, the princess called one evening for a lady-in-waiting to assist her with her undress. It was the first time, and the one who answered first was excited, if a little nervous, to finally see the princess unveiled.
When she arrived, the room was dark. There was buzzing, as though from flies. A shadow approached, and it was none other than the prince, a few steps ahead of the princess as always. It was quite improper for him to be here while the princess undressed with a lady-in-waiting, but the lady-in-waiting wouldn’t dare tell this to the prince.
I have a question for you.
Trembling, she curtsied. Anything, my lord.
What do they say of her?
The lady-in-waiting glanced behind him, but there was no reaction from the princess.
Nothing, my lord.
Do not lie to your future king.
My lord-it is said that your wife is ill. That she is dying.
It was strange to speak as though the princess were not in the room, but she gave no indication of having heard and so the lady-in-waiting went on, explaining the stench, which was masked in this room by heavy rose perfume.
To the shock of the maidservant, the prince began to laugh. As he did so, she noted the beauty of his smile, and the sound of his laugh like music. He was beautiful, after all, a true prince. Perhaps all that had been said about him was merely myth and fable, for how could they say such things about a face this beautiful?
Don’t be silly. He told her, gasping between his laughter. He removed the ever-present golden belt he had brought back from the house of the dwarves, which she now saw led something like a leash to the princess. The whispers from the wedding rushed back into her mind, and she considered whether she should run. She’s already dead.
My-my lord?
You think I hadn’t heard all that was said of me? How I might not be fit to rule? I needed a wife to prove to my parents-to prove to the people that I could rule. Imagine my joy at finding the most beautiful woman in the world, lying for all the world as though dead in a glass coffin, inches from my mouth and her own oblivion.
The prince stepped back to the princess and removed her veil.
How was I to know that kissing her was a temporary remedy? The apple killed her. She was suspended as long as she was in that coffin, but she died soon after I brought her home to meet my parents. She was sickly even then, and they could not see what I had seen in the coffin-with her skin pale as snow, lips red as roses. She had such red lips…he trailed off, and there was something of a wistfulness on his features. Her lips are not so red now. In fact, they are nearly gone.
He gestured to the corpse beside him with resignation. But I could not bear to bury her, or tell my parents, so I have kept her as my wife. I loved her then, in her beauty, and I love her now, for all her flaws. Even now…for she is silent, is she not? Do we not relish this in a wife?
Well? he demanded when the maidservant made no reply. Is she not perfect?
She cannot cook or clean for you. managed the lady-in-waiting.
We have the servants for that. I called you for this reason. She needs a maidservant to change her clothing occasionally. I believe she is starting to smell; did you not say?
What of children? Heirs? although the maidservant did not know if she wished children for the beautiful, beautiful prince.
Another reason I called you. I must have an heir before I ascend the throne. As you see, my wife cannot bear children.
The maidservant was young, and this was not unprecedented among the nobility, to have their way with the help. It would not be the first time, but it would be the first time with the man’s wife in the room-lo! and the stench was enough to corral her desire altogether. But how could she refuse a prince? Yet, if the word was spread of what he had been doing…why, he could never be king.
My lord, I have an idea.
The months went on, and in time, the prince and princess had a child. No one spoke of how the veiled princess seemed different from before, because there was no stench. A pile of bones lay in the princess’s former bedroom collecting dust-she had since moved in with the prince-but if anyone had their suspicions they kept them quiet. After all, the stench had vanished with the announcement of the pregnancy, and the castle was much more hospitable for all.
The princess spoke often now, much to the annoyance of the prince. She was very steadfast in her ideas, and sometimes if she swung her head too much when declaring a point, the veil would slip and someone would catch a glimpse of her face. If they thought she had average features, with ruddy cheeks and less than rosy lips, they kept it to themselves. The prince did not seem to love her as much as he once had, but he let her do what she wished, even raise the princess herself without the help of night nurses. If before the princess had seemed unwilling in the union, now it was the prince who sulked as the princess charmed and frustrated even the most levelheaded of the baronesses. Some would allude to the fact that she seemed quite lowborn almost, at times, not very much like a princess at all, but she kept the prince quiet and ordinary. This won her favor with the king and queen, and they would visit with her often. If they noticed a marked difference between the sickly beauty they had blessed once and the bouncy princess who now gave advice on how to appease the populace, they did not dwell too long on it.
As for their grandchild? She grew up looking quite average, though no one would dare say it. She had only a hint of the prince’s brilliant smile, which wasn’t seen again for many years, until his coronation, and perhaps his eyebrows. But she did not seem to care much for beauty, or dwarves, or magic. She was an ordinary child. That was fine, for her mother would tell her the same words in a whisper every time they were alone: it’s better not to be beautiful. When one is beautiful, all manner of the strange can happen. And the princess, with her lips supposedly the shade of a rose, she would know.
