Once Upon A Tome: Rumplestiltskin

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Chapter Ten

            Rumplestiltskin ordered me to go to sleep, and as I was totally exhausted, I complied.  I spread a bit of straw on the cold stone floor and curled up on top of it, wrapped in my traveling cloak for a blanket.  My arm formed my pillow.

            I expected to sleep fitfully, waking in the night.  Certainly I had enough on my mind—fears crept out from every corner, and for the first few minutes after I laid down I fixated on them.  What would happen to Papa and to me, what would happen if somehow, miraculously, I was wed to the Prince, and a general anxiety about the strange little man spinning a few feet away.  Yet, to my surprise, I fell asleep readily, lulled by the sound of the spinning wheel.

            I dreamed of Mammy.  Perhaps because the sound of the spinning wheel reminded me of her; I don’t know.  But in my dream she was well and loving, and she stroked my cheek and sang to me—her voice, in contrast to Papa’s, sounded like an angel’s.  When I woke, I was comfortable and well-rested, and for a moment I forgot where I was.

            When it all came flooding back, which, of course, it did, I sat up immediately and stared around the room.

            My mouth dropped open of its own accord, and I can hardly blame it.

            There was no straw to be found in the entire room.  Even the pile I’d slept on was gone.  In its stead were cones upon cones of bright, golden thread.  Nervously, I fingered it, fearing that I was still dreaming.

            I heard the clattering of footsteps on the stairs above me.  I brushed my hair out of my face and dashed to the chair by the spinning wheel, trying to look unsurprised by the golden masses around me.  There was a knock at the door.

            Yes?  I asked, worry teething on the inside of my stomach.  The door swung open.

            Papa entered first, his eyes widening at the sight before him.  He was followed by many well-dressed servants and well-armed soldiers.  Finally, the King entered.  He looked around for a moment.  Then he snapped his fingers and pointed to a servant.

            You, he barked.  Bring me thread.  The servant dashed to collect a cone of the stuff, then ran back to the King.  Bowing, he placed the cone of thread in the King’s gloved hand.

            The King inspected it, much as I had, by twisting and feeling it.  Then he handed the cone back to the servant.

            Take this to the Royal Jeweler.  I must know if it is truly gold, or if it is just some trick.  The servant ran again, out of my sight, though I could hear him pounding his way up the stairs.

            There’s not as much as I thought there would be, the King commented, looking me in the eye for the first time.  I collected my courage, then replied.

            That’s part of the magic, I think, my Lord.  I told him.  It may look like more when it’s melted down and turned into coins?  My sentence ended as a question; the King’s stare frightened me.

            Perhaps.  He said.  But it is not enough.  Not enough?  I wondered.  He continued.  You will be taken upstairs, where you will be fed, bathed, and dressed, and then I will test your intelligence.  After that test is finished, you will eat, and return here.  There will be more straw.  Tonight you will spin again.

            I spluttered; rage and fear battled for prominence inside my head.

            Fear won out.  I bowed my head meekly, and allowed myself to be led from the room.  I would have to find a way to get the spinning done again.

            The bath turned out to be wonderful.  Palace servants were better than I was at getting the water hot enough, and their soaps were softer and smelled nicer than the kind we used at home.  What’s more, when I got out, I was dried with towels that I swear were made of clouds, then spritzed with perfume that smelled heavenly.  To top it all off, my maids (I had maids!) dressed me in a gown such as I had never seen: petal-pink, and soft on my skin.  The top was close-fitted, and at the waist it flared into a full skirt that trailed behind me just a bit.  The sleeves flared like the skirt, but were gathered at my elbow.  It was gorgeous, and when I saw myself in the looking-glass, I could only stare.

            I was still very much in the habit of thinking of myself as a girl, despite the fact that I had long ago begun experiencing womanhood.  But now, looking at myself clean, in that dress, I saw a woman staring back at me.  Faintly I heard a knock at the door, and a maid opened it.  I wasn’t fully aware of this flurry of activity until Papa’s face appeared behind me in the mirror.

            It’s like seeing your mother again, he said.

            Not quite, I replied.  I have your strong chin, and your ruddy cheeks.

            And you are all the lovelier for them, my dear, he said, and kissed my cheek.

            I wondered, later, why I did not confess everything to Papa then.  We took a walk around the stunning palace gardens together—carefully watched over by guards—and he asked me about the night before.  I said little, changing the subject as soon as I could.

            How did you know, Papa?

            The magic window.  I remembered it when I saw you in the cupola, and—forgive me, but I spied on you.  I had to be sure you weren’t trading your greatest gift for our survival.

            It never crossed my mind, Papa.  Since Mammy, I confess, I’ve feared the touch of a man.  Papa sighed.

            I hope the Prince doesn’t arouse such fears in you, my dear, he said.  We walked in silence for a moment.  Then, in a small voice, I asked the question that had been plaguing me since I saw the heaps of gold that morning.

            Do you really think I’m going to wed the Prince, Papa?

            Honestly?  Child, I do.  I think the King will consider you worthy of his son, and as Prince Stephen seems to have no say in the matter, it seems to be only a matter of time.  He paused.  I’m proud of you, my girl.  This is where you belong.

            I had nothing to say to that, so I stopped to inspect a chrysanthemum instead—I’d never seen one so large and full.

            Papa?  I asked.  Are you sure I could do it?  Be a princess, I mean, and one day a Queen?

            It’s what you were born for, Papa replied.

            I considered those words for a long time, but could think of no proof that he was right.

            The King summoned me to his throne room in the middle of the afternoon.  This surprised me; his throne room would be full of people, hardly a place for a closed conversation, as I imagined we were to have.  And when I arrived, I received another surprise: in a tight line leading out the door and down the hall were a series of commoners intermixed with nobles of varying degrees of importance.  In a sudden moment of understanding I realized—today was Thursday, the day the King opened his court to pleas from all of his people.

            I stood uncertainly in the back of the room for a few moments before the King noticed me.  When he did, he waved me over to a chair that stood next to, if far below, his throne.  I noticed that the thrones next to it—presumably for Queen Arrel and Prince Stephen—were vacant.  I considered this as I crossed the room, wondering if the Prince was forbidden to see me, or if he was avoiding me of his own free will.  Before I could give the matter proper thought, however, I reached the chair the King had motioned me toward and, with a look from my ruler, sat in it.

            I knew I ought to be awed and grateful; to sit in the presence of the King was a gift granted to few.  But I had room in my heart only for nervousness.  I sat on the edge of my chair and touched my veils to check that they were in place—I had worn them at Papa’s suggestion, and the King, thankfully, approved.

            It was prudent to cover your face, the King said, leaning toward me, the people must not become attached to you before we know if you are to wed my son.  And with a face like yours, they would likely become attached.  I will count that choice as a point in your favor.  And, indeed, the King raised a finger to a servant standing beside him who held a large slate.  The servant nodded and made a mark that I could only assume, unable as I was to see it, meant that I had done well.

            Thank you, Sire, I said.  I was beginning to get over my fear of him, if only a little.  He had, I noticed, deep creases in his face that showed him to be a frequent smiler, and this encouraged me.  Still, it took a great deal of courage for me to ask him my next question.

            You said this was to be a test, my Lord.  May I know what kind?  To my astonishment, the King smiled at me for the first time.

            Yes, he said simply.  I want to see how you would respond to the requests of the people.  Every time you give a clever solution to a problem, a point will be granted in your favor.  If you answer foolishly, or have no answer at all, a point will be given in the negative.  At the end of the day, we will see how you stand.  I nodded.  Have you no questions?  He asked.

            No, I said, I don’t think so.  It’s simple enough.  And it makes sense.  I may have access to money and—forgive me—reasonable beauty, but those qualities are not enough to make me a good Queen.  You must know if I could rule your people justly and intelligently.

            Just so, the King said, and looked pleased.  He seemed about to say something else when a question did occur to me.

            Sire, I said, may I ask you something after all?  He nodded that I might, and I swallowed, forcing my anxieties down.  How will you test if I will make your son happy?  He gave me a blank look, and I rushed into an explanation.  Surely, after the fiasco of your first marriage, you must want someone who—who… I faltered then.  Somehow, for some reason, I had spoken to the King without reservation, as though I were his equal.  Sitting on the dais, gazing at the hopeful people—thinking of them as potential subjects—I had quite forgotten, for a moment, that I was only a miller’s daughter.  Forgive me, my Lord, I gasped.  I should not have—I am so sorry—  I bit my lip, and my hand flew to my throat to grasp Mammy’s necklace.  With a jolt, I remembered that it was gone.  I dropped my hand and my eyes into my lap, praying that the King would spare my life.  Silence bloomed until I could no longer bear it and, lip still caught in my teeth (which thankfully did not show beneath my veils), I looked up into the King’s face.

            He did not, to my relief, look angry.  Surprised, certainly, and given my audacity, he had every right to be.  But there was no rage in his face.  It struck me suddenly that the King was, as far as I knew, very calm, and that I liked that quality.  I hoped it had been passed on to Prince Stephen.

            Finally the King spoke.

            You are quite correct, Miss—Miss—I don’t know your name, he said, sounding almost apologetic.

            Alder.  Meia Alder, my Lord, ever at your service.

            Thank you, Miss Alder.  I think you are frightened.  But your question was a wise one, and I shall answer it.  I blinked rapidly in surprise.  He would?  He went on.  It is true that I would not wish events such as I suffered to befall my son.  And for that reason, I have discarded every maiden who has tried for his hand, noble to peasant.  I have allowed them to chase after him, despite the irregularity of the situation, because I want someone who wants my son, who chooses him.

            But, Sire, I haven’t so much as seen the Prince, how could I know if—I stopped, realizing I had interrupted the King.  He raised his eyebrows at my abrupt rudeness, but continued.

            But I have refused every one that has tried, because they all fell short of my standards.  Some were unintelligent, some were cruel, some were selfish…the list goes on.  I am searching for a person with all the qualities I want both in a Queen and in a wife for my beloved son.  I will not give up until I have found her.

            And—I began.

            Yes?

            What if your son doesn’t like the woman you pick?  There was a moment of silence while the King considered.

            Then I shall have to search again, he answered simply.  I nodded, to show my understanding, but my mind was full of thoughts and realizations.  This is a good man, I realized.  A man who loves his son and his country both.

            Just then, the King clapped his hands together, leaning toward the young man cowering at the front of the line.  I had no more time to consider the King’s character after that, for my mind was filled with other things. 

I did not realize it then, but it was at that moment that I first began to want to be Princess—because somehow, in my heart, I knew that a man raised by the King would be just as good.  And maybe, just maybe, he would be good enough for me.

Chapter Eleven

As I sat in the not-quite dungeon that night, still in my pink dress, but having removed my veils, I contemplated the day’s work.  We, the King and I, had listened to petition after petition, and I had found, to my surprise, a sort of joy in the work.

I was afraid at first, of course.  I feared giving the wrong answer, and I feared being marked down on that slate.  But the plea of the first young man had seemed so easy to me.

Your majesty, he’d said, giving me a curious glace out of the corner of his eye.  I’m the second son of my father, and my brother inherited all of Father’s holdings, and he refuses to share.  I can’t join the military in peacetime, and there is no room for me among our local clergymen—the priests tell me they have too many new young men as it is.  There’s no space.  In fact, in all the town, there’s no one who would take me on as anything—except the blacksmith.  He says he would take me as apprentice.  I wouldn’t mind the work, neither, only I can’t pay the apprenticeship fee.  So I wondered—I wondered whether I might get a job here, in the city.  He looked at the King hopefully, although I could tell he was nervous by the way he twisted his hat in his hands.  The King looked at me.

I defer to your wisdom, Miss Alder, he said.  Taken aback a bit, it took me a moment to answer, and the King eyed me with impatience.  Miss Alder?  There are many petitioners, and the day is only so long—

I’m sorry, my Lord, I apologized.  Then I turned my attention to the man quivering before me.

What is your name?  I asked.

Miss?

Your name, good man.

El-Elbert, Miss.

Very well, Elbert.  Do you mind if I ask you a question?  Elbert looked to the King, who only nodded at him.

I suppose—I suppose I don’t mind, no, Miss.

I wonder.  What will happen in your town if the blacksmith gets no apprentice?

I hadn’t…thought, Miss.  I suppose he will die, eventually, and then there will not be a blacksmith in town.

And would that be a problem for your community?  I asked.

Y-yes, Miss.  I come from a town of farmers, and plow pieces and chains and other tools are always being fixed or replaced.

So it would be better, wouldn’t it, if you were to take the job as the blacksmith’s assistant?

But, Miss, the apprenticeship fee—

Tell me, Elbert.  Is your brother a man who likes to save money?

Well, Miss, I don’t know a man alive who ain’t.  I smiled, wishing Elbert could see that he’d amused me.

True enough, I said, a bit of laughter in my voice.  I suggest this, then: offer your brother a deal.  Tell me, do you know what a sponsor is?

Someone—who pays for someone else to do something, and gets something—services—in return, isn’t it?

Well said, Elbert, I replied, and he grinned shyly at me.  What I suggest is this: offer your brother a deal.  If he will sponsor you, pay your apprenticeship fee, you will give him free smithing for the rest of his life.

But Miss, I would do that anyway, he is my brother—

Does he know that?  And finally, a real smile split Elbert’s face as he understood what I was telling him.  He bowed deeply to the King, then uncertainly to me.

Thank you, Miss.  You are wisdom itself.  And—Sire—thank you.  Thank you.  He bowed again, then turned to exit the room, practically running in his excitement.

The people in line shuffled as the next person came to the front, but my eyes were on the King.  A small smile graced his face; he looked at me.

That, he said, was quite well done and clever.  And with that, he waved to the servant to add a point in my favor.  Knowing full well that the King couldn’t see it, I smiled broadly.

I paused my reminiscing, staring bleakly around the room.  Straw everywhere, and I had no power to turn it to gold.  Why was this so difficult, when advising the King’s people seemed so easy?  Another memory of the day caught my attention.

My Lord, the nobleman said, sweeping a bow with one too many flourishes.  I come to you with a most desperate need.  I only pray that you can help me.

Yes, Lord Benson, what is it?  The King asked, a touch of impatience in his tone.  I got the impression that this Lord Benson was a bit of a drain on the King.

It is a matter of utmost importance, my liege—

Yes, I’m sure it is.  What is the issue?

It’s Lord Freedan’s hedges, Lord Benson gushed.  The ones that separate my western border from his eastern one.  I stared at the man; surely he had not come to pester the King about hedges?  The King looked to me, indicating that I should take control of the conversation.

Pardon me, Lord Benson, I said hesitantly.  His—hedges?

Yes, Miss, he replied, looking relieved that the issue was being addressed so readily.  They’re out of control.  They haven’t been trimmed in a year, and this makes my lands look unkempt.  I won’t have it.

Have you tried talking to Lord Freedan?  I asked, my tone now touched with impatience.  The King snorted quietly, and I suspected he was amused by my annoyance.

I sent him a letter, Lord Benson said primly.

And did he reply?

He did.  I waited, but Lord Benson was not forthcoming.

What did he say? I asked finally.

He said that if I wanted the hedges trimmed, I could do it myself.  He harrumphed, as though he were reporting an insult.

Well, then, I said, holding back the derision in my voice as best I could, I suggest that you have the hedges trimmed, my Lord.

Lord Benson grumbled a bit, and appealed to the King, but the King declared that my decision stood, and sent him on his way.

A knock interrupted my ponderings.  Sitting up straighter, I called for the knocker to enter.  As I had hoped, the servant from the night before entered, smiling at me.  I gestured for him to take a seat on one of the bales of straw, and he did.

How are you, Miss?  He asked.  I felt my smile grow wider; there was such kindness in his voice, it made me happy just to hear him speak.

Well, thank you.  And yourself?

I am extremely curious.

Curious?

You didn’t finish your story, he explained.  I laughed.

Oh.  I paused.  Would you like me to?

Very much.

So I began to talk again.  The story flowed out of me quite easily until I reached the bit about losing the ability to spin straw into gold.  I faltered just before explaining it, pausing the story awkwardly.

And—the King—he sent you down here?  To spin?  I nodded, grateful that he hadn’t seemed to notice the break in my tale.

You know, Miss, I’d love to see—Shouts drifted down from upstairs again, and the boy sighed.  Perhaps some other time.  I must go.  I nodded to him as graciously as I could.  He bowed, smiled one last time, and was gone.

I was left alone in the cold stone room to contemplate my fate.

I had to get the straw spun; that was certain.  I couldn’t do it myself; that was also certain.  Rumplestiltskin could, I knew that.  But how to get him to come?

It seemed my tears had brought him the night before.  Seeing no other available options, I worked myself into a proper fit—I thought of Mammy, of those gruesome last moments of her life.  It was a trick that never failed me; within moments, tears were sliding down my cheeks.  I leaned forward, letting them drip onto the floor.  One.  Two.

Three.

I looked up, hoping for the loud noise and the column of smoke.

Nothing happened.

Real tears began to slide down my cheeks then.  If he did not come, I was doomed.  I had no way to call him.

I caught my breath, stopping the flow of tears.  Perhaps that was all that was needed.  Perhaps I needed to call him.

Rumplestiltskin?  I whispered.

BANG!

Smoke rose again in a column, and I leaped to my feet in joy.  The strange little man-thing stood there, a sneaky-looking grin on his face.

Princess he said, sketching a slight bow.

Rumplestiltskin.  He leered at me, although I think he meant it to be a grin.  He slid off the pile of straw he sat on, landing lightly on the stone below.

What can I do for you, milady?

I need your help again.  I need—I need you to spin this straw into gold.  Tonight.  His face was impassive.  Please, I added.  My life and my Papa’s life hang in the balance.

Not to mention your place as Queen, he replied cooly.

That is not certain yet.

Hmm.  He paused.  What will you give me?

That brought me up short.  I had nothing.

What do you want?  I asked in desperation.

Mmm.  A lock of your fine hair would do, Princess.

Without pausing to think, I grabbed the scissors and cut a small chunk from my golden head.  I handed the hairs to him, and Rumplestitslkin twisted them around his fingers and pocketed them.

Very well, Princess, he said.  We have a deal.  Go sleep in your corner; let me worry about the spinning.

I lay nervously, listening to the sound of the spinning wheel and of Rumplestiltskin’s cheerful whistling, which made me shiver.  But when I finally drifted off to sleep, it was with thoughts of a kind voice, and listening ears, and those green, green eyes.

I woke to the sound of knocking at the door.  I barely had time to marvel at the repeated miracle of the gold as I rushed to open the door.  The King stood there, followed by his attendants.  He spared me only a glance before turning his attention to the room behind me.  He smiled, although not in the kind way he had smiled at me the day before.

Well done, Miss Alder, he said finally, looking at me properly for the first time.  He reached out and tugged something from my hair; I saw straw in his hand as he pulled it away.

Thank you, Sire, I said, holding my breath.  Surely now he would tell me if I was to become his son’s wife.  But no, instead, he said,

It’s still not enough.

Not enough?  I asked blankly, looking over my shoulder at the room filled with gold.  How is this not enough?

Our treasury has been running low of late, Miss Alder.  We need more gold.  You will spin again, it is as simple as that.  He turned back toward the stairs, ignoring the outrage on my face.

Fine.  I said, ice in my voice.  Fine.  Once more I will spin for you.  But once only.  And then you will let me and my father go free, and you will never demand anything of us again.  The King turned slowly, met my eyes.

You spin for me one last time, the King said, and you will wed my son.  I held his gaze for a long moment, then offered him my hand.

You have a deal, Sire.

As I ate my afternoon meal, I pondered the rash decision I had made.  Would I have to marry Prince Stephen now, even if I didn’t like him?  And would I like him?  I was afraid that he was as greedy as I now knew his father was; the King was a good King, and even a decent man, but he had flaws that I would not wish in a husband.

I confided nothing of my fears to Papa.  He was thrilled; as far as he knew, I had been spinning the straw and would do it just as easily tonight.  He kept smiling at me over mouthfuls of the palace’s rich food, and squeezing my shoulder or my hand, and telling me that I should be happy.  Yet, I could not appease him.  I was filled with too much anxiety to even pretend at being happy.  I dreaded what the night might bring.

The trouble was, I had nothing left to give Rumplestiltskin.  I searched through my things for anything of value, but, as I’d expected, found nothing.

I barely saw Papa all day.  It was strange for me, having seen him every day of my life, but I was secretly almost glad; he would be so pleased with the deal I’d made with the King, and I wasn’t sure I was.

I was bathed again, and dressed again, this time in a stunning powder-blue gown covered in pearls.  This would be my every day if I were Princess, I thought.  This inevitably led me to thinking again of the Prince and of the inexorably approaching evening, when I would have to face Rumplestiltskin.  What to do?

My thinking was interrupted by the King’s advisor, who brought me down to a parlor where two other advisors waited.

Sirs?  I asked hesitantly.  What can I do for you?

Sit down, Miss Alder, the first one said.  I sat as daintily as I could, not wanting to muss my dress.  I looked at the advisors expectantly, and they looked back at me.

What can I do for you?  I asked again.

It seems likely that you are going to wed young Prince Stephen, one of the men, in blue robes and an odd hat, replied.  Therefore, the King would like to begin your education in politics and diplomacy immediately.

Oh.  I said.

There—that.  That is where we will begin.  Gracious responses.  Said the oldest advisor.  I sighed internally, but sat up straighter still and looked on expectantly.

Alright.  What do I do?

The advisors worked with me right until meal time, testing how gracious I could be, what I knew of our nation’s history and politics.  They were surprised at how well I did, I think, but such things had always come easily to me.  Papa said it was because I was Mammy’s daughter.

Finally, I finished choking down my evening meal and was ushered down those long wooden steps to the chamber filled with straw.  I sighed when I saw it, and the maid—a woman named Sasha—patted me on the back for good luck.

The only good thing about being confined to that room was the knock that came about half an hour after I arrived.  I bid the visitor enter, and in came my friend the serving boy.  I smiled at him, despite all the turmoil in my heart.

Hello, Miss, he said, bowing.

Hello.

Rumor in the palace is that you’re to wed the Prince, he said, sitting on a heap of straw.  I flushed; I hadn’t expected him to ask me about this, and I wasn’t entirely glad that he had.

If I can get all of this spun, then yes.  Assuming the King keeps his word, and the Prince wants to marry me, and—I’m sorry.  You don’t need to hear about my problems.

I don’t mind.

Really, please.  Tell me about yourself.

Not much to tell.  My mother ran off when I was young, leaving my father to raise me.  I’ve been…working in the palace my whole life.

You may think me an idiot for not realizing the truth at this moment; perhaps I was.  But, in my own defense, I was mesmerized by his eyes—the depth, the character in them.  He had been so kind to me, and I felt—against my usual sentiments—safe in his presence.  I didn’t realize it then, but I had developed feelings for this serving boy.  However, I was new to the sensation, and only knew at the time that I enjoyed his company.

We continued to talk.  We discussed everything, it seemed, although the conversation seemed mostly to revolve around me, around my life.  At last, he pulled out a pocket watch.

Gracious, Miss, it’s well past midnight, he said.  I have to get to bed, and you have straw to spin.  He stood, and bowed.  Can I do anything for you before I go?

No, I said, a bit sadly.  His departure forced me to face the realities I’d been avoiding.  Thank you.  For everything.  I have thoroughly enjoyed your company these past evenings.  I hope… I bit my lip momentarily.  I hope it would not be too forward of me to call us friends.

Not at all, Miss.  He said.  I beamed at him.

Then rest well, my friend.

Good night.

Good night.

The door closed.  I stared at it for a moment.

Well past midnight! I remembered with a start.

Rumplestiltskin? I called out.  Rumplestiltskin!  All of the panic I’d suppressed throughout the day threatened to overwhelm me, but I needn’t have worried.  With a BANG! and a rush of smoke, the weird little man appeared.

Ah, Princess, he said in that mellifluous voice, what can I do for you tonight?  I swallowed.

I have nothing to offer in this moment, I began, and Rumplestiltskin frowned.

Then I will take my leave of you.  I do nothing for free.  Surely you know that.

Please—I begged.  Isn’t there anything I can promise you?  If the straw is spun tonight, I will be married to the Prince.  The King has sworn it.  I’ll have access to riches, and—and heirlooms, and—I don’t know what all.  But surely there is something you would want?  I give you my word, if it is in my power, I will see to it that you receive your payment.

Actually, Rumplestiltskin said, and something in his tone sent chills through me, there’s something you can give me now.  In the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of me, balancing on the straw so that we were eye-to-eye, despite his height.

What is it?  I asked, a tremble in my voice.

Kiss me, he said simply, and leaned in, placing a long-fingered hand behind my head and pulling my face nearer to his.

My mind flashed to Mammy.  For the second time in my life, I reacted without thinking to a man who came too close to me; as I had done with the other man—his name didn’t come to mind in the moment—I punched Rumplestiltskin in the mouth.  Then I stumbled backward, fearing his magic.

Rumplestitlskin stood, and brushed himself off.

Very well, he said, and the coldness in his voice was obvious now.  You can fail the King, and die, and your father with you.

I didn’t even pause to wonder how he knew so much about my situation.  I simply fell to my knees, heedless of the dirty floor staining my beautiful dress, and raised clasped hands in a gesture of supplication.

Please.  There must be something I can give.  He paused.

Actually, now that you mention it, there is something.

Yes?  What is it?

You’re to be married soon, if all goes well, yes?

Yes, I said, wondering where this was leading.

And once you’re married, you will… he paused and made a disgusted face.  Concieve?  He finished.  I felt myself flush to what I was sure was a bright red.

Yes, I said, yes I suppose so.

Then, sooner or later, you will bear a child.

That’s how it works, I believe.

Very well.  Very well.  Here is my price: I will spin this straw into gold for you one last time.  And in exchange, when your first child is born, you will give the infant to me.

My mind raced.  How could Rumplestiltskin force me to keep such a promise?  When I was the Princess, I would have all kinds of guards to protect me and any children of mine.  I had no other way to get him to do the spinning, nothing else to trade.  And it seemed likely to me that, in whatever hole he certainly lived in, he would not know when my baby was born.  Even if he did, he surely would not want to raise a child.

I know that I was rationalizing what was, in fact, a terrible thing.  But fear makes fools of us all, and I was afraid down to my toes.   Even more, I was desperate.  Papa’s life and mine were at stake, and I could see no other way out.  Confessing the truth to the King was not an option.  Spinning the straw myself was not an option.  There was only one way out.

You have a deal, I said, and thrust out my hand.