The "Fairytale Ending"

• Alyssa Meli, Grade 12
• Short Story
• 2018

Once upon a time, a beautiful princess imprisoned in a tower was rescued by a dashing prince. Soon the pair wed and the prince ascended to the throne.

The prince had the body of the king, but not the mind of one. He squandered time in absurd masculine pursuits; duelling and hunting. You see, there are many who would kill for a king whether it be a soldier swiftly slicing the neck of a Moor or a Lord plunging an arrow through the heart of some poor plump goose so we must dismiss it as a man being a man - whatever that has come to mean…

His gentle Queen however, whiled away her time in pursuit of knowledge for, what else had she to do? Whilst imprisoned, she had read vast volumes on history and geography, sociology and anthropology, biochemistry and royal heredity. As no one anticipated a woman would master the elementary art of reading autonomously, nobility stored unused books in maiden’s towers certain that if a woman was even to notice them, she would be compelled to wear them as hats.

Perhaps this is of no consequence.

Her real power was not in reading, but in listening. Interpreting and understanding. Women of the court played a perpetual game of Chinese whispers, warily exchanging words enclosed in circles twittering like birds. Voices of near nothing floating through the air.

Floated like perfume. Floated like a feather. Floated like all things feminine.

All of them not some much unlike the lacerated voice of Jayne Mansfield singing out about the valley of love on a weathered vinyl. Ripe, red cherry lips of Lorelei Lee moved only to produce a whisper of an echo heard hundreds of years before when Lore Lay fell to her death.

From these women she learnt one thing, meaning lay amongst the words; in between, drowning within the gaps. The pauses.

Silence spoke and words still remained mingling and mixing, making meaning that was not heard but felt. Felt only if you knew what to felt. Secret messages implied were concealed by each soft syllable. There was emotion. There was opinion. There was an ugly, mangled monologue beneath its beauty.

The queen could extrapolate meaning where the king would hold his hand high to God and swear there was none.

Yet, he was King. All she could do was suggest. But the power of suggestion was immense. She would remain silent so when she spoke it was marked, felt and then – when the time was right and all else was still - her pretty, little lips parted. Sweet, sweet words slid into his head, sinking into his mind until they manifesting and he acted.

“Have you happened to have heard… one might have thought… I could be mistaken … darling I just would hate to see something happen to you ...if you think it best...darling thank you!”

And in this way the kingdom thrived with a King on the throne but a Queen holding the sceptre.