Myth and Magic Read online

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  Also edited by Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman

  The Vain Prince - Andrew J. Peters

  Beanstalk - Clifford Henderson

  SWF seeks FGM - Allison Wonderland

  A Hero in Hot Pink Boots - J. Leigh Bailey

  Red - Andi Marquette

  The Beanstalk Revisited - Rob Rosen

  Heartless - Veronica Wilde

  The Ivy and the Rose - Juliann Rich

  Goldie and the Three Bears - Sasha Payne

  Final Escape - Stacia Seaman

  Sneewittchen (Snow White) - E.J. Gahagan

  The Red Shoes - Alex Stitt

  The Princess and the Frog - Barbara Davies

  The Snow King - Rhidian Brenig Jones

  Riding Red - Victoria Oldham

  Bad Girls - Jane Fletcher and Joey Bass

  About the Editors

  Books Available From Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Myth, magic, and monsters—the stuff of childhood dreams (or nightmares) and adult fantasies.

  Delve into these classic fairy tales retold with a queer twist and surrender to the world of seductive spells and dark temptations.

  Myth and Magic: Queer Fairy Tales

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Myth and Magic: Queer Fairy Tales

  © 2014 By Bold Strokes Books. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-282-3

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: December 2014

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  The Vain Prince previously published in 2010 by the Ganymede Journal, Issue 6 (Winter 2010) and Ganymede Stories 1 (December 2010). Both publications are out of print.

  Credits

  Editors: Radclyffe and Stacia Seaman

  Production Design: Stacia Seaman

  Cover Design By Gabrielle Pendergrast

  Also edited by Radclyffe & Stacia Seaman

  Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments

  Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love

  Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions

  Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games

  Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery

  Romantic Interludes 2: Secrets

  Breathless: Tales of Celebration

  Amor and More: Love Everafter

  Women of the Dark Streets: Lesbian Paranormal

  Myth & Magic: Queer Fairy Tales

  Myth and Magic

  Andrew J. Peters writes fantasy and re-told legend. He is the author of The Seventh Pleiade and the Werecat series. A former Lambda Literary Foundation fellow, Andrew has written short fiction for many publications. He lives in New York City with his husband and their cat Chloë.

  This story is based on “The Frog Prince” and the opera Turandot.

  The Vain Prince

  Andrew J. Peters

  In the land of Evermore, beauty had a name, and that name was Adalbert.

  He was the only son of King Heinrich and Queen Lutecia, who were widely known to have been matched to link the kingdom’s two most prominent families, and in whispered gossip, to mind toothsome curiosities about the King. Nonetheless, on the day of Adalbert’s birth, his father and his mother linked arms and stood at the towering palace balcony overlooking the grand courtyard to present their swaddled child to their subjects.

  It was said that on that day, the sweet melody of songbirds carried across Evermore’s vales and bluffs. Fallow fields turned green, and toadstools in the forest’s dankest reaches surrendered their slimy heads and blossomed petals like shiny buttercups and hollyhocks. Squires, ladies, woodsmen, and dairymaids from every hamlet in the kingdom filled the palace grounds, and plum-faced, blond-haired Adalbert looked out at them, his deep blue eyes twinkling as though to say: “Yes, here I am.”

  The boy grew hardy in his childhood, nurtured by his mother and indulged, more accurately, by his father. At four years old, Adalbert complained that noise from the palace servants disturbed his naps. Heinrich had the stone floors carpeted and the sandals of Adalbert’s attendants upholstered with downy cushions.

  At six years old, Adalbert requested a pet porpoise. Heinrich ordered the palace moat dredged and refilled with seawater and sent his navy to bring back six dozen of the healthiest specimens from the Everblue Sea.

  At ten years old, Adalbert openly wondered at dinner why he had never been asked to commandeer a mounted brigade. The next day, Heinrich assembled every cavalry and pikeman in his service so that Adalbert could direct mock battles in the palace’s grand courtyard.

  Under such an influence, a child is apt to develop a rather rich sense of self-importance, and such was the case with young Adalbert. He went through nursemaids weekly, daily in some cases, owing to his rigid specifications for his care.

  He insisted on being addressed as “His Exquisiteness” at all times. Adalbert loudly protested deviations from his routine of morning baths in cow’s milk, heated by wood-stoked cauldron to the proper temperature; and outfit changes preceding each of his meals (he never wore the same trousers twice); and foot and neck massages following any activity involving physical exertion from croquet matches to cribbage. He was frequently distracted by the sight of himself in his shiny bronze goblet and the glistening marble walls of the palace parlor, and he was known to spend long hours in smiling self-admiration.

  Such behavior barely registered to Heinrich. His son was his pride and joy, after all. But as Adalbert grew into adolescence, Heinrich noticed, with growing worry, that his son had become apathetic, if not hostile, to the company of others.

  One day, Heinrich returned to the palace to find Adalbert’s riding partner stripped and tied up to a scaffold, the boy’s punishment, Adalbert explained, for trotting too vigorously and splattering mud on his caparison. Heinrich decided it was time for a talk.

  “A young man needs a companion,” Heinrich told Adalbert.

  “What for?” Adalbert twitched and scowled in protest of his father’s shadow blocking the light for his midday sunning on the palace’s southerly terrace.

  “For companionship, surely,” Heinrich said. He stepped to the other side of Adalbert’s divan with his broad shadow in tow.

  “I’ve nursemaids and servants to take care of me,” Adalbert replied, the matter settled.

  “Yes, but a companion is different.”

  Adalbert stared at his father, genuinely confounded.

  Heinrich tried to explain. “Wouldn’t you like to fall in love someday? And to have someone fall in love with you?”

  Adalbert brandished a dimpled smile. “I’ve you and Mommy to love me.”

  “Of course. And we do love you very much, Adalbert. But your parents will not be here forever. A young man starts his own family. With a woman, or a man.”

  Heinrich’s last words hung in the air for a moment. He knew his son well enough to understand his leanings. It is a very particular kind of boy who wears a felt hat and scarf to dinner, after all. Meanwhile, Adalbert looked no more enchanted by the conversation.

  “I don’t see the point in it,
” he said. “Look at you and Mommy. You hardly see each other. You sleep in separate bedrooms.”

  At this, the King shifted his weight. He knew that Adalbert would someday reach an age when he would perceive the truth about his parents’ relationship. But it was all the more reason for Heinrich to press the matter with his son. He could abide his own mistakes, but he would never forgive himself if Adalbert repeated them.

  “And so you shall have more than me and Mommy,” Heinrich said. “A true soul mate. Romance. Sensuality. These are life’s greatest joys.”

  Adalbert pouted. “What’s the rush? I like my life the way it is. I’m too young for sugary conventions.”

  But Heinrich had already seized on a tack. “Young and virtuous you are, Adalbert. Savor your springtide years, and for your twenty-first birthday, we’ll celebrate your arrival to manhood with the grandest occasion the kingdom has ever seen. There’ll be harp players, acrobats, a tournament of jousts. Whatever spectacle you desire. And at the end of it all, we’ll enact a contest. Let any willful bachelor in the kingdom make an appeal for your heart. You’ll have thousands of suitors competing for you, and you can choose whichever one to stay with you in the palace for the rest of your years.”

  Heinrich beamed encouragingly. Adalbert kept his own counsel when it came to boyhood crushes, but Heinrich knew his son could not resist such a deluxe opportunity to command attention.

  Adalbert sneered at first. Then a flash of his dazzling blue eyes betrayed a certain curiosity. Self-centered as he was, he was not immune to the stirrings of pubescence. A stolen glance at the tight fit of the palace herald’s hosiery. A lingering gaze at the stable hand unburdened of his shirt while pitching out the mews. One spring day’s fascination with two fantail pigeons building a nest in a flowering cherry tree out by the palace orchards. They were far-flung pieces of a puzzle that did not quite fit together for Adalbert. But he looked up at his father and heaved a sigh.

  It was decided. On his twenty-first birthday, Adalbert would choose a mate.

  *

  As King Heinrich promised, Adalbert’s twenty-first birthday party was an unparalleled event. Every rafter in the palace was strung with flowering garlands. Every chamber resonated with the harmonies of string-players. Every fountain was filled with bubbling wine. The walls were painted over with murals of the guest of honor, now tall and strapping in his ripened perfection, and freshly embroidered tapestries with his smiling image were rolled out across the floor. There were roasts of suckling pigs, breads and jams, fan dancers, pantomimes, and all the things young Adalbert enjoyed. The better for Adalbert to see the entertainment, in the center of the ballroom, a platform was installed, rotating at a leisurely turn by the workings of a silent gear.

  The contest drew men from every corner of the kingdom eager to try their luck with Evermore’s most handsome son. Adalbert’s peevish reputation preceded him, but for those less encouraged by a lifetime of Adalbert, the promise of free room and board at the palace provided the necessary enticement. There were square-jawed legionnaires, fresh-faced sailors, dapper sons of dignitaries, and hopeful journeymen of every trade, all groomed and dressed in their formal best. At the appointed time, Heinrich gathered them all into the ballroom, shooed the ladies and the gawkers away, and announced for the contest to begin.

  One by one, the bachelors were called up to the platform. Adalbert looked them over from head to toe. He was at no loss for variety, but his deliberations were brief and final.

  “Too tall.”

  “Too short.”

  “Too light.”

  “Too dark.”

  “Too fine of hair.”

  “Too coarse of beard.”

  And so on.

  Each bachelor slunk away, deflated. The ballroom was half-empty in less than an hour’s time, and Adalbert started to reduce his judgments to wide-mouthed yawns. Heinrich pulled his son aside for a private conversation.

  “Surely there must be one among these men who pleases you?” Heinrich said.

  Adalbert rolled his eyes. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

  “You’ve every eligible bachelor in the kingdom here.”

  “A sorry lot they are.”

  Heinrich eyed his son sternly. “Adalbert, you’re being too picky.”

  “This is my contest. I choose who’ll be my mate. And so far, every one I’ve seen has been plain or downright gruesome.”

  “These are fine men, Adalbert. You cannot judge them entirely on looks. Finding true love requires courtship, charm and conversation. Compatibility. Not just in the physical sense. Give these men a chance.”

  Adalbert huffed. “It all sounds dreadfully boring.”

  Heinrich put a hand on his hip—an unkingly gesture, perhaps, but his patience was wearing thin. “Should you like to spend the rest of your years alone?” he asked his son.

  Adalbert glared. “I should much rather live out the rest of my days by myself than with any of these goons you’ve invited to my party.”

  Heinrich studied his son, and in that moment, a veil was lifted. He no longer saw a perfect little boy, innocent of heart. In fact, when he envisioned his son in five years, ten years, twenty years’ time, the picture was monstrous. Heinrich pointed his gaze away. “Very well,” he said. “Continue with your contest. I’m tired of all this. When you’ve finished making a mockery of all your guests, send a page to my room.”

  Adalbert returned to his throne on the platform, and the event continued in the same manner as it had started. An eager swain presented himself. Adalbert dallied for a breath, and then he pronounced the suitor unfit. It was all quite tiresome, Adalbert thought, and painfully unfair that he should face an endless procession of inadequate candidates considering he had so much to offer.

  The next to approach the platform was a tall man, entirely covered in cloak and hood. He held out in his gloved hand a fuzzy stalk with many tiny florets. Adalbert eyed the offering peculiarly. “What is this?” he asked.

  “Bluebonnet, Your Grace,” the stranger replied. “It is the only thing that grows in the kingdom that has the color of your eyes.”

  Adalbert considered. “Looks like an awfully common thing. It’s not the sort of weed that sprouts out of manure in a shepherd’s pasture, is it?”

  “Certainly not, Your Grace. Bluebonnet only flourishes on the hilltop. If it pleases you, I’ll tell you the story of this flower’s retrieval.”

  Adalbert nodded.

  “While I was traveling through the countryside, I came to a mountain pass and whispered your name thrice, the better to navigate its treacherous trenches and falling rocks. When I emerged from the gulley, no worse for wear, I came to a rolling glade blossoming with blue wildflowers. I climbed to its upper part where the sun beat down the strongest and the air was most refreshing. There I spotted this sprig. I rooted it from the earth to give it to you.” The stranger bent down on one knee, bowed his head, and raised the flower toward Adalbert.

  Adalbert leaned forward and took the sprig. He stared at the shadowy man, intrigued if not yet disarmed. “Why is it that you do not reveal yourself?” he asked.

  “I am a humble man, Your Grace,” the stranger said. “The sight of you brings me great delight but sadly a most unfortunate discoloration of my cheeks. I do not wish to offend.”

  Adalbert grinned. “I think you’re being coy. Your tongue is quite adept. Why deprive us of your other parts?”

  The stranger hesitated. “As you wish, your Grace.” His hands reached for the brim of his hood, and he pulled it back. Slowly, he raised his head.

  Adalbert’s blue eyes widened. Standing before him was a hideous creature. It was crook-nosed with a patchy face blighted by boils. It had a spindly, oily head of hair and bristles sprouting from its oversized ears. In short, a troll.

  Adalbert’s shock transformed into hysterics. “This is the man who presents himself to be my mate? Please—the hood. You’ll scare the varnish off the ceiling.”

  The ballroom peal
ed with laughter. The Troll dropped his head. “I’ve traveled many miles to see you,” he said.

  “You needn’t explain,” Adalbert said. “The wear and tear shows on your face. Or is that a permanent condition?”

  The Troll looked up and scowled.

  “Now that’s a pretty look,” Adalbert said. “I fear we were doing much better with your eyes pointed on the floor.” He waved his hand. “Now move along, Troll-ie. I’m certain there’s a muddy trestle sorely missing your company.”

  The Troll pointed a gloved finger at the prince. “You’ll regret treating me this way,” he said. His finger twirled in the air in some sort of arcane gesture.

  Adalbert scoffed. Then he waved over a pair of guards. “It is you who shall regret disturbing my party,” he told the Troll.

  The two armored men took the Troll from the room. Everyone was silent. It was common knowledge that trolls did not like being insulted, and they had a repertoire of tricks for those who crossed them. The bachelors and court attendants passed spooked looks at Adalbert.

  Adalbert glared back at them. He didn’t believe in troll magic. He knew of spite, but that rarely created the desired effect in his experience. He held up the bluebonnet clover to take a sniff. It shriveled, and its petals dropped to the floor.

  *

  The next morning, Adalbert found the porpoises floating belly up in the moat. When the gamekeeper pulled them out, there was not a scratch on a single one of them. Adalbert brushed it off. Porpoises didn’t live forever. It was an unfortunate coincidence.

  The following day, a chill wind blustered in from the north. By noon, there was frost on the cherry trees in the orchard, and their shriveled fruits fell from their branches. That evening, the cows died of hypothermia. Bundled in his bed, Adalbert gazed out to his terrace and saw that there was snow accumulating. Adalbert snorted and ordered his manservant to stoke up the fireplace.