Acquiescence

They stand in the dark, holding hands and looking out the tall picture window. The moon is a sliver tonight and the blackness clings to the palace walls like fresh tar. For a long time neither of them says a word; this is not yet the fraught silence of lovers at war.

“It’s time,” says the prince suddenly. 

The princess squeezes his hand and pulls him closer. “What if I’m not ready yet?”

“It is time,” the prince says again and pulls away. 

The princess watches him recede and already she knows she will acquiesce. 

*   

Once upon a time in a land not unlike ours there lived a prince and princess. They loved each other plenty, if somewhat fastidiously. They were happy together, too, till the day the prince declared he desired an heir. 

“I thought we might discuss it some,” said the princess.

“You have forgotten last night. It is time,” said the prince. “We should begin right away,” he added, grinning rather lasciviously. 

The princess, who loved her husband dearly, sighed deeply but acquiesced. 

And so they tried many many times, during the day and at night, to music and in silence under the light of a gibbous moon, on ordinary days but especially on those they had marked down. But, alas, no baby was forthcoming.

“Perhaps we should stop trying so hard,” said the princess.

“Perhaps we should try harder,” said the prince. 

The princess disagreed but, once again, she acquiesced. 

Winter turned to spring and spring to summer. But when winter came round again and they were not yet with child the queen intervened. “It is time the princess went to see the wizard,” she said. The princess, who had learned never to argue with the queen, nodded quietly and acquiesced. That night, however, the prince was dismissed to the castle barn to roost with the royal geese who honked and stamped their displeasure at the intruder with the big mouth.

The wizard was no help at all. First he put his ear to the prince’s knees and harrumphed and clucked and sighed for a long time. Then he poked at the princess’ stomach with his staff. “Not good,” he said, shaking his head. “Not good at all. You need a special type of magic. You must seek the old witch.”

“There must be another way,” said the prince, the color leaving his face. 

But there was steel in the princess’ eyes. “If you’re afraid, I shall go alone,” she said. 

“I’m not afraid,” the prince said, stamping his feet. “It’s just that the people need me here.” His voice had taken on the high-pitched whine of an annoying little child. 

So the princess set out deep into the dark wet woods, where fingers of sunlight clutched at the tops of giant sequoias and the shadows throbbed with strange sounds from unknown creatures. And she felt very alone indeed. 

For two days and two nights the princess walked. When, at last, she arrived she was surprised by what she saw. For the witch’s lair was nowhere near as foreboding as she had feared. In fact, the old cottage nestled almost cosily betwixt blossoms of pink and blue and yellow in the shadow of the biggest tree the princess had ever seen. Sitting by the front, gently tending to a steaming kettle, was a kindly old lady. The princess was reminded of her own grandmother, whom she loved very much. 

The old witch looked up and waved. “Join me for tea, princess," she said. "Your way has been long.”

Filled with great trepidation the princess approached but said nothing.

“I can assure you, princess, this tea is not poisoned. You shouldn’t believe everything you hear about me,” the old witch said. 

The princess, embarrassed by her obvious rudeness, for her mother had raised her to be kind and accepting of people, took the proffered tea and smiled. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired,” the princess said. 

“Where is your husband, the prince?” asked the witch. “Why do you journey alone like this?” 

That seemed to break something deep within the princess; as she wept she told the old witch everything that had brought her to this moment. “I feel like I have failed,” the princess said. 

Putting her cup down, the old witch walked over to the princess and tenderly lifted her chin. “You are strong and brave and kind, princess,” she said. “You are thoughtful and intelligent and generous. Why must you need a fledgling to bear testament?”

But the princess shook her head. “You don’t understand,” she said.

The old witch knelt down then. “This old lady understands more than you give her credit for, princess,” she whispered. “Go home now. The baby you seek was already inside you.”

“But the wizard…”

“You tell that simple-minded fool to keep to his ordinary sorcery,” the old witch said. “Go now, princess. Go and tell your prince his heir is imminent.” 

The princess, thrilled at the good news, kissed the old witch’s hands. Then she turned and fled. 

Once at the palace, she threw herself into the prince’s arms. “We did it,” she whispered. 

But the prince pushed her away and wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps you should bathe first,” he said.

“You don’t understand,” said the princess, excitedly pointing to her belly. “We did it.”  

“No,” said the prince. ‘You mean the old witch did it.” 

The princess was aghast. “You’re wrong. We made this baby, before I even met the old witch,” she said. “For better or worse, we are its parents now.” 

Instead, the prince began to stomp his feet and gnash his teeth. “That was put inside you by dark magic and not the true love of a man and wife. It cannot be mine.”

Oh how the princess pleaded then. And how bitterly she cried. If only the prince could see they had finally been blessed. 

But that enraged the prince further. “You must decide now, princess. The baby or me. You shall not keep both.”

* 

It is night again, but different from the one that started all of this so many moons ago; the silence is oppressive now. Outside the sky is dark, the stars bright; inside the prince is long asleep.  

The princess kneels by the same tall picture window and calls to the old witch. “Please,” she cries, “please take this choice from me.” But the old witch, who sees all and hears all, says not a word. 

For hours the princess stays that way. Then, filled with a deep remorse, she lifts herself off her knees and makes for the palace armory. She claims the prince’s battle sword and returns. Gently she caresses her tummy as she hums a long-forgotten lullaby to the life forming inside her. The tears begin to fall as she hears those words again: You must decide. 

The princess raises the sword and, plunging the blade deep into the slumbering prince’s heart, she acquiesces.