The Beggar Queen

Once upon a time there lived a girl who spent all her days telling stories. She was well loved by the children in her town, for her stories never ceased to amaze and so beautiful was the imagery that she described, many thought they could see the words come alive around them as she spoke. When she began immortalizing her stories on paper, the spectacle continued. If only for a brief moment, her characters would often be seen leaping from the pages, only to disappear into bursts of light as soon as the children endeavoured to touch them.

“Have they ever escaped before? The people in you stories?” a child asked the storyteller once.

The girl smiled.

“That would be quite impossible I assure you. And even if it weren’t, wouldn’t you want to meet Lady Ann from today’s tale?”

The child beamed.

“I would!”

“I wouldn’t want to meet the sorcerer though!” cried another child from the back. “What if an evil person left your stories?”

The woman laughed.

“None of my characters are truly evil, as you well know. Anyone can be redeemed. I would never let a character of mine become worse than I can handle. So never worry about that.”

The children were satisfied with her answer and the woman went back home to begin working on her new story.

As her feather scratched the paper and new beautiful words began to adorn the page, the woman felt a slight shiver creeping up and down her spine. Though she was delighted by every sentence that appeared, she had the uneasy feeling that the feather was guiding her hand, rather than the other way around. Still, she gripped the feather tighter between her fingers and continued writing of a young queen who no longer had any crops with which to feed her kingdom. One day, a prince from a neighbouring city came to visit her court, saying that he had enough food to last the winter.

“What is it that you wish in return, your Grace?”

The prince grinned.

“Only that you make me ruler over this kingdom. As a second son, I have no claim over my father’s lands, yet unless you wish for your people to starve, you will grant me ownership over yours.”

“My people will never accept a foreign king!” the queen scoffed. “I believe there is nothing I can offer you, my prince. For if I had anything worth bargaining, the crops would have been mine to give a while ago. So, is there any reason for us to continue this conversation?”

The prince thought for a few moments, then smiled kindly and said:

“There is no need, my queen. I see that you care about your people deeply. I will give you the food, free of —”

The feather came to a halt. The girl tried to move her hand, but it remained glued to the page, unable to write. After a few moments, the feather finally stirred, but not in the way the girl intended.

“Is that what you wished me to say?” the prince asked derisively.

“Did you really think I would yield that easily? Surely not?”

The queen scowled.

“Then what else could I possibly offer you, your Grace?”

The prince paced around the throne room, pondering.

“You say you have nothing to bargain with. Well then, you must acquire it. I want you to go into the streets of your great kingdom and beg. Beg your own people to give you whatever they have. At the end of the day, pay me with what you have received.”

The queen got up to her feet.

“How dare you? You would have a queen beg for scraps?”

The prince’s vicious smile broadened.

“I would.”

The girl finally let go of the feather and stared at the sheets of paper on her desk. The story felt as though it was no longer her own, yet it did not matter. She marveled at her newly created character. After all, he had a point, if the queen had no way of paying, she would have to find it. The prince was cruel, but still fair enough to be redeemable.

The next day she continued.

The queen thought long and hard whether to accept the prince’s proposal. She looked out from her window at all the suffering her people were going through. Surely hunger was worth more than pride. With a heavy heart, she chose the simplest gown she possessed and an old shawl to cover her head and ventured into the city streets. It didn’t take long for the queen to be recognized, for she’d made a habit of getting to know the people she ruled over, thus making her face quite well known amongst them. She had hoped for sympathy. She received derision instead.

Still, she remained kneeling on the street all day, keeping her head high through the mocking and the insults. By nightfall, the only think she had to show for it was a single copper coin given to her by a small boy. Hungry and tired, the queen eventually made her way back to the castle where the prince was waiting for her return.

She let the coin fall at his feet.

“That is all. That is what my entire kingdom has to give, your Grace. There is nothing else to spare. So either accept this coin as payment, or leave.”

The prince picked up the coin and gazed at it, almost in wonder.

“Still more than I expected” he muttered. “The crops are yours.”

The queen collapsed on her throne with a sigh.

Thinking the story done, the girl tried to lift her feather off the page, but something held her back. She continued writing.

The prince frowned.

“What is the matter, my queen? You seem disturbed.”

The queen snorted.

“My reign is over. No one will respect me now that they have seen me at my worst. The story of the beggar queen is already circling the palace walls. Soon it will spread throughout the kingdom. I am finished.” She looked up at the prince. “No doubt you’re enjoying this, your Grace.”

The prince walked up to the throne and knelt before it.

“I would be a poor man indeed if I laughed in the face of other’s misfortune. Pray tell me, how may I help? Perhaps there could be a way for you to rebuild your reputation?”

The girl smiled as she wrote. Her character had truly redeemed himself.

The queen slowly shook her head.

“There is no future for me. But you, you have shown that you are able to provide for this kingdom. I have no children. My brothers and sisters have dominions of their own. Might I name you heir to the throne?”

The girl frowned. Surely he would not —

“A wise choice, my queen!” the prince cried. “I pledge myself to you as your heir and vow to lead these lands into prosperity.”

The girl finally let go of the feather. It was the only logical solution, she thought. Who else would be in a position to rule? She stared at the pages sprawled on her desk. Her own elegant handwriting had become messy and rushed, as though it was no longer hers. A wave of nausea passed over her, for as she gazed upon the paper, she felt as though a pair of eyes was staring back at her. She quickly turned the page on the other side. Her imagination had got the best of her.

That night she couldn’t fall asleep. She kept feeling as though she had left something unfinished. After what seemed like hours of tossing and turning, she finally walked up to her desk and picked up her feather. From then on, she wrote of cruelty and darkness, of greed and malice, of a prince who always got what he desired and a king who despised his own people. The girl hated every word she wrote, and yet she could not stop. The feather held her hostage until the early hours of the morning when, from utter exhaustion, the woman collapsed upon her desk.

As she drifted off to sleep, a voice suddenly invaded her dreams.

“I have been wanting to meet you for some time.”

Her eyes snapped open. In front of her was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His mouth curved into an unnatural smile, his eyes sparked viciously and his voice cut through her like a knife, and yet she felt as though she’d loved him for years.

“Incredible…” she murmured.

His eyes narrowed.

“Do you know me?”

“Do I know you?” the girl cried. “I’ve known you all my life. You are in so many of my stories. You are the one character I can never seem to throw away. In any new tale I create, there is always a place for you, always.”

The prince pursed his lips

“I suppose so, for in every story there is the need for a villain. That is what I am to you, am I not? A villain?”

The girl nodded, still in awe.

“You are what motivates my heroes. You are what gives the children hope, for if a princess can outsmart you, then they can too. And if even you can be redeemed, as you so often are, then perhaps nothing is really as bad as it seems. My readers love you, even if they do not realize it themselves.”

“You certainly do, don’t you?”

The girl nodded again, utterly transfixed.

“Yes, you love me so much that you ignore it when your feather begins writing without you. You love me so much that you are lenient with me beyond measure. You love me so much, you think that whatever you command I will do, when really it’s the other way around.”

He stepped towards the girl and stared at her incredulously.

“You still think I am yours, don’t you? Do you even realize where you are? Do you even realize what you have done?”

“Yes” the girl whispered. “I have achieved the impossible. Look at you! You’re perfect. You’re exactly what I had envisioned.”

She reached out and grazed his chin.

“Every line, every atom, a mind built from words and a body from ink and paper. You’re a work of art.”

“Really? A work of art you say?”

The man grabbed her hand and placed it upon his heart.

“Do works of art usually have a beating heart?” he murmured.

She looked into his eyes.

“Even your heart beats to a rhythm of my own design, my prince.”

“So even when it breaks, it is still your doing.”

“Your heart does not break. I made sure of it.”

“And yet you put me through hell in every tale that you write. I have lied, stolen and killed in your name. You give me no feelings, yet you redeem me at the end of every story. You give me an unbreakable heart yet I’m supposed to care. You think you can control me, yet you say you love me. To love is to surrender. You love your own ideas so much you succumb to them. You made me a villain, yet you closed your eyes whenever I acted like one.” He took another step towards her. “A queen never lets her subjects tell the story, yet here you are, begging for a tale.”

“You’re beautiful” the writer whispered.

The prince cupped her cheeks with both hands and shook his head in disbelief.

“And you still think I am yours.”

In the following months, the children were so starved for stories that they rejoiced when a new writer came into town. Soon enough, they were all gathered around a handsome young man, watching in awe as his characters burst into life around them, telling them the sad story of the beggar queen.