Forbidden Secrets at the Court of the Royal Princess

She waited for him at the edge of the woods. The forest was vast, stretching over a thousand miles in every direction, but she knew the spot. She had seen it in a dream, and then in another, and then again, each time more vivid. There was a clearing, surrounded by tall trees, and in the center was a single stone. It was dark gray, and rough, as though someone had dragged it from the sea, and held it in their hands until the water had dried away and the stone had risen from their palms, covered in their sweat, and the light and heat of their bodies.

The princess was not like her sisters. They spent their days in the throne room, listening to petitions, making proclamations, holding court. The eldest, Amelia, was a kind and wise queen, but she was also harried. She had a thousand tasks, and for each one, she had a thousand people working for her. She would not have time for something as frivolous as a meeting with a servant.

But this was different, the princess thought. This was a matter of the heart. And she had always believed that was where true wisdom lay. She thought of her mother, and the way she had loved her father, the way he had stared at her with a longing in his eyes, as though she were a jewel he could not afford and so, instead, had to steal.

And she thought of her father, and the way he had loved her mother, the way he had looked at her when they had been married, even though they were worlds apart, and the way he had loved her when they were apart, when she had been away.

The princess had read all the books in the library. There were thousands of them, and they were all about love. They were written in all kinds of languages, some ancient and some new, but she had understood them all. She had read about the sacrifices people made for love, and the way love made them stronger.

There was a poem by Pablo Neruda that the princess liked best. It was titled “Love Is So Much More than You Can Say.” She found the line “Love does not die. People die because love dies in them” particularly moving.

~~

The prince had said all those things. He had told her he was going to find a way to bring her back with him. But now there were two weeks left, and he was no closer to finding a way. In fact, he had fallen silent.

She wondered how she could blame him. She was not his wife. She did not live in the castle, or even in the kingdom. She lived in a cottage in the forest, and sometimes, when the sun broke through the clouds, she could see her reflection in the river. Her hair was long, and golden. It was the same color as the sun.

In the other stories, the princess would sit by the river, or go for a walk in the meadow, and then, out of nowhere, the prince would appear. He would be handsome, and strong, and noble, and humble. They would fall in love. There would be a problem, and he would have to save her. The prince would make a magic potion, or a sword from a tree, or a shield from his own skin. He would slay the dragon, and then they would live happily ever after.

But this story was not like that. She had no mirror, and no ball, and no glass slippers. She had no fairy godmother to wave a magic wand. She had only the clothes on her back, and the house in the woods.

She had not expected this to be easy. She did not expect to be swept off her feet. She did not expect to be saved. She had always known that it was she who would save the prince. She did not know how, or why, but it was the only thing she was certain of.

The sun had been up for hours. There were birds singing in the trees. The princess had heard that a bird's song was a code, and if you listened closely enough, you could learn to speak their language.

But she didn't need to listen. She knew what they were saying. They were saying: I am. I have. I want. I need. She remembered a book she had read, about the German philosopher Martin Heidegger, who had said: “Language is the house of being.”

She had not understood what he meant, and the book had not explained it, but now, sitting in the meadow, watching the birds fly through the air, she understood.

The birds were singing: I am. I have. I want. I need. That was all. They were telling the truth.

The princess stood up, and walked to the edge of the woods. She took a deep breath, and then she pushed into the trees. She knew where her cottage was. She knew where the stream was. She knew where the clearing was, and the single stone.

The prince was there. He was sitting on his knees, holding his head in his hands. He looked up, and saw her.

He stood up, and said: “Princess, I am so sorry. I have failed you. I have failed everyone.”

“No,” she said. “You have not failed. You have worked hard. You have tried so hard.”

He shook his head, and tears rolled down his cheeks. “No. I have failed. I am a failure.”

She sat down next to him, and took his hand. “No. You are not a failure. You are the bravest person I have ever met.”

He turned to her. He leaned forward, and kissed her soft lips.

“You are the bravest person I have ever met,” he whispered.

She felt herself falling, falling into the lake, into the black water, where her reflection stared up at her, screaming, screaming, screaming, screaming.