“Mummy! Daddy!”
Draco was awake as soon as the childish wail reached his ears. Instinctively, he reached for his wand with his right arm before remembering and plucking it neatly from the nightstand with his left.
Light flooded the room as Hermione rolled over in bed beside him and flipped on the light. She peered at the clock. “It’s two in the morning,” she muttered thickly.
“I’ll go,” Draco offered, already out of bed anyway.
“You’ve got work in the morning,” Hermione reminded him, pulling on her bathrobe.
“I wasn’t sleeping well anyway,” Draco confessed, glancing at the stump of his right wrist where he had lost his hand to an accident with a dragon seven years before. The phantom pain in his palm had come back recently, and kept him up for part of that night and the night before.
“I’m sorry,” Hermione said knowingly as they reached their daughter’s room. Flicking on the lights she sat down next to a small lump under the bedclothes. “What’s the matter, darling?”
A small sandy head poked out from under the covers. “There was a monster,” she informed them gravely. “It wanted to eat me up.”
Draco crossed his arms where he leaned against the doorway and tried to look fierce. “Any monster trying to eat my Rosie,” he announced to the room in general, “will have me to answer to.”
Rosie giggled and came a bit further out from under the bedclothes, snuggling up against Hermione. “It was purple with blue dots,” she stated bravely. “And tentically things like Mummy’s pumkin plants for arms.”
Draco tried not to smile at the absurd form his daughter’s monster had taken. Hermione’s eyes twinkled with repressed laughter as she gave Rosie a squeeze.
“It was just a bad dream,” Hermione said comfortingly. “But how about we do something nice to chase the bad dream away so you can sleep again. What would you like to do? We could sing a song? Or you could dance with Daddy?”
Draco bowed elegantly from the doorway.
Rosie looked considering. “I want a story,” the little tyrant declared at last. “A good one.”
“Very well,” Hermione sighed, going over to the book shelf. “Which story would you like?”
“I don’t want one of those,” Rosie protested. “I know all of those. I want a new story. Tell me a story.”
“A new story,” Hermione pondered. She darted a quick look over to Draco, and a smile began to spread across her face. She began, “Once upon a time…”
Once upon a time there lived a queen who was more beautiful than the sun, the moon, and the stars. The queen was a happy woman as she had been blessed with a good and loving husband and a peaceful land, but the queen was also a careless woman. Enamored by her own beauty the queen could think of little else, and had no room in her heart for anyone but herself. In fact, she could speak of little else as she whiled away the hours each day with her ladies in waiting.
One of these ladies was a quiet girl named Jane who often bore the brunt of the queen’s careless tongue. For Jane was as plain as the queen was beautiful; indeed Jane was the plainest of all the ladies at the court and was often mistaken at a glance for a kitchen girl or one of the other lowly servants.
“Beauty is such a curse, Jane. You should be glad you haven’t got any,” the queen would say as she peered into her looking glass, searching for wrinkles that had yet to appear.
As they strolled through the garden near the edge of the park where the young men of the court played and rode the queen would purse her lips and say, “We must find a husband for you, Jane. Not a nobleman, of course, with a face like yours, dear. But I’m sure there’s some nice young man out there who wouldn’t mind too much. I can add a bit to your dowry to make up for your looks.”
Or the queen would say, “Jane, dear, can you run out and fetch my hat from the garden? I hate to ask, only it won’t matter as much if you get a little extra sun on your face,” as she surveyed her exquisite alabaster skin for a single freckle that might dare to appear.
All of this Jane swallowed in silence, but a little pit of envy and despair began to build in her heart. And it twisted her inside. For Jane knew that while she was not pretty, she was far from worthless. She could write in a fine copperplate hand, and read in a pleasantly animated tone. Her stitches and embroidery could rival even the queen’s. And her voice, when she could be enticed to sing, was as sweet as a nightingale’s. Yet no one noticed these talents, or praised them. No one seemed to notice or care as she toiled away day in and out, asking only for the barest crumbs of kindness.
And then one day, Jane stopped asking for anything at all. So she grew bitter, no longer looking for kindness, but any sort of notice or attention. And each of the queen’s careless words inflamed the bitterness in her heart and made her pain flow anew, until one day Jane could take no more.
“Oh, Jane,” the queen sighed as she stared at her slim waist in the mirror, splaying her hands across the slight bulge where her first child was forming behind her navel. “I shall lose all my beauty with the growing of this babe. At least you will never need to know that sorrow.”
“Sorrow? Jane burst out incredulously, the walls around her heart bursting open at last. “What sorrow? You have never known a day of sorrow or suffering in your life with your pretty face. Who are you to speak of sorrow and suffering to me? I, who have every day suffered under your cruel jibes and thoughtless words. You have never known suffering, your majesty, but mark me, you will!”
Jane ignored the stifled and scandalized gasps of the other ladies in waiting, conscious only of the rage coursing through her veins, rage directed at the stupid, beautiful woman standing before her. All of her anger, all of her hate was laid bare in an instant. “The child you even now bear will cause you sorrow and suffering enough. It will be a girl, but she will not be beautiful, no, she will be marred beyond even the plainness of my own face. And you will never love her, your majesty, for you will only ever be able to look at her with your heart of stone.”
As Jane finished her curse stillness like a heavy weight fell over the room, pressing down upon all of its occupants, but bearing down most on Jane and the queen. For you see, one of the queen’s oldest ladies in waiting was an enchantress, a very powerful witch, and one must always take care speaking around witches for in their presence words have power. Everyone knows that words are dangerous, but around a witch they are doubly so, because the magic which collects around these people gives words extra weight. And while all the ladies were distressed by Jane’s words, it was the enchantress who was the most distressed of all, for she alone knew the enormity of what Jane had done.
Even as the queen sent Jane away, escorted out by a pair of guards who would march her to the edge of the country, and to the beginning of her banishment “Jane would leave proudly, never looking back- the babe inside the queen’s womb twisted uneasily, caught in a web of magic which she could not escape.
Six months and three days after Jane had unleashed her dreadful curse and been banished from that country the queen went into labor. She struggled for hours, as though the child did not wish to be born, did not wish to show her face to the world. At last, just as the night was finally breaking and the first rays of dawn streaked the sky, the baby came.
It was a girl, small and fine boned like her mother. A delicate aureole of golden hair covered her head, as fine as silk. Her wide blue eyes looked curiously at the world around her. At first the midwife thought that Jane’s curse had left the baby untouched, but then the child turned her head and the midwife suppressed a gasp of surprise. A large purple-red mark blossomed across the round cheek and up the right side of the snub little nose; the visible mark of Jane’s hate and vengeance spread like the slap of a hand against her face.
“My child,” the queen murmured wearily, her arms outstretched to claim her prize.
Wordlessly, the midwife held out the babe and watched the queen recoil, her beautiful face pale and wan.
“It’s horrid,” the queen snapped, her heart filling with despair, and deliberately, she turned her face away.
As if the child knew the meaning of the words that had been spoken, as if she understood her mother’s rejection, the child began to wail inconsolably. It was as though her heart had shattered with the queen’s last two thoughtless words.
The baby cried almost without ceasing, barely stopping to breathe or sleep as her mother slowly faded and slipped away. She wept as the queen was laid out in state and mourned by one and all for three full days. Her tears did not cease until her mother was interred; from the moment the coffin lid snapped closed, the princess did not ever cry again.
The princess would have found herself as alone in the world as when she had entered it had it not been for the ministrations of her mother’s ladies in waiting. The enchantress, whose name was Blanche, took particular care of the child, feeling the weight of the curse as heavily on her conscience as it lay on the princess herself.
It was Blanche who bullied the king into naming his daughter, he chose Aurelia for the golden hair which crowned her head, although his first inclination had been to name her Rue, for sorrow and suffering. And it was Blanche who insisted Aurelia get an education, bringing in the finest tutors from across the land. But most importantly, it was Blanche who loved Aurelia like a daughter, and never once took any notice of the great red mark that marred the princess’s face.
And so Aurelia grew up; and if her face did not win her the hearts of her people, her kindness, her intelligence, and her reputation for justness did. She would be a good ruler, yet her father still worried.
He worried because he knew what a difficult task it could be to wear the crown, and how much more difficult it was to wear it alone. He missed the bracing shoulder, and the comfort of his wife, the queen, and he did not want his daughter to take on such a task without a husband, a helpmeet, a comforting hand at her side. Thus, the king began the arduous process of finding a prince who could rule beside his daughter, a prince who would not be turned away by the disfigurement of her face. And after a year and a day of searching, the king believed he had found just such a prince.
Prince Julian was the youngest son of the neighboring king. The spare, he would never inherit his father’s kingdom as his older brother would, yet he had been trained since his earliest days to rule wisely and well. That he was reported to be both handsome and kind, the king took as a bonus, and quickly set about to make the match.
Julian’s father agreed readily enough. Such an alliance would guarantee peace and prosperity between the kingdoms. And if the bride was as ugly as some of the rumors were led to say, at least her dowry was large and Julian would gain a throne, an opportunity he would not secure from a more beautiful yet lowly bride. Without the knowledge, or even consent of the children, the betrothal was made.
Although Julian was appalled at the speed at which his future had been decided for him, he turned his thoughts at once to his bride-to-be. Grabbing several sheets of parchment he began to write a letter, hoping that she would at least be able to learn something of him, and in turn he of her.
The gambit was a success. Within a fortnight Aurelia and Julian had traded over a dozen letters and kept at least four royal couriers busy running back and forth between their lands. But then an even more surprising thing happened: they began to fall in love. With every letter Aurelia told Julian that she was ugly, disfigured, scarred. And with every letter Julian would reply that he did not care, that he could see her humor, her wit, her intelligence. Every letter if not in words, then in intentions proclaimed his love. And Aurelia, who had kept her heart firmly shut since the day of her birth tentatively began to open it up and allow Julian inside.
The day of their wedding drew near, and at last, just before they joined in matrimony, they were finally to meet. Aurelia had been tucked and pressed into a gown of the whitest silk, the same gown her mother had worn for her marriage. Cool and light against her body, it fit like a glove, and for a moment, with the veil shielding her face, Aurelia wondered for the first time if this was how her mother had looked.
Distressed, she turned quickly from the mirror and pulled off the veil. “I will not wear it,” she declared firmly although her heart was quaking inside her chest. “He will see me for how I am, or not at all.”
Despite the pleas of her ladies in waiting, Aurelia would not be swayed. Catching Blanche’s small nod of approval, she turned on her heel and walked out to the castle lawn to the arbor where the ceremony would take place on the edge of the forest.
Julian, too, could not bear the fussing of his attendants as they prepared him for his wedding day.
“Look, it’s fine. I’m sure you’ve done everything you can. Now, please, can’t I just go and meet her?” He ducked sideways as an attendant came at his head with a comb, while another tried to straighten his collar.
At last he was proclaimed acceptable enough and Julian ducked out into the sunshine and made his way to the rose covered arbor where a most of the wedding guests had already assembled. Even from a distance he could see his bride, the white of her gown and gold of her hair shone against the rich greens surrounding her. But she was turned away from him, deep in conversation with an older woman who had gentle, smiling eyes.
Heartened, Julian crossed the lawn to her, stopping when he was only a scarce three feet away to hesitantly say, “Aurelia?”
The princess turned, and for the first time Julian could see her face. Surprised, for he had believed her protestations of disfigurement were maidenly modesty rather than truth, he recoiled slightly, his foot taking one small step back. But it was that one step which undid him.
For the moment Aurelia saw him draw back, her heart, which had started to open for the first time slammed closed, and as he stepped backwards it turned to stone within her breast. Unable to bear rejection a second time, the princess turned and fled into the woods, disappearing among the trees like a heartbroken ghost.
Within a second Julian realized what he had done, and turned at once to follow her. However, the grasping hands of the courtiers restrained him, holding him back until the princess was gone from view.
“Let me go!” he snarled, still straining towards the trees. “I must go after her!”
“The guards will bring her back, your highness,” his attendants replied with distressed looks upon their faces. “There is nothing you need to do.”
“No!” Julian declared firmly. “The mistake was mine and the blame as well. I and I alone am responsible for bringing Aurelia home. Let me go!”
“Release him.”
The attendants dropped their hands in wonder as Blanche took two steps forward from where the princess had left her side.
“Words have weight when spoken in front of an Enchantress,” she said softly, her hand cupping Julian’s chin as she studied his face. “Now you must go and rectify your mistake. But you will not find her until you learn to see with your heart and not your eyes.”
“But I will find her?”
“That depends entirely upon you.” Dropping his chin, Blanche pressed a kiss to his forehead in blessing. “I hope you will, my prince.”
And like an arrow released from a bow, Julian darted into the woods, away from the gaiety of the wedding party and into the tangled darkness, following his heart.
Aurelia had run into the woods with no plan, only the notion of trying to outrun the horrible pain in her chest and the sense of betrayal, of being duped by life again. She ran until the delicate white slippers on her feet tattered against the rough forest floor and the slapping branches had torn and rent the delicate cloth of her dress. She ran until the tears she had cried, the first since her mother’s death, had turned cold and vanished, leaving only the stains of their tracks on her cheeks. She ran until she could run no more, and fell prostrate on the ground, gasping for breath.
“Who’s there?”
A thin, reedy voice rang out through the trees and Aurelia started. She tried to pull herself up to run, but even if the voice belonged to a swordsman demanding her head she could not have taken one more step without a rest.
“I said, who’s there? I can hear you even if I can’t see you. Do the polite thing and make yourself known.”
There was the sound of twigs snapping underfoot, and then a small old man appeared at the edge of the clearing where Aurelia lay. Tired yet utterly defiant she raised her face to meet his blue gaze. She waited, yet he did not recoil, scream or curse her. Instead he stared patiently over her head as though waiting for an unseen signal.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said at last, “and there is certainly no honor in harming an old man. Who are you stranger, and will you join me in breaking my fast?”
“You are blind, aren’t you?” Aurelia wondered, her eyes still fixed on the old man’s face.
It crinkled into a smile at her words. “Ah, so you’ve decided to speak to me at last. Yes, my dear, and I hope you will not object to my presumption that you are a maid from the timber of your voice, I am, as you so bluntly put it, blind.” He held out one of his slightly gnarled hands and said, “To my friends, however, I am better known as Jack.”
Smiling at the old man’s infectious grin, Aurelia pulled herself upright and clasped his hand while giving an elegant little curtsy. “Delighted, sir. And I am Aurelia.”
“Excellent.” He tucked her arm under his own and sniffed the air. “Now if you will join me in following our noses, we should find ourselves back at my camp, perhaps even in time to save the bacon from burning!”
Between Jack’s cooking and easy manner, Aurelia quickly found herself in better and more rational spirits than she had been in before. He told her tales, stories from a misspent youth and engaging childhood, and yet demanded nothing in return that was not freely given. Soon, Aurelia found herself laughing as though that morning had been a bad dream, although the faint heaviness of her heart in her breast told her otherwise.
At last, having finished off the last of the bacon, as well as buckwheat pancakes, fresh honeycomb, and a rousing tale involving a wheelbarrow and a rooster, Jack asked the question she had been dreading. “If you don’t mind my asking, Miss Aurelia, what is a pretty girl like you doing out here?”
Aurelia searched for an answer she could give this little man, for she had no wish to lie to him after his hospitality. At last, she realized there was only one thing to say: the truth. “I was running away.”
“Ah,” he said as though everything had suddenly become clear. “And did you escape what you were running from?”
“I don’t know,” Aurelia admitted.
“Then perhaps,” he suggested pensively, his blind eyes peering into the fire, “you would do better to find something to run to.” When Aurelia said nothing, he continued. “There is a castle about an hour’s walk north into the woods. If you speak to the lady she may have some position for you- though it may be quite lowly.”
“I dare not,” Aurelia whispered, fear stirring in her stomach. “I cannot be seen.”
“Why not, my dear?”
Once more, Aurelia hesitated before answering. “My face… is scarred. It is Jane’s curse, my curse. I know they will shun me when they see me.”
The old man was silent for a moment before replying gently, “Perhaps you fear too much. For the young lady I have shared my fire with these past hours, whatever the shape of her face, is one of the most beautiful ladies of my acquaintance.” Reaching over, he fumbled for her hand, then gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Courage! Do not judge all men by the actions of a few.”
Trying to sound braver than she felt, Aurelia rose from her seat by the fire. “Very well, I will go to this castle of yours.” Her voice trembled a little at the end, and she raised her chin in spite of it.
“All the blessings be with you child,” Jack said. “Now get you north and it will be just beyond the ring of pine trees.”
“Thank you.” And with that, Aurelia took her first shaky steps towards rather than away.
Aurelia had been walking for an hour as the old man had said when she came at last to a circle of pines through which she could see the cool grey rock of the castle walls.
“I can do this,” Aurelia reminded herself as she walked up to the great wooden doors. “I am a princess of the blood, I have been trained to rule since my birth. I can do this.” Raising one hand, she knocked quickly.
The door creaked open and Aurelia found herself face to face with a liveried footman who was looking down his exceptionally long nose at her.
“Yes?” he sneered elegantly.
“I’m looking for work,” Aurelia whispered.
He evaluated her silently for a moment before saying, “Follow me.”
They walked through a twisty maze of passages that seemed to be heading always back and down, until at last he pushed open one final door and Aurelia found herself in the middle of a bustling kitchen. A large woman stood in the middle of the chaos, directing everything with surprising ease and checking each dish that was prepared before her.
“Madame Bradford,” the footman announced above the clatter, “your new scullery maid.”
The paunchy woman looked up and eyed Aurelia like she was fish being sold at the market. “You’re an ugly one, aren’t you dear? Well, if you are willing to work and take orders that’s good enough for me. There’s all manner of work you’ll be expected to do. Esme,” she nodded toward one of the kitchen girls who gave Aurelia a faint smile, “will show you the ropes. Don’t just stand there, girl. I’ve a meal to get out in two hours and no use for idle hands. Scat.”
Hurriedly, Aurelia scurried over to Esme who was chopping vegetables with a quick easy stroke. A few moments later, Aurelia found herself doing the same, if much less gracefully. “Is she always like that?” she whispered to Esme as soon as she was certain she would not be overheard.
“Oh, Madame is not that bad,” Esme whispered back with a laugh. “Her bark is worse than her bite. Why, when she thinks we won’t notice she even lays out scraps for Pilot, although she would kill us if we ever mentioned such a thing to her.”
“Who’s Pilot?”
“Watch your fingers,” Esme commanded as Aurelia came dangerously close to them with an awkward chop of her knife. “Pilot is the old watch dog. He must be twenty at least. The poor thing is covered in mange and can barely walk anymore, he spends most of his time sleeping in the sun in the courtyard. But he is such a dear. He was never a good watchdog because he loves everyone. But when I first came here and was dreadfully homesick he was my first and best friend. I shall always love him for that.”
As Esme continued to tell stories of Pilot, Aurelia felt a deep and insatiable longing for such a friendship, such a bond. She had never felt able to trust her ladies in waiting, with their pretty faces that she was sure scorned hers behind her back. They had never been able to look her in the face, in the eye, her scar was too great for that. Only with Blanche had she felt that bond of camaraderie, but Blanche was an enchantress, and could not be expected to act like ordinary people.
“I wish Pilot would let me be his friend,” Aurelia sighed, a little wistfully.
“Of course he will,” Esme said staunchly. “Any friend of mine is a friend of Pilot’s, and any friend of Pilot’s is a friend of mine.”
“Do you mean it?” Aurelia asked breathlessly.
Esme looked perplexed. “Well, of course I do. Now, pass me some of the carrots from your pile so we can get out of here that much faster.”
Julian ran headlong through the forest, hoping that he was going in the proper direction, but knowing deep down that he was hopelessly lost. At last, he paused, head bent, panting for breath, bracing his hands on his knees. Glancing up, into the endless sea of brown and green he suddenly spied a pale flash flutter through the trees.
“Aurelia,” he cried bursting after it, before suddenly colliding with a small man who had appeared between the trees.
“Easy now, son,” the man said as he and Julian braced against each other to keep their balance. “No need to run like you’re being hunted.”
“I saw… something… pale… through the… trees.” Julian gasped breathlessly.
The small man’s smile lit up. “Well that’s no mystery, son.” He whistled sharply. “Come here Dolores,” he said fondly as a small grey donkey picked her way delicately towards them, “we have company.”
Julian’s face fell as he saw the specter he had been chasing. “A donkey,” he said with disgust. “Not Aurelia at all, just an ugly old donkey.” He buried his head in his hands.
Meanwhile, the small man frowned with disapproval at Julian’s words.
“Now, I know Dolores might not win any beauty prizes,” he scolded mildly, “but she has a heart of gold and has stood by me and done many a day’s honest work unlike any fancy mare you might bring with a more noble pedigree. She can’t help her looks anymore than you or I, and I would hate for you to be hasty and judge her by them.”
Julian opened his mouth to reply, recalling some of the finest stallions in his father’s stable who were surely worth more than the scrappy slip of a donkey standing before him, when he suddenly remembered the look on Aurelia’s face that morning as he had stepped away. For a moment he fancied he could see that same hurt look upon the doleful grey face in front of him now and he bit his tongue.
Pulling himself to attention, he swept his grandest bow to the bemused little donkey, saying, “Demoiselle Dolores, I am greatly distressed if my words caused you any undue pain or suffering. Please accept my sincerest apologies, for I am certain you are indeed the best and bravest of donkeys.”
Dolores blew a raspberry on Julian’s shirt by way of a response.
The small man looked amused. “You’d best remember that lesson, son. Not all donkeys are as forgiving as Dolores, here. Nor people, for that matter.”
Julian chuckled, although there was little mirth in it. “I know. I am afraid I have already hurt someone very much by being careless.”
“Do you care for this person?”
“I would give her the moon if I could,” Julian pledged.
The man rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “The moon is not very practical, son. Give her something more precious. Give her your heart, instead.” Suddenly the small man’s eyes twinkled with laughter. “If you apologize as prettily as you did to Dolores here, she might even accept it.”
“Thank you,” Julian said gratefully. “Now, I only have to find her. I must be off again.”
“Good luck. May you find her sooner than you hoped.”
“Goodbye, Dolores,” Julian said giving the donkey a fond rub between the ears. “I will remember you wherever I go.”
Dolores said nothing, but slobbered a bit on his hand in a friendly way. She and the small man stood side by side and watched as Julian was once more swallowed up by the forest.
“Aurelia!” Julian called. He was wandering aimlessly now, he had given up running long ago when he realized he didn’t even know which direction to run. “Aurelia!”
“Who?”
Julian jumped, and suddenly noticed he had walked right past what appeared to be a bundle of rags or particularly ill made scarecrow curled up at the base of a big oak tree. A wizened old face peered up at him from under a floppy brimmed hat, and repeated its question. “Who?”
“Forgive me, madam, but have you seen anyone go past these parts?” Julian asked courteously.
The woman squinted at him. “I might have done. Who are you looking for?”
“Aurelia. She’s a beautiful girl with…” Julian hesitated over how to tactfully describe the red birthmark.
But the woman cut him off. “Don’t go chasing beautiful girls, young man. They’re not worth it and it always ends the same. I should know. I was a beautiful girl once, though you wouldn’t tell it to look at me now.”
Julian tried to make some polite demurral, but the woman continued talking.
“I was the prettiest girl in my town, and even in the towns surrounding my town. Young men would come from miles to see me, to give me flowers, to hope for a single kind word from my mouth. I received hundreds of marriage proposals, but none of them were good enough. One was too poor, another too fat. This one too slim, and that one too short. Vain as I was, I scorned them all, until one day I found I had chased all my suitors away. Not only that, but I was older then, and no longer as pretty as I had been. The men who had wooed me were all comfortably married to plainer, kinder wives, and I was left alone with only my pride to support me. Do not place your pride or trust in beauty, young man, for it fades from all late or soon.”
“I will remember that, madam,” Julian said impatiently. “But I must find the girl, I must find Aurelia. Where did she go?”
The woman eyed him speculatively before lifting a bony arm. “Chase her if you must, then. You would do well to try the castle. All who wander lost in these woods wind up there eventually.”
Glancing up, Julian could make out a grey form between the trees. “Thank you,” he called as he sprinted towards the towering stone walls behind which, he hoped, he would find his Aurelia.
Julian knocked impatiently on the great wooden gate of the castle, hoping beyond hope that he would find Aurelia at last.
A stiff looking footman opened the door and Julian immediately blurted out, “I am seeking a lady, Aurelia. Is she here?”
The footman stared at him impassively, then gave the slightest of bows and said, “I will take you to the lady.”
Julian’s heart sang with excitement and anticipation as the footman led him through the twisted halls of the castle. Opening the door to a grand looking room, the footman bowed him inside announcing, “A visitor, my lady.”
The most beautiful woman Julian had ever seen rose gracefully from her chair by the fire. Her long raven black hair fell like silk around the perfect ivory circle of her face. Her lips were rosy, full, and soft and her eyes sparkled like emeralds from beneath long, dark lashes. She gave a silvery laugh that was sweeter than tinkling of bells and said in a voice that was as soft and pure as a nightingale’s song, “A noble visitor indeed. What brings so handsome a prince to my humble home?”
For moment Julian was speechless. At last he recovered the use of his wits and his tongue. “I am seeking a maiden, your ladyship,” he stammered at last.
Her features hardened a bit at this declaration before smoothing out once more. “Oh no, please, call me Dulcinea.”
“I am Julian.” For a moment Julian wished he could say something witty, something to impress her. “Prince Julian.”
She laughed again in her perfect, silvery voice. “Julian. What a delightful name. Must you really go chasing maidens all across the forest, Julian? I know that I should not run from such a handsome man as yourself.” She glanced at him coyly from under her lashes.
“I have to find her,” Julian protested weakly. “I made a mistake, you see. It was my fault that she ran away. If she’s not here I should go. I need to keep searching.”
A petulant look settled on Dulcinea’s face, giving Julian the fleeting impression that she was not used to her wishes being set aside. “Oh, very well then,” she pouted. “But you might at least stay for dinner. You have to eat anyway, and I know you wouldn’t be so rude as to reject my hospitality.”
“Well,” Julian hesitated. “I suppose I could stay for supper.”
Dulcinea’s high spirits returned in a flash. “Good,” she cried clapping her hands with delight. “And perhaps I can find more reasons to convince you to stay.”
Her hand curled possessively around his arm, Julian found himself being escorted to the banqueting hall by the most bewitching woman he had ever seen.
The kitchen was buzzing with activity as the final touches were being placed on the dinner. Aurelia tried to help, following Esme’s patient directions as the hurried to finish the last of the loaves of bread.
Pulling the last golden brown loaf from the oven, Aurelia laughed, wiping her floury hands across her face and leaving a series of white streaks. She had changed into an old grey dress Esme had lent her, with an old wide apron covering the skirt. It was far more practical than the ruined wedding dress, and more comfortable as well in the hot and crowded kitchen. Her hair was pinned up at the nape of her neck, keeping it well out of the food. But Aurelia was still shy about the birthmark on her cheek, so Esme had produced a large blue kerchief which she wrapped around Aurelia’s head and tied under her chin. It shadowed the sides of her face, and for a moment, Aurelia felt she could hardly recognize herself.
“Esme,” Madam Bradford snapped, suddenly appearing before them. “Madeline’s just spilled the soup all down her front. I’ll need you to serve her ladyship. Take the new girl with you. She can carry the smaller things.”
Esme whitened a bit at the proclamation but her voice was steady as she replied, “Yes, madam.”
As soon as Madam Bradford had walked away Esme turned to Aurelia. “Be very careful,” she warned.
“Yes, of course, but why?”
“Her ladyship,” Esme whispered softly as she picked up the heavy silver tureen of soup, “has a dreadful temper. Stay out of her way, Aurelia, for she can make your life a misery.”
Silently, the two girls walked up the stairs, laden with the first course of the sumptuous meal. The banqueting hall was huge, yet only two people sat at the polished table. Aurelia glanced up at the lady and suddenly found that she could not look away. This was what she had always wanted to be, a beauty so flawless as the lady, a beauty who could bewitch your heart with a single glance. The slightest of wistful sighes escaped Aurelia’s lips.
Esme glanced back as she heard Aurelia sigh, and at that moment, one of Dulcinea’s little pet dogs ran up to her feet to beg for a treat. Esme stumbled, and the heavy tureen dropped from her hands to land right at the feet of the lady Dulcinea.
“You careless oaf!” Dulcinea shrieked as she jumped to her feet. “You’ve ruined my gown and my supper!” She raised one of her dainty hands and slapped Esme sharply across her face. “I’ll have you beaten for that!”
Aurelia stared astonished as Dulcinea raised her hand again. She was terrified of this beautiful lady, terrified of drawing her attention to her own imperfect self. Terrified of showing her face to this paragon of exquisiteness. Yet, it was Esme who was cowering from the blow. Esme who had helped her, Esme who had declared herself to be Aurelia’s friend no matter the disfigurement of her face. Esme who had once more opened Aurelia’s heart if only the slightest crack.
Enough. Aurelia threw down the bowls she had been holding and flew in front of Esme, catching Dulcinea’s blow upon her upraised arm. “No,” she said firmly, staring the lady in the eye.
“Why you filthy, ugly guttersnipe,” Dulcinea hissed, rage mottling her pretty features. “I’ll have you both beaten for your insubordinance.”
Julian, who had been watching the scene unfold in shock quickly pulled himself together. “Enough!” he roared, moving to stand between Dulcinea and her servants. “That is enough, my lady. It was an accident. Nothing more.”
Dulcinea’s eyes flashed at his words. “You would take their side over mine? They are nothing but lowly servants. I am the lady here,” she stamped her foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “You should love me.”
“Love you?” Julian laughed. “You may be beautiful, my lady, but you are cruel. The heart of this serving girl,” he gestured behind him, “is far more beautiful than that of your own, and I would rather have her love than yours for it is a more precious thing.”
And then a very strange thing happened. Dulcinea smiled and said in a voice far older than the silvery one she had used earlier, “Well spoken, my prince. Well spoken indeed.” Before their eyes she transformed until it was no longer the beautiful lady who stood before them, but a grey haired woman with soft, gentle eyes.
“You,” Julian breathed as he recognized Blanche, the Enchantress. “But I have not found her yet.”
Blanche smiled softly. “You have found more than you know, my prince.” Walking over to the girl standing astonished in front of Esme she gently loosened the kerchief from her head. “And you have run a long way, my child. But you stood your ground today. Are you yet prepared to see what life and this good young prince have to offer?”
“I am still afraid of being hurt,” Aurelia confessed softly. “But I have learned that life holds many friends along the way. I cannot run from everyone. I will not.”
“Then you have learned a great deal indeed,” Blanche confirmed. “Now, come children. Have you nothing to say to each other?”
With a shout of joy, Julian sprang toward Aurelia as though he had been released from a spell. “I am sorry,” he said. “I should never have been so careless. I already knew the beauty of your heart. I am sorry.”
At the same time, Aurelia protested, “I should not have doubted you. I am sorry; I should not have let myself be so afraid to love you. I should not have run. I am sorry.”
Laughing, they held each other as though they would never let go, and Aurelia felt her heart open wide at last, flooded with love for Julian.
Hand in hand they returned home, only three days after they had gone into the woods to find themselves. The wedding was held with all due pomp and circumstance although some of the guests grumbled about the delay. But everyone agreed there was no more radiant and loving a couple that had ever been joined in matrimony.
Julian and Aurelia ruled their kingdom wisely and well. And although the princess’ face remained scarred, no one seemed to notice it anymore. All anyone could see was the love Julian had for his queen and the love she had for him shining out from her face, and that, it was widely agreed, made it the most beautiful one in the land.
And so it was that Jane’s curse, born from hatred, neglect, and despair was overturned by two people who learned to see not with their eyes, but with their hearts. And what they found there was more beautiful than anything else in the world: love.
And so they lived- happily ever after.
“…Happily ever after,” Hermione concluded softly. Reaching up, she brushed a stray curl of sandy hair off Rosie’s small sleeping face. “Good night, pet,” she whispered, placing a gentle kiss on the small cheek.
Rising from the bed, she joined Draco where he leaned against the doorframe, watching their daughter sleep. “Ready for bed?”
The soft words startled Draco back to reality, and he quickly dimmed the lights in the room, checking to make sure the nightlight was burning gently. As he and Hermione settled back into their own bed, he rolled over to whisper, “Was it really necessary to turn me into a princess?”
Hermione giggled mischievously. “I wondered if you would notice. Besides, you make a lovely damsel in distress.”
“Yes, you certainly are distressing me right now,” Draco retorted. “But fortunately I’m the magnanimous type.”
“Draco,” Hermione murmured sleepily. “Shut up.”
“Yes, your highness,” Draco said, pulling her close. He held her in the silence, listening to the beat of her heart next to his. “Hermione,” he whispered softly, “I love you.”
She nestled closer to him. “I love you, too.”
And that was happily ever after enough for him.
On ne Voit Bien qu'avec le Coeur by coppercurls
Chapter Notes:"On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. L'essentiel est invisible pour les yeux."
"It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye"
Antione de Saint Exupery, "Le Petit Prince"