Teresa Milbrodt, Fictioneer

The Prince Frog

What he missed the most were his green legs–they were spindly, sure, and French chefs salivated when they saw him, but those magnificent muscles had propelled him into the air so wonderfully high, it was almost like flying. Since the enchantment had been broken his joints were stiff and achy, and the palace magicians had to remind him about the sad life expectancy of frogs. Even the largest and hardiest toads didn’t live long. He was left with the eternal dilemma–a short life of freedom or a long life of boredom. He was sure he’d chosen wrongly.

Why had he asked for that kiss from the princess? Sure she was pretty, but not really his type. She liked music and astronomy, didn’t care about horses, and said heights made her ill. There went his trips to the mountains. She made him listen to his horoscope every day at breakfast, and she was a vegetarian who gave him stern looks when he brought home rabbits and pheasant. Sometimes she didn’t even dine with him and his royal parents because she said the stench of blood made her ill.

His mother smiled tightly and said the girl was a delicate creature, many princesses were like that. Everyone at court thought she was odd, but they were too polite to say it to his face. He said it alone in his room, when she was in the garden with her telescopes and tutors. He wanted her to run away with some rogue astronomer, then he could return to the dark forest and find the right fairy, evil or not, pleading for the spell to turn his legs supple and spindly again. His end might come sooner than it might have otherwise, but it would be happy.

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I’m going to have another funky fairy-tale-ish story in an upcoming anthology of stories about fairies, titled Wee Folk and Wise. More on that soon!