The Fair Enchantress
written by Clarissa & Heather
(Clarissa)
“I’m here, as you were warned, to steal your most valuable possession, King Valant.”
The woman’s dark blue eyes and pearly white teeth glinted as she made this bold announcement. The king wanted to scoff, but felt rooted to his chair. The royal court leaned forward to listen to her every word as she held out her hand to the astonished royal family. It was all exactly according to plan. “Come to me, Prince Otto,” she beckoned imperiously.
To everyone’s surprise, including his own, the strong, young prince got out of his chair and started walking over to her.
“Don’t actually go!” the queen begged.
“What are you doing, your highness?!” the courtiers clamored.
“Otto!” his father boomed. “Sit down!”
“I can’t! I have no choice!” The prince squeaked in bewildered panic as he joined the beautiful woman in the centre of the throne room.
“No, he doesn’t,” she confirmed, grinning and putting her arms around him. “He’s mine now. And he will stay under my power until you are willing to negotiate, your majesty.”
“You-- you witch!” King Valant spat.
“Enchantress,” the woman corrected him. “There’s a difference.” She took a moment to look around the room, thoroughly enjoying everyone’s helpless confusion. “Well... we’ll be in touch,” she said, and began laughing. And, leaving behind the echoes of her mischievous laugh, the two of them vanished.
Prince Otto and his captor promptly reappeared under a grape arbor in a sunny garden. The enchantress stopped laughing.
“You know, what he said wasn’t really funny,” she confided, dusting her hands. “But I always feel like I need to laugh to make the best impression.” She began walking down a pebble path that led to a snug cottage with a thatched roof. “Come along, sweet prince.”
The prince followed her into the cottage, unable to make his feet move anywhere else. The cottage seemed normal enough. No cauldrons or bats. He shut the door behind him. She walked toward the kitchen. “Now what, my lady?” he plucked up the courage to ask.
“Now we wait. You don’t have to look so pale, you know. I’m not going to torture you,” She was tying her golden hair up in a knot, but turned to wink at him. “At least, not in any conventional ways.”
“Are you going to seduce me?” Prince Otto took a step backward, blushing. Barely turned twenty-one, he was a pure prince at best, inexperienced at least.
The enchantress put her hands on her hips indignantly. “Now, see here! There’s a lot more to an enchantress’ work than corrupting people, I’ll have you know! Why does every man think I’m going to seduce him?”
Probably because you put your arms around them and say they’re yours, the prince thought bitterly, but, not wanting to appear hostile, said aloud, “Because you’re so beautiful.”
She smiled. “Well, thank you for the compliment, but no, that’s not why you’re here.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why am I here?”
“You haven’t done anything wrong yourself, so I suppose you have the right to know,” the enchantress shrugged, lifting an apron off a hook on the wall and tying it around her silky purple dress. “Have a seat while you listen. Would you like some lunch?”
“I would love some lunch,” the prince answered politely. “I am quite starving.”
She chuckled. “They always have to give those long speeches before midday meals, don’t they?”
“And by the time we get to the food, it’s gone cold,” Prince Otto agreed dolefully.
His captor took out a griddle and placed it on the stove. “Well, my dear, I was hired to teach your father a lesson, and this is how we’re doing it. You are to be my hostage until your father is willing to listen to reason. I think I’ll make pancakes for lunch.”
“For lunch?!”
“Don’t you like the idea? I have some fresh strawberries from the garden to go with them. You like the idea, don’t you?”
Prince Otto found himself unable to disagree, even though blueberries were actually his favorite. “Strawberries sound lovely.”
“Good!” She began mixing the batter, humming pleasantly. Her hostage glanced out the open window, and at the latch of the unlocked back door. Neither his hands nor feet were tied. Her back was even turned. He was fast on his feet, and there was plenty of daylight left.
“Um, why can’t I run away?” Otto asked plaintively from his chair. “Why am I so--”
“Enchanted by me?” His captor finished with a mischievous grin.
“I was going to say obedient.”
“Get used to it. Not a single person has broken out of my spell since my school days.”
The prince frowned and adjusted his place on the chair. Time for another strategy. “Who hired you, my lady enchantress?” he asked.
“Now, now, if you don’t know who they are, they won’t have to kill you if things go south.” She blew on the palm of her hand and easily lit the stove with a small roar of blue flames.
Prince Otto gulped. “Okay! Next question. Why hold a prince hostage? Don’t people usually abduct princesses?”
The enchantress shrugged again. “Your family doesn’t have any princesses. We had to improvise.”
“And...” the question that was worrying him the most. “What if my father doesn’t listen to reason?”
She buzzed her lips rather like a horse-- if that horse was a graceful, feminine horse, that is. “Of course he’ll listen. With a cute little son like you, who wouldn’t?” Pancakes sizzled on the griddle.
He didn’t like that. “Little... son...” he muttered. “You can’t be any older than I am!”
With a laugh, she flipped the pancakes over. “I appreciate your saying so, but... Enchantresses can live for a very long time, my dear.”
“How-- how old are you?” he ventured to ask.
“Oh, a gentleman never asks, and a lady never tells.” She placed the steaming pancakes on two plates and loaded them with strawberries.
“That makes for a boring conversation.”
“Only where age is concerned.” She sat down across from him at the little dining table and smiled charmingly. “Would you like a dollop of whipped cream, your highness?”
“Yes, please.” Prince Otto accepted it politely, and resigned himself to eating breakfast for lunch.
(Heather)
Poor Prince Otto did not have time to take his first bite of his syrup-dripping pancake before there was a crash and the back door opened with a bang. The explosive crack was forceful enough to knock the young prince off his chair, sending him sprawling onto the floor. He looked up in surprise to see a tall, dark man enter the room. His black hair was slicked back and tied at the nape of his neck, revealing startlingly violet eyes. He swept into the kitchen, flourishing his velvety emerald cape in a delicate, almost feminine manner.
“What? Are you serving pancakes, my dear? Is this the best you could do for our honored guests?” The man’s voice was full and musical, almost as though it could cast a spell on any ears it touched.
“Roland!” the enchantress cried angrily, her hands on her hips. “What in willow’s name are you doing here? How dare you come pouncing into my home, frightening my guest.”
At this, the man turned and looked at the prince, who rather wished that the enchantress had not brought him to the strange man’s attention.
“My apologies, fair lady,” the man said, with a deep bow, “but, I am here on assignment as well.” With that he turned his head toward the doorway, encouraging the two to follow his gaze. Cowering behind the doorframe was a slight young woman with a tear-stained face. She had rosy cheeks, and her eyes were still bright and shining with unspent tears.
“Princess Beatrice,” the young prince stuttered, as he clumsily pulled himself from off the floor. “Are you a captive as well?”
“Y-y-yes,” she said in a quavering voice, still hiding behind the doorframe. “This man abducted me against my will, and I didn’t even want to go with him! He just popped into the hall, grabbed hold of my arm, made some grand speech to Papa, and whisked me away! And we were about to dine on apricots and pheasant!”
As she approached the last of her speech, the princess appeared to grow more indignant with the inconvenience of her situation, for she stomped her little foot in a petulant manner.
The enchantress raised a delicate eyebrow. “Since we are all here,” she said, looking pointedly at Roland, “let us all enjoy a luncheon of pancakes. Please make yourselves at home.” She stoically gestured them all toward the table.
“Pancakes for lunch?” Princess Beatrice questioned incredulously, but before the irritated lady of the house could respond the young prince escorted the young woman to the seat next to his.
As the four delved into the steaming stack of pancakes, conversation around the table was temporarily halted. The vibrantly red strawberries, plucked fresh and wet from the enchantress’s own garden that morning, were impossibly sweet, and their juices drizzled down more than one chin at that table.
Finally as bellies were full and chairs were pushed away slightly from the table to allow for more comfortable breathing space, the enchantress again turned toward the dark man who had so suddenly disturbed her luncheon.
“Come now, Roland,” she said in a satisfied, languid tone, “you must tell me the meaning of this young lady’s presence in my home.”
“Gladly, my dear,” Roland said, eyeing the two young captives. Steepling his long fingers together, he began his tale. “About one week ago I was approached by a man of great wealth and consequence in regards to a dispute he was embroiled in with his neighbor. This man was under the persuasion that he was being wronged in the ability to access property adjoining his own. When I enquired as to why this piece of property was so desirable to him, he refused to be specific, saying only that it was worth far more than any kingdom on this earth. I asked why he was unable to access this land. He exclaimed with great feeling that the value of the property, or rather what was hidden on the property, was not only known to him. Every time he sent his men in to search out the depths of the woods, they would come across the men of his neighbor doing the same. They would come to blows, neither side progressing far and apparently neither side discovering the whereabouts of this hidden treasure. Both men argued that the piece of land belonged to them, and was their right to explore unhindered. Neither man would budge, neither side would give up the chance of discovering this great treasure.”
At this, Roland paused for a moment, letting the words of his story swirl around the room like a vapor of unease.
“There are woods adjacent to our kingdom’s land,” Prince Otto spoke softly, stirring the swirling unease with additional expected agitation. “My father has been sending regular regiments of men past our borders for the past month. I have seen him conferring with his head captain on multiple occasions in hushed tones.”
“I as well,” Princess Beatrice piped in. “Papa has gone quite distracted of late. Why just yesterday I am sure I talked to him for at least a quarter hour without him hearing a single word I uttered! And I had such news to share, too. I just learned from my cousin Penelope that my gowns’ sleeves are no longer de haute couture and the neckline is all wrong! Only imagine my horror that I should be seen without the proper embellishments to my wardrobe! Why, the kingdom quite looks to me for the standard of dress. How could I possibly be seen in designs so de passe’! However, Mama said I could order an entire new wardrobe, so I was happy again.”
The enchantress looked at the princess with an expression impossible to describe. She opened her mouth to respond, then thinking better of it, closed it again and looked back toward Roland. “Please continue, Roland,” she said silkily. “I am all anticipation as to where this story shall end.”
“Of course, my Fair One, I shall no longer keep you in suspense,” he said genially. “I was commissioned to help inspire this neighbor to give up the rights to the property in question. In short, I was to capture the delicate and petit innocente Princess Beatrice in hopes to persuade the relinquishment of the hidden treasure.”
“And who, might I ask, sir, was the benefactor of your vile mission?” Prince Otto spluttered.
“Why, your father, King Valant of course!” Roland laughed out loud.
(Clarissa)
The enchantress laughed a low, throaty sound while looking at her colleague. “And did he also send you here in hopes of returning his son to him?”
“Indeed he did,” Roland said, winking. “Panic to the extreme, so I rushed to our prince’s side.”
“It makes sense. That leaves me with just one question, then,” she leaned toward Roland, eyes twinkling dangerously.
Prince Otto thought he knew what was coming next and braced himself for an onslaught of powerful magic.
“Why didn’t you knock?!” The enchantress surprised them all by yanking on Roland’s sleek ponytail.
“Ow, ow, ow! The hair is off limits, Mag!”
“So is bursting into my house uninvited!”
“Mag?!” Prince Otto repeated in disbelief.
“It’s a stupid nickname, don’t you dare repeat it!” she snapped.
Roland pulled his hair free. “Like ‘Marguerite’ is any better of a name!”
The enchantress raised an eyebrow. “Hmph. Better than ‘Roly-Poly!’”
“Hey, that’s mean!” Roland’s arms instinctively went to hug his sides which were not always so trim.
“Aren’t you missing the point?” Prince Otto interrupted their childish squabble. “If you were both hired from opposite sides, and you both want me as your prisoner--”
“Just to return you safely!” Roland protested.
“--Then doesn’t that make you enemies?” Otto finished.
Both enchanters stopped and looked at him in faint surprise.
“Oh, come now,” Marguerite said, folding her arms. “That’s nothing new. We’ve always been enemies.”
“Since the first day of school,” Roland agreed. “Spit wads and flaming paper airplanes.”
“I thought you were lovers,” Princess Beatrice said around an extra strawberry.
Both enchanters stopped to look at her. Prince Otto braced himself again. Enchantress Marguerite gave a shrill laugh.
“Lo-- ha, ha, ha! How droll! Roland!” She now grabbed his ear in a vice-like grip. “You have your own house, keep the snippet-of-a-princess there next time!”
“Snippet?” Princess Beatrice echoed, affronted.
“Don’t interrupt,” the enchantress said, holding one stern finger out to the princess.
“But, Maggie my dear,” Roland wheedled, head tilted to avoid pain. “The king said it was urgent!”
“Oh yes, so urgent you had to burst in here and eat four helpings of pancakes! See if I ever feed you again!”
“My dear, you love me too much not to feed me.” Roland grinned, turning on the old charm. It was only about 20% of his most powerful charming ability, but it still could have melted butter. The lady fair was unimpressed. She glared and let go of his ear, stepping back.
“This has gone on long enough.” Her hands clenched into fists and caught fire like the heads of two matches.
“Finally, some action!” Roland bounced forward and a wave of water flew from his fingertips and down to extinguish his rival’s flames. She was soaked instantly. Marguerite shivered slightly and then zapped him with the ions in the water, making his hair frizz dramatically.
“Again with the hair!” Roland snarled, sending a sheet of ice under her feet. “I warned you it was off limits!”
Marguerite jumped over the table gracefully and landed on her feet behind Prince Otto. Pulling a gleaming knife out and placing it over his throat, she said, “As much as I love our little spats, Roland, I’ve got work to do. Shall we go, Prince Otto?”
“Don’t hurt him!” Princess Beatrice screeched, flapping her tiny hands.
“Where are you going to run to?” Roland drawled, shaking the ice off his fingertips. “There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”
The ruby on the knife handle glinted. “Overconfidence is unattractive, Roland.”
“Maybe we can talk about this?” Prince Otto suggested. “You don’t have to fight over me!”
“Don’t we? I’ve got money waiting on this.”
“Please, let’s not fight!” Beatrice cried.
“Yes, Mag, put the nice prince down.”
“Otto,” Marguerite said into his ear. “Run as fast as you can.”
“Where?”
“Out this door, naturally.” The enchantress opened a door behind them that had appeared only a moment before.
Leaving his hope of freedom, his friend, and the frightening servant of his father behind, Prince Otto ran through the new door-- unwillingly, but as fast as he could. It was pitch black for a bit, and then he very nearly ran into a pine branch. Green needles combed his tawny hair. He looked back to see Marguerite wave her hands and make the black-cloud-surrounded-door disappear entirely.
“Where are we now?” he asked his fair captor.
The enchantress sighed and wrung out one of her soaked sleeves. “We are in those woods you mentioned-- that coveted piece of land between your country and the next.” She looked up with a smile. “Shall we see what all the fuss is about?”
(Heather)
Prince Otto looked around him in surprise. First he had been whisked away from his home in a flurry of smoke and mystique and found himself in a strange little home with even stranger company. And then he had been plunged back through a magical portal to end up less than five miles from his home, all under the power of a beautiful enchantress. This day could not possibly get any more strange.
“I have no idea what we are even looking for,” he said, panic tinged with irritation starting to rise up in his voice. “How can we find something we know nothing about?”
“There now, young prince,” the enchantress cooed in a syrupy voice, making Otto feel like a blustering child. “I think we will know it when we find it. Besides,” she added with a wink, “I have a few more tricks up these sleeves.”
Prince Otto didn’t question his captor as she rooted around on the forest floor, looking for something. He didn’t know whether he should be trying to help this woman or foil her intentions. He couldn’t decide whether discovering the treasure would be a benefit to his father or not. The treasure must be of incredible worth, otherwise King Valant and Princess Beatrice’s father King Stewart wouldn’t have gone to such great lengths to discover it. Finally he came to a decision. It was far better to be close to the one in possession of the treasure, for he may have the opportunity to take it from the enchantress in his father’s name.
Suddenly Marguerite the Enchantress popped up from behind a hedge covered in yellow leaves which had fallen from the neighboring trees. “A-hah!” she said in triumph. In her hand she held up a curved stick which had a forked end shaped like a “V.”
“What?” Prince Otto asked. “Is the stick magic?”
Plucking a handful of leaves from her hair, the enchantress looked at the prince with an air of incredulity. “No, silly! This is just a stick!”
“But what are you going to do with it?” he asked.
“You shall see,” she said mysteriously, then walking over to an ancient fir tree, she plucked some green moss from its branches and wound it around the forked end of her stick. Holding her free hand in the shape of a ball, the enchantress started to mutter words which the prince could not decipher. A misty cloud formed upon her palm and she blew onto the mist, making it spark white and then gold. As she continued to mutter and blow, the cloud grew larger and began swirling faster and faster, causing great crackles as sparks erupted periodically from its center. The enchantress blew one more large breath and the swirling cloud jumped onto the moss at the end of the stick. There were more sparks and pops as the mist enveloped the moss, causing it to swirl along with the cloud, until finally the swirling mass looked like a glowing golden orb.
“A torch?” Prince Otto exclaimed. “You went to all that work for a torch?”
“This is not just any old torch, my young friend,” the enchantress explained. “This is a specialized treasure detector, or more particularly it detects gold. The closer the torch is to gold, the whiter the flame will glow.”
“Impressive,” the prince nodded in approval. “Lead the way.”
The enchantress swung the golden torch in a wide slow circle, trying to detect any direction in which the flame may be brighter. When finally she turned toward a dark thicket of dense trees, the prince was convinced it had to be right. Of course the treasure would be hidden in the deepest, darkest part of the forest.
Prince Otto followed the enchantress through the trees, giving her time to swing her torch this way and that, following where the light grew the brightest. Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the two reached a strange outcropping of rocks. As they drew nearer, the prince could see that the rocks were placed in a large circle, with steps leading down to a flat platform low in the center. It looked like an amphitheater, but the prince could not imagine what group of people would have met this deep in the woods. There were stone statues of creatures resting in odd places around the circle. Some were balanced on rocks, sitting crouched on all fours, while others stood erect next to the crude stairs. Their faces were grisly and frightening, with ferocious looking eyes and large teeth. The prince was glad that they were only made of stone, and not of flesh.
By this point the torch’s light was so white hot it burned the prince’s eyes to look in its direction. The treasure had to be here somewhere. In slow and silky movements the enchantress wove her way down the steps, moving around the silent sentinels, her torch growing brighter and hotter every moment.
Finally Marguerite reached the platform at the bottom of the circle. She moved toward the very center and squatted low, looking intently at the ground. She gave a soft chuckle, stood up, and then touched the torch to the stone floor, where it immediately erupted in sparks.
“Gotcha,” she said in a low voice. Tossing the torch aside, she swept her arms in a giant circle and cried, “Panta a’ amin ar’ elea lle dolen!” She then threw her arms toward the center of the platform. A penetrating surge of energy pulsed in the circle and with an enormous crack the stone broke in two.
Prince Otto hardly had time to wonder at what had just happened before total chaos ensued. Upon the ear-splitting crack of the platform, the stone statues began to crumble. Great chunks of stone fell to the earth, but what remained was even more of a nightmare. The stone sentinels were no longer lifeless statues, but hideous creatures in the flesh. Their eyes were piercing, their teeth were gnashing, and their hairy bodies rippled in muscles.
“Run, prince!” the enchantress called in alarm.
But before Prince Otto could respond, a flash and flurry of purple smoke sailed into the clearing of the circle. Roland emerged from the hazy smoke and took three giant steps toward the enchantress, his hands extended.
“Marguerite!” he called, a look of fear and determination on his handsome face.
The enchantress’s panic-stricken face melted into relief as she ran toward Roland, holding him in a tight embrace. Then just as quickly she pushed herself out of his arms and gave him a slap on the chest.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, exasperated.
“You aren’t the only one with tricks up their sleeves,” Roland smirked. But then his eyes grew serious. “Now let’s get rid of these creatures, shall we?”
The enchanter and the enchantress turned back to back, ready to face their attackers together.
(Clarissa)
Otto dove to the ground as magic and monsters raged in a battle all around him. Growls and singing sparks ripped through the air, and as he dared to glance up, he knew there was nowhere to run. He had two fleeting thoughts as he tried to crawl behind a large chunk of the broken stone. First, that he was glad that Roland hadn’t brought Beatrice to the fight, and second, that this was the most unsightly, unfortunate, and humiliating day he had ever had.
His third thought was more lingering. It occurred to him as he stamped out the fire that had suddenly caught on the cuff of his left sleeve. He really should have studied magic. He had studied swordsmanship (he dodged as a hairy beast nearly fell down on top of him), but that was useless if a man didn’t have his sword in his hand.
The chunk of stone he was hiding behind exploded from a stray shot of Marguerite’s, and the poor, helpless prince flinched with his hands covering his head. Then he looked up and saw it: a bright glint in the rubble, just out of his reach. He inched forward, brushed off the gravel, and pulled on what looked like a golden handle. It came free, and he got up to his knees, lifting it into the air.
It was a large golden spoon, shorter than his forearm and curved at the bowl, but not quite like a ladle. Otto held it aloft, at a loss for words. A snarling wolf-bear caught sight of it and lunged toward him, jaws open wide. The prince swung the spoon and landed a square hit on the side of the creature’s face. He didn’t expect it to do much, but the wolf-bear didn’t get up again. Its entire body had become featureless, like a puddle of mush.
All the beasts, who had been mainly ignoring him before, stopped for a fraction of a second, and rushed toward Otto and his spoon. He yelped and fought them off in the same manner. Marguerite and Roland came to his aid, but the spoon proved to be more effective. If Otto hit a creature, it would sag to the ground as if made of pudding. Some even became a light and fluffy consistency.
“Where did you get that?” Roland yelled over the fray.
“It was under there!” Otto yelled back, pointing to the broken stone.
After zapping a tigerish beast with a ball of white flame, Marguerite gasped with both hands over her mouth. “It’s the Golden Spoon! The legendary artifact that will cream anything in a single stroke! No wonder King Valant wanted it!”
Roland agreed, and was struck with an idea. “That’s incredible. He could make an entire vat of butter in a second!”
While they were extolling the spoon’s virtues, Otto had beaten the last of the beasts in an anticlimactic finish. Exhausted, he dropped back to his knees and let the heavy spoon hit the ground. The stones beneath him turned to a gray powder, and he sank down a few inches. Otto let go of the spoon in a hurry.
“Nicely done, Prince,” Roland patted his back. “You found the treasure and defeated the guardian beasts! We helped, of course, but you only need to mention us nicely when you tell your father the story.”
Marguerite crouched down by the stone and started digging around where Otto had uncovered the spoon.
“My dear, why are you dirtying your lovely hands? Hoping to find a legendary whisk as well?” Roland leaned over her in a picturesque pose.
“As a matter of fact,” she retorted. “That golden spoon was originally part of a set, and I thought that maybe-- just maybe!-- they might be buried together.”
“A set of spoons?” Otto asked.
“No, a cooking set!” The enchantress impatiently pulled away the rubble. “Made by the Great Chef, Ivan the Magnificent, also known as Ivan the Lazy, Ivan the Greedy. There was a bowl that could never be knocked over or spill anything accidentally, the spoon, and a baking pan that would never allow anything on it to be burned.”
“While that would be nice, we really should go now,” Roland interrupted. “The sun is close to setting, and I may or may not have promised King Valant that I would return his son before the day was out...”
“Who cares about King Valant?” Marguerite snapped. “Go ahead and take Otto back; my task is over.”
“What do you mean?” Roland frowned while Otto looked up in surprise. “Wasn’t Otto your main task? Do you--” he paused, glancing at the spoon. “Do you mean to give the treasure to King Stewart, Beatrice’s papa?”
The enchantress laughed, reaching for the spoon. “Who needs him either? I have what both kings are fighting over.”
Otto snatched the spoon up before her hand touched it. “No, you don’t! I know what this spoon can do, and it’s my duty as a prince to give it to my father!”
“Don’t be a hero, Otto. Your father had Beatrice kidnapped over this,” Marguerite reminded him. “Do you really think he’s the man who should have it?”
“You’re the one who kidnapped me!” Otto protested.
“Water under the bridge,” Roland interjected. “It’s just a very powerful cooking utensil, you two. Nothing to get excited over. We really ought to leave this place, now.”
“Fine, take him and go,” Marguerite said. “Otto, give me the spoon!”
Otto strained against the spell that was pulling his hand holding the spoon closer and closer to Marguerite’s outstretched hand. He was unable to resist, but before she could get it, Roland took the spoon first.
“Give that here!” Marguerite stood up furiously.
“What’s so important about it, Mag?” Roland held it out of her reach. “You don’t need it. You haven’t burn anything in years. You already have sturdy creaming spoons and enchanted, spill-resistant bowls. Is it the gold? Has it gone to your head?”
“Shut up! I’ve always wanted it, ever since we studied it in school! Do you know how many spoons I’ve broken just trying to make cookies when I’ve forgotten to put the butter out long enough to get it to room temperature? Why should a king who’s never seen the inside of of a kitchen get it?” She clutched her hair in frustration.
“You have a point, but Otto is the one who found it. Yes, I realize he wouldn’t have if you weren’t busy fighting to save his skin at the time, but think for a moment! What are you going to do after you have it? You’ll become the enemy of two kingdoms instead of one, with entire armies coming to trample your gardens and burn down your cottage.”
This seemed to get through to her. She lowered her hands. “You don’t know that will happen.”
Roland opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted.
“Well, well!” A voice made them all turn to look outside of the stone circle, where an older, portly man with a gaudy walking stick was standing. “My dear Roland! Milady Marguerite! We meet again.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Roland muttered.
Marguerite shrank behind Roland. Otto had never seen the man before, and even he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Very slowly, Marguerite sank to the ground next to Otto. “Stand in front of me,” she whispered.
“Don’t you mean behind you?” Otto hissed, standing nonetheless.
“You’ve failed, Roland,” the man spoke again, calmly. “I told Valant that you were not to be trusted with matters involving Marguerite. I tried to warn you years ago. She’s your weakness. Always has been. And since I find you distracted by her instead of completing your simple task, I must conclude that she always will be.” The man sighed, pulling a ribbon on his walking stick. “Of all my students, you two are the most disappointing.”
Otto heard some scuffling behind him, and could see out of the corner of his eye that Marguerite was shrinking further behind the broken stones. It was unlike her to be cowardly. Just how powerful was this man?
“I have the prince safe in hand, Mathias,” Roland pointed out cordially. “There’s no need to be upset.”
Prince Otto took a step back. He knew that name: Mathias the Sorcerer, the most incredibly powerful man in the kingdom. Possibly the oldest. Not someone that anyone wanted to cross, and therefore only called on as a last resort.
“The sun has gone down. You’ve broken your promise, and must now pay the penalty.” Mathias turned his walking stick over in a menacing sort of way.
“Does King Valant want his son only, or doesn’t the treasure matter to him anymore?” Roland asked, casually scratching his head with the tip of the Golden Spoon. “It was about to be stolen by a third party, you see.”
The newcomer stopped, and his eyes widened. “Is that...?”
“The Golden Spoon, legendary artifact of Ivan the Magnificent?” Roland shrugged. “Yes it is. You can see what it did to those monsters if you care to examine their remains. Are you quite sure you want to punish the man holding it?”
Mathias hesitated. Roland was very good at bluffing his way through scrapes, but that did look like the spoon, and there were a lot of mushy clumps on the ground. “Give it to me, and perhaps I will let you run away.”
“I don’t feel like running,” Roland said. “I just had an enormous lunch and the beneficial exercise of fighting ghastly beasts. No, I think it’s you who should run. You look like you could use it.”
“Of all the cheek!” Mathias spat, getting a bit red in the face. “I was starting and ending wars centuries before you were even born! You’re a fool to think you can win against me.”
“Oh, that’s not at all what I was thinking. I defer the pleasure of defeating you to my very best enemy.” Most unexpectedly, Roland tossed the spoon towards Otto, who wisely ducked, and it was caught by Marguerite’s outstretched hand. She rose from behind the broken stone, gleaming in the dim twilight, with a golden bowl on her head and a large, flat pan strapped to her arm like a shield.
A fierce battle began immediately. Mathias shot a fireball at her as she ran towards him, but the flames swept past her without passing on so much as a wisp of smoke. The dish would not let her be burned. When she got close, he swung his walking stick at her head, but it bounced back without making her flinch. The bowl could not be knocked over. She blocked his next swing with the spoon, and though it took a second for the heavily enchanted stick to dissolve, it flopped down limply toward the ground.
For the first time since his first two decades, Mathias was afraid. A single tap from the spoon, and he would be done for. In his fear, he forgot any spell that would have been useful against Marguerite and the set of artifacts, so he summoned a very large door to escape through. But his body wasn’t fast enough at his age. Marguerite took the golden pan in both hands and slammed it down on his head. Mathias fell to the ground. The door disappeared.
Roland came to stand beside his colleague. “You were wrong when you said she was my weakness, Mathias,” he said, looking down at the body. “From the moment we met, it has been her competition that has spurred me to become the great enchanter that I am today.”
“He’s out cold, you know,” Marguerite pointed out. “He can’t hear you.”
“It still needed to be said.” Roland tossed his ponytail with dignity. “You do not disappoint, my dear. I was hoping you would find the bowl and pan in time, and it could not have worked out better.”
Marguerite smiled and nodded her agreement. “You stalled him just long enough for me to do so, Roland. Your eloquence is admirable.”
“I did say some rather amazing things, didn’t I? Admit it, you fell for me a little just now.”
She ignored that. “After all that argument, you gave me the spoon anyway,” she said, looking up at him. “Why?”
“Oh,” Roland shrugged in a dissatisfied way. “Things change when the king that was going to pay you a large sum of money sends your old teacher to kill you instead.” He sighed, “In the end, I think this is the best way to settle the dispute between the two kingdoms. We keep the treasure, and Otto and Beatrice are returned home safely.”
“What do you mean, ‘we?’” Marguerite’s blue eyes narrowed.
Roland merely turned his head. “What do you think, Otto?”
After seeing Marguerite use the golden artifacts to defeat the most powerful man he’d ever seen or heard of, Otto did not actually want his father to have them, especially if it would mean war with Beatrice-- that is-- Beatrice’s father. “It’s alright with me,” he said. “As long as you don’t go losing your temper while holding them.”
Marguerite took the bowl off her head and looked at it with a crooked smile. “They are a bit scary, aren’t they? But think of the good they could be used for! You could make a million cookies in five minutes! Or mash an entire bushel of potatoes.”
“You could run a cafe six days a week and only work for four hours a day,” Roland suggested, a dreamy look in his eyes. “We’ve only to ensure that they don’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“Again, what do you mean, ‘we?’” Marguerite demanded.
Roland turned to face her, an eyebrow raised. “You’re going to make me say it? In front of the prince?”
“You can send me home first! I’ve no complaints,” Otto hastened to add.
“All right, Otto. Just walk through the door. You’re free now.” Marguerite waved her hand, and a door appeared. Otto sighed with relief and obeyed, but before he was entirely out of earshot, and before he turned his back he could see Roland step closer and take hold of the spoon as well, his slender hand covering Marguerite’s.
“We’ve been playing this game for the past several hundred years, my Fair One. Why don’t we stop for a spell and work together?” Otto heard Roland say.
“Why the sudden change?” Marguerite queried, though she sounded uncertain. “If competing against me has made you so great, there’s surely no need for it.”
“A need? No, perhaps not, but... It would be nice to stop having to think up excuses to come over and taste your cooking...” Roland leaned his head down to kiss her, and it seemed like Marguerite didn’t mind the idea.
Otto hurriedly opened the door and stepped through it.
A year later, a celebration took place in honor of the Crown Prince Otto and his betrothal to the lovely Princess Beatrice of the neighboring kingdom. A very affable alliance was formed. Both royal families dined together in the most fashionable restaurant on the continent: a place renowned for its delicious food, sparkling atmosphere, and magical entertainment. Whether it was a sparring match, a theatrical play, or a series of fascinating illusions, audiences were always thrilled.
“Ah, your majesties!” The most gorgeous golden-haired woman any of them had ever seen greeted them with a dazzling smile. “Welcome!”
The tall, dark, and purple-eyed enchanter by her side gestured towards the tables with an elegant wave of his hand. “We reserved the best seats for you, of course. Pray sit down and enjoy yourselves.” They sat down, and Marguerite handed them decorous menus. She paused between the prince and princess seated beside each other.
“Your highness,” she addressed Beatrice with a hand over her heart. “Upon my word, your gown is very handsome tonight. But not as handsome as your fiance, of course! Aren’t you worried that someone will steal him?” Her arm stole around Otto’s shoulders, and she winked at him as he blushed faintly.
The royal parents were uncertain whether to laugh or to call the guards on their hostess. Princess Beatrice’s eyes widened and her lips compressed in a superhuman effort not to explode in an unprincess-like fashion.
Roland came to their rescue by pulling Marguerite back to his side with her apron string. “My dear, do stop teasing royalty. It’s bad for business.” Marguerite just smiled. He continued, “We’ll send someone to take your orders shortly, your majesties.” Roland bowed, Marguerite curtsied, and they walked toward the stage and kitchen, hand in hand.
“What’s all this?” Beatrice’s father spoke up after looking over the menu. “Half of these entrees are breakfast items!”
“I would recommend the pancakes, King Stewart,” Otto smiled. “They are the fair lady’s specialty.”
The End
“I’m here, as you were warned, to steal your most valuable possession, King Valant.”
The woman’s dark blue eyes and pearly white teeth glinted as she made this bold announcement. The king wanted to scoff, but felt rooted to his chair. The royal court leaned forward to listen to her every word as she held out her hand to the astonished royal family. It was all exactly according to plan. “Come to me, Prince Otto,” she beckoned imperiously.
To everyone’s surprise, including his own, the strong, young prince got out of his chair and started walking over to her.
“Don’t actually go!” the queen begged.
“What are you doing, your highness?!” the courtiers clamored.
“Otto!” his father boomed. “Sit down!”
“I can’t! I have no choice!” The prince squeaked in bewildered panic as he joined the beautiful woman in the centre of the throne room.
“No, he doesn’t,” she confirmed, grinning and putting her arms around him. “He’s mine now. And he will stay under my power until you are willing to negotiate, your majesty.”
“You-- you witch!” King Valant spat.
“Enchantress,” the woman corrected him. “There’s a difference.” She took a moment to look around the room, thoroughly enjoying everyone’s helpless confusion. “Well... we’ll be in touch,” she said, and began laughing. And, leaving behind the echoes of her mischievous laugh, the two of them vanished.
Prince Otto and his captor promptly reappeared under a grape arbor in a sunny garden. The enchantress stopped laughing.
“You know, what he said wasn’t really funny,” she confided, dusting her hands. “But I always feel like I need to laugh to make the best impression.” She began walking down a pebble path that led to a snug cottage with a thatched roof. “Come along, sweet prince.”
The prince followed her into the cottage, unable to make his feet move anywhere else. The cottage seemed normal enough. No cauldrons or bats. He shut the door behind him. She walked toward the kitchen. “Now what, my lady?” he plucked up the courage to ask.
“Now we wait. You don’t have to look so pale, you know. I’m not going to torture you,” She was tying her golden hair up in a knot, but turned to wink at him. “At least, not in any conventional ways.”
“Are you going to seduce me?” Prince Otto took a step backward, blushing. Barely turned twenty-one, he was a pure prince at best, inexperienced at least.
The enchantress put her hands on her hips indignantly. “Now, see here! There’s a lot more to an enchantress’ work than corrupting people, I’ll have you know! Why does every man think I’m going to seduce him?”
Probably because you put your arms around them and say they’re yours, the prince thought bitterly, but, not wanting to appear hostile, said aloud, “Because you’re so beautiful.”
She smiled. “Well, thank you for the compliment, but no, that’s not why you’re here.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, why am I here?”
“You haven’t done anything wrong yourself, so I suppose you have the right to know,” the enchantress shrugged, lifting an apron off a hook on the wall and tying it around her silky purple dress. “Have a seat while you listen. Would you like some lunch?”
“I would love some lunch,” the prince answered politely. “I am quite starving.”
She chuckled. “They always have to give those long speeches before midday meals, don’t they?”
“And by the time we get to the food, it’s gone cold,” Prince Otto agreed dolefully.
His captor took out a griddle and placed it on the stove. “Well, my dear, I was hired to teach your father a lesson, and this is how we’re doing it. You are to be my hostage until your father is willing to listen to reason. I think I’ll make pancakes for lunch.”
“For lunch?!”
“Don’t you like the idea? I have some fresh strawberries from the garden to go with them. You like the idea, don’t you?”
Prince Otto found himself unable to disagree, even though blueberries were actually his favorite. “Strawberries sound lovely.”
“Good!” She began mixing the batter, humming pleasantly. Her hostage glanced out the open window, and at the latch of the unlocked back door. Neither his hands nor feet were tied. Her back was even turned. He was fast on his feet, and there was plenty of daylight left.
“Um, why can’t I run away?” Otto asked plaintively from his chair. “Why am I so--”
“Enchanted by me?” His captor finished with a mischievous grin.
“I was going to say obedient.”
“Get used to it. Not a single person has broken out of my spell since my school days.”
The prince frowned and adjusted his place on the chair. Time for another strategy. “Who hired you, my lady enchantress?” he asked.
“Now, now, if you don’t know who they are, they won’t have to kill you if things go south.” She blew on the palm of her hand and easily lit the stove with a small roar of blue flames.
Prince Otto gulped. “Okay! Next question. Why hold a prince hostage? Don’t people usually abduct princesses?”
The enchantress shrugged again. “Your family doesn’t have any princesses. We had to improvise.”
“And...” the question that was worrying him the most. “What if my father doesn’t listen to reason?”
She buzzed her lips rather like a horse-- if that horse was a graceful, feminine horse, that is. “Of course he’ll listen. With a cute little son like you, who wouldn’t?” Pancakes sizzled on the griddle.
He didn’t like that. “Little... son...” he muttered. “You can’t be any older than I am!”
With a laugh, she flipped the pancakes over. “I appreciate your saying so, but... Enchantresses can live for a very long time, my dear.”
“How-- how old are you?” he ventured to ask.
“Oh, a gentleman never asks, and a lady never tells.” She placed the steaming pancakes on two plates and loaded them with strawberries.
“That makes for a boring conversation.”
“Only where age is concerned.” She sat down across from him at the little dining table and smiled charmingly. “Would you like a dollop of whipped cream, your highness?”
“Yes, please.” Prince Otto accepted it politely, and resigned himself to eating breakfast for lunch.
(Heather)
Poor Prince Otto did not have time to take his first bite of his syrup-dripping pancake before there was a crash and the back door opened with a bang. The explosive crack was forceful enough to knock the young prince off his chair, sending him sprawling onto the floor. He looked up in surprise to see a tall, dark man enter the room. His black hair was slicked back and tied at the nape of his neck, revealing startlingly violet eyes. He swept into the kitchen, flourishing his velvety emerald cape in a delicate, almost feminine manner.
“What? Are you serving pancakes, my dear? Is this the best you could do for our honored guests?” The man’s voice was full and musical, almost as though it could cast a spell on any ears it touched.
“Roland!” the enchantress cried angrily, her hands on her hips. “What in willow’s name are you doing here? How dare you come pouncing into my home, frightening my guest.”
At this, the man turned and looked at the prince, who rather wished that the enchantress had not brought him to the strange man’s attention.
“My apologies, fair lady,” the man said, with a deep bow, “but, I am here on assignment as well.” With that he turned his head toward the doorway, encouraging the two to follow his gaze. Cowering behind the doorframe was a slight young woman with a tear-stained face. She had rosy cheeks, and her eyes were still bright and shining with unspent tears.
“Princess Beatrice,” the young prince stuttered, as he clumsily pulled himself from off the floor. “Are you a captive as well?”
“Y-y-yes,” she said in a quavering voice, still hiding behind the doorframe. “This man abducted me against my will, and I didn’t even want to go with him! He just popped into the hall, grabbed hold of my arm, made some grand speech to Papa, and whisked me away! And we were about to dine on apricots and pheasant!”
As she approached the last of her speech, the princess appeared to grow more indignant with the inconvenience of her situation, for she stomped her little foot in a petulant manner.
The enchantress raised a delicate eyebrow. “Since we are all here,” she said, looking pointedly at Roland, “let us all enjoy a luncheon of pancakes. Please make yourselves at home.” She stoically gestured them all toward the table.
“Pancakes for lunch?” Princess Beatrice questioned incredulously, but before the irritated lady of the house could respond the young prince escorted the young woman to the seat next to his.
As the four delved into the steaming stack of pancakes, conversation around the table was temporarily halted. The vibrantly red strawberries, plucked fresh and wet from the enchantress’s own garden that morning, were impossibly sweet, and their juices drizzled down more than one chin at that table.
Finally as bellies were full and chairs were pushed away slightly from the table to allow for more comfortable breathing space, the enchantress again turned toward the dark man who had so suddenly disturbed her luncheon.
“Come now, Roland,” she said in a satisfied, languid tone, “you must tell me the meaning of this young lady’s presence in my home.”
“Gladly, my dear,” Roland said, eyeing the two young captives. Steepling his long fingers together, he began his tale. “About one week ago I was approached by a man of great wealth and consequence in regards to a dispute he was embroiled in with his neighbor. This man was under the persuasion that he was being wronged in the ability to access property adjoining his own. When I enquired as to why this piece of property was so desirable to him, he refused to be specific, saying only that it was worth far more than any kingdom on this earth. I asked why he was unable to access this land. He exclaimed with great feeling that the value of the property, or rather what was hidden on the property, was not only known to him. Every time he sent his men in to search out the depths of the woods, they would come across the men of his neighbor doing the same. They would come to blows, neither side progressing far and apparently neither side discovering the whereabouts of this hidden treasure. Both men argued that the piece of land belonged to them, and was their right to explore unhindered. Neither man would budge, neither side would give up the chance of discovering this great treasure.”
At this, Roland paused for a moment, letting the words of his story swirl around the room like a vapor of unease.
“There are woods adjacent to our kingdom’s land,” Prince Otto spoke softly, stirring the swirling unease with additional expected agitation. “My father has been sending regular regiments of men past our borders for the past month. I have seen him conferring with his head captain on multiple occasions in hushed tones.”
“I as well,” Princess Beatrice piped in. “Papa has gone quite distracted of late. Why just yesterday I am sure I talked to him for at least a quarter hour without him hearing a single word I uttered! And I had such news to share, too. I just learned from my cousin Penelope that my gowns’ sleeves are no longer de haute couture and the neckline is all wrong! Only imagine my horror that I should be seen without the proper embellishments to my wardrobe! Why, the kingdom quite looks to me for the standard of dress. How could I possibly be seen in designs so de passe’! However, Mama said I could order an entire new wardrobe, so I was happy again.”
The enchantress looked at the princess with an expression impossible to describe. She opened her mouth to respond, then thinking better of it, closed it again and looked back toward Roland. “Please continue, Roland,” she said silkily. “I am all anticipation as to where this story shall end.”
“Of course, my Fair One, I shall no longer keep you in suspense,” he said genially. “I was commissioned to help inspire this neighbor to give up the rights to the property in question. In short, I was to capture the delicate and petit innocente Princess Beatrice in hopes to persuade the relinquishment of the hidden treasure.”
“And who, might I ask, sir, was the benefactor of your vile mission?” Prince Otto spluttered.
“Why, your father, King Valant of course!” Roland laughed out loud.
(Clarissa)
The enchantress laughed a low, throaty sound while looking at her colleague. “And did he also send you here in hopes of returning his son to him?”
“Indeed he did,” Roland said, winking. “Panic to the extreme, so I rushed to our prince’s side.”
“It makes sense. That leaves me with just one question, then,” she leaned toward Roland, eyes twinkling dangerously.
Prince Otto thought he knew what was coming next and braced himself for an onslaught of powerful magic.
“Why didn’t you knock?!” The enchantress surprised them all by yanking on Roland’s sleek ponytail.
“Ow, ow, ow! The hair is off limits, Mag!”
“So is bursting into my house uninvited!”
“Mag?!” Prince Otto repeated in disbelief.
“It’s a stupid nickname, don’t you dare repeat it!” she snapped.
Roland pulled his hair free. “Like ‘Marguerite’ is any better of a name!”
The enchantress raised an eyebrow. “Hmph. Better than ‘Roly-Poly!’”
“Hey, that’s mean!” Roland’s arms instinctively went to hug his sides which were not always so trim.
“Aren’t you missing the point?” Prince Otto interrupted their childish squabble. “If you were both hired from opposite sides, and you both want me as your prisoner--”
“Just to return you safely!” Roland protested.
“--Then doesn’t that make you enemies?” Otto finished.
Both enchanters stopped and looked at him in faint surprise.
“Oh, come now,” Marguerite said, folding her arms. “That’s nothing new. We’ve always been enemies.”
“Since the first day of school,” Roland agreed. “Spit wads and flaming paper airplanes.”
“I thought you were lovers,” Princess Beatrice said around an extra strawberry.
Both enchanters stopped to look at her. Prince Otto braced himself again. Enchantress Marguerite gave a shrill laugh.
“Lo-- ha, ha, ha! How droll! Roland!” She now grabbed his ear in a vice-like grip. “You have your own house, keep the snippet-of-a-princess there next time!”
“Snippet?” Princess Beatrice echoed, affronted.
“Don’t interrupt,” the enchantress said, holding one stern finger out to the princess.
“But, Maggie my dear,” Roland wheedled, head tilted to avoid pain. “The king said it was urgent!”
“Oh yes, so urgent you had to burst in here and eat four helpings of pancakes! See if I ever feed you again!”
“My dear, you love me too much not to feed me.” Roland grinned, turning on the old charm. It was only about 20% of his most powerful charming ability, but it still could have melted butter. The lady fair was unimpressed. She glared and let go of his ear, stepping back.
“This has gone on long enough.” Her hands clenched into fists and caught fire like the heads of two matches.
“Finally, some action!” Roland bounced forward and a wave of water flew from his fingertips and down to extinguish his rival’s flames. She was soaked instantly. Marguerite shivered slightly and then zapped him with the ions in the water, making his hair frizz dramatically.
“Again with the hair!” Roland snarled, sending a sheet of ice under her feet. “I warned you it was off limits!”
Marguerite jumped over the table gracefully and landed on her feet behind Prince Otto. Pulling a gleaming knife out and placing it over his throat, she said, “As much as I love our little spats, Roland, I’ve got work to do. Shall we go, Prince Otto?”
“Don’t hurt him!” Princess Beatrice screeched, flapping her tiny hands.
“Where are you going to run to?” Roland drawled, shaking the ice off his fingertips. “There’s nowhere you can go that I won’t find you.”
The ruby on the knife handle glinted. “Overconfidence is unattractive, Roland.”
“Maybe we can talk about this?” Prince Otto suggested. “You don’t have to fight over me!”
“Don’t we? I’ve got money waiting on this.”
“Please, let’s not fight!” Beatrice cried.
“Yes, Mag, put the nice prince down.”
“Otto,” Marguerite said into his ear. “Run as fast as you can.”
“Where?”
“Out this door, naturally.” The enchantress opened a door behind them that had appeared only a moment before.
Leaving his hope of freedom, his friend, and the frightening servant of his father behind, Prince Otto ran through the new door-- unwillingly, but as fast as he could. It was pitch black for a bit, and then he very nearly ran into a pine branch. Green needles combed his tawny hair. He looked back to see Marguerite wave her hands and make the black-cloud-surrounded-door disappear entirely.
“Where are we now?” he asked his fair captor.
The enchantress sighed and wrung out one of her soaked sleeves. “We are in those woods you mentioned-- that coveted piece of land between your country and the next.” She looked up with a smile. “Shall we see what all the fuss is about?”
(Heather)
Prince Otto looked around him in surprise. First he had been whisked away from his home in a flurry of smoke and mystique and found himself in a strange little home with even stranger company. And then he had been plunged back through a magical portal to end up less than five miles from his home, all under the power of a beautiful enchantress. This day could not possibly get any more strange.
“I have no idea what we are even looking for,” he said, panic tinged with irritation starting to rise up in his voice. “How can we find something we know nothing about?”
“There now, young prince,” the enchantress cooed in a syrupy voice, making Otto feel like a blustering child. “I think we will know it when we find it. Besides,” she added with a wink, “I have a few more tricks up these sleeves.”
Prince Otto didn’t question his captor as she rooted around on the forest floor, looking for something. He didn’t know whether he should be trying to help this woman or foil her intentions. He couldn’t decide whether discovering the treasure would be a benefit to his father or not. The treasure must be of incredible worth, otherwise King Valant and Princess Beatrice’s father King Stewart wouldn’t have gone to such great lengths to discover it. Finally he came to a decision. It was far better to be close to the one in possession of the treasure, for he may have the opportunity to take it from the enchantress in his father’s name.
Suddenly Marguerite the Enchantress popped up from behind a hedge covered in yellow leaves which had fallen from the neighboring trees. “A-hah!” she said in triumph. In her hand she held up a curved stick which had a forked end shaped like a “V.”
“What?” Prince Otto asked. “Is the stick magic?”
Plucking a handful of leaves from her hair, the enchantress looked at the prince with an air of incredulity. “No, silly! This is just a stick!”
“But what are you going to do with it?” he asked.
“You shall see,” she said mysteriously, then walking over to an ancient fir tree, she plucked some green moss from its branches and wound it around the forked end of her stick. Holding her free hand in the shape of a ball, the enchantress started to mutter words which the prince could not decipher. A misty cloud formed upon her palm and she blew onto the mist, making it spark white and then gold. As she continued to mutter and blow, the cloud grew larger and began swirling faster and faster, causing great crackles as sparks erupted periodically from its center. The enchantress blew one more large breath and the swirling cloud jumped onto the moss at the end of the stick. There were more sparks and pops as the mist enveloped the moss, causing it to swirl along with the cloud, until finally the swirling mass looked like a glowing golden orb.
“A torch?” Prince Otto exclaimed. “You went to all that work for a torch?”
“This is not just any old torch, my young friend,” the enchantress explained. “This is a specialized treasure detector, or more particularly it detects gold. The closer the torch is to gold, the whiter the flame will glow.”
“Impressive,” the prince nodded in approval. “Lead the way.”
The enchantress swung the golden torch in a wide slow circle, trying to detect any direction in which the flame may be brighter. When finally she turned toward a dark thicket of dense trees, the prince was convinced it had to be right. Of course the treasure would be hidden in the deepest, darkest part of the forest.
Prince Otto followed the enchantress through the trees, giving her time to swing her torch this way and that, following where the light grew the brightest. Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the two reached a strange outcropping of rocks. As they drew nearer, the prince could see that the rocks were placed in a large circle, with steps leading down to a flat platform low in the center. It looked like an amphitheater, but the prince could not imagine what group of people would have met this deep in the woods. There were stone statues of creatures resting in odd places around the circle. Some were balanced on rocks, sitting crouched on all fours, while others stood erect next to the crude stairs. Their faces were grisly and frightening, with ferocious looking eyes and large teeth. The prince was glad that they were only made of stone, and not of flesh.
By this point the torch’s light was so white hot it burned the prince’s eyes to look in its direction. The treasure had to be here somewhere. In slow and silky movements the enchantress wove her way down the steps, moving around the silent sentinels, her torch growing brighter and hotter every moment.
Finally Marguerite reached the platform at the bottom of the circle. She moved toward the very center and squatted low, looking intently at the ground. She gave a soft chuckle, stood up, and then touched the torch to the stone floor, where it immediately erupted in sparks.
“Gotcha,” she said in a low voice. Tossing the torch aside, she swept her arms in a giant circle and cried, “Panta a’ amin ar’ elea lle dolen!” She then threw her arms toward the center of the platform. A penetrating surge of energy pulsed in the circle and with an enormous crack the stone broke in two.
Prince Otto hardly had time to wonder at what had just happened before total chaos ensued. Upon the ear-splitting crack of the platform, the stone statues began to crumble. Great chunks of stone fell to the earth, but what remained was even more of a nightmare. The stone sentinels were no longer lifeless statues, but hideous creatures in the flesh. Their eyes were piercing, their teeth were gnashing, and their hairy bodies rippled in muscles.
“Run, prince!” the enchantress called in alarm.
But before Prince Otto could respond, a flash and flurry of purple smoke sailed into the clearing of the circle. Roland emerged from the hazy smoke and took three giant steps toward the enchantress, his hands extended.
“Marguerite!” he called, a look of fear and determination on his handsome face.
The enchantress’s panic-stricken face melted into relief as she ran toward Roland, holding him in a tight embrace. Then just as quickly she pushed herself out of his arms and gave him a slap on the chest.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, exasperated.
“You aren’t the only one with tricks up their sleeves,” Roland smirked. But then his eyes grew serious. “Now let’s get rid of these creatures, shall we?”
The enchanter and the enchantress turned back to back, ready to face their attackers together.
(Clarissa)
Otto dove to the ground as magic and monsters raged in a battle all around him. Growls and singing sparks ripped through the air, and as he dared to glance up, he knew there was nowhere to run. He had two fleeting thoughts as he tried to crawl behind a large chunk of the broken stone. First, that he was glad that Roland hadn’t brought Beatrice to the fight, and second, that this was the most unsightly, unfortunate, and humiliating day he had ever had.
His third thought was more lingering. It occurred to him as he stamped out the fire that had suddenly caught on the cuff of his left sleeve. He really should have studied magic. He had studied swordsmanship (he dodged as a hairy beast nearly fell down on top of him), but that was useless if a man didn’t have his sword in his hand.
The chunk of stone he was hiding behind exploded from a stray shot of Marguerite’s, and the poor, helpless prince flinched with his hands covering his head. Then he looked up and saw it: a bright glint in the rubble, just out of his reach. He inched forward, brushed off the gravel, and pulled on what looked like a golden handle. It came free, and he got up to his knees, lifting it into the air.
It was a large golden spoon, shorter than his forearm and curved at the bowl, but not quite like a ladle. Otto held it aloft, at a loss for words. A snarling wolf-bear caught sight of it and lunged toward him, jaws open wide. The prince swung the spoon and landed a square hit on the side of the creature’s face. He didn’t expect it to do much, but the wolf-bear didn’t get up again. Its entire body had become featureless, like a puddle of mush.
All the beasts, who had been mainly ignoring him before, stopped for a fraction of a second, and rushed toward Otto and his spoon. He yelped and fought them off in the same manner. Marguerite and Roland came to his aid, but the spoon proved to be more effective. If Otto hit a creature, it would sag to the ground as if made of pudding. Some even became a light and fluffy consistency.
“Where did you get that?” Roland yelled over the fray.
“It was under there!” Otto yelled back, pointing to the broken stone.
After zapping a tigerish beast with a ball of white flame, Marguerite gasped with both hands over her mouth. “It’s the Golden Spoon! The legendary artifact that will cream anything in a single stroke! No wonder King Valant wanted it!”
Roland agreed, and was struck with an idea. “That’s incredible. He could make an entire vat of butter in a second!”
While they were extolling the spoon’s virtues, Otto had beaten the last of the beasts in an anticlimactic finish. Exhausted, he dropped back to his knees and let the heavy spoon hit the ground. The stones beneath him turned to a gray powder, and he sank down a few inches. Otto let go of the spoon in a hurry.
“Nicely done, Prince,” Roland patted his back. “You found the treasure and defeated the guardian beasts! We helped, of course, but you only need to mention us nicely when you tell your father the story.”
Marguerite crouched down by the stone and started digging around where Otto had uncovered the spoon.
“My dear, why are you dirtying your lovely hands? Hoping to find a legendary whisk as well?” Roland leaned over her in a picturesque pose.
“As a matter of fact,” she retorted. “That golden spoon was originally part of a set, and I thought that maybe-- just maybe!-- they might be buried together.”
“A set of spoons?” Otto asked.
“No, a cooking set!” The enchantress impatiently pulled away the rubble. “Made by the Great Chef, Ivan the Magnificent, also known as Ivan the Lazy, Ivan the Greedy. There was a bowl that could never be knocked over or spill anything accidentally, the spoon, and a baking pan that would never allow anything on it to be burned.”
“While that would be nice, we really should go now,” Roland interrupted. “The sun is close to setting, and I may or may not have promised King Valant that I would return his son before the day was out...”
“Who cares about King Valant?” Marguerite snapped. “Go ahead and take Otto back; my task is over.”
“What do you mean?” Roland frowned while Otto looked up in surprise. “Wasn’t Otto your main task? Do you--” he paused, glancing at the spoon. “Do you mean to give the treasure to King Stewart, Beatrice’s papa?”
The enchantress laughed, reaching for the spoon. “Who needs him either? I have what both kings are fighting over.”
Otto snatched the spoon up before her hand touched it. “No, you don’t! I know what this spoon can do, and it’s my duty as a prince to give it to my father!”
“Don’t be a hero, Otto. Your father had Beatrice kidnapped over this,” Marguerite reminded him. “Do you really think he’s the man who should have it?”
“You’re the one who kidnapped me!” Otto protested.
“Water under the bridge,” Roland interjected. “It’s just a very powerful cooking utensil, you two. Nothing to get excited over. We really ought to leave this place, now.”
“Fine, take him and go,” Marguerite said. “Otto, give me the spoon!”
Otto strained against the spell that was pulling his hand holding the spoon closer and closer to Marguerite’s outstretched hand. He was unable to resist, but before she could get it, Roland took the spoon first.
“Give that here!” Marguerite stood up furiously.
“What’s so important about it, Mag?” Roland held it out of her reach. “You don’t need it. You haven’t burn anything in years. You already have sturdy creaming spoons and enchanted, spill-resistant bowls. Is it the gold? Has it gone to your head?”
“Shut up! I’ve always wanted it, ever since we studied it in school! Do you know how many spoons I’ve broken just trying to make cookies when I’ve forgotten to put the butter out long enough to get it to room temperature? Why should a king who’s never seen the inside of of a kitchen get it?” She clutched her hair in frustration.
“You have a point, but Otto is the one who found it. Yes, I realize he wouldn’t have if you weren’t busy fighting to save his skin at the time, but think for a moment! What are you going to do after you have it? You’ll become the enemy of two kingdoms instead of one, with entire armies coming to trample your gardens and burn down your cottage.”
This seemed to get through to her. She lowered her hands. “You don’t know that will happen.”
Roland opened his mouth to reply, but they were interrupted.
“Well, well!” A voice made them all turn to look outside of the stone circle, where an older, portly man with a gaudy walking stick was standing. “My dear Roland! Milady Marguerite! We meet again.”
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” Roland muttered.
Marguerite shrank behind Roland. Otto had never seen the man before, and even he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Very slowly, Marguerite sank to the ground next to Otto. “Stand in front of me,” she whispered.
“Don’t you mean behind you?” Otto hissed, standing nonetheless.
“You’ve failed, Roland,” the man spoke again, calmly. “I told Valant that you were not to be trusted with matters involving Marguerite. I tried to warn you years ago. She’s your weakness. Always has been. And since I find you distracted by her instead of completing your simple task, I must conclude that she always will be.” The man sighed, pulling a ribbon on his walking stick. “Of all my students, you two are the most disappointing.”
Otto heard some scuffling behind him, and could see out of the corner of his eye that Marguerite was shrinking further behind the broken stones. It was unlike her to be cowardly. Just how powerful was this man?
“I have the prince safe in hand, Mathias,” Roland pointed out cordially. “There’s no need to be upset.”
Prince Otto took a step back. He knew that name: Mathias the Sorcerer, the most incredibly powerful man in the kingdom. Possibly the oldest. Not someone that anyone wanted to cross, and therefore only called on as a last resort.
“The sun has gone down. You’ve broken your promise, and must now pay the penalty.” Mathias turned his walking stick over in a menacing sort of way.
“Does King Valant want his son only, or doesn’t the treasure matter to him anymore?” Roland asked, casually scratching his head with the tip of the Golden Spoon. “It was about to be stolen by a third party, you see.”
The newcomer stopped, and his eyes widened. “Is that...?”
“The Golden Spoon, legendary artifact of Ivan the Magnificent?” Roland shrugged. “Yes it is. You can see what it did to those monsters if you care to examine their remains. Are you quite sure you want to punish the man holding it?”
Mathias hesitated. Roland was very good at bluffing his way through scrapes, but that did look like the spoon, and there were a lot of mushy clumps on the ground. “Give it to me, and perhaps I will let you run away.”
“I don’t feel like running,” Roland said. “I just had an enormous lunch and the beneficial exercise of fighting ghastly beasts. No, I think it’s you who should run. You look like you could use it.”
“Of all the cheek!” Mathias spat, getting a bit red in the face. “I was starting and ending wars centuries before you were even born! You’re a fool to think you can win against me.”
“Oh, that’s not at all what I was thinking. I defer the pleasure of defeating you to my very best enemy.” Most unexpectedly, Roland tossed the spoon towards Otto, who wisely ducked, and it was caught by Marguerite’s outstretched hand. She rose from behind the broken stone, gleaming in the dim twilight, with a golden bowl on her head and a large, flat pan strapped to her arm like a shield.
A fierce battle began immediately. Mathias shot a fireball at her as she ran towards him, but the flames swept past her without passing on so much as a wisp of smoke. The dish would not let her be burned. When she got close, he swung his walking stick at her head, but it bounced back without making her flinch. The bowl could not be knocked over. She blocked his next swing with the spoon, and though it took a second for the heavily enchanted stick to dissolve, it flopped down limply toward the ground.
For the first time since his first two decades, Mathias was afraid. A single tap from the spoon, and he would be done for. In his fear, he forgot any spell that would have been useful against Marguerite and the set of artifacts, so he summoned a very large door to escape through. But his body wasn’t fast enough at his age. Marguerite took the golden pan in both hands and slammed it down on his head. Mathias fell to the ground. The door disappeared.
Roland came to stand beside his colleague. “You were wrong when you said she was my weakness, Mathias,” he said, looking down at the body. “From the moment we met, it has been her competition that has spurred me to become the great enchanter that I am today.”
“He’s out cold, you know,” Marguerite pointed out. “He can’t hear you.”
“It still needed to be said.” Roland tossed his ponytail with dignity. “You do not disappoint, my dear. I was hoping you would find the bowl and pan in time, and it could not have worked out better.”
Marguerite smiled and nodded her agreement. “You stalled him just long enough for me to do so, Roland. Your eloquence is admirable.”
“I did say some rather amazing things, didn’t I? Admit it, you fell for me a little just now.”
She ignored that. “After all that argument, you gave me the spoon anyway,” she said, looking up at him. “Why?”
“Oh,” Roland shrugged in a dissatisfied way. “Things change when the king that was going to pay you a large sum of money sends your old teacher to kill you instead.” He sighed, “In the end, I think this is the best way to settle the dispute between the two kingdoms. We keep the treasure, and Otto and Beatrice are returned home safely.”
“What do you mean, ‘we?’” Marguerite’s blue eyes narrowed.
Roland merely turned his head. “What do you think, Otto?”
After seeing Marguerite use the golden artifacts to defeat the most powerful man he’d ever seen or heard of, Otto did not actually want his father to have them, especially if it would mean war with Beatrice-- that is-- Beatrice’s father. “It’s alright with me,” he said. “As long as you don’t go losing your temper while holding them.”
Marguerite took the bowl off her head and looked at it with a crooked smile. “They are a bit scary, aren’t they? But think of the good they could be used for! You could make a million cookies in five minutes! Or mash an entire bushel of potatoes.”
“You could run a cafe six days a week and only work for four hours a day,” Roland suggested, a dreamy look in his eyes. “We’ve only to ensure that they don’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“Again, what do you mean, ‘we?’” Marguerite demanded.
Roland turned to face her, an eyebrow raised. “You’re going to make me say it? In front of the prince?”
“You can send me home first! I’ve no complaints,” Otto hastened to add.
“All right, Otto. Just walk through the door. You’re free now.” Marguerite waved her hand, and a door appeared. Otto sighed with relief and obeyed, but before he was entirely out of earshot, and before he turned his back he could see Roland step closer and take hold of the spoon as well, his slender hand covering Marguerite’s.
“We’ve been playing this game for the past several hundred years, my Fair One. Why don’t we stop for a spell and work together?” Otto heard Roland say.
“Why the sudden change?” Marguerite queried, though she sounded uncertain. “If competing against me has made you so great, there’s surely no need for it.”
“A need? No, perhaps not, but... It would be nice to stop having to think up excuses to come over and taste your cooking...” Roland leaned his head down to kiss her, and it seemed like Marguerite didn’t mind the idea.
Otto hurriedly opened the door and stepped through it.
A year later, a celebration took place in honor of the Crown Prince Otto and his betrothal to the lovely Princess Beatrice of the neighboring kingdom. A very affable alliance was formed. Both royal families dined together in the most fashionable restaurant on the continent: a place renowned for its delicious food, sparkling atmosphere, and magical entertainment. Whether it was a sparring match, a theatrical play, or a series of fascinating illusions, audiences were always thrilled.
“Ah, your majesties!” The most gorgeous golden-haired woman any of them had ever seen greeted them with a dazzling smile. “Welcome!”
The tall, dark, and purple-eyed enchanter by her side gestured towards the tables with an elegant wave of his hand. “We reserved the best seats for you, of course. Pray sit down and enjoy yourselves.” They sat down, and Marguerite handed them decorous menus. She paused between the prince and princess seated beside each other.
“Your highness,” she addressed Beatrice with a hand over her heart. “Upon my word, your gown is very handsome tonight. But not as handsome as your fiance, of course! Aren’t you worried that someone will steal him?” Her arm stole around Otto’s shoulders, and she winked at him as he blushed faintly.
The royal parents were uncertain whether to laugh or to call the guards on their hostess. Princess Beatrice’s eyes widened and her lips compressed in a superhuman effort not to explode in an unprincess-like fashion.
Roland came to their rescue by pulling Marguerite back to his side with her apron string. “My dear, do stop teasing royalty. It’s bad for business.” Marguerite just smiled. He continued, “We’ll send someone to take your orders shortly, your majesties.” Roland bowed, Marguerite curtsied, and they walked toward the stage and kitchen, hand in hand.
“What’s all this?” Beatrice’s father spoke up after looking over the menu. “Half of these entrees are breakfast items!”
“I would recommend the pancakes, King Stewart,” Otto smiled. “They are the fair lady’s specialty.”
The End
