There was a once beautiful, old kingdom. It was a flourishing, happy kingdom under an always cloudless, blue sky. Picture perfect, like a vivid mural from a storybook, it was built around a majestic stone castle with spiraling towers and steadfast walls, standing proudly comme une couronne sur le paysage, like a crown on the landscape. Golden farms and quaint shops and homes surrounded the castle, like baby birds around their mother, next to a glistening, cerulean lake full of life. The ever-present joyful cacophony of voices and livestock and music and sweet aromas of fresh baked goods and fresh hay and herbs wafted down the smooth cobblestone paths that cut through the fertile land. And surrounding the village protectively, a lush, deep, green forest stood guard. The villagers were a happy, peaceful people, with a kind, wise ruler, King Absalom the third, under whose rule and the rule of all the Constantineau family before him, they lived in peace and comfort and prosperity for years. King Absalom, true to his name, was indeed a father of peace. He helped his people in any and every way he could and worked alongside them to build their perfect little world. He threw festivals and feasts, and every harvest season they would have a ball to celebrate another year of peace and abundance, paix et abondance. He had but one daughter, Adélaïde, noble one, just as gracious, kind, and wise as her father. She loved her people and them her. She worked and played alongside her citizens her whole life, which was maybe why they loved her so much. She was friends with everyone and made it her responsibility to personally get to know all of the people. Every day was one of joy and love in the kingdom, with everyone, baker and smithy, young and old, man and woman, royalty and citizen, working side by side, hand in hand.
But nothing lasts forever.
One tragic day, the king fell ill. As time dragged on, his ailment couldn't be cured, and the beloved king grew frail, weak, and bedridden. No longer did festivals entertain the night or music fill the day. No longer did the king work or walk alongside his people. It was as if the kingdom itself sensed the people's sorrow. The sky grew clouded, the ground hard, the trees fruitless. Each day as the king drew closer to death, it seemed a little piece of the kingdom died with him; crops were dying, money was running out, game in the forest left. Without the rule of their wise king, the village failed. The beloved king was dying, and the kingdom's joy and prosperity with him. So came a day that the king called his daughter to his bedside. "Fille, daughter..." he rasped. "Adelaide...I am dying. Our kingdom is dying. You are the only one who can save us. You are our last hope. You must bring salvation upon this kingdom." he said sorrowfully but resolutely, hope and love in his eyes. So the king sent his only daughter and heir out in search of a way to redeem their home. The day she left, the people filled the streets, crying out goodbyes and prayers and waving handkerchiefs. She rode out through the ebony gates of the kingdom, armor glinting in the sunlight, chain mail clinking, and the hooves of her speckled shire horse Georgia rhythmically beating the stone underfoot.
She rode through the deep forest. She rode for days through miles and miles of wilderness and forest. She passed through one isolated village and small kingdom after another, doing what work she could for money, food, or whatever the villagers had to offer. She plowed, tended in inns, changed horseshoes, sowed wheat, fetched water. Sometimes she was given an inn-room to stay the night, or some bread and fruit for on her way, or hay for her horse. Occasionally if she was lucky, she received a few francs for her services. Each time she set off again the next day.
One night after a long, hard ride she came to a small, quiet village. The sun was just setting, the sky blackening. Lanterns hung from doors illuminated the streets. The sound of music and laughter reached her ears as her and Georgia clip-clopped down the stone road curling between the stone buildings. They came to a stop in front of an illuminated inn with a soft 'woah' from Adelaide. 'Le Phenix' read the carved wooden sign above the door. She slid down and rapped on the door. A short, stout lady answered the door at the third knock with a pleasant smile. She had a kind face framed by wispy, gray hair and wore a simple green tunic under an embroidered apron. She greeted Adelaide warmly with a firm handshake. "People call me Maggie. I run this inn. Are you looking for a place to stay the night, dear?"
"Yes, a place to stay the night would be much appreciated. I'll even just stay in the stable with my horse if I need to, I just need a place to lay my head for the night."
"No, no, no. That won't be necessary. I'll have a nice, comfortable room set up for you, you poor dear. What is your name?"
"Adelaide. Just Adelaide. Thank you so much for your generosity, merci beaucoup."
"Why of course, ma cherie, sweetie. Come on in out of the cold. I'll have someone bring your horse to the stables. Come on in and wash up, we're just finishing up dinner", she assured her. An hour later, after a generous meal, Adelaide sat in a comfortable plush chair next to Maggie by the roaring fire. They sat and talked, exchanging stories, with the happy conversation and clatter of the inn in the background. Maggie told Adelaide of her childhood, and Adelaide described her beautiful kingdom, the way it once was. She told of her father and his happy, energetic demeanor before he got sick. She told Maggie of her father's failing health and the kingdom's decline with him. "And so I'm on a quest for a way to redeem my kingdom", she finished.
"Well, there's a rumor," Maggie said absently, "of a sleeping kingdom, and its cursed inhabitants...", she trailed off.
" A curse? Whatever for?"
"Well," the old lady spoke, repositioning in her chair, "according to the stories, it was once a wealthy kingdom ruled by a fair king and queen and their young prince. The prince's uncle, a warlock, lived with the royal family, and the boy loved him like a father. But when the uncle began using his magic corruptly, the king and queen exiled him from the kingdom for practicing black magic. And so the uncle was banished, and he left the beloved boy-prince begrudgingly; hurt, offended, mad, and thirsty for revenge. Supposedly, he put a spell on the kingdom and all life within to sleep forever. Now the kingdom stands still, lifeless and desolate, surrounded by a wall of thorns, the prince lies in his tower and the people wait in a sleep like death for the curse to be broken.
The kingdom lies about 25 miles from here, through the mountains. You could reach it with a day's ride. Maybe you could try passing through there along votre quête chevaleresque, your chivalrous quest."
That night, Adelaide lie awake, thinking. What could she do for a cursed kingdom? What good would come of going there? But the other half of her wondered what if she could do something? What if there were something there for her?
The next morning, with a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs warming her stomach and her bags full of a change of clothes, map, and dried fruit from Maggie, Adelaide set off once again. The sun moved across the sky as she rode throughout the day, and her surroundings began to change from prairie grass to dense forest. Soon branches were brushing her back and arms, and Georgia had to slow her pace to maneuver through the tight-packed trees and brush. Finally, the pair broke through the trees into the waning sunlight. They found themselves above a deep valley. A river cut through the valley to a vast silver lake. And next to the lake, a kingdom surrounded by a deep wall of thorns, like an anaconda looping around its prey. The thorns reached to the sky, barbs protruding menacingly. Blood red roses grew on the branches, striking against the black of the wood, almost like a warning. The magnificent castle loomed within the thorns, casting a shadow on the village surrounding it, giving it an eerie, haunted look. Adelaide grabbed the reins and led Georgia onto the dirt path downwards. They reached the bottom without incident and approached the spiny barrier. They trotted right up to it and Adelaide tilted her head back to see the top. The highest branch towered over 3 feet above her head from her position on her horse. Sliding her sword from its sheath, she nudged Georgia forward with her foot. Carefully, she brandished her sword with both hands and hacked through a layer of thorns. She paused sword poised to attack. But nothing happened. She slid down from Georgia, and pulling the reins, walked forward. She swung her sword back and forth in front of her, slashing a rough path large enough for herself and the horse. Thrash after thrash, muscles burning, she cut her way into the thorns. What seemed like hours later, she swung one last time and they stumbled out of the bramble. Blood dripped from slices on her arms. Her feet were sore and her arms throbbed. Georgia whinnied in distaste, flicking her tail at the branches stuck to her. Adelaide looked around cautiously. The village was oddly serene. Vivid flowers and deep green grass seemed out of place on the dusty, otherwise lifeless streets. There was no sign of protection or defense as Adelaide had anticipated. Slowly she stepped forward, eyes darting back and forth. Minutes later, they approached the bridge leading across the ravine to the castle. Adelaide peered down at the 40 foot drop off the side of the bridge. "I pray this bridge is as well-preserved as those thorns," she muttered, stepping onto the decaying wood. But it held steady, and the pair pressed on courageously. Halfway across with no problems, her footsteps grew lighter and the weight that had been sitting on her shoulders lifted as she became more confident. "Maybe I can really do this. Maybe this will actually work, Georgia," who snorted in response.
Suddenly, the clouds grew dark, flashing blue and green. Adelaide, stumbling in surprise, ran. Rain dropped rapidly, filling her boots and pasting her hair to her face. Thunder rumbled and the world seemed to shake. It was then that Adelaide looked up, noticing the man at the end of the bridge. A fashionable, form-fitting linen shirt hugged his wide frame paired with matching breeches, leather wide-brim hat, and silver doublet. His shoulder length, raven-black hair was still despite the swirling wind. He had smooth, pale skin and a chiseled jaw. He was put together, immaculate, clean; amid the dirty, neglected land around him. He could've been normal, maybe even attractive. But if you looked close enough, you would see his hazy green outline, his bottomless black pupils. Jerking her sword out of its place at her hip, she tensed her arms and altered her stance. The bridge underneath her feet began to shake and Adelaide watched in horror as the planks behind her snapped and tumbled to the ravine floor below. Squealing, Georgia kicked and leapt back off the bridge. The man, Maneficent she was assuming, didn't move a muscle. His face emotionless, in a hollow voice, he said, "You can't do anything. You won't save this kingdom. You won't defeat me. You think people haven't tried? You think I wasn't banished from this kingdom because of my powers for a reason? No. It will all be for naught, but test me anyways." With a mere flutter of his lashes, the rest of the bridge crumbled. She fell with a scream, frantically grasping for the rope. She hung with one hand, the other held her sword. Swinging her legs, she slid her hand along the rope. When she was close enough to the protruding ledge of the cliff, she tossed her sword up and clutched the rope with both hands. Swinging her legs back and forth for momentum, she propelled herself at the cliff. She slammed into the cliff, stomach catching the edge, air rushed out of her lungs as her hands and feet fumbled for a hold. Pulling herself up and over onto the grass, she grabbed her sword and jumped up. She rushed at the man with a war cry. But he began to shift before her eyes. First his eyes became huge and slitted. He grew tall and wide. His body became scaly and red. Horns sprouted from his head, and huge teeth protruded from his snout. Leathery wings unfolded from his back and a spiny tail flicked behind him. Blue fire licked across the ground towards Adelaide. With a swipe of his claw, her sword tumbled out of her hands. Adrenaline pumping, heart pounding, she ran and spun and jumped, dodging walls of fire and snapping teeth. Sliding under his thrashing tell as it came at her, she leapt up and threw herself onto his back. Hand over hand, she climbed up the scales onto his head. She grabbed his horns, yanking his head back. He roared in protest and with a violent shake, she tumbled off his head and hung in the air, fingers tightly clenched around the horn. Her mind raced. She had no sword, no weapon at all. She had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The beast had no weakness that she could tell. Her mind rushed, trying to think of a way out. Without a second thought, she slid the hairpin out of her plaited hair, and holding it in her fist, thrust it into his eye socket with a grunt. She dropped to the ground below and swerved around his stomping legs as he screeched in agony. Grabbing her sword from where it had fallen, Adelaide ran at the dragon, sword poised, and leapt at his heart. With a final fiery blast, the dragon flopped to the ground, never to get up again. The princess dropped to her knees, exhaustion and pain finally setting in. Blood, both hers and the dragons, splattered her armor and burns on her arms seared. She sat and just breathed.
The warlock dead, the curse on the kingdom was lifted. Birds lifted out of trees and choruses of dogs barked. The villagers began to wake up, filing into the streets, joy on their faces. The clouds dispersed and a shining sun peered over the mountain.
A week later, bells rang out at Adelaide's wedding. Hundreds of people from both kingdoms filled the little cathedral to witness the marriage of their hero. The kingdoms became allies; the cursed kingdom was revived, the dying kingdom was restored to its former glory, and the princess was honored for her bravery, turning the table on the gender-specific stereotypes of the medieval world. And betcha couldn't guess_they all lived happily ever after.