Since the day my great, great, great grandfather's crown was first drawn from the fire, it had rested on the brows of five great men, signifying their leadership to all who might look upon them. At the tender age of fifteen, I could not conceive myself being among their ranks in only a few short weeks' time.
In celebration of the occasion my father, the king, had announced that there was to be a series of balls. From the attendees I would select my future bride and wed her as soon as the festivities had drawn to a close. I would be officially inducted into the throne the following week.
The evening of the first ball had come upon me faster than I could have anticipated. The palace had been transformed; empty spaces filled with bowls of assorted potpourris, garlands of laurel hung from the balconies, and sweet smelling candles artfully arranged wherever the servants could find place for them. The air was thick with anticipation.
The dance was already well underway by the time she arrived. It was nothing so dramatic as a sudden halt in the music, or a chorus of angels, or even a shift in the temperature of the room. In fact, the gossip of the people around me was what had first called my attention to her. I am unashamed to admit that I too felt this spark of interest upon first catching sight of her. She was quite unusual, standing away from everyone else in that brilliant golden gown of hers.
We danced all night long, never once exchanging partners, for I was quite decided in my desire to pursue a relationship with this mysterious lady. And she had given all signs of returning my interest, but come midnight would not hear of my escorting her home. I was persistent, but though I had not taken my eyes from her all night, she still somehow managed to escape and left me very much deserted in the middle of my own celebration.
I followed her out, riding after the occasional flash of gold or silver in the darkness, but she remained elusive and I lost her trail altogether around an old pigeon loft on the land of a rich merchant Eager to please those with money, as most merchants were, the land owner came out with an ax in hand and tore apart the dovecot. Frightened pigeons scattered everywhere, but there was no mystery lady to be found. I thanked him for his time and returned home.
I then called my servant in to relate the guest list to me, for I had always struggled with reading and had still yet to master its art. I intended to have a letter written to her family to request a more private meeting, but to my surprise there was no such person to be found. I could see no reason for her to have purposefully altered her name, and so I believed that I simply had misheard her. But I felt assured I would get her name the next night, for there were still two more balls to be had.
On the night of the dance, evening had fallen unbearably slowly. I waited for my lady the better part of the night, skimming the crowd with determination rivaling that of a madman's. I had begun to think mine a lost cause, when I heard whispering start up once more among the crowd and my eyes were directed to the figure of a lovely golden clad woman.
We danced that night until she begged me to let her go, for she thought her feet might bleed if she were to take a single step more. I did, however reluctantly, release her. And though I was quite confident that I had heard her name correctly, I could not help but follow her home, for that strange curiosity that she inspired still held my heart in its vice-like grip.
She must have known I was in pursuit of her, for she was just as difficult to track that night as she was the one before it, and I lost her once more around the property of the rich merchant. It seemed an odd coincidence, but we proceeded to cut down the large pear tree behind his home that I felt certain I had seen her climb. Unsurprisingly, the only thing to be found in its depths was a very angry wood pecker. I took it in stride though, as I believed that I had her name and would most assuredly meet her again. But, consulting the list with my servant once more, I found that I had twice been played for a fool. My bride was a clever woman indeed, and so I would have to take on her mischief with a trick of my own.
The next night passed much like the two prior to it. We danced, and at midnight she fled my company, dashing down the staircase with no heed to the trap I had laid. Her determination to escape me was such that she continued running, even after her foot had slipped out of the one distinctive golden slipper that my pitch had cemented to the staircase. Everything was falling into place.
The next day I set out, slipper in hand, and tried my shoe on each and every woman that would lend me her foot. Some could squeeze themselves into the shoe, but it was never an exact fit. I was just despairing over my luck when I chanced to pass by the rich merchant's house once more. Perhaps the location of her disappearance was not a coincidence after all. And, low and behold, the man had two lovely daughters that fit my lady's description quite perfectly. The eldest and her mother disappeared into the kitchen, and to my delight, she came striding out, her foot perfectly contained within the confines of the slipper. We mounted the horse, and the sudden twittering of the birds above us seemed to me a good omen. It was not until halfway home that I glanced back to find my bride looking quite pale and the front of her one shoe dripping copious amounts of blood. Her foot was aching too terribly for her to defend herself, and so we spoke not a word for the duration of the ride. I dared not have her remove the shoe.
Once I had delivered my false bride back to her parents, I was quite ready to end my search for the day. And I had almost gotten away, but the littler sister stopped my horse and begged me to let her try on the shoe. Her hair color did strike me as somewhat familiar, so I foolishly consented, handing her the now rather disgusting blood-stained slipper. She too disappeared into the back room with her mother and after a moment strode out wearing the perfectly fitted slipper. This was most certainly my bride, thought I.
To my credit, it took me considerably less time to notice my second error. The birds were even louder this time, and their usually pleasant songs grated harshly on my ears. When I turned to place a kiss upon her forehead, my lips met a thin layer of perspiration and my bride looked to be on the verge of expelling her lunch. Her foot too was bleeding extensively, although this time from the heel. We turned around once more, and my second false bride was returned to her home.
I was quite ready to leave this twisted family in my dust, when I noticed a small, grey, and distinctly feminine shape shifting among the ashes of the firepit. "Don't you have another daughter?" asked I, to which he responded in the affirmative, gesturing to the miserable looking creature that was bent over picking small beans from the cinders. My curiosity got the better of me once more, and I insisted that she was called.
I squinted at her, and knew that I beheld the face of my love even before she had slipped on the bloodied shoe. Hideous as it had become in the process, the shoe had obviously returned to its owner. We rode away happily then, and tossed the disgusting slipper into the nearest available creek. The wind whipping past us swept the ashes from her face and garments, and two lovely birds alighted on her shoulders, in their beaks bearing an odd metal frame surrounding two thin cut squares of glass. My bride secured the glasses on my face, and when I turned back, looking through the crystals fixed before my eyes, hers was the first face I ever truly saw.