Disclaimer: The Chronicles of Narnia, all characters, places, and related terms belong to C.S. Lewis. The fairy tale is based on John Warren Stewig's Princess Florecita and the Iron Shoes.

Preeminent Love

It was Midsummer's Eve. The servant girl walked through the castle, all of it still and quiet. She passed pages, ladies-in-waiting, maids, menservants, lords, musicians, cooks, cats, dogs, birds, mice, all fast asleep. She left bloody footprints in the dust covering the floors. The iron shoes she had worn out had pinched her feet, cutting and blistering them. It was painful to walk on her bare feet; yet it was also wonderful to feel the ground under the soles of her feet, to be free from those cold, hard shoes. Her footfalls sounded loudly as she walked through the rooms and hallways.

The girl went through a set of double doors and found herself in a great room. In the center she saw a bed, covered with satin sheets, large pillows, and embroidered coverlets; and asleep in the bed was the prince the robin had told her about so many months ago.

Timidly, she knelt beside the bed and watched the prince sleep. He was so beautiful: his black ebony hair, rosy cheeks. As she gazed on his peaceful, dreaming face, the girl knew she had been right in seeking him. Her heart had been touched when she heard the robin sing of the prince's enchantment. Softly, she recited the robin's song, as she had often done during her long journey:

"In a land beyond three times three a valley,

in a land beyond three times three a mountain

lies a prince to sleep until the end of time,

until the end of time.

"Once a year wakens he from slumber,

once on Midsummer's Eve at midnight's ring.

Once he wakens,

then returns to his enchanted sleep.

And shall it ever be until the end of time.

"Unless a maid brave and true will go

to the land beyond three times three a valley,

to the land beyond three times time a mountain;

wear through one times three pairs of iron shoes;

stroke the prince's forehead with a feather

at midnight's ring on Midsummer's Eve:

Then his enchantment will be forever broken."

The girl gently brushed her hand against the prince's dark locks. She had worn out three pairs of irons. She had traveled beyond three times three a valley and mountain. She had traveled many lonesome months, falling into many an adventure and had received counsel and aid for her quest. And she had nearly reached its end. The girl wondered if she would at last find what she had secretly yearned for, as a strange longing had gripped her to try to find the enchanted prince.

A clock started to chime the hour of midnight in a deep, sleepy moan. Quickly the girl brought forth a feather, bestowed on her by the robin, from a small pouch tied around her waist. Slowly she moved the feather over the prince's forehead in a soft caress.

At the fifth ding, the prince's head moved back and forth. At the ninth, he yawned and shifted. As the twelfth dong died away, eyelids opened to reveal deep dark eyes. The prince blinked up at the ceiling before his gaze fell on the servant girl kneeling at his bedside, the hand holding the feather now resting on the pillow above his head, her other hand lying on the edge of the bed.

"Who are you, my dear?" he asked wonderingly.

The girl opened her mouth to answer when a great clamor rose. There were many shouting and cheering and crying and barking and crippling as all in the castle awoke, laughing and celebrating. They were free!

The noise was so loud and unexpected that the girl cast an alarmed look to the open doors. But she forgot about it when she felt the prince take her hand. Returning her eyes to him, she watched him place her hand against his chest. And when he looked into her eyes, she saw a soft, tender light in his. She could not give a name to it; yet her heart leapt in recognition and joy. Here was what she had been longing and searching for.

"My name is Polly," she at last replied.

A gentle smile touched his face. The prince reached out with his other hand to brush her golden hair and flushed cheek.

"My Polly," he whispered.

She smiled in return.

Polly stirred and sleepily opened her eyes. Stiffly she moved away from the tree trunk she had been leaning against and yawned, rubbing her eyes. It was late afternoon, she realized, noting the sun low in the sky. She covered another yawn.

"The maiden finally awakens," a voice commented.

Gasping in surprise, Polly looked to her left to find Digory just a foot away, sitting on the swing, which was groaning under his weight, and watching her curiously.

"Oh. Yes, I must have fallen asleep while I was reading," she murmured and reached for the book of fairy tales lying on the grass next to her.

"Indeed," he said and continued to gaze at her for a moment with an unreadable expression on his face. He shook his head slightly and stood up. "Mother sent me to fetch you, for it is supper time."

"Oh." Polly accepted the hand Digory offered and got to her feet.

An amused smile twisted his lips as he looked at the book under her arm. "You still read those." He chuckled.

"And always will," she said a little sharply. "My mother read them to me, and I shall do the same to my own children," she added in a softer tone with a wistful expression in her face.

"And do you still wish they would really happen to you?" His smile widened to a huge grin.

He was teasing her! She lowered her head, her face flaming, remembering the dream she had experienced. A mixture of embarrassment and annoyance came over her. Mutely she gave a single nod of her head. She wanted to kick herself for her childish behavior.

Digory laughed. "I hope I'm included in at least some of your fantasy dreams."

Polly paled but lifted her chin bravely. "Do you care if you are in my dreams or not?" she asked, looking steadily up at him.

The mirth slowly vanished from his eyes. He looked slightly embarrassed and appeared as though he would not answer, and then sighed. Digory caught one of her hands in his. "Aye, I do, more than I ought," he confessed, holding her gaze. "Do I manage to invade your dreams?" He was surprised when she laughed lightly and stepped out of his reach.

"You may have known me for nearly ten years, but I am allowed to have a few secrets," she smiled sweetly at him. She started walking towards the house and called over her shoulder, "Your father and mother are possibly wondering what has become of us. We should not keep them waiting, Mr. Kirke."

Digory stared blankly at Polly's retreating back. "No, indeed, Mrs. Kirke," he chuckled and hurried to catch up to his wife.

THE END