Chapter 3

Ginger leaned against the locked door for a moment, her stomach suddenly turned to stone. Although she had bought herself more time, eventually that time would run out – and she'd have no excuse. She knew she could never tell the king the truth – it was too laughable a thing – and besides, it would only get both her and her father in trouble. She instinctively rubbed her neck; she knew the king liked to chop the heads of traitors and liars. And no flipping of her lustrous hair or flashing of her charming smile would save her from the block.

The sun had set and a half moon rose, surrounded by sparkling stars in the navy blue sky. She crossed to the window, thinking of her father. She was suddenly furiously angry with him; this was, after all, his fault. Any lie would have been better than this, she thought. She slammed the window shut and yanked the curtains closed. She felt a vicious pleasure in blaming her father… he was the reason she had grown up hungry, he was the one who had never seized any opportunities for a better life, he was the one who had been too weak to do away with the competition… he was the reason she was here, locked in a room, faced with the prospect of only having two more days to live. Her insides clenched; there had to be a way out of this. She had talked herself out of plenty of other situations… she had evaded taxes, thrown off burglars, beguiled proprietors come to buy their land. What could she do that would make the king forget about that room of straw?

She glanced desperately around the lovely room. Her eyes fell on the vanity. She walked over to it and collapsed into the spindly chair, facing the bejeweled mirror. Her face looked tired and scared, something she hated, and she turned away. Looking through the drawers, she found the most extraordinary things; combs adorned with pearls, exotic perfume, necklaces, rings, bracelets, all made of precious metals and jewels. Picking out an emerald ring, she slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand. But as she was admiring it, a thought clicked in her mind. Marriage. The king was unmarried, with no heir… he must want an heir, she thought. She imagined the prospect; she would be queen, safe from blades of any sort. She smiled to herself… she'd never be hungry again.

Confident, she stood and looked at the door to the room of straw. Just another challenge, she thought, and was about to just turn away and go to bed when she heard the soft whirring of a spinning wheel. But that couldn't be… she was just tired, and thinking too much about her situation. She sat down on the bed, but the sound continued, soft but very real. She shook her head furiously, convinced she was hallucinating. But the sound fervently persisted, and more to prove to herself that she wasn't going crazy than anything else, she crossed over to the door and opened it.

But she had barely stepped into the room when she uttered a cry and her hand flew up to her mouth. The lamps in the room had all been lit, and the wheel was indeed spinning, apparently of its own accord. Panicking only slightly, she searched around for the source of all this. Suddenly she heard shuffling, and amongst the mounds of straw she saw the shadow of figure.

"Who's there?" she said through her fingers. "Who are you?"

"Madam, I have come hither to help no other but thyself," came a low, smooth voice.

"Come out," Ginger said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

The figure shuffled forward, and from out of the shadows came a man, or at least something that resembled a man. He was no higher than four feet tall, with a long, straight nose and wrinkled skin. His eyes were darkened by the black bowler hat he wore, but they shined and gleamed at her nonetheless. A thin mustache lined his upper lip, and his gray hair just barely reached his shoulders. His thin body was dressed in a fine gray pantsuit and shiny black leather shoes. He reached up and pulled off his hat with long fingers that, to Ginger's wonder, had no nails. He grinned and bowed low.

"Who are you?" she breathed, not sure whether to be frightened or amused.

He shook his head. "No, madam, I canst not tell thee, but I am thy friend."

Ginger's eyes narrowed again; she was suspicious of his speech and of his appearance, and especially of his disinclination to tell her his name. But she had an innate feeling that she could get him to help her, and so continue to question him.

"Why would you be my friend? I do not know you," she said.

"Thou art in trouble, madam. I have come hither to help thee."

"By doing what?" Ginger asked almost excitedly.

He smiled, an oddly reassuring sight. "I can spin thy straw into golden thread."

Ginger's heart leapt, but she quickly disguised her excitement and raised an eyebrow.

"Really? In return for what?" she inquired.

He cast an eager glance from her head to her feet. "Thy ring, lady."

She looked at the ring on her finger. A small price to pay, she thought; it wasn't even hers, after all. It was a very good thing that she had kept her grandmother's ring safe and sound in the jewelry box.

"Can you do it in two nights?" she asked.

"Ay, milady, I can."

Thrilled as she was, she thought for a moment, wondering his authenticity. If he was speaking the truth, and he did spin the straw in return for nothing but the ring, then she would not only stay alive but most likely be very favorable in the king's eye. If she produced the gold, he'd have to, at the very least, elevate her to aristocracy. Then she could shut down her father's mill and build them their own manor home, or move them to the city. Perhaps she could even attend the university! She looked back down at the man.

"Alright, then. If you spin all this straw into gold by the end of tomorrow night, I shall give you this ring," she said, choosing her words carefully.

The man bowed again. "I shalt keep thee to thy word, lady."

"And I shall keep you to yours," she replied.

He straightened and smiled. Ginger nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind her. She hurried away from the door and sat down on the bed, her mind suddenly at ease. For whatever reason, she trusted the stranger, mysterious as he was. Besides, she had said she wouldn't give him the ring until after he had finished the straw; and if he truly would spin all that straw by the end of tomorrow night, in return for nothing but this ring, she'd keep her head.

I'll check in the morning, she thought. Just to make sure he started.

She breathed a sigh of relief and lay down on the bed. She smiled; she wouldn't have to convince the king to marry her after all. She laughed. What a silly idea that was! Amazing what desperate people will do.

And with that amusing thought, Ginger went to sleep.

She awoke the following morning to the sound of a maid bustling about her room. Sitting up, she groggily yawned and squinted in the bright morning sun.

"What time is it?" she mumbled.

"Eight o'clock, miss," the maid said, before laying out a wash towel and then leaving the room.

Ginger rubbed her eyes but didn't leave the bed. It was so soft and warm… nothing like the hard, straw-filled cot she had at home.

But the thought of straw triggered something in her brain, and she reluctantly left the bed to stand in front of the door to the room of straw. For a moment she didn't open it; a sudden flood of panic was running through her veins. That little man… he seemed awfully like something from a dream, something that her mind would work up just to soothe her senses. What if she had just dreamt it? What if this was the last day she would wake up alive?

She slid her hand to the doorknob and pulled. Nothing happened. Fully awake and full of dread, she jiggled the knob violently; why was it locked? She pounded on it furiously, but it didn't budge. But then she noticed lovely hair clip lying on the vanity. Perhaps… she picked it up and, muttering a soft prayer, slid it quickly between the lock and the door. To her relief, she heard a click, and when she again tried the doorknob, the door opened easily.

The spectacular sight that met her on the other side surely wiped away any dread or panic she'd ever had. Instead of mounds of straw, half the room was full of mounds of gold, glittering, sparkling golden thread that glimmered merrily in the sun. Filled with awe, Ginger reached out and pulled a strand of thread from the nearest pile. It was thin, and strong, and was so beautiful that Ginger wanted to just sit amongst the stacks all morning. But footsteps out in the hall jerked her out of her trance, and she quickly rushed out of the room and closed the door, hopping back into bed.

Her bedroom door opened and the king marched in with several guards. Now that her mind was at ease, Ginger smiled at him and thought, He's not so bad looking after all.

The king noticed her smile and a greedy gleam glinted in his eye.

"And how was your night?" he asked.

"Wonderful, your majesty. This bed is marvelous," she said with a grin.

He smiled humorlessly. "And how did you fare?" he asked, gesturing to the door.

"Quite well," she lied. "I got a good amount of rest. I should be done by tomorrow morning, no problem," she said, smiling as she tried to subtly smooth her hair.

He nodded. "Well… excellent," he said tightly, as if containing himself. He suddenly smiled a bit genially and went to her window to open the curtains. He actually was a little handsome, Ginger thought. Not bad at all, really. Even if he was selfish, he was terribly distinguished. And besides, she thought as he moved to the next window, they were of the same mold, weren't they? They could both get whatever they wanted… She saw in him a glimmer of herself, something that both pleased and alarmed her.

"Well, did you finish your sightseeing yesterday?" he asked, his voice still cold, but his eyes thawing a little.

"I suppose so," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I'll have someone take you for a tour today, of the palace," he said.

A little disappointed that it wouldn't be him, she threw a smile on her face and nodded. "That would be lovely," she said. "Thank you, your majesty."

He nodded curtly, and then swept out of the room. The maid from earlier came back in, accompanied by another young woman, and folded the bedcovers back.

"I'll be starting your bath, miss," she said, curtsying and going to the washroom.

"And I'll be setting out your clothes, miss," the other said. "Do you have a preference?"

Ginger shook her head. "No, not at all."

The maid nodded, and went to the closet. Ginger rubbed her eyes and stretched, the warm spring sun filtering onto her bed. With a smile, she fell back onto the pillows, feeling like she never wanted to leave this bed, or this palace. She thought of her tiny cottage, out in the woods. Her anger at her father from last evening swept out of her again, as she realized it was awful to belittle her father like that; he had done the best he could raising her, all by himself. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't offer her more than that life. After all, it was because of that life that made her the way she was now. Lying in her warm bed, with maids preparing her bath and setting out her clothes, the thought of her loving father soothing her, and the memory of that magnificent gold in the next room, Ginger felt the happiest she'd ever felt in her life.

The one maid had carefully laid out a silk, knee-length lavender dress, and then had gone into the washroom to help the other girl. Ginger heard them whispering, and rather curious, she quietly slipped out of bed and crouched at the door.

"What a heartless man! No wonder no one likes him!" one hissed.

"And he locks her room at night, as well," the other whispered.

"Hm! It's little question that he isn't married or has any friends! No one will ever admire him if he's so conniving and greedy."

They had finished pouring the water and Ginger immediately became fascinated with the crown molding on the ceiling. The two maids left the washroom and curtsied to Ginger.

"Thank you," she said with what she hoped was kindness.

They murmured something and left the room. Ginger walked slowly into the washroom and took off her nightgown. Did everyone really think that of the king? Did they all dislike him so? She was suddenly very disappointed of what she had felt earlier: that she and the king were alike in so many ways. It reminded her forcibly of how greatly others disliked someone who was devious and conniving – in other words, someone like her. But, she reasoned with herself, for her it was a matter of life or death. If she hadn't tricked the local spinner into letting her keep her own profits, she wouldn't have lived to see eighteen. And yes, the little man had spun the gold last night – but how did she know for sure he would tonight? If she wasn't conniving, she would die.

The thought of marriage had been a bit extreme, she thought to herself. That wasn't necessary – that had been greed. She was never greedy, had never been greedy; she had merely gotten what she needed to stay alive. That was all.

She relaxed in the hot water and allowed her senses to be calmed. However, she thought, if the king, for whatever reason, would ask me to marry him, I'd have to agree. He wouldn't think twice of beheading the woman who refuses him. He was, after all, the king. So he wants some golden thread. Most kings were greedy, weren't they? She thought of the king of Parfalia, her kingdom's hated rival. She had once heard a story that he'd destroyed an entire village searching for a measly ruby. Now that was greedy.

Ginger got out of the bath feeling a sense of purpose. Perhaps she could befriend the king; heaven knows he could do with a friend or two, she thought. They were so alike, no matter what way she looked at it. As she dressed, she tried to think of a way to get him to give her a tour of the palace. The silk was so very soft and light, and the sun was so warm… there had to be a way to befriend him. The maid had also left out a hat of the latest fashion, and an amethyst hair clip. Fixing her hair and attaching the clip, she put on the hat and grinned at herself in the mirror.

She left the room and strolled into the throne room, ready to begin working on him. However, the room was entirely empty, but Ginger didn't fret. She walked straight up to a guard and asked where the king was.

"He is in his study, miss," the guard said.

"And where is that?" Ginger asked.

The guard turned sharply and began to walk out of the room, Ginger trotting alongside him. They walked down the corridor that led to the entrance hall, and then up the grand staircase, and then to the left. Turning left once more, Ginger found herself in a smallish, round, carpeted room, with maple-wood walls and a small chandelier. Armchairs lined the walls in a semicircle; there was a handsome desk across from the entrance and next to a wide door that blended in with the walls. Another guard stood at the door, and several wealthy men sat in the chairs, reading or writing. Ginger's escort bowed and left, leaving her to wonder whether she could even see the king or not. She decided to give it a shot, and went to the guard.

"I have to see the king," she said.

The guard's mouth twitched. He inclined his head.

"Did you receive a summons with an appointed time?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I'm the miller's daughter, Ginger. I have to speak with him about something," she said sharply.

This time the guard nodded. "Of course, miss. Just one moment."

He turned to the door and rapped twice. Ginger heard the king's voice permitting entrance, and the guard went in. A few moments later, the guard came out with a ruffled-looking banker, who glared at Ginger before huffily leaving. Ginger shrugged and went in as the guard held the door for her.

The king was sitting at a splendid desk, writing. He indicated a chair, but Ginger didn't sit.

"What would you like?" he asked, not looking up.

"You didn't have to cut short your meeting, your majesty. I could have waited a moment or two," she said with a smile.

"I would have cut it short anyway. He was displeasing me."

Ginger chuckled, not at all falsely. The king looked up at this.

"What do you want?" he asked again.

She waved a hand and sauntered to the desk, admiring a silver sculpture on his desk.

"I was just wondering about that tour, sire," she said.

"Ah. I'll have someone come immediately," he said, his hand reaching for a copper bell. Her hand stopped him, though, and she smiled at his confused alarm.

"I was actually wondering, sir, if you could take me for the tour."

The king looked as if he were about to laugh, but then realized she was serious. His eyes narrowed.

"It is your palace, after all, majesty. Your tour would be so much more personal and interesting than some boring guard. And I don't spin very well if my mind is weary." She paused, careful to keep smiling. He still looked as if the sky had just fallen. "I know you could use a day off. You're the king, cancel your appointments, majesty. And if they protest, just chop their heads off."

A smile definitely twitched at his mouth, but he controlled it. She could see his mind working; he could either say no and run the risk of his gold being in jeopardy, or he could give in and please her. She knew his decision before he even said it.

"Well, I wouldn't want you to be weary," he said. He put his pen aside and stood up. He walked to the door and rapped once. The guard instantly appeared.

"Tell them all to leave and come back tomorrow," he ordered.

"Sire?" the guard asked in incredulity.

"All of them," the king repeated.

The guard bowed and closed the door. Ginger could hear the grumblings of the men as they were told to leave; she smiled. The king picked up his jacket and put it on as Ginger looked at his bookshelves.

"See you anything you like?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes… things that I would like to read, anyway." She paused. "I saw the university yesterday."

"Did you walk around?" he asked, as if eager to keep her interested and lively.

She smiled sheepishly. "Yes, I couldn't help it. It looked amazing."

"Best professors on the continent," the king stated.

She nodded and turned around. He gestured to the door, and she smiled and led him out of the room. The round room was empty except for the guard, who bowed quickly. The king snapped his fingers and the guard walked behind them as they left the room.

"Which way?" she asked once out the door. The king looked left, then right, and then left again and began to walk. She walked alongside him; the corridor had no more doors, and instead ended in a staircase that zigzagged down. On the opposite wall was a beautiful stained glass window, and the king paused.

"My great-grandfather decided to rip out several windows and replace them with stained glass," he said, his voice and face still stony.

"Why?" Ginger asked.

The king shrugged. "Because he could."

Ginger chuckled. The king led her down the stairs to the next floor, into a wide navy-carpeted corridor with several statues.

"Empty… empty… closet… closet…" he said offhandedly as they passed a few doors. He then stopped in front of a rather plain-looking door and signaled to the guard to open it. They walked inside and the guard hurriedly lighted a few lamps.

It seemed like an armory, except everything was very old and in glass cases. There was armor made of brass and iron, shining swords were jewel-encrusted hilts, and beat-up shields that bore the kingdom's flag.

"This is all the armor worn by past kings," the king said. "Once they die, their armor is brought into this room, exactly as it was when they died."

Ginger had happened to stop in front of a blackened sword as he said this.

"So if they die in battle…?" she asked, pointing to the sword.

"Then it's preserved with everything that was on it when they died," he finished, smiling at her apparent disgust. "All the armor is nearly the same, except that each king's initials are engraved on their chest."

Without asking if she was finished, he beckoned the guard and they left the room, the guard extinguishing the lamps. They continued down the corridor; the right side broke for a staircase, but the left side had no doors until two wide ones at the end, where the hall led into the grand foyer. The king opened the two doors and they stepped into a steeply sloped lecture hall of sorts, with rows of seats and the kingdom's flag draped on the back wall.

"I give speeches here," the king said, looking around the room as if searching for something else to say about it. He apparently found nothing, and shrugged and they left the room.

The tour continued in that vein, with the king saying a few words about each room and then moving on to the next. Ginger actually coaxed a few stories out of him, including one where he had pelted a duke with apples when he was eight in the ballroom, for no apparent reason. Ginger had laughed as he told it, something that appeared to confuse him, which only made her laugh harder.

Around midday, Ginger's stomach was grumbling with hunger, for she had never had breakfast. They sat on a patio outside, eating lunch overlooking the green lawn and gardens below.

"How often do you travel out of Ende, your majesty?" Ginger ventured to ask.

"Not often. My main business is here," he replied carefully.

She nodded and continued to eat. They ate in a silence that began as awkward, but eased into comfortable. As the clock struck one, the king rose.

"I really must be going. I have a meeting that cannot be delayed," he said.

Ginger rose as well and nodded. "Of course, your majesty."

He looked to the guard who had followed them the entire time. "Take her to the library," he told the guard, and then with a curt nod, he left.

The guard gestured for Ginger to follow him, and she strolled behind him as they wound their way through the palace. They were all the way up on the fifth floor when the guard finally stopped at splendidly white double doors with golden doorknobs. They were the only doors in the small hallway, and on either side stood busts of the kingdom's most eminent literary figures. The guard opened the door for her, and then walked away.

Ginger gasped as she walked in. The library was a fantastically enormous room with what looked like thousands upon thousands of books. She stood at the very top of a three-story flight of stairs that led down to the main floor, where a couches and armchairs sat in front of a handsome fireplace. She took her time examining the room, and picked out more books than she could hold. She tottered down toward the seats, and collapsed into a squishy sofa. Eagerly picking out a book from her pile, she began to read. Curling up, she devoured the books all afternoon.

A/N : Wow, totally boring ending, but I didn't want to go any farther. SORRY this took so long! I really didn't mean it to, I've been dying to write, but school is evil, and college applications are evil, and my physics class is EVIL! Ah!

So hopefully the next one won't take nearly as long. But keeping reviewing! And if anyone likes Harry Potter stories, I uploaded a new one, which so far has a grand total of zero reviews. How depressing.

Love, luck, and flying Ringwraiths,

Emma