The Marriage of Princess Lingonberry

Author's Note

When I wrote The Rescue of Princess Lingonberry I had no idea it would be so well received. Usually what I find to be humorous tends to flop on this site. But to my amazement it's actually proving to be a rather popular fairy tale and a few people have even asked for a sequel.

At first I struggled with the idea, thinking it would end up being a rehash of the same old gags used in the first story. Well, there is some of that -- because who can pass up princesses who speak to birds and horses -- but I think there is also a unique and suitably romantic tale weaving it all together.

As in the first story, there's also quite a build up before you get to the juicy bits, so hang in there.

Enjoy,

Wax Philosophic

*

The events and characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All characters are at least eighteen years of age, and you should be too if you're reading this.

*

Darkness cannot drive out darkness -- only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate -- only love can do that.

Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

*

Long, long ago, in an enchanted forest

Princess Lingonberry watched the last vestiges of the day's golden sunshine streaming through the royal dining room windows in the castle where she had spent the last six months living with Princess Solange and her parents. The sun's fading rays played over the fine linen table cloth and occasionally glinted off the dinnerware that servants were just now beginning to clear.

At the behest of the king and queen, Princess Solange and Princess Lingonberry had spent the past several weeks sampling various dishes and choosing their favorites to be featured for their wedding day feast. Having been at this task for a while the dinner menu was already largely decided, and the majority of effort was now concentrated on the entertainment auditions that took place after the evening meal.

"That was a most delicious dish." The king patted his belly before leaning back in his chair to suck the few last bits from a bone. "You girls must consider adding it to the menu." He took a moment to rotate the bone in his fingers, pronounced it clean, and deposited it on the empty platter just as Clara the cook's assistant arrived to whisk it away.

"Dad, that was roast boar," Princess Solange reminded her father. "Again. Third time this week. And it's already on the menu. You insisted, remember?"

"Oh yes, I suppose I did. Good. And with the little apples in their mouths, I hope?"

"Yes Dad, with the little apples," Solange groaned.

"I do so love a good barbecue."

"O Your highness," Princess Lingonberry chuckled. "We would be remiss if we did not include your favorite dish for our wedding feast. 'Tis on the menu, I assure you." Though too polite to say anything more, Lingonberry's eyes were focused on a bit of barbecue sauce that had found its way onto the king's ruddy beard.

"Lingonberry my dear, no need to be so formal," the king said, not even noticing where the Princess's gaze had settled. "How many times must I tell you that in this house you are not a guest, but another daughter. Please, call me Dad."

A wide smile broke out over the king's face as he turned to hug Princess Lingonberry who was seated to his right. Fortunately, his wife the queen was seated to Lingonberry's left and darted in with a napkin to dab away the barbecue sauce before any collars were stained.

"Dad, we've already settled the menu," Solange said after watching the choreographed beard cleaning in detached silence. "All we have left is the entertainment."

"And the flowers dear." The queen reached over to pat her daughter's hand. "We mustn't forget the flowers."

"Yes, Mom," the two princesses stated in unison.

A sudden smile and a decidedly dreamy look crossed the faces of both princesses as they realized they were speaking in unison for perhaps the fourth time today. And while the princesses were busy making goo-goo eyes at each other, a band of minstrels was assembling in the far corner of the room.

"And also finalizing the guest list," the queen put in.

"Yes, Mom." But this time only Princess Lingonberry spoke. At the mention of the guest list, Princess Solange's thoughts turned to Lingonberry's evil step-auntie Luna. There was little doubt in Solange's mind that even though she had not been invited, the spiteful woman would find some way to ruin their special day.

Solange frowned as she thought about the letters Luna had been sending to Lingonberry almost daily for the past several weeks. Each one included a charcoal sketch of someplace that Solange and Lingonberry had visited with a simple message, 'Your room is still waiting, deary.' Fortunately, Solange had intercepted each and every one, thus sparing her love the anguish of seeing the threats.

Now that the musicians had settled, a servant girl opened a curtain to let the last bits of golden sunlight stream over the far end of the dining table. The waning sunlight illuminated a quartet of goldfinches, all of whom had their top-feathers slicked back with hair gel that they had concocted in the forest this morning using bits of pine sap mixed with generous amounts of snail slime.

The minstrels began playing, and soon the birds joined in with a rich four-part harmony. The song was so moving and so beautiful that Princess Lingonberry, and the queen -- herself born a Nubian Princess, and thus also able to speak bird -- immediately began to swoon. Only the king remained unaffected, because not being a princess he did not speak bird, and Solange because she currently had a headful of worrisome letters on her mind.

The queen looked into Lingonberry's eyes. "It's beautiful honey. What is it called?"

"I don't know. One of the finches wrote it -- young Atticus, I think." Lingonberry clutched her hands to her bosom and rested her head on the queen's shoulder. "Isn't it just the dreamiest?"

The two women smiled.

The rightmost goldfinch in the quartet stood up a little straighter and proudly puffed up his chest feathers as Princess Lingonberry and the queen turned his way to give a little finger wave. The finch was so moved by this moment that when he returned home, he would sing the same song to his children as a lullaby.

Meanwhile Clara, the cook's assistant who did not have the good fortune to speak bird, vowed to ask Princess Lingonberry for a translation of the song's lyrics. For even without understanding the words the finches sang, Clara knew it was suitably romantic and would be a perfect way to woo her lover Macy when the time came for a proposal.

*

That same evening, in Princess Solange's bed chamber

With the curtains mostly drawn to stave off the chill of the early spring evening, only a small sliver of moonlight managed to make its way through the window and fall upon the large four-poster bed that Solange and Lingonberry had been sharing ever since the daring rescue of last autumn had brought them together.

Macy, the chambermaid had struck a blaze in the hearth that was now crackling nicely and adding its warmth and dancing orange light to the room. Macy had also seen fit to make up the bed with the silken sheets that were usually reserved only for special occasions. Though judging from the passionate cries she had been hearing through the door lately, most nights seemed to be special occasions.

As the two princesses stood in their dressing gowns contemplating the flames, Lingonberry stepped around behind Solange to wrap her arms around the slim woman's waist.

"Where are you tonight, my love?" Lingonberry asked.

"Hmm? Oh, I am right here with you. Same as always."

"Your body is here, I agree, but your thoughts are elsewhere, are they not? Did you not feel at all entranced by the beauty of this evening's song?"

"Oh that. Yes, it was nice -- I think. I'm just nervous about the wedding." Solange placed her hand on Lingonberry's and squeezed. "No need to give it another thought, love."

Solange turned to kiss Lingonberry on the lips, thus silencing any further attempt at conversation. She took some comfort in the fact that she had not lied outright to her beloved princess, but it bothered her nonetheless, concealing the truth as she had. Solange decided then and there that something had to be done about this Luna problem before it got out of control.

*

In the servant's quarters, that same night

In another level of the castle Clara, the cook's assistant, was brushing out her hair in front of the mirror and absentmindedly humming the tune she had heard the finches singing after dinner. As she was humming, Clara's lover Macy felt an overwhelming urge to press her lips to Clara and wrap her arms about her neck.

"That is the most romantic song I have ever heard my love," Macy whispered. "You must promise to tell me what it is called." She pressed her index finger to Clara's lips before the poor girl got a chance to reply. "But first, you must accompany me to my bed, for there is a chill in the air and I fell as though I may need you to keep me warm." Macy winked.

Clara smiled and once again vowed to ask Princess Lingonberry for a translation of the lyrics, or at least the name of the song as Macy dragged her off to her bed for a night of passionate lovemaking. The two women tumbled between the sheets almost immediately, and did not succumb to sleep until the wee hours.

*

Princess Solange's bed chamber, early the next morning

Princess Lingonberry woke to an overcast sky, but yet still managed to be in a cheerful morning mood as she sat up in bed and turned to face her lover. "O Solange, is it not the loveliest of ... Solange?"

Her beloved princess was gone.

Against her very nature, Princess Solange had gotten up early. In fact, at the first crow of the rooster she had set out with her faithful steed Stedman. The two had agreed to ride deep into the dark recesses of the enchanted forest to seek out step-auntie Luna and put a stop to the threatening letters she was sending.

"Solange?" Lingonberry called out. "Baby, where are you? I think I need you to rescue me from my virtue again. -- Solange? -- Solange?"

Princess Lingonberry swung her feet out over the edge of the bed to don her slippers and dressing gown. As soon as she rose to her feet a half-dozen goldfinches fluttered through the window and sat patiently at the dressing table, waiting.

"Not now," Lingonberry said, waving her arms frantically. "I have to find Solange."

The finches fluttered about, obviously upset by the disruption in the normal morning routine. 'Who will fix the princess's hair?' they tweeted. 'Who will help her choose her clothing?'

But Princess Lingonberry would not be still long enough for any of them to get an answer from her. Nor did any of the birds feel comfortable perching on her shoulder while she was tearing around the room searching every nook and cranny for clues as to her missing love's whereabouts.

Finally, with the initial shock of waking to find her lover absent beginning to wear off, the princess started to calm. "O Where could she be?" Lingonberry muttered.

At that moment one of the braver goldfinches lighted on Lingonberry's shoulder and began to tweet softly into the princess's ear. "Do not worry yourself beautiful princess, for we shall tell all of our brothers and sisters to keep a watchful eye out for your love. If she is anywhere in the forest, one of us will surely find her."

Princess Lingonberry thanked the finches for their kind offer and promptly got back to the business of fidgeting and worrying over her missing Solange.

*

In a forest clearing, far from the castle

A small sliver of deep orange morning light was just peaking over the hills in the distance as Solange and Stedman approached a clearing beside a group of apple trees and decided to stop for a snack.

"This is where we must part ways my faithful friend." Solange dismounted and held an apple to Stedman's muzzle. "There is no need for you to accompany me to the tower. This is to be my burden alone."

Stedman quickly reminded Solange that his first choice for a name had been Stedman the Brave, and that he was more than willing to follow anywhere she chose to lead. Solange just shook her head and marched off into the distance, her own half-eaten apple clutched in the fingers of her dangling hand.

Soon Solange entered the area of the enchanted forest where the trees began to look withered and leafless, overtaken by a profusion of vines. She shivered a bit, but kept walking at a measured and determined pace. Lingonberry's safety was at stake, and nothing could dissuade her from seeking out the woman responsible, the evil step-auntie Luna.

"Ah, hello deary," came the distinctive cackle of Luna's voice, "I was beginning to think that maybe you would not be coming after all."

"I am here woman." Solange did not mask her contempt in the slightest. "Against my better judgment, but what choice do I have?"

"Well, since you asked -- none!" Luna cackled. "It's either you or her, I really don't care which. Now come along deary, your room is waiting."

Solange trudged along behind Luna, up the path, into the tower and up the narrow stone stairs to the top. She was slowly accepting the fact that she would be this woman's prisoner until the day of her marriage to Princess Lingonberry. She did not relish the idea of living in this dingy lonely tower, but if it was the only way to spare her lover the same fate, it was a burden she would gladly bear.

"And this will be your room, deary," Luna cackled and slammed the heavy wooden door, bolting it from outside. "Now get to work."

Solange scanned the room, from the straw-covered floor to the tiny cot with threadbare blankets that she assumed was to serve as her bed, to the massive oaken desk and towering bookcase. "And what am I supposed to do, spin straw into gold for you? I'm not that kind of princess you know."

"No, I suppose not." Luna threw the bolt and opened the door a crack to poke her head in. "Well, if you have no other means of supporting young Lingonberry then I suggest you choose one of the books on investing, or perhaps money management, and start reading."

"Sorry, what?" Solange was so taken aback by the woman's statement that she dropped to the edge of the cot and sat staring at the door with her mouth agape. "I thought I was to be your prisoner."

"Oh you are, deary." Luna turned to Solange, her look somewhat softer and definitely less maniacal. "I assure you, you will not be leaving here until you have proved to me that you know how to keep your financial house in order. I will not sit idly by while the same fate befalls young Lingonberry that befell her spendthrift parents."

Solange said nothing, she just blinked and wondered what sort of strange magic was at work to transform what she had always thought of as a decidedly wicked step-auntie into what might possibly be an actual, caring human being.

"Honestly, having to bail them out like a couple of newlyweds after they ran off and leveraged more castle than they could afford. And on an adjustable rate mortgage of all things." Luna ran a hand through her crazed raven and silver hair, bringing some semblance of order to her unruly mane. "How could they be so naive not to realize those things usually only go up and rarely go down?"

Solange was dumbfounded. She stared at Luna as she stood there in the doorway smoothing her hair and looking less threatening with each passing moment. For a brief instant, Solange was almost ashamed at her own treatment of the woman last fall.

"Look, I ..." Solange began.

Luna waved her hand in a dismissive gesture and leveled her gaze directly at Princess Solange. "You want a latte or something? I understand you're not much of a morning person, and I've got this great little machine downstairs. Picked it up wholesale at a place in town."

"Um -- um, sure. That'd be great." And before Luna shuffled off Solange added, "And maybe another blanket? I've gotten used to sleeping with Lingonberry beside me. She keeps me warm."

"Sure." Luna smiled. "And I suggest starting with the Suze Orman book. She's kind of lighthearted and fun."

Princess Solange willed herself to close her still gaping mouth, and stood up to make her way toward the bookshelf.

*

The castle gate, at dusk

Stedman stood casting his long shadow against the castle gate and hoping that someone would be by soon to let him in, as he did not feel at all in top form. While he waited, he began to contemplate names such as Stedman the queasy or Stedman the green, for he realized now that he had spent far too much time in the apple orchard before returning home with Princess Solange's message.

"O There you are my sweet." Princess Lingonberry gently stroked Stedman's mane. "Darius and I were worried about you."

Stedman whinnied and pawed the ground.

"O, I know all about Princess Solange. The finches told me just before you arrived," Lingonberry said. "And no, we don't have to tell your brother Darius that you spent your afternoon eating apples. We'll tell him you were off somewhere being very brave. Does that sound OK?"

Stedman noticed that the princess wiped a tear from her eye as she led him back to the stables. He wanted to say something that would comfort her, for he had grown fond of Princess Lingonberry and loved her very much, but he just couldn't find the words. And with a belly over-stuffed with apples, he was not in the best state for deep thoughts.

*

The Reality Playwright's Theater conference room, at midday

In a small cottage on the outskirts of the village, a group of seven people sat around a rectangular trestle table, the top of which was littered with cheaply-constructed little wooden buckets of grilled chicken skewers and something called Szechuan Noodles from a new restaurant in town.

Six of the seven people were grumbling and thinking about all the places they'd rather be having lunch right now. The seventh was a woman seated at the head of the table and fuming, the producer.

"Last item on the agenda people, and we're not leaving until we come up with something to fix it," the woman stood up and threw and handful of papers down on the table. "Property Ladder is taking a beating in the ratings. Too many royal houses associate ladders with siege ladders and are quite understandably turned off by the implications."

"Why don't we just call it Property Steps?" someone suggested. "Or maybe Property Stairs?"

"No!" The woman pounded her fist on the table. "That's just a rehash of the same old rubbish. I want

new

ideas. New, people! Somebody remind me again why it is I even pay you."

"This Old Castle?" came another suggestion.

"No! How many times do I have to say it? Old is out. We want new. New, people!"

"This New Castle?" the same person, trying a new angle.

"No! You're fired, now get out. Next!"

"Property Siblings?" came another voice.

"No! Too much potential for family strife."

The producer's tirade was interrupted by a timid knock on the door and the receptionist poking her head in. "There's a Princess Lingonberry here to see you, ma'am."

"Tell her we're in an important meeting," the producer snapped. "She'll have to come back."

"I tried that, but ..." the receptionist said. Then suddenly, in a very unprincess-like manner, Lingonberry barged through the door and stood beside the producer.

"So this is where the magic happens," Lingonberry said, stretching her arms out and twirling once around. From out of nowhere, a goldfinch flew in and perched on her shoulder. Lingonberry smiled. "I want you to know I've seen every single one of your reality plays. O They really are the future of entertainment. Simply magnificent."