Happily Ever After

You'd think that Prince Charming and his demure princess would live happily ever after.

But they didn't.

And infrastructure was not to blame.

You see, the Emerald Palace had every luxury imaginable, from exquisite gourmet cuisine to the most sparkling dance floors, where pairs floated in shimmering attire. Not a day went by without a masquerade or a circus parading through the gilded halls.

“Boring,” exclaimed the princess, suffocating on her tight neckline, smothered by unnecessary layers of cotton skirts.

Boring was her most repeated word ever since her wedding day. She repeated it in the vast green plain they passed in their fancy golden carriage, at the sea of turquoise so translucent she could glimpse the colors of fish and wrinkle her nose. She even repeated it in the bedroom, since the Prince failed to charm her with his body.

She was stuck with him, forever and ever, as all good fairytales dictated.

You could say that he duped her into marrying him, but it was a lie. She walked down the aisle with a clear mind. He didn’t sweep her off her feet, coming to rescue her from an impoverished slum, and her parents were both alive and cheering from the side aisles, thank you very much. They encouraged her to accept his marriage proposal, as there was no greater honor than climbing in the social ranks of society.

She was the one who saved him from debilitating shame after he plummeted face-down into a muddy ditch in a bustling bazaar.

“If I may say, you look enchanting,” he muttered, staining her fingers when she pulled him up to his feet. Her lack of excitement over his fancy uniform and the heavy pyrite crown circling his head ‌besotted him. “What is your name, if I may enquire?”

“I don’t have time for this.”

She was busy fishing for treasures, not compliments.

You see, she dreamed of being a gold digger. Her love for basalt rocks and smoky quartz ‌led her on antique quests, where she considered herself ‌a land pirate and not a woodworker's daughter.

Her last quest brought her the unexpected treasure of a crown.

“I always wished to marry a woman with brains,” the prince said. “So many women… have no dreams, no ambition, but you are different.”

And now, her only gemstones were the heavy rubies shackling her neck.

Life blended one event into another, predictable and hollow, like the Prince.

The fool did everything by the book: the courting, the chivalry, the kiss at midnight, but his efforts only elicited scowls and bouts of irritation.

“Tell me what to do,” he knelt before her, kissing her gloved hand. “I shall do anything to please you.”

Yet she took no pleasure in asking, Gods knew they needed no more things.

One particularly dreary evening, with the setting sun coloring the sky in shades of deep purple, she came up with a plan.

She would ask the Prince to accompany her to the Weeping Caves, under the pretense of looking for rare Topaz stones. She needed to lure him to foreign grounds to avoid peeping noble eyes and ears.

There, she would kill him and deem it an event of misfortune.

Terrible indeed.

It was that, or spending the rest of her life wrapped in a perfectly tight pink bow.

The Prince ‌obliged, too naive to be suspicious. He knew her for three days before claiming her, in the fashion fables encouraged. What could go wrong when happy endings were guaranteed?

It worked so well for Cinderella, Snow White, and Belle. Granted, she lacked singing abilities and did not befriend the forest animals, but she had her wits about her, and that was more than other princesses had at their disposal.

If ignorance was bliss, she lived on the edge of sorrow. She grasped at knowledge like a lifeline, as her only stimulation, after her prince only stimulated disdain.

The royal expedition set sail through the turbulent Northern Sea, with a marching band and poor crowds waving the kingdom's flags at the pier. Avoiding eye-popping festivities could probably feed the poor or reduce ‌taxes, but nobody had time for such trifles.

But alas, a spectacle was necessary to feed the illusion, so she smiled and waved, inventing creative excuses and sob stories she would retell after his demise.

Her murder weapon was ready. It was a bronze chisel decorated with flowers and butterflies. She had never killed before, but witnessing hungry brutes quarrel, how hard could it be?

The ship glided on volatile waves of deep green.

“Isn’t this the life you always dreamed of?” he murmured into her hair.

His Royal Highness smelled strongly of fish. His lips pressed to hers, and she had to be sick on his shining leather shoes.

“It’s not you,” she shrugged, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s the sea.”

“I didn’t expect such a rough journey,” he mumbled. “Funny thing, is it, marriage? It’s not what I read about in fairy tales. Would you like to turn back?”

“We shall keep going.” She said, determined to escape, even if it meant vomiting again and again on his shoes.

The Weeping Caves were dark and ominous stones with hollowness so old it reeked of bat feces and sour eggs; she had never seen a place so lovely as this. The treasures the cave concealed must have been blindingly beautiful.

"Are you certain about going in?" The prince asked, his chin quivering. Whoever said that princes were brave was probably reading a different kind of story.

"Indeed, we shall descend," her voice sang out, clear and high.

They kept going down, down, down. Each step thudded and echoed across the rocky terrain. The light was fading out, out, out.

Swallowed by darkness, she drew a shallow breath, then‌ seized the moment. The chisel kissed the nape of his neck, slicing through his skin like butter. Warm blood gushed onto her fancy dress, splattering on her face.

He sobbed and fell to his knees with a clunk.

She turned her back to him, butterflies rummaging in her stomach like hungry bugs.

The prince called her name, but she ignored his cries. He would not ruin her happy ever after with his embarrassing dying whimpers.

A sudden rumble shook the ground beneath her feet, as if the Gods of the Caves had awoken, shaking and covering the exit with tears of stone.

Trapped inside the gaping mouth of a mountain, no one would rescue her. She was ‘saved’ by the Prince, and what good did that bring?

A bone-chilling hand landed on her shoulder.

She flinched.

"You thought you would rid of me so fast?” the ghost of the prince let out a dreadful laugh. “We said till death do us part. I guess mine came earlier than yours, but not by far.”

Her shoulders sagged.

The oxygen would soon run out.

With too many wits about her, she resigned herself to a macabre fate.

At least she was young and beautiful; her death would become a story, recited to young, impressionable girls across the entire kingdom.

Treasures surrounded the princess, and the prince saw at last how sharp her wits were.

And so they existed, in death and misery, unhappily ever after.