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“I love him, Daddy!” King Frederick breathed deeply. It had been a very long conversation with his youngest child, punctuated by much pouting and exasperated sighing and stomping of pretty feet. Frederick stood over her while she held her face in her hands and cried. He wanted to do nothing more than pout and sigh and stomp his feet. Of course, he couldn’t, even in his daughter’s bedroom with no one else to see. Kings had to uphold higher standards, especially with sixteen year-old daughters. “Lily, dear.” He tried to soften his voice. “I have never stopped you from doing anything, regardless of appearances. Remember when you wanted to learn swordplay?” Frederick heard a pause in her sobbing and knew she was paying attention. “I did not stop you then, and I seem to recall having to remind the fencing master that I was not simply a willful father.” Frederick, in fact, had to stand in the training room and shout at the top of his lungs “I am the King!” He had been much surprised when Lily expressed interest in fencing, much more so when she ignored the light rapiers and selected the broadsword during her first lesson. She could barely lift it then. Three years later she was applauded for her gioco stretto technique. “You’re going to tell me not to see him,” Lily said through her hands. Frederick searched for a way to say “yes” without using the actual word. “You are a princess,” he said. It sounded like “yes” to him. “I love him.” Lily lifted her head. “You have mentioned that.” “And we’re going to be married.” “Please don’t make me raise my voice to you,” said Frederick. “You let Andrew and Helena marry for love.” Lily looked her father squarely in the eyes. “Yes, I did. But your five oldest brothers and sisters married the people I told them to.” “That’s part of their duty to the family,” Lily said. “You don’t have any more political needs. The kingdom is secure.” Frederick looked down at his daughter and once again admired her for her intelligence as well as her beauty. He certainly didn’t have to arrange another marriage. “I allowed your sister and brother to marry whom they chose.” He shook his regal head. “I did, however, meet their betrotheds.” “You’ve met him, Daddy.” “Lily, I feel I am showing remarkable restraint.” “It’s not like there hasn’t been a precedent. Princess Elizabeth in Montebene. Princess Ekaterina in Parvograd.” Lily stopped speaking when she saw her father’s shoulders slump. He was defeated. There was nothing he could say to his daughter to make her change her mind. And unlike other times when he had raged his opinion, he knew from experience the effect would be lost on one of his children. “But it’s a frog, Lily.” He wondered if saying it for the twentieth time would produce different results. “He’s a frog prince, Daddy,” she said for the twentieth time.  “I have no choice, do I?” “I love him.” King Frederick breathed deeply again and let the air out in a long sigh. “All right, Lily. Kiss your frog, and then you can marry your prince.” “Oh, I can’t kiss him.” Frederick looked down at her with newfound surprise dredged from a well he thought already dry. “Why not?” “Because we’re not married yet. It wouldn’t be proper.” “But,” the word came out in a series of b-sounds, “how will you know he’s a prince?” “I just know, Daddy.” “You have to kiss him.” “Daddy!” The word exploded from Lily’s mouth as if she had been insulted. Considering her reaction, perhaps she had been. “Do you know how many frogs get kissed by girls that turn out to be just frogs? A lot more than frogs who turn into princes. What makes you think this one’s a prince?” “Because he is,” said Lily. Frederick tried to think of something to say and couldn’t focus his thoughts on less than ten words at a time. He raised his arms and lowered them, then did it again. Had anyone but the King done it he would have looked like a flapping duck. Instead, Frederick looked like a distressed king as he stopped in mid-flap. Then he left the room.  “I will not sanction a marriage of my youngest daughter to a frog, Gossamer.” It had taken Frederick all afternoon to gather enough control to remove the exclamation points from his speech. “Lily is a willful girl,” said the Queen. “She is accustomed to getting her own way.” “I don’t understand where she gets her stubborn streak.” Frederick glanced sideways at his wife as he smiled, the first of the day. “It’s a mystery,” Gossamer replied, the corners of her mouth mirroring Frederick’s. “I don’t think I can do this,” he said. “I’ll talk to her.” “Thank you.” Frederick held her hands and relaxed. His moment of peace lasted exactly three seconds. “Mommy! Daddy! Look at me!” Lily came into the room in a twirl of white lace. Her gown was almost as beautiful as the glow on her face. She clapped her hands and hopped up and down. She ran from the room with all the excitement of champagne bubbles rising in a glass. Frederick and Gossamer stared with open mouths. “Should I still talk to her?” she asked after a long moment. Frederick did something quite unkingly, which involved much cursing and a little crying, and won’t be discussed in detail here. The sky was a bright, cloudless blue, the kind poets with higher educations call cerulean. The gods of the air exhaled the softest puffs of wind in ways that caused flags to flutter but not snap. The rose gardens around the castle chose that morning to explode with blooms, to bless the air with their perfume. Songbirds alit in the parapets and sprinkled the morning with melodies, and it was all just barely over the top. Frederick wore his purple robes beneath a sable-lined cloak. He stood on the balcony and looked out at the assembled crowd in the courtyard. There was a great deal of purple out there. “Will you make it through this?” Gossamer asked from behind him. He only nodded. Soon thereafter, Frederick stood beside the Queen at the top of the steps. Red carpet covered the stairs. Below them stood the Royal Priest, Princess Lily, and a page. The priest wore his highest hat, his most officious robes, and plenty of golden jewelry on his wrists and fingers, yet it was as sackcloth compared to the bride. 
Princess Lily was as radiant as a sunrise on a calm sea. Her hair was woven with ribbons and flowers, held in place by a circlet of spun silver. Her dress, that had appeared as a twirl of lace a month before, proved to be a masterpiece of tailoring when standing still. Beadwork of diamonds and pearls covered the delicate fabric. It somehow made her look prettier than she was, and the bride was indeed beautiful.The groom, of course, wore nothing. He was carried by a page, whose uniform was starched to cardboard stiffness, on a soft lilac-colored pillow fringed with golden threads. As the page stood beside the bride, he was clearly trying his hardest to think invisible thoughts. “Your majesties,” the priest began, indicating the King and Queen without actually looking at them, “lords and ladies, honored guests ... we come together on this glorious morning to unite Princess Lily and—” Then the priest floundered. Undoubtedly he was trying to follow a speech he had made hundreds of times before under normal circumstances. “—her betrothed,” said the priest after a pause long enough for everyone to notice. “With the blessing of King Frederick, this couple begins today their life together.” Then he continued with the prayers, the songs, the scattering of the flower petals, the anointing with oils, and the waving of incense. It was, indeed a glorious day, but despite the blooming roses and cerulean sky it was still a very long service. “Do you,” the priest eventually said as if out of nowhere, “Princess Lily, take this ... groom to be your husband, forever and always?” 
Lily gazed deeply into the frog’s eyes. Frederick heard snickering in the crowd below and hoped he didn’t flush too badly.“I do,” said Lily, and there was more twittering. “Do you,” asked the priest, looking as serious as possible, “take this beautiful woman to be your bride, forever and always?” To everyone’s surprise, the frog straightened up and looked directly at the priest. He croaked deliberately and loudly, one retort. Frederick couldn’t help but feel it had also been delivered haughtily. The priest opened his mouth, but no sound came out. After a moment he said, “Uh.” Frederick was impressed he managed even that. “I pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest said after only a bit more uncomfortable silence. “You may kiss—” And he obviously wondered if the groom could follow his prompt. “Yes,” the priest said, “that’s all. You may kiss.” It was another masterful recovery. The page took his cue and lifted the pillow. Lily bent only slightly, her lips puckered. She pressed her mouth down onto the top of the frog’s head and held it there. She lifted her head to the accompaniment of a little “smack.” Lily looked down at the frog. The frog looked up at his new bride. The moment, more uncomfortable than any other up to that point, persisted long enough to make every single person in the courtyard, especially the page, wish they were far away. 
Then the frog jumped off the pillow, a suicidal leap for such a small frog. Frederick was filled with mixed emotions as he simultaneously envisioned dancing up and down the halls of the castle and cradling his grief-stricken daughter in his arms. A pink glow that did not offend the eyes covered the stairs. The page fell back, retreating from both it and the center of attention. Frederick blinked, and when the glowing vanished a handsome man stood beside his daughter. He was tall, with dark hair that shone in wavy locks down to his broad, strong shoulders that topped a frame fit for wrestling bears. As a frog he had worn nothing, but as a prince he was garbed in a black and silver robe over black pants and boots. A circlet of matching silver held his perfectly parted mane out of his green eyes. Frederick’s mouth was dry. He searched his mind for something to say and found it empty. Still, as Lily and the prince leaned into each other and kissed, he smiled as the assembled people burst into cheer-filled applause. Suddenly, Frederick found his hands together as well, and in his heart he knew that of the thousands of people there, he was clapping the loudest. Lily and her prince waved to the crowd as they descended the steps. Another page held the carriage door open while they climbed inside, and to the sound of cheering and horses’ hooves the happily married couple exited through the castle gates. Far away, in the company of four white horses and a driver who could hear nothing below him, Lily leaned into her husband and kissed him again. “I love you,” she said when they separated. “I love you, too.” The prince lifted his hand from hers and wiped his nose on his black and silver sleeve. It was not as if he hid this movement from Lily, but she softened more inside as she realized her husband was sensitive enough to cry in front of her despite his lumberjack’s build. When he pushed aside the curtain over the carriage’s window and spit through it, her brow crinkled. But only after he shifted himself onto one butt cheek and did his best to imitate a trumpet did her happiness finally crack. “I can appreciate keeping a facade for the general public,” Lily said, a smile nevertheless on her face, “but you don’t have to drop every Prince Charming demeanor when we’re alone.” “Silly girl.” The prince raised a finger to his nose and inserted it up to the second knuckle. He continued to speak while he excavated. “Prince Charming chops through walls of thorns and fights dragons.” He pulled out his finger and did little to disguise the bit of greenery on its tip from his new bride. She did equally little in hiding her disgust. “I am,” he wiped his finger on the front of his shirt, “a frog prince, after all.” Lily sat open-mouthed. Her husband leaned to his left and blew the trumpet again. And the two of them lived happily ever after. Well, perhaps ”happily“ is too strong a word, but we’ll just leave it at that.
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