Free THE PRACTICAL PRINCESS and Other Liberating Fairy Tales by Jay Williams Page B

The twig was covered with blossoms, and each blossom had petals of mother-of-pearl and centers of sapphires, the color of the evening sky.

    Bedelia’s heart sank as she took the twig. But then she said to herself, “Use your common sense, my girl! Lord Garp never traveled two thousand miles in two weeks, nor is he the man to fight his way through lions, serpents and wolves.”
    She looked more carefully at the branch. Then she said, “My lord, you know that the Jewel Tree of Paxis is a living tree, although it is all made of jewels.”
    “Why, of course,” said Lord Garp. “Everyone knows that.”
    “Well,” said Bedelia, “then why is it that these blossoms have no scent?”
    Lord Garp turned red.
    “I think,” Bedelia went on, “that this branch was made by the jewelers of Istven, who are the best in the world. Not very nice of you, my lord. Some people might even call it cheating.”
    Lord Garp shrugged. He was too old and rich to feel ashamed. But like many men used to having their own way, the more Bedelia refused him, the more he was determined to have her.
    “Never mind all that,” he said. “Set me another task. This time, I swear I will perform it.”
    Bedelia sighed. “Very well. Then bring me a cloak made from the skins of the salamanders who live in the Volcano of Scoria.”
    Lord Garp bowed, and off he went. “The Volcano of Scoria,” said Bedelia to her father, “is covered with red-hot lava. It burns steadily with great flames, and pours out poisonous smoke so that no one can come within a mile of it.”
    “You have certainly profited by you geography lessons,” said the king, with admiration.
    Nevertheless, in a week, Lord Garp was back. This time, he carried a cloak that shone and rippled like all the colors of fire. It was made of scaly skins, stitched together with golden wire as fine as a hair; and each scale was red and orange and blue, like a tiny flame.
    Bedelia took the splendid cloak. She said to herself,
    “Use your head, miss! Lord Garp never climbed the red-hot slopes of the Volcano of Scoria.”

    A fire was burning in the fireplace of the throne room. Bedelia hurled the cloak into it. The skin blazed up in a flash, blackened, and fell to ashes.
    Lord Garp’s mouth fell open. Before he could speak, Bedelia said, “That cloak was a fake, my lord.
    The skins of salamanders who can live in the Volcano of Scoria wouldn’t burn in a little fire like that one.”
    Lord Garp turned pale with anger. He hopped up and down, unable at first to do anything but sputter.
    “Ub-ub-ub!” he cried. Then, controlling himself, he said, “So be it. If I can’t have you, no one shall!”

    He pointed a long, skinny finger at her. On the finger was a magic ring. At once, a great wind arose.
    It blew through the throne room. It sent King Ludwig flying one way and his guards the other. It picked up Bedelia and whisked her off through the air. When she could catch her breath and look about her, she found herself in a room at the top of a tower.
    Bedelia peered out of the window. About the tower stretched an empty, barren plain. As she watched, a speck appeared in the distance. A plume of dust rose behind it. It drew nearer and became Lord Garp on horseback.
    He rode to the tower and looked up at Bedelia.
    “Aha!” he croaked. “So you are safe and snug, are you? And will you marry me now?”
    “Never,” said Bedelia, firmly.
    “Then stay there until never comes,” snarled Lord Garp.
    And away he rode.
    For the next two days, Bedelia felt very sorry for herself. She sat wistfully by the window, looking out at the empty plain. When she was hungry, food appeared on the table. When she was tired, she lay down on the narrow cot and slept. Each day, Lord Garp rode by and asked if she had changed her mind, and each day she refused him. Her only hope was that, as so often happen in old tales, a prince might come riding by who would rescue her.

    But on the third day, she gave herself a