It’s A Magical Life

The Queen liked chocolate. She was enamored with it. This is how the currency of the land came to be. We don’t trade in gold, silver, even copper or bronze. Diamonds and rubies have little worth. We trade in chocolate. The more chocolate you own, the more of a chance you have to attain The Queen’s favor. She controls all of the assets, your access to the market, even your ability to marry your true love. After all, she understands love. Your intended must be as good as chocolate.

I stood in the threshold of the tiny cottage, kicking the straw floor absentmindedly with my toes. My dearest, beloved, exquisite Amiera was ready to take the plunge. She longed to be carried through this doorway in my arms. I looked at my arms. Dark and speckled from the days picking cocoa beans, that I sometimes slipped into my pocket. A secret dowry for when this day came. Now these arms would have to figure out how to use those beans to impress The Queen. Magic beans would be easier.

Mother stood at the fire, chattering endlessly as she stirred the ancient, colossal pot that held the soup. Fire licked the sides, keeping in tune with her prattling. She had infinite ideas for me. Recipes passed down as good as family heirlooms, decadent and mouth watering ideas. I could not see myself skilled enough to accomplish any of these feats she spoke of so flippantly. They weren’t original enough, either. There wasn’t much The Queen hadn’t already tasted.

“I need something spectacular, Mother. I need something that would blow the pantaloons off of the entire kingdom. Something new.” Something.

Mother clacked her tongue. “You must be realistic. Do you have enough chocolate for a failed recipe?” The question was pernicious. But a good point.

“Farmer Jehosephat still sleeps alone because his éclairs were too small.” I leaned into the frame of the door. “And I had thought it a brilliant idea.”

“Don’t lose hope, Ward,” she said, lifting her hefty body from the floor, smearing her hands down the front of her apron. “I think I have just the thing.”

I gave a stifled, forlorn chuckle, and waited for her to return from the other side of the room. It was hard not to feel hopeless in the face of such a fickle and capricious adversary. If I failed to win her over, I would have several women at my throat. The thought formed a lump in said throat that didn’t want to go back down.

“Ah—ha!” The woman that birthed me resembled an egg. She waddled towards me with a satisfied grin. In her hand was a battered piece of parchment, with several edges that looked as though someone had attempted to burn them. “Here. This will guarantee your victory.”

Shoving the paper into my hands, I reluctantly spread it out between my thumbs. When I saw the words scribbled nearly illegibly, I couldn’t help but laugh. “Mother, this says Chocolate Cake. Do you really think—”

With a stout finger, she stopped my lips from speaking, shaking her head. “This isn’t just any cake recipe, Ward. This is the best cake in the world. It has…special ingredients. There’s no way you can fail.”

“You mean, magic?” That was risky business indeed. Magic was outdated and seldom used. Looking once more at the parchment, I grazed over the list of ingredients, and saw that she was, in fact, correct. “But where will I get these things? Unless you have a secret stash of—”

Beaming with slyness, Mother quickly held up her other hand, which held a dusty cloth sack.

“Oh, Mother.” My words were flat and defeated. This indeed could prove to be my only hope. As simple field laborer by birthright, I knew it would take an act of magic to convince The Queen. I just hadn’t thought it quite so literal.

“Roll up your sleeves, son.” Her eyes danced mischievously in her portly, rosy face. “We have a cake to bake.”

The aroma of chocolate lilted through the air a few hours later, tickling my senses as I imagined my glorious success. The time for my appointment with The Queen was drawing nigh, and jitters were beginning to surge. Amiera sat dreamily at the table, licking the batter covered spoon.

“No wonder The Queen loves this stuff,” she sighed. “It’s divine.” Her eyes drifted over me. “And so are you, my love. No one in all the land has ever made anything so celestial.”

Pride swelled from my loins to my face. If her reaction was a good gauge of what was to come, I had reason for confidence.

“I’m glad you’re please,” I beamed.

Mother wrapped the cake in brown paper and tied a piece of fabric into a makeshift bow. “And off you go, son.” A quick peck on the cheek sealed the finality of my conquest as she placed the package into my waiting hands.

With a sudden flurry, Amiera flew into my arms. “Don’t go! I’ll miss you ever so much!” She began to violently weep into my chest, taking me aback. “How do I know you’ll return to me?”

This behavior was unlike her. I assumed it could be a sort of pre-betrothal anxiousness, and I pulled her away to curiously study her face. “I’ll be back soon, my sweet. I’m going for you. And when I return, we can be together.”

This seemed to quiet her somewhat, and she wiped her tear streaked face with the back of her hand, nodding quietly.

“Being apart from you will be torture,” she whispered.

“I shan’t be long.”

On my journey to the castle, I vied to keep my mind on task. The heart that thumped in my breast was thrilled and overwrought in the same beat. I tried to grasp that confidence I had felt before, knowing I was making what should be a checkmate move. If the dessert could bring Amiera to tears, my odds with The Queen were good. Better than I thought they would be.

The castle emerged before me, ominous and daunting. The fountain of liquid chocolate squirted from the ground, seemingly into the clouds. Once inside, I found it to smell sweet and warm, something that made me feel like a comforted child. It lessened the sense of overawe that I was feeling. The castle guard bid me to follow, and I squelched the subconscious notion that I was on my way to the guillotine, focusing on the enchanting aroma that filled every crevice of the edifice.

I was led into a chamber, grand and luminous; a gilded pool of bubbling chocolate sat nestled into the stone floor, and a table with lion paws stood adjacent to a large window. And there she was. The Queen. My stomach lurched as I quickly dropped to one knee.

“Her Majesty, The Queen!” A scepter rapped the ground three times. “A petition for marriage, your majesty.”

“You may rise.” Her voice was disinterested and throaty.

I quickly obeyed, holding out my parchment wrapped gift. She motioned with a finger for me to bring it to her. I set it on the table, backing away reverently, slowly, grasping my hands together to keep them from shaking. A court servant unwrapped it, cut a slice and placed it before her.

For the first time since my entry, The Queen looked me squarely in the eyes. “You brought me…a cake?” The question sounded rhetorical, and I held my tongue. Her eyes were cold and unimpressed. “She must not be worth fighting for.” Taking a dainty fork into placid fingers, The Queen reluctantly took a small nibble, all the while watching me. Her expression didn’t change, but her hand moved to take a larger bite.

It had to be a good sign. She hadn’t spit it out yet.

Seconds felt like minutes; the unhurried movement of her jaw was the focal point of the room. My future hung in the balance, and I began to lose hope. I awaited her judgment, not expecting what she said next.

“I was wrong,” her voice was softer than before. Yet another bite. She was enjoying it. The sweat on my brow threatened to drip into my vision.

“Your majesty, do I have your permission?” I didn’t know if I was permitted to speak, but my confidence was beginning to return.

“Permission?” She echoed, as if in a haze. “Oh.” She pushed an empty chair out with her foot, beckoning me to join her.

Hesitantly, I put one foot in front of the other, wondering if it was a trap. The chair was lush and feathery, and I felt awkward, not knowing where to put my hands or how I was expected to sit. I cleared my throat nervously.

“You truly made this?” She asked.

Nodding, I fidgeted with my collar.

“It’s exquisite.”

“I thank you for your kind words, your majesty.”

“You know what else is exquisite?” She leaned forward and traced her fingertips down the side of my face. “Your jaw line.”

Startled, I froze, like a rabbit encountering a crocodile.

“The most handsome man brings me the most handsome cake,” she mused in a sing-song manner. “Who is this wretch that is trying to trap you? I can’t loathe her completely, as your quest has brought you to me. Is she pretty? Prettier than me?”

Blood surged throughout my body, alarmed and hot and completely baffled. I had heard many accounts of marriage petitions before The Queen, but none had sounded anything like this. Was it a trap? Would she behead me for my audacity to bring a simple chocolate cake? I fumbled for the right words to apologize but could find none.

“Guards, leave us.” The Queen emptied the room with the flick of her wrist. “You have permission to marry,” the words seemed eager, and in earnest.

“…Truly?” I stammered, unconvinced.

She nodded, suddenly crawling across the table at me. All fours, dress sprawled like a picnic cloth. A predator on the prowl. Was this a dream? A nightmare?

“You may marry. Me. You must marry me. And you will make me your special cake every day for the rest of my life.” All at once, The Queen had scaled the table and was in my lap, pressing her chocolate flavored lips to mine.

As my head spun, the haze began to clear. The cake. Mother’s special herbs and her special recipe. The way Amiera had acted after licking the spoon covered in batter. It wasn’t just any magical cake, it was a love spell cake. It had to be. The Queen was in love with me. This was not good. I tried to pull away from the kiss, but she was very adamant and used to getting her way.

The doors behind me flung open, and I heard a young, passionate, almost sensual…war cry.

“We’re so sorry your majesty, we tried to stop her!”

It was Amiera, and she was running, going for The Queens throat. Jumping up, The Queen seemed ready and welcoming, eyes flashing with relished hatred. The two women were screaming and pulling hair, one savagely assaulting the other. I slowly backed up, knocking over my chair. My eyes were abruptly drawn to two maidservants, using the uproar as cover to sneak a sample of my cake. The words choked me, as I tried to tell them not to touch it.

“….Don’t!”

But it was too late. My words had pulled their line of sight in my direction. They gazed at me like venomous sirens.

Mayhem ensued from all directions, and I ran from the room, wishing I had made éclairs that were too small.