The Frog King

The Frog King ruled over the swampy kingdom of Toktik. His castle consisted of crooked lily pads, glittering snail shells and a tower made from old tin cans. All day long he hopped across the marketplace, loudly proclaiming that nobody could croak as magnificently as he could.

Recently, the Frog King had found himself a new queen. She was an elegant tree frog named Smaragda. At every opportunity, the King raved about her emerald-green eyes and her shiny back. Whenever he saw her, he hopped over and enthusiastically licked her cheek. Smaragda would roll her eyes and sigh patiently. The King took this as a sign of great love.

Whenever he was not busy licking his queen, he terrorised the other residents of Toktik. He chased the tadpoles away from the best watering holes. He drove the dragonflies from their favourite places. He jumped right into conversations between the toads and croaked so loudly that nobody could understand a word.

With every passing week, the mood grew worse. The residents ducked as soon as the King appeared. Conversations fell silent. Even the herons, which usually stopped by the pond regularly, preferred to fly on.

One morning, the toads, newts, dragonflies and tadpoles gathered in the marketplace. They had had enough.

The Frog King appeared looking smart and well-groomed. His green back gleamed in the sunlight, and he wore his golden crown with obvious pride. Beside him sat Smaragda on a lily pad. No sooner had he spotted her than he enthusiastically licked her cheek once again.

“Your Majesty,” said the oldest toad, “you are making life difficult for us. Nobody can live in peace as long as you keep shouting, ordering everyone about and chasing everybody away.”

The King laughed loudly. “Then croak louder. I am the Frog King. Toktik belongs to me.”

A murmur ran through the crowd.

Then Smaragda stood up. She looked across the gathered residents and nodded approvingly to her King. “The King knows what is best for Toktik,” she said. “You should be grateful that he rules over you.”

The unrest in the square grew.

“Toktik belongs to nobody alone,” shouted a newt. “And nobody stands above the pond,” added a dragonfly.

The Frog King waved dismissively. “Nonsense. The people are here to serve me.”

The toads stepped forward.

The newts took their places beside them. Dozens of dragonflies hovered above them. Even the smallest tadpoles pushed their way to the front.

“Then you have been our King and Queen,” said the old toad.

The Frog King looked at the crowd in surprise. For the first time, he realised that nobody was afraid any more.

“What is that supposed to mean?” he croaked. “It means that both of you must leave,” replied the old toad.

Smaragda jumped up. “But I have not done anything!” she cried.

“You stood by and watched,” replied a newt. “Day after day. You allowed him to carry on.” The dragonflies hummed in agreement. The tadpoles nodded. Even the herons on the bank watched the scene in silence.

The Frog King wanted to protest. He wanted to explain why everything had been perfectly justified. But the residents moved closer together. So he hopped backwards. Smaragda hopped beside him. Then once more. And once more.

Finally, the two of them turned around and fled. Across the marketplace. Through the reeds. Past the ponds and out of Toktik. Along the way, the Frog King lost his golden crown. Smaragda lost her silver lily-pad circlet. Both were left lying in the mud.

Nobody picked up the pieces of jewellery. When the pair had disappeared beyond the horizon, peace settled over Toktik for the first time in a very long while. From that day on, the people of Toktik remembered the Frog King and his Queen, because an entire kingdom had learned that power only exists for as long as others are willing to accept it.

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