Salt and Iron

Tears born of anger and fear dripped down the young woman’s face as she ran through the woods, her white dress gathered up to allow for a fast and unhindered stride. She had lost her white, soft slippers upon her escape from the mayor’s house, and a small cut along her temple allowed blood to trail down her cheek, sticky and quickly cooling.

She heard the calls behind her, the townsfolk that both threatened and cajoled, thinking her on the run. She was running, but she didn’t intend to run away. Not for long, at least.

Ahead of her, she saw the line of bluebells that grew through the woods, neatly separating the area safe for humans and the rest of the ancient forest.

No one quite knew what lay beyond the line, but people had seen glimpses. Huge creatures, shadow riders on nightmare steeds, something big with wings, and something with glowing eyes in the nearby lake. And, of course, the king of the forest.

No one quite knew what he was and there were plenty of stories about him. Some said he was tall, some said it was his horns that made him look tall. Some said he was beautiful, some said he was ugly, but they all agreed on one thing: he killed the fae wherever he encountered them.

He was called brutal and ruthless by those who had seen him and his shadow knights hunt. Who had seen him mounted on a big beast, and who had heard his haunting songs on lightless nights as the glittering, beautiful faeries tried to escape his wrath.

The bluebells were his work and they marked his territory, which seemed to stretch endlessly. There was no guarantee of safety beyond the flowers, and while the young woman faltered for a moment, she strode forward with desperate determination.

She stepped neatly over the thick line of flowers, their sweet scent briefly filling the air. She made sure her skirts didn’t even come close to brushing them, and as soon as her bare foot set down on the other side, she felt a change in the air.

Old, that was the first word that came to her harried mind. Everything felt old and alive. She suddenly felt as though every tree and patch of moss, every mushroom and bush was keenly aware of her presence.

It was only a matter of time before the king appeared as well, she knew that much. He always did whenever someone tried to step over the line, chasing them back into safe territory again.

The voices of the townsfolk seemed so much farther away now, even though that shouldn’t be possible. She didn’t look back, but gripped her skirts tighter and continued on, though her pace was far less chivied now as she caught her breath.

"And what brings you here?" the voice came ahead of her, behind her, to her left and right. She felt as though he was everywhere and nowhere, his voice riding on the wind and speaking from the bark of a dozen trees. "Salt and iron bride?"

She gripped her white dress tighter and lifted her chin, aware of the blood that mixed with tears and dripped off her chin to land on the dark, cool forest floor beneath her feet.

"I come to ask a boon of the forest," she said, voice steadier than she felt as she blinked the last of the tears away. She needed clear sight for this.

Everyone knew that making deals with monsters was a horrid idea. They always took more than one wanted to give, what one didn’t wish to give.

But the same could be said for the very human monster that was going to arrive in her town tonight. The tyrant that reigned over their lands. A man, powerful and rich and with a heart crueler than anyone else’s. A man who demanded a bride for the night from every place he stayed at.

Some girls had gone so their sisters or friends didn’t have to. One had gone with a dagger hidden beneath her skirts, and she hadn’t made it through the night. Some had to be forced and dragged, but always, every visit, a girl went. And always, the next day, the town was dead silent.

The young woman had been chosen this time, and she had tried to fight at first as many others had. Her mother had fought as well, tooth and nail, and she had been dragged away bleeding and howling, locked away in a cell of their town’s small outpost. Her father was currently consoling her little sister, no longer speaking with their neighbors.

If it wasn’t her, though, it would be another young woman that would be chosen. Their neighbor had a pretty, recently matured daughter, and the old couple across the street housed a lovely young widow.

So, no, she wasn’t running away like others had attempted. She wanted something from the forest before she returned to face a monster that frightened her more than the one currently speaking to her.

She wrapped this determination around her heart like thorny brambles and made sure it turned her spine as unbendable as old oaks.

"You are quite brazen," the forest king said, still from nowhere and everywhere at once. "Haven’t your parents warned you of the dangers of the woods?"

What child hadn’t grown up on monster stories? On tales of the big bad wolf and enchanted bears, on poems of the cruel nature of the fae and books filled with knowledge on all things deadly and dangerous.

"If they all hide their faces as cowardly as you, I have nothing to fear," the young woman said and the unwavering strength of her resolve bled into her words. She felt more blood drip down her cheek, but her tears had stopped. Her heart beat fast and hard in her chest, but she would not back down.

Not when she remembered all the young women she had seen over the years, the ones before her, meeting a tyrant with trembling courage, suppressed tears, and lips bitten bloody.

Not when she remembered how haunted they looked after he left. Not when she remembered the ones she had never seen again. The ones carried back outside, covered in white linen, while their parents howled their grief towards the sky.

Then she saw him, the king of the forest. It looked as though he had half stepped out from behind a tree and half out of thin air. The stories had some truth to them, as all tales did. He was tall, and he had majestic horns in the shape of antlers, looking like a crown of pure white upon his dark head.

On his brow rested a headpiece made of night-black metal imbedded with shining moonstones. The headband had something sinister to it when she briefly glanced at it, something that made a cold shiver crawl down her spine.

He was beautiful, the sort of beauty one only saw in the faces of the fae and yet he had eyes like the forest around her. His green and dark clothes were simple and they lacked the glittering shine of magic she would have expected from him.

As she looked more closely at him, she noticed something lurking in his eyes. A quiet pain that he had gotten used to and carried through the day like an old, unwanted companion.

"You’re strange," the young woman found herself saying, and the king blinked, taken aback, before he laughed, throaty and amused.

"You have a keen eye for the truth," he mused, and his eyes traced the bleeding side of her head, her slightly stained, white dress, and her bare feet. "Salt and iron bride, what do you wish to ask from the forest?"

She took a deep breath. "Give me the means to slay a tyrant," she said, and his brows rose in surprise. "I care not what it costs me. Let me slay him so he may not hurt anyone else ever again. So these lands can be guided by a kinder hand."

The king tipped his head, his dark hair shimmering like flowing water, and when the wind rushed past him, he briefly closed his eyes as though he was listening. Then he smiled wide, revealing fangs, and it wasn’t a friendly expression, but neither was it threatening.

His smile was filled with every sharp thorn people had ever pricked their fingers on, with every poisonous mushroom ready to be plucked and cooked into food. It was every twisted root that rose suddenly to break legs, and it was dark paths that turned foolish travelers in circles until they perished, never finding their way out again.

"Follow me," he said and turned around, looking back at her expectantly.

The young woman caught up to him with quick strides, dress still clutched tightly in now half numb fingers.

The king of the forest said nothing else as he guided her on an unseen path, but neither was his long stride forcing her to jog to keep up. He seemed content to match her pace, those uncanny eyes focused forward to a destination only he could see.

The young woman noticed after a few moments that he walked with a quiet heaviness, as though something was forcing him firmly down upon the earth with every step he took.

He led her past trees so old and thick she swore they wore faces and little streams that burbled like a thousand forgotten secrets. He helped her over fallen trees old enough to have seen the rise and fall of kingdoms and through wicked brambles with a steady, sun-warm hand. Somehow she had expected his skin to be cold.

And then, at last, they emerged in a clearing, and the young woman knew immediately that she was looking upon the heart of the forest. A tree taller and bigger than all the others stood before her, bark pitch-black and leaves a shining gold. The leaves looked sharp enough to cut anyone that reached out to touch them uninvited.

The king stopped, gesturing for her to go ahead without him. His face gave nothing away, but he watched her closely as she took a deep breath and strode forward.

There was no going back. She would lose everything she didn’t wish to if she met the tyrant like any other girl before her. There was little else this tree could forcefully take from her that the monster wouldn’t as well.

Once she stood before the trunk, beneath the wide-spread arch of the gold-leaf canopy, it was as though a shudder went through the tree. The previously faintly unsettling atmosphere suddenly felt warm and protective, and her shoulders sagged in relief before she knew it.

When a branch lowered itself towards her, she lifted her hands, and with the utmost care, two things were deposited within her palms: a black wooden needle and a black, gold-veined seed the size of her thumbnail.

As leaves brushed her palm, she received knowledge about what she was meant to do with these items. It made the determination around her heart grow and she suddenly felt as though she could breathe properly again.

"Thank you," she whispered, and tears gathered in her eyes anew. This time, they were born of gratitude and not fearful anger.

As the branch retreated, those leaves that looked like they could cut her to pieces brushed her cheek, soft as silk. They came away stained with blood and tears. As the young woman watched new pale-gold leaves sprout above her, she knew she had paid the price for the aid she had asked for.

The tree fell still again, and she almost startled when the forest king appeared at her side. Only, was he a king? He seemed burdened and...as though something kept him tethered to the ground. She could taste it in the air, like a whispered secret she wasn’t meant to overhear.

"You’re no king, are you?" she found herself asking, fingers closing around the tree’s gifts.

"I was a king, once," he answered, and he glanced at her, folding his hands behind his back as though to try to look a little less dangerous. As if he could manage such a thing when he had antler-horns and fangs, and while he was physically humanoid, he wasn’t human. Not in the slightest.

"You are fae," the young woman said with a small frown, "aren’t you?"

His smile was humorless. "I was, yes. I was the king of the Court of Ashes, and we did not play with mortals. I forbade it, and I freed all the mortals I came across when I was invited to parties by the other Courts. As you can imagine, other fae did not look kindly upon that. One day, a fae lord came to me, and he tricked me into putting on a cursed crown."

He bowed, dipping his head until she could see his headpiece better. The black metal shone like water at night, as though it was about to liquefy and drip off of him to stain his skin forever.

"I was promptly banished from my home and all of the fae lands, but I did not leave alone." He straightened again, looking past her, and when the young woman glanced over her shoulder, she saw shades riding through the woods. His shadow knights. "Everyone loyal to me followed even though they did not have to."

"Do you want to go back?" the young woman found herself asking. "Isn’t there a cure for every curse?"

He smiled, and this time it was a little softer and a little kinder. "Your care touches my heart. But no, I do not wish to return. I have been taken in by this forest ,and my blood now runs with iron and salt as much as yours does. There is no place for me among the fae anymore, even if I were to return. Come, it is time for you to leave."

He stepped away and waited until she joined him before he led her back on that unseen path.

"Then what are you called?" the young woman asked, swiftly hiding the needle and seed in the pockets of her skirts. She drew courage from what the tree had given her, and she lengthened her stride, determined to return to her home.

He chuckled, low and dark. "I know many who call me Fae Eater these days," he answered, and his forest eyes suddenly seemed darker. Dark and hungry, and for a second, she saw a glimpse of the monster that others had seen hunt through the woods with his shadow knights.

"They made a mistake banishing me to the human realm," he said. "Now, they don’t get to have any mortals at all unless they come with softness and care in their hearts."

She peered up at him, quiet and contemplative. "Thank you," she said at last, and he glanced at her with briefly visible surprise. "For protecting us."

He tipped his head slightly to the side, as though unsure how to respond. At last, he answered, "I think we are both like-minded, considering our disdain for all things needlessly cruel."

He drew to a stop, and the young woman was taken aback to see the line of bluebells ahead of her so soon. In the distance she could hear the calls of the townsfolk.

"This is as far as I’ll go." He bowed to her in a kingly manner, black hair cascading down his shoulders. He looked up to give her a smile of fang and thorn. "Have a good hunt, salt and iron bride."

Heartened at his words, she curtseyed back as elegantly as she knew how to. "I wish you continued joy," she answered, "when you defend what is yours, king of the forest."

His eyes gleamed at the title she called him by, bright as sunshine falling through thick foliage to send lights dancing across the dark forest floor. When he straightened again, he reached into his pocket and held something out to her.

"For you, if you wish," he said. "I have not met someone who saw me as I am for a long time. Even my own people struggled to look past the glamour and what they wanted to see. Keep your true-sight, it will serve you well."

The young woman held out her hand, and the king let a few small black seeds fall into her palm. She carefully pocketed the seeds, then hesitated and reached out to withdraw her hairpin, the one her father had reluctantly fetched from her mother’s jewelry chest. It was carved of cherry tree wood and decorated with little glass pearls.

When she gestured for him, the king bent his head and patiently held still as she gathered his hair, braiding and pinning it all in place with the hair pin right beneath the crown.

"If I survive this, and you’d like to talk, come find me," she said when he straightened, reaching up one hand curiously to touch what she had made. "You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met."

He smiled, and this time it wasn’t fang and thorn, but something more bright, like the feeling of warm spring unfolding all around her after a long, cold winter.

"I believe you shall be just fine. Go now, the sun is sinking and your prey is on its way," he said as he offered his hand. "I have little of my old magic left, but I believe I can make your plans a little easier." His smile turned mischievous. "A hop and twirl, my fair lady."

She took his hand, and as he guided her forward, she hopped across the bluebells, landing on one foot to turn around herself in a dancing twirl. The moment both feet touched the ground, her white dress shone and shimmered like woven moonlight and captured stars.

The blood on her face was gone, and when she reached up, she realized she now wore a crown of golden leaves to replace the hairpin she had gifted away.

She walked ahead, head held high, and when the townsfolk found her, they ushered her onward with nervous and wary glances.

"I only wanted to pretty myself up," she said, gesturing towards her head even as big, calloused hands grabbed her to drag her along. No one would meet her gaze, and she knew from experience they would never again do so.

All the girls who had survived a night with the tyrant had been looked upon with guilt and pity. Most of them had left, either joining a temple or going someplace where no one knew what had happened to them. A fair few had found husbands and wives who loved them, and yet they rarely left the house and spoke to anyone else even less.

The young woman arrived back in town just in time to be pulled towards the front of the greeting party, for the tyrant was approaching already.

He arrived in a carriage made of gold and white wood, with panels of perfect, clear glass which allowed him to look upon anything he desired. Horses the color of fresh snow pulled him past the gates, knights following on equally white horses, and the young woman raised her head.

She would not go into this afraid, she told herself, hands falling to her pockets. Not when she could put an end to everything.

She stood right beside the mayor when the tyrant’s carriage stopped, and everyone dropped into a deep curtsy, keeping their heads bent and gazes demurely downcast. No one was allowed to look directly at the tyrant, not unless requested.

The first things the young woman noticed when he left the carriage were white shoes with polished gold clasps. Then a strong hand gripped her beneath the chin and forced her head up sharply.

The tyrant wasn’t ugly by any means. He had a comely face with a slightly narrow nose and soft, wavy hair that shone like honey in the setting sun. He was fit and lean and everything about him was pristine, from his embroidered clothes to the glittering jewelry decorating him.

But his fingertips dug into the meat of her cheeks, and there was a dark hunger in his eyes. A different kind of hunger than the joy of the hunt she had seen in the forest king’s eyes. This hunger wanted to tear her apart and take delight in her suffering.

"You found a really beautiful one this time," the tyrant mused and seemed unable to look away from her. It was the fae magic, she realized, the parting gift of the one who had wished her a good hunt.

A good hunt it shall be, she decided grimly as she smiled as sweetly as she knew how. As sweetly as belladonna smelled and as unassumingly as a poisonous mushroom growing among edible ones, looking almost exactly the same to any but the most discerning eye.

The tyrant chuckled to himself and rose, pulling her up with his grip beneath her chin. It made her neck ache slightly and her jaw hurt with the strength of his fingers, but she didn’t fight.

"Let it be known," the tyrant declared in a practiced voice that told her he had said this all before, "I have decided this year, the woman who makes it through the night without tears shed shall become my queen."

He must be in need of an heir, the young woman realized. And, of course, a pureblooded woman of his standing would not allow herself to be mistreated. Her family would not allow it, either. He could marry someone of lower standing, of course, but he would always risk losing support in his ranks, followed by an uprising.

But the daughter of a commoner was unprotected and unwanted and could be played with to his heart’s content. She could see in his eyes that he greatly doubted anyone would make it through the night, but it amused him to offer the option anyway. The needle felt all the sharper in her pocket.

"I am tired from the journey," the tyrant said, cutting right through the bowing and scraping of the mayor. "I do not care for your bleating. Leave me and my bride."

He always called the girls brides, ones he would never turn into wives. It amused him to have them dressed in white, to take from them what they did not wish to give, what was meant to be shared with someone they loved. To make a mockery out of their dreams of a good spouse, and to ruin their hopes for a happy wedding for all time.

The young woman followed him to the ostentatious townhouse that had been given to him, the biggest and most beautiful building of their town. The guards took up their posts, making sure no one got in – or out – and after getting his servants to draw a bath, the tyrant sent them away.

"Undress me," he said, snapping his fingers impatiently. "I reek of the road."

He did smell sweaty and dusty, but flowery as well, as though he and his clothes carried a faint scent of perfume. The young woman stepped forward to help him out of his coat and doublet.

"May I tell you a story?" she asked into the silence. The tyrant peered at her over his shoulder, one brow raised.

"So you have a voice," he said with a cruel little twist to his appearing grin. "I usually only get to hear my brides sing so much later. Very well, but if it bores me, you will go to your knees and service me before I bathe."

"Have you heard of the Crystal Trees?" the young woman asked and when he seemed somewhat interested, she told him the story. Of an old farmer and his orchard and the lightning that struck his oldest and largest tree. Of the tree turning to crystal and the entire orchard growing gemstones from that day onward.

"What a silly tale," the tyrant said, tossing his jewelry onto his discarded clothes. Now that he was naked, he got into the water without preamble. "Of course peasants dream of finding such treasure."

He flicked some water at her, but the young woman saw that he delighted in the story. Not because he liked the tale of hope and good fortune, but because it allowed him to mock her and all those beneath him.

So she told him another one. She picked the sweetest childhood stories she remembered, willing to let him taint them all as he washed up, careful to keep her dress dry whenever he flicked some water at her.

The dress still shimmered like moonlight and stars, and she noticed the way he kept glancing at her over and over. He could not look away from her for long, and she noticed him puzzling over it, found him fascinated by it and her in return.

"What is it about you?" he mused as his servants brought him dinner while he was still in the bath. He did not offer her anything, not even a sip of his wine. "Why can’t I look away from you?"

"Would you like to know the riddle my parents were told upon my birth?" she asked, kneeling demurely at his side and feeding him delicate bites upon his order. "A great mage saw old magic lingering in my bloodline, and I was told great fortune will reveal itself to the person capable of solving it."

The tyrant scoffed. "Another one of your silly tales. Very well, tell me. I am well educated, and those riddles always have foolish answers like love and time and something of the sort."

The young woman smiled, and this time it held a bit of an edge, enough of a challenge for him to keep looking at her. She spoke:

"What is a timeless delight,

Destroying even the greatest people of might,

What holds sway over the young and old,

Existing across seasons warm and cold,

What seals your fate,

When you notice it too late?"

The tyrant opened his mouth, looking sure of himself. "Death, of course," he said, casting her an unimpressed look. "Really, girl, is this the best you can do?"

"It is not death," the young woman answered, using the brambles around her heart and the oak of her resolve, the salt and iron of her blood, to hold up under the cold, sharp stare he now leveled her way.

The king of the forest had been dangerous, but in a distant way. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her. The tyrant did. The tyrant’s danger came down like hands around her throat, desiring her complete and utter surrender. He desired to see her writhe and cry and break.

She was not here to break. Not this night and not in any other. So she stared back and watched his gaze change as his eyes narrowed.

"Then what is it?" he asked, leaning forward a bit, the rest of his meal sitting forgotten on its plate at her side. "Tell me."

"I could," the young woman said, opening her empty hands to appear harmless and guileless. The shimmer of her enchanted dress drew him in once more. "However, if you find the truth yourself, a great fortune will reveal itself. If I tell you, you will never get to see it."

The tyrant’s face turned thunderous. "Are you telling me I am getting bested by a mere peasant riddle? Ridiculous."

He turned up his nose, but the young woman saw it eating at him. He considered himself better than her, smarter than her, and mightier than her. She saw the way his failure to solve the riddle needled at him. It mixed with the nagging curiosity as to why he could not stop looking at her.

With a rough exhale, he got to his feet, yanking the linen towel from her hands when she held it out, and called for his servants.

"Bring me every book in this forsaken place," he demanded darkly, and the servants hurried to obey. "This riddle must be connected to some kind of obscure local folklore."

"Would you like a hint, your majesty?" the young woman asked and was gifted a scathing glare.

"Sit down and shut your mouth," the tyrant growled at her. "I will solve your stupid riddle. The least you can do is make sure you look pretty while I do it."

The young woman sat on a chair and arranged her dress until it caught the light of the candles just so.

The tyrant started to rifle through the books he was handed, and the young woman realized that he secretly loved the challenge. Something to sink his teeth into and later lord over her. He felt bested, and he did not like it.

Of course, he could have just tossed her onto the bed, ripping the moonlight dress and ruin her, but that wouldn’t have given him victory. She had presented a challenge that had nothing to do with their bodies. She had not tried to fight or to run or to stab him. She did not shy from him at all.

He wanted to conquer her in all ways, not just one. He wanted to shred everything she held dear, everything she was proud of or liked. He would not be satisfied, could not be satisfied, before he did. He could not even enjoy forcing himself on her first, not when he still felt like she had one-upped him somehow with her secrets and her riddle.

She was also certain that the forest king’s magic on her dress played a part in how easily he fell into a downright feverish search for an answer. Why he stopped thinking about throwing her onto the bed and instead focused on tearing down her pride first.

He fell asleep bent over his books in the middle of the night, exhausted from the long journey and the intense way he had leafed through the books. She could prick him now, but she stayed her hand. Not yet. She pressed her hand over the needle and seed instead and took a calming breath.

She was willing to reach a little further, just like she had reached for aid from the forest. She might be able to truly do some good with the forest’s gifts if she showed the same patience all growing things possessed, slowly climbing towards the sun.

The tyrant awoke past dawn, and the young woman smiled at him, pretty and unassuming and still clad in moonlight and stars and secrets. "Will I be your queen now, your majesty?"

He looked surprised, then he laughed. Belly-deep and amused and edged in something splinter-sharp that wanted to burrow beneath her skin to make her bleed.

He thought she was a fool for trapping herself. Her, the magic-beautiful woman with her moonlight dress who had given him a riddle he could not solve. She would remain within his grasp until she drew her last breath. He thought her a fool he could play with to his heart’s content until he grew bored.

"Very well," he said with a smile that held the burning edge of a searing hot knife. "You shall be mine. We’re leaving today."

The young woman bowed her head in acceptance. "As you wish." She paused, once again noticing the way he looked at her, at the shimmering fabric of her magic dress. "Would you like a hint for the riddle, your majesty?"

He narrowed his eyes, expression turning sour. "No, I will solve it myself."

He rose to his feet to call for the servants, declaring that he had found his queen. Mean amusement lined his voice, and the spark in his eyes was filled with cruel delight.

The servants threw her pitying and worried glances, and the young woman knew they thought she would not survive long. That maybe, after her, the tyrant would convince a noble house to give him a proper blue-blooded lady after all. Or maybe he would continue picking defenseless girl after defenseless girl until he died in his sleep or on a battlefield.

The young woman kept up her pleasant demeanor as she left with the tyrant, not daring to look back to see if her sister or father were in the crowd. Her mother would not be released until the tyrant had departed, and her heart weighed heavy knowing how much her family must worry for her.

The tyrant returned swiftly to his castle, a journey that took five days, and the young woman kept him entertained with stories and her riddle and her secrets and her moonlight dress that forced his attention to what she said, not what he would have liked to do.

"One hint," the tyrant allowed just as they passed the gates of his city. It looked like the admission cost him.

"I’m doing it right now," she said, and his face screwed up in confusion and he thoughtfully looked her over, as though he could find the answer if he just stared hard enough.

"Is it that you are a bride?" he asked, and she shook her head. He rolled his eyes, but his mind refused to budge. He was like a dog with a bone now that she had presented him with something his ego demanded he be better at than anyone else, while the dress’s magic did the rest of the work.

The tyrant had a ceremony ready in no time and they stood in the large courtyard of his palace, surrounded by nobles and his council. Guards lined the edges of the procession, and a priest declared them husband and wife after they had filled chalices with wine and entwined their arms to feed the other from their cup.

The tyrant grinned when he splashed wine past her chin and down her moonlight dress and the young woman heard some people snicker behind her.

The tyrant wasn’t the only cruel one in this place. The hearts of the people supporting him were as black as his. Even if they would not give up their daughters to him, they were happy enough to let him ravage the common folk.

"If I may ask for one thing, as your new queen," she asked demurely as they set down their chalices. The tyrant gestured at her to continue. "It’s tradition in my town to plant a seed when a couple is wedded, so a tree will grow in front of their home, guarding it."

The tyrant looked bored but with a sigh, he snapped his fingers. "Bring us a seed, I don’t care which."

"I have it right here," she said, revealing the black seed with golden veins. The tyrant’s brows rose, intrigued despite himself. "It is fitting for you, isn’t it, your majesty?"

"It is," he admitted. "What will it grow?"

"Legends say it will grow leaves of gold," she answered with a smile, fitting the fingers of her free hand between the folds of her dress to fish the needle out of her pocket. "Shall we?"

When he held out his hand, she placed the seed within his palm and presented the needle, pricking herself on it first. She let a drop of blood fall onto the seed, then glanced at him meaningful. After a moment of hesitation, the tyrant held out his free hand.

"The answer to my riddle, your majesty, is 'a trick.'" She pricked his finger with the needle. "Thank you for falling for mine."

The second his blood fell onto the seed, both drops were soaked up immediately, and the seed sank through his skin and into his hand. The young woman watched his eyes grow wide with panicked alarm, before the tyrant curled up with a guttural scream.

And not only him; half of the nobles and his entire council suddenly screamed and curled inward, only to straighten with a snap as their skin changed color and texture, turning brown and green and gray as lichen grew where their clothes were the most colorful.

Within the span of a few seconds, all those with black hearts, all those who had supported the tyrant in his dealings, all those who had delighted in being cruel themselves and seeing him be cruel, turned into trees.

Roots and grass and moss cracked the cobblestone of the courtyard apart and walls shifted as some of the guards turned to trees as well, half growing into the stonework of the palace.

The young woman smiled at the black tree in front of her, its leaves a shimmering gold. She reached out to touch the bark, finding it warm and alive and already deeply rooted. It was a child of the ancient tree she had gotten the seed from and it greeted her like an old friend.

"Calm yourselves," she called out steadily towards the panicking guests. "I have come to end the reign of this monster." Slowly, one after another, people fell quiet, and she turned to face them. "Nothing bad will befall any of you or these lands ever again."

The newly crowned queen did not know that, in this moment, she looked like a creature of magic, dressed in moonlight and with a black tree towering behind her, its golden leaves falling as though to bend over her protectively.

One by one, the gathered guests went down on a knee. "Long live the queen," they said in unison.

The young woman was taken aback for just a moment, but then she remembered her request to the ancient tree. For a kind hand to rule the lands reigned over by a tyrant. So be it. She took a deep breath and kept her chin high.

"I shall choose a new council," she said and she briefly reached into the pocket of her dress to pull out some of the black seeds. She sprinkled them onto the grassy ground as she walked away.

In her wake, bluebells popped out of the ground, following her steps and brushing the edges of her dress as though reaching out for just a moment. Awe shone in the eyes of the gathered nobility and guards.

That night, the young woman found herself stepping into the small, new forest within the courtyard and found someone waiting for her already.

"Well hunted, salt and iron queen," the king of the forest said with a smile made of brambles and dancing sunlight. "Success suits you well."

He still wore her hair pin, she realized. He had even kept the hairstyle she had put his long, black hair into. It shone in the moonlight overhead like dark water.

"I could not have done it alone," the queen said and gestured for him to step closer. "I would like to repay you for your kindness. Your magic guarded me well."

"There is no debt to be repaid," the king said, but when she insisted, he still stepped closer.

"Close your eyes," she said and after a moment he did, bending a little towards her.

When she reached out, her fingers easily slipped beneath his cursed crown. It started to writhe like a cold snake when she began to lift it away, but she was unafraid, and she wasn’t of fae blood. The magic had no hold on her.

Once she had removed it, it turned to ash and rotten bone in her hands and was carried away by the winds. The queen reached up to remove her own headpiece made of gold and gems and set it upon his brow instead. His eyes opened to stare at her as he sucked in a sharp breath.

"I claim you and yours as ours," she said, her palms framing his face. "Salt and iron fae, you are the guardian of our world and the king of the forest." She leaned in a little, a smile appearing on her face. "My strange forest king."

His eyes were wide, and the queen saw that all his heavy pain had disappeared. He laughed, joyful and relieved, and tears began to gather in his eyes.

"Thank you," he whispered as he reached up to hold her hands in his. "And for keeping me tied to your world. I love it so much."

"You are always welcome," she said and when he leaned in, she met him halfway, letting their foreheads press together. Warm skin and cold gold. "One day, I will tell you my name."

"I will earn it," the king promised. "And gift you mine in return."

He pulled back and smiled wide and mischievous. "I couldn’t possibly steal a queen’s crown and not replace it," he said and let go of her hands to press his fingers together. Then he began to weave, flowers and plants appearing between his hands.

At last, he presented her with a flower crown so intricate and majestic it put anything else to shame. "Chamomile for your strength in adversity, edelweiss for your daring courage, heather for luck and protection, fern for your wisdom, and lastly, zinnia from me to you."

"What does zinnia stand for?" the queen asked, reaching up to touch silk-soft petals with great care. The flowers held a faintly unnatural shine, the shine of fae magic.

The king smiled and placed the crown upon her head. "You took something from my knights and I that has hurt us for too many years, and you let us stay. You could have banished me from your lands for all time and forced me to return to my old home, but you didn’t. I must have done something that made me worthy of your trust and regard. You have my faithful friendship for however long I shall exist."

The queen reached out, and he met her halfway, entwining their hands. "You gave me everything you could when I had nothing to give in return," she answered. "Your words gave me courage, your kindness helped me be brave, and you...you saw me in truth as well." She looked up at him. "You did not see someone helpless."

"Oh, salt and iron queen," he said, and his voice dipped to a low rumble. "You should have seen yourself. There was nothing helpless about you, all you needed was a weapon, and once you got it, you wielded it marvelously well."

"I will be a good queen," she said quietly but with determination, and his smile softened to something genuine.

"I know." His hands gave hers a gentle squeeze. "And if you aren’t tired of me yet, I’d like to see you do it."

"As I said, you are always welcome." A horn sounded in the distance, and his head lifted, his gaze going far away. The queen pulled back, smiling at him. "Good hunt, king of the forest. Slay your prey."

He laughed, and from between the trees, a majestic stag galloped towards him. The king reached out to conjure a sprig of forget-me-not. He handed the flower to the queen before he snagged the beast’s reigns and mounted it in one fluid motion without making it break its stride.

His riders joined him the moment he was seated, appearing between trees, hooves thundering across the ground. They were no longer shadowed knights, but knights made of flesh and blood. Beautiful and elegant, deadly and focused, and yet, each and every one of them bent their head towards her as they passed her by.

They disappeared between the trees, and she found herself grinning wide and a little wild. She returned to the palace, brambles no longer wrapped around her heart, but instead a wealth of flowers surrounding it as she strode onward with a small token of her king, of something promising, tucked against her chest.

The forget-me-not never wilted, and neither did her crown as she took her seat upon her throne.

And the queen was, indeed, a just and good one. She rooted out corruption and cruelty with a steady, patient hand, and she received an outpouring of love from the people she reigned over.

It took very little time indeed for her praises to be sung, while whispered rumors spread about her at the same time. They said any assassins sent for their queen were always found dead and surrounded by bluebells.

They said their queen was the avatar of a goddess and had come to undo all the harm the tyrant had wrought. That her good and kind heart had been unable to watch their suffering any longer.

Some said she spoke with the trees and laughed at flowers as though they had spoken with her. Her council found themselves utterly devoted to her and her efforts, and she forged stronger ties to their neighboring lands.

Her parents were most glad to see their daughter well and untouched once she sent for them. Unharmed and with a smile still on her face. Her mother wept and hugged her tightly and refused to leave her side again, as did her sister and her very quiet father. He carried shame in his heart for a long time for not defending her more when he should have.

The first time the queen traveled through her lands, she was met with worried people dressed in white, young women and men presented to her in hopes of keeping up her good and kind spirits. To soothe any anger that might live in her heart.

Instead of taking them with her, she asked for just a drop of their blood. Pricking their fingers with the black wood needle in the square of whatever city or town or village she stood in.

A big, dark tree grew as soon as the blood hit the ground. It’s shimmering gold leaves caught and reflected the sunlight as it stood tall and proud. A sentinel to watch over everything that was hers.

These were her lands now, and the forest and she had gotten entwined irreversibly when she had paid with her blood for an irreplaceable gift. The queen ensured the forest was well treated at all times and that all the gold-leaf trees remained untouched.

The queen continued to see her friend the forest king, and as she laid in the grass beside him, as she danced with him and laughed with him, her heart grew all the fonder.

Soon, he appeared during masquerades, making people whisper about the dashing gentleman with whom their queen danced all night long. He left poems in her rooms, and flowers grew up the side of the palace to surround her windows, and not even the biting chill of winter could make them wilt.

Her forget-me-not soon grew into a bouquet of flowers as first a pansy, then buttercups joined them, followed by camellia and cornflowers.

And finally, after a sweet kiss shared beneath golden leaves, the bouquet of affection, longing, and devotion was completed by dahlias, roses, and tulips.

"You began capturing my heart the day I met you," the king whispered to her, his gaze loving as he looked at her, their foreheads touching, and his fingertips tracing along her jaw and cheek. "Brave and courageous and kind and your eyes, your eyes looked right at me. You saw me."

She pressed a kiss to his forehead, against skin and warmed gold. "And you did what no one else ever did. You didn’t try to blunt my claws or make me smaller, and you didn’t tell me I was bound to fail. Instead, you, too, saw me. You saw that I was capable when no one else cared to."

"My heart is yours," the king said. "For as long as you desire it."

"As is mine." The queen tangled their fingers together. "Let me tell you a secret."

And that night, where others might have exchanged rings, they told each other their names. Their whispers kept secret by the tree above them, ever watchful.

Officially, the queen never took a husband nor did she bear any heirs, but when her sister gave birth to a daughter, she took the girl in as a ward and raised her to be the next queen.

And one day, when the queen set her crown of flowers upon the head of a girl fully grown, it was said she disappeared without a trace.

But her family knew the truth. They knew she rode with her king and visited them as often as she desired. In her wake grew chamomile and edelweiss, all ringed in bluebells.

A new rumor was soon born among her people, told by all those who sought out help in their darkest hour: Speak to black trees with golden leaves, and you will meet them, the king and queen of the forest.

And they do not suffer cruelty in their lands.