Chapter Text
Once upon a time there lived a poor miller and his daughter. So poor were they that the miller instructed his child to take a portion of the grain whenever their own folk came to grind their wheat. The daughter did as she was told, for it was bread that kept her stomach full.
One day, the theft was discovered. She had been caught taking from the lord’s wheat–thievery of the highest order. But the lord of the lands was kind in his sentence–he had taken one look at her rags and her father’s dirty nails and seen the truth. He forgave their crime and sent them along with thirty litras of his own harvest.
The Miller’s Daughter would have preferred it if she had been sentenced to death. From that day forward she and her father were pitied, scorned and never to be trusted. They never again let them work the stone grinders on their own–people came in pairs to get their flour made. One to watch the Miller’s Daughter, and another to watch the falling grain.
Her body became thin and hard and so did her spirit. She hated everyone in the village, and most of all she hated the lord’s mercy. There came a night when she called forth a demon. Not a particularly powerful or evil demon, but a demon nonetheless. He traded in deals, his sweet tongue explained. His price was determined by the weight of her ambition.
“What is it that you want, dearie?” He laughed.
“Power.” She replied.
“To do what with it?”
The Miller’s Daughter thought of this for a moment. And when she had her answer she bared her teeth to the demon.
“To subdue. To conquer.”
This delighted the demon, for that came with a high price. First, he told her, she would need to remove her heart and bury it in barren land. That was not the price, no. That was only a necessary evil to pay the price. The miller’s daughter did as she was told, buried her heart in the sands of the desert. Now, he explained, when her first born arrived into this world she would have to surrender them to him.
She agreed, without hesitation. Who was a child she did not know? The demon kissed her before he disappeared. His kiss gifted her some of his magic, some of his knowledge.
The Miller’s Daughter did not bid her father farewell. She simply left for the great city, where she soon became known for small tricks of magic at the market. A man there caught her eye, he was dressed in expensive green from head to toe. When she approached him one night, he told her he was descended from mighty Ozymandias himself. He had fled to escape persecution, one day, he said one day he would rule the land again. She knew him to be a charlatan but she found she did not much care, not when his face and body pleased her. They drank absinthe, a spirit that made them see the specters of greatness that awaited them. That greatness, they told each other, started with the union of their bodies.
Not too long after, the descendant of the Great King left the great city. The miller’s daughter did not mourn his departure–she had laughed in delight. She had known exactly what he was and he had given her exactly what she had needed. She was with child, the one she would give up to settle her debt with the demon.
The girl was born screaming, with skin colored with absinthe. The miller’s daughter thought just as well that the child should belong to a demon. She called his name and left her daughter for him to find. There were bigger things to tend to, after all.
The King had opened his paltry palace, all were invited. It was said that the King was searching for a wife for his second-born son. A troublesome boy who had been rejected by every good match and the family had grown desperate. Whoever impressed the King, with her worth would get the Prince’s hand in marriage. The Miller’s Daughter was not romantic, she did not want the Prince’s love. She wanted his title, the power that came with it. So she made herself a blood red dress and headed straight for the palace.
There was not a great line of women at the palace, as she had expected. It was a celebration in a cramped ballroom,where each woman paraded her feathers around. The Prince had not looked at any of them. He looked sullen as he danced around the room. His cloaks were of red and gold, and she thought they were much too big on him. She thought him pathetic, she thought him perfect for her ambition.
But then the Miller's Daughter tripped over her own skirts and ripped through them. Those who were not laughing, were glaring at her. They had caught her, a rat fetched out from the gutter, unaccustomed to the silk. She held her head up high and did not deign to even glance at them.
The King ordered the room to silence.
“You have come here for my son’s hand in marriage.” He looked her in the eyes.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“And what do you have to prove your worth?”
The miller’s daughter thought of the magic and knowledge the demon had gifted her. There were all sorts of wonders she could accomplish, but as long as she remained a miller’s daughter, she would be cast as a witch if her power grew too great. But with a title to her name, with heirs of royal lineage,what could she not do? She promised him what rulers need above all else, especially for one so poor, surrounded by enemies.
“I will turn all the hay in your stables into gold, Your Majesty.”
The King smiled as every one person gasped.
“Have my stables full of gold by morning and the Prince will be your husband by the end of the month.”
She took her leave and asked from a weaving wheel to be brought to the royal stables. She loomed each strand of hay onto the wheel and as it spun it became a heavy strand of gold. By sunrise, the King could cover the entire palace and its gardens in gold.
The first heir born to the miller’s daughter and The Prince was born with her legs tangled. While there had been tenderness in the Prince’s heart, there had only been deep disgust in her empty chest. She went to the King and said the child should be exchanged as a hostage, so that the South of their kingdom would be safe. Because she still kept gold in his coffers, his allies rich, and his enemies frightened, he agreed.
The last child was born healthy. Her cries echoed throughout the palace. The Prince loved that child too and carefully studied the look on his wife’s face. He did not want to lose her, were she to find fault in the babe. Her lips were arranged into a wide smile that did not extend to her eyes–her eyes that grew dark with hunger. It reminded the Prince of lions he had slain. When he thought of ripping his daughter away from his wife’s grasp, she pressed her to her breast.
“What will we name her?” He asked with his voice quivering.
“Regina,” She replied. “For one day she will be Queen.”