"Oh, his [i]Tante[/i] certainly [i]would[/i] like a glass," Antonia said softly, though she waited for Luc's head to nod his assent before she turned to the First Mate in earnest. The rogue watched the graceful hands of Nicolette finish pouring the brandywine before taking up her own offered glass, smiling to the gracious woman gratefully. She hadn't the least idea what one of uncountable numbers of stories she shared with Luc over the years he might want to tell [i]Mademoiselle[/i] Beauchamp, but she was as intrigued by the boy's sudden boldness as she was by the question of what story he would choose to share.

Antonia nodded her thanks to Nicolette and, with the glass of brandywine perched in her fingers, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. Luc beckoned Nicolette to the chair abandoned by his aunt, because whether in the telling or the hearing, one truly ought to be most comfortable in the presence of a story. Only when the golden angel took her seat, did the boy begin his tale.

"Once upon a time - and as you know, 'tis not a true fairy tale unless it begins just so," Luc began, his voice sure and warm. His words held only the faintest hint of the Cajun patois that spiced his aunt's and his [i]Maman[/i]'s so thickly, but the easy cadence he fell into was the very match of the rogue's own.

"Once upon a time, there was a king who had three daughters. At dinner one evening, he thought to discover which of his daughters loved him best, and so he said to them, 'Come now and tell me, my precious girls, tell me just how dearly you love your father!'"

Antonia's brow lifted curiously when she heard the start, recognizing the tale and wondering how this one ever came to Luc's thoughts. But she did not interrupt, of course, to ask. The rogue simply took another sip of her delicious brandywine and smiled softly to herself.

"The oldest girl proclaimed, 'Papa, I love you as dearly as all the treasure and gold on this good world!'"

"The second declared, 'Papa, I love you more than the heights of the skies, or the depths of the ocean!'"

"And the youngest daughter said, humbly and sincerely, 'I love you as much as water and salt.'"

"As pleased as the king was with the proclamations of his eldest two daughters, he was furious with the sentiments of his youngest. 'Water and salt? Is that all I am worth to you, but common water and salt? Executioners! Come at once and take my youngest daughter away, and kill her immediately!'"

"Right away, the elder sisters brought the executioners a small dog to kill in her place, and begged them to kill it and bring its tongue and their sister's rent clothing to their father. The executioners did exactly as the princesses asked of them, killing the dog and rending the youngest sister's clothing to the king as false proof of their deed."

"The king rewarded his executioners handsomely, though unbeknownst to him? The executioners left the youngest sister in a forest cave. But Fortune and Fate both dearly loved the little princess, and she was found in that same forest by a strange magician who took her in, to his home opposite a royal palace."

"And it was here where the lovely youngest princess was espied by a king's son who fell madly, desperately in love with her. And when the match was agreed upon, the strange magician came to the little princess with the oddest of requests."

Luc leaned forward toward Nicolette where she sat, the cast to those dark, amber-lit eyes suddenly far, far older and wiser than his meager eight years alive in this world. "'On the day before your wedding, sweet little princess, you must kill me. Invite three kings to your nuptials, your father being the very first. Order your servants to pass water and salt to all the guests, [i]but[/i] your father.'"

"The young princess was heartbroken, but swore she would do as he asked. And yet her heartbreak was not, in truth, near so great as that of her father who, the longer he lived, was buried beneath regret for what he'd done to the youngest daughter he truly loved more, day by day. So great was his regret and sorrow and grief, he very nearly turned away the invitation to the wedding, thinking only that his littlest girl should be old enough to have been marrying by this time as well."

The young boy sat back in his chair, his face aged and careworn, his arms spread wide as if the old king's helplessness were his own. "And yet he feared the other king might make war on him, and so he decided he must go."

"The day before the wedding, the strange magician was killed as he was ordered, and they quartered his body, a quarter in each of the cardinal directions of the castle, and sprinkled his blood in every room. Wherever the crimson drops fell, flesh and blood turned to gold and precious gemstones. And when the three kings arrived, they were amazed and awed by the sight."

"The wedding was a magnificent affair as well, as was the celebratory banquet afterward. And true to the words of the strange magician, the little princess' father was served all the rich foods, but nothing of water or salt. The young queen sat near her father, and noted he did not eat."

"'Your majesty,' she asked, 'Does this food ill please you?' The king shook his head sadly, though he replied only, 'No, the food is grand - only I do not feel well.' At that the bride and groom fed him the choicest pieces of meat themselves, though without salt he found all flavorless, and without water the old king found it impossible to swallow past the lump of grief in his throat."

"And when the dinner was done, the entire assemblage told stories. And it was a towering regret that drove the old king to tell the tale of what he'd done to his youngest daughter. The young queen slipped from the room and returned then, in the very dress she'd worn when she last told her father how dearly she truly did love him."

"As he sat astonished, amazed with recognition, the youngest daughter said, 'You wished me dead because I told you truly, I loved you as water and salt. Do you see now Papa, how little there is to savor to the lengths of our days, without these dear and simple-seeming blessings in our lives?'"

"The old king said not a word, but only took his youngest daughter in his arms and begged her forgiveness - a thing she most gladly gave, another simple-seeming blessing as beautiful as water and salt. And they all most certainly did live, from that day forward, happily. Ever. [i]After[/i]." The boyish grin returned to Luc's face as he searched Nicolette's face, to read there what she thought of his tale. 

"And as you might know, [i]Mademoiselle[/i] Beauchamp, 'tis not a true fairy tale, unless it ends just so."