Flight of the Fairy Tale King

By Hannah Carter

They said the Fairy Tale King had gone mad.

The courtiers, led by King Ludwig’s Uncle Luitpold, didn’t bother to contain their disgust anymore. They sneered when Ludwig passed, mocked him and his ideas. They whispered that his grandest creation, Neuschwanstein Castle, was nothing more than a showcase for his lunacy.

But even so, Ludwig lost himself in the world of words, where he feasted on magnificent ideals: love, adventure, bravery. Not the stuffy, confining life he’d been shoved into, where he didn’t belong. No, Ludwig belonged with the legends, books, and even the operas of his favorite composer, Richard Wagner. Worlds where magic could happen if only one believed enough.

“Luddy!” Spera—a Basque socialite and Ludwig’s lifelong friend—burst into Ludwig’s chamber, her dark hair soaking wet. It seemed the umbrella she’d carried hadn’t done much good against the storm outside. “Oh, praise God in Heaven. I thought you’d be dead already.” She darted across to his chair and clutched his hands with her wet gloves. “The gendarmes are coming—your uncle is staging a coup—you’re to be killed—”

“Yes, I know.” Ludwig extracted one hand so he could move his book away from Spera’s droplets. He rose, novel still in hand.

“They think you mad.” Spera’s face had gone red, but whether from her run or anger, Ludwig didn’t know. “Selfish, greedy little—”

“I know, Spera.” Ludwig grabbed a towel and offered it to Spera as she clung to his elbow. “I’ve known for quite some time.”

“And you aren’t doing anything?” Spera’s voice rose. “You’re my friend, Luddy, and I’ll not stand by while you fall prey to their machinations!”

Ludwig smiled. Dear woman. Such spirit—she reminded him of Wagner’s operatic heroine, Isolde. “I never said I wasn’t doing anything.”

Spera scurried to his window. “Is there a carriage waiting? An army?”

“Neither.” Ludwig tucked his book into his carpetbag, picked it up, and offered her his hand. “Walk with me one last time, my dearest friend?”

Spera eyed his hand, but slipped her wet fingers between his as they headed into the candlelit corridor.

“Do you know why I built Neuschwanstein Castle, Spera?”

“I assume to drain the royal coffers and cause annoyance to most everyone around you?” Spera pursed her lips and raised an eyebrow.

Ludwig chuckled. “Not at all.” They twisted their way up a grand stairwell. “I built it to contact the fairies.”

“Ludwig, really—”

“I’m telling you the truth.” He lowered his voice to an excited whisper and drew her closer. “For once, I drop all pretenses.” He swallowed as he searched her eyes. After he’d tried so many times to be seen and known truly, only to be met with failure and ridicule—he’d sequestered himself away inside a world of books, magic, and music and decided to remain an enigma to the world instead.

Oh, how it pained him now to even peek around his walls. If Spera laughed at him too…

She clutched his face with both hands. “Then speak.”

A grandfather clock chimed across the castle, and Ludwig could hear approaching hoofbeats.

“The fairy tales. They’re all real, Spera.” He placed his hands over hers. “I built the Neuschwanstein on fae ley lines. Magic thrums in this castle, like music inside of a person. I’ve been studying for years—and I think I’ve got the spells I need memorized, but… I’ve been terribly afraid to put my escape plan into motion.” His voice trembled. “But tonight, I have no more time to waste on fear. Our friendship will be cut short by my uncle regardless, so now I only wonder… what if the fairy world isn’t all that I believe it to be? What if it is just as cruel and heartless as this one?”

Spera opened her mouth. Closed it. Tears sparkled on her dark eyelashes. “Oh, Ludwig.”

He took a step away. His bags suddenly felt heavier on his arms. “You think I’m mad, don’t you?”

Spera took a shuddery breath. “No. Ever since I was a child, listening to you weave fantastical stories, I’ve wished… I wish that I could see the world you speak of. Any place that has so thoroughly captured your heart cannot be cruel.”

Someone banged on the door, and a deep voice bellowed, “Bring it down, men!”

Spera’s eyes widened as flecks of fear danced in them. “Luddy—”

“To Singers’ Hall!” Ludwig seized her hand, and they flew to his favorite room. Even at this hour, the golden chandeliers were lit, illuminating the hand-painted scenes of the legendary Parzival and his search for the Holy Grail.

They stopped at the mural that depicted the end of Parzival’s struggles: his coronation as King of the Grail.

Ludwig placed one hand on the sacred cup, faltering as its magic pulled at him. “ Spera… would you follow your king anywhere? Even into madness?”

Spera sniffled. “My Fairy Tale King, you would want me to come… ?”

The gendarmes burst into the room.

One of them stepped forward, his rifle ready. “King Ludwig II of Bavaria, you’re under arrest. The throne will be seized immediately on the grounds of your mental instability.”

“Take the throne,” Ludwig said. “I never wanted it.”

A shot bounced off the wall, and Spera shoved him toward the mural. “Go, Luddy. They won’t hurt me.”

“But—”

“Find safety in your new world. And, one day… come back for me. So I can see your fairy tales come to life, too.” Spera touched his cheek with her wet gloves one last time. Then she turned and brandished her umbrella like the heroine Isolde wielded Tristan’s sword.

He let the spell roll off his tongue. If it did not work, would he ever be anything more than just the Mad King?

The world started to twinkle around him as he watched his beloved Spera disappear.

The faint sounds of Wagner’s Lohengrin’s Farewell floated in the air.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Hannah Carter is just a girl who wakes up every day hoping it will be the day she discovers she’s secretly a mermaid. Her debut novel, Depths of Atlantis, is out through SnowRidge Press now. Her stories have been included in several anthologies: Whispers From Before, The Never Tales, and Havok’s Casting Call and Prismatic. Her flash fiction piece, “A Home for Nova,” won the 2022 Flash Fiction Realm Award.

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