During the evening while the royal family dined sumptuously, they heard a faint tapping at the castle door. Moments later a footman appeared with a message for Dorinda.
“Princess,” he began, “you have a visitor at the door.”
Excusing herself from the table, Dorinda hastened away. When she opened the door, however, blood drained from her face. There stood the forbearing frog.
“You forgot your pledge to treat me hospitably at the palace,” he croaked.
She slammed the door in his face.
“Dorinda, who was at the door?” King Morton inquired when she returned to the table.
Dorinda may have had her deficiencies, but she did tell the truth when asked directly. “A frog.”
“What did he want?”
Now, you and I might have trouble with King Morton’s rejoinder—isn’t it unusual for a frog to knock at the castle door? —but remember, this is a fairy tale, which is allowed to be bizarre.
Gushing tears yet again, which Dorinda could expediently turn on and off like a faucet, she sobbed the story of the frog’s rescue of her ball and the promises that she had foolishly he made.
“Surely, you wouldn’t make me, like, touch that nasty old thing,” she pleaded piteously.
The king was too used to her histrionics to be affected by her tears. “Daughter, you are a royal princess. Your word to all people’s must be trustworthy.”
Reluctantly Princess Dorinda slunk to the door and opened it a crack, just wide enough for the frog to squeeze through.
“I guess you can come in,” she sighed audibly.
Hopping, he traipsed behind her to the resplendent dining hall.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Sire. I’m Arthur,” the frog volunteered.
“Dorinda, pick Arthur up,” her father commanded, “and let him feast unstintingly from your golden plate.”
“Yuck! I won’t touch another bite,” she whined again.
“Despite your feelings, a promise is a promise,” King Morton reminded her.
Now, what Dorinda, Maribella, and King Morton did not divine was that Arthur was not truly a frog but a prince. Although you may have surmised this already, they hadn’t read any fairy tales lately.
As a teenager, Prince Arthur used to be a bit swollen-headed and pretentious. One humid afternoon in July, young Arthur was riding through a forest in his father’s kingdom, seeking some shady relief from the sweltering sun. About halfway through the forest, his horse reared up, startled. A young boy stood in the path.
“Please, sir, I’ve lost my way,” the boy explained. “Would you kindly give me a ride out of this desolate forest?”
“Out of my way, peasant,” the prince retorted, oblivious that the boy was a magician in disguise.
Instantly the boy’s voice thundered, “For your lack of compassion and decency, you must spend your days as a frog.”
He zapped the air, and the prince found himself hopping off the saddle and plummeting onto the ground.
The magician continued, “As a frog you will learn humility and gratitude for simple kindnesses people offer you. You will remain in this form until a princess bestows on you a kiss in true kind hearted-ness. If you ever tell anyone who you actually are, however, you will be fated to frog-hood forever.”
The frog had born his secret for six long years. Having come to reside in King Morton’s sequestered garden, he hoped to make friends one day with one of the princesses, who frequently wandered into the garden. Unluckily, the one he first met was Dorinda, not Maribella.
At the table now, he conjectured how he might charm the princess.
Unwilling to touch the frog with her own precious fingers, Dorinda’s held her napkin between her thumb and first finger and then unceremoniously grabbed one of Arthur’s hind legs, depositing him on the table beside her plate. A minute later she scrunched back into her chair as far as she could.
Since he used to have a taste for princely but savory fare, Arthur politely declined the main course, sturgeon roe fricassee.
“I’ll just take deserts,” he requested, eying with glee the side cart piled high with delectable tarts, scones, pies, cobblers, and cheesecakes.
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