I wrote this short story over a year ago as a submission for the “Being Aro” anthology. It wasn’t selected, but now that “Being Aro” is out, I dug up my story and decided to share it here. I hope you enjoy!

Frog Princess

It all started when a girl spotted me trudging through the moat, stagnant water up to my knees, holding up a skirt full of frogs. 

“What’re you doing?” She crouched on the drawbridge, a gangly fellow seventeen-year-old with curly chesnut hair, voice without accusation – just curiosity. 

That tone is what convinced me to trust her.

“The frogs are classified as pests now,” I said, stuffing another amphibian into my skirt-bundle. “If the groundspeople find them here, they’re under orders to kill them.”

Without a word, she clammered down the embankment and scanned the water. Then she lunged down – splashing me in the process – and came up holding a frog. She picked up the bottom of her tunic and cradled her own amphibian bundle.

“Like this?”

“Exactly.”

We continued spotting and grabbing frogs until our garments were bursting. Then we scrabbled up the bank of the moat, snuck across an unsupervised castle supply path, and turned onto a meandering road winding through the forest. There were other newer, better-paved roads going the same direction, which meant we had this one to ourselves. 

We walked over an hour in shy silence to reach our destination: the quaking bog, the only place I knew frogs lived and thrived.

We reached it just before sunset, the cool spring air beginning to nibble our bare arms. I was relieved that I hadn’t misremembered the details in the year since I’d seen it. From afar, it looked just like a small lake, cobalt surface reflecting shadows of the trees and sky.

We carefully picked our way down the sloping hill until we reached the base of the bog. We knelt side by side in the mud and opened our bundles. The frogs croaked as they jumped away– croaks I decided to interpret as messages of amphibious gratitude. 

The two of us stood there for a long moment. As the frogs retreated into their new world, the silence opened space between us. 

“I’m Jo,” she said. 

I smiled. “I’m–” I stopped when I heard a faint, distant pounding that sounded like–

Hoofbeats.

“I see her!” came a shout, followed by more cries and thundering hooves as a team of calvary guards galloped down the hill and circled the lake. 

The four horses charged right up to the edge of the bog. The head guard jumped off his horse and came so close his steel-toed boots dipped in the water. 

“It’s past your curfew, Princess,” he clucked, then grinned like he relished how much trouble I was about to be in. “We’re under orders to bring you home.”

I held my expression steady and my chin up, unwilling to let my frustration show. Instead, I turned to Jo, as if I hadn’t completely lost control of the situation. “I think we should head back. Want to ride with them?” 

Her eyes searched my face. “You’re the princess?”

“I am.” I couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling. “I was about to tell you.”

“You’re the princess,” Jo repeated, tone still indiscipherable, though no longer a question.

“Yeah.” I stared down at my feet in the bogwater.

“With a legion of guards and horses.”

“Yeah.” There was nothing else I could say. One more almost-friend spooked away because I was surrounded and monitored at all times, unable to have one normal outing. I couldn’t blame her, so instead I berated myself for having hope.

“And we had to walk here?” She clucked disapprovingly and then flashed a smile. She wasn’t scared, or upset. She thought it was funny. “Yeah, let’s get a ride home.”

And that’s how, at age seventeen, I made my first friend.

~~~

A few weeks later, I had plans to meet Jo in the livery barn. I was technically still grounded from our bog-scapade, but my parents and most of the guards were in the banquet hall meeting with advisors. When I tested the boundary – sneaking out of my room, crossing the drawbridge and ducking into the stables– no one came after me. 

I found Jo in the corner of the tack room, staring intently at a bit of cheese strategically laid a few feet from the wall.