My grandmother leaned over my head, wiping hair from my forehead. Her gnarled skin made me think of oak trunks.

“The princess did not like the king at first. No, not at all,” she whispered with a soft voice. I hadn’t heard this bedtime tale before. “She tried to avoid him, staying in her chambers. Yet he would always come, once at noon and once at evening. He would ask for her hand in marriage, and she would decline each time.” My grandmother shook her head. “But one day he came in the morning, and brought an axe with him.”

“An axe? Like to cut wood?” I asked sitting up, eyes wide.

“Like to cut wood, yes. And he held it to the princess’ head and told her that if she didn’t marry him, he would chop her down like a trunk.”

I shivered. Grandmother’s tales were never like this. I wanted talking the talking animals and pretty flowers back. There was a look in her eye, though, as if she wanted to get this story out for a long time. I wondered where she heard it, but when she said her next words, I knew:

“Ultimately, she decided to marry the king, but not for power or riches. For fear. To save her life, and the life of her future kids.” Grandmother swallowed hard. “Goodnight, sweet pea. Sleep well.”

I didn’t sleep well that night, and the next morning mother told me grandmother was dead.