Once there was a frog who lived in large lake at the base of a sprawling castle. He was quite content to dwell there, for it was a pleasant lake with plenty of sitting logs, crickets, and shade. He did not want for companionship, for he had a friend with whom he could share all his joys, even the occasional mouse. But the frog’s luck didn’t end there, for he was the son of the Frog King, who made sure all the frogs minded their manners and took care of the lake as it ought, which by all accounts is not an unpleasant job, as frogs are more inclined to keep their word than people. As such, our croaking protagonist knew no hardship.
Now some say she was a duchess, or the daughter of a servant, but the truth is she was a princess who, having found all other suiters beneath her, had declared she’d sooner marry a frog. To prove her point, she’d scooped the frog prince off of his favorite log one afternoon and planted a wet kiss on his froggy cheek. And because her parents had asked the court sorcerer for a specific favor, with this princess’ kiss he was instantly transformed into a human. Imagine his bewilderment at finding himself suddenly towering over the rushes that grew by the lake, and having to walk instead of hop from place to place like a perfectly sensible person. Imagine worse yet, his horror when he was told that he was to be married to this stranger and would have to take on all the responsibilities of a prince of the realm immediately.
From the moment of his transformation onward, the frog prince knew no peace. He was fussed over and put in stifling clothes that itched, and there were still more clothes to make for the wedding. The tailor’s pins pricked him as they fitted the pattern pieces and his protests were met with deaf ears. The frog prince was instructed in math, magic, and sailing, given horse riding lessons and weapons training, meeting and managing the knights of the realm as well as filling out a backlog of paperwork. The work was hard, and he wrote until his eyes crossed and his hands bled. To make matters worse, his bride to be was insufferable. She spit curses at him and screamed if he so much as walked past, sparing him no sympathy. The frog prince realized that people of the two-leg variety don’t often do as they ought, rather turning to flattery and deception and laziness, taking the path of least inconvenience to themselves.
Magic had gotten our poor protagonist into this mess, so it was a necessary evil that magic must be his salvation. He took advantage of the reports he’d been pouring over and decided to visit a witch who lived in the dark woods. The two-legs wanted to turn her out for luring orphans to her home, but as the knights and town guards could never agree which group should take responsibility with forcing her out, nothing had been done. The frog prince pocketed her address in the breast pocket of his finely tailored yet restrictive waistcoat then set out with all due haste on horseback.
The witch’s cottage was a dreary sight and filled him with dread. Instead of being built of bricks and stone like the castle, it was formed of brightly colored frostings, shortbreads, and candies. But aside from the ant problem her home necessarily had, it was also plagued by children, who had nibbled away her shutters, eaten her gumdrop doorknob, and torn a great hole in her candy cane fence and used the pieces as play swords. The exasperated witch was just shooing the boy and girl away when the frog prince rode up, wondering why the witch had been deemed the problem when really it was the village children. He dismounted, gave his best bow, and explained his wretched situation while the witch baked herself a new pair of shutters in her oven.
She sympathized with his plight, certainly, but until she could do away with the children plaguing her she was unable to fulfill the request. She needed all the magic she had to enchant her house to keep it from going stale, and the two children were such gluttons she’d been rebuilding daily. But our croaking protagonist was not quick to be discouraged. He suggested bringing the children back with him to the pond, so they could be taught proper manners and learn to eat nutritious food like flies as they ought. The witch was delighted, and the frog prince returned to the castle before he could be missed, promising to return the next evening.
On his last day as a human, the world seemed intent on making his life as miserable as possible. His wedding cravat made him imagine his bride would give it one tug and strangle him, the King and Queen gave him a long speech about his new role and made him write one out himself to give that evening, and the paperwork towered above him on his desk, freshly replaced with a new stack every time he dared to dream of freedom. By dusk, when the wedding was to take place, he was cross eyed and sore from sitting, longing to be back in the cool repose of his pond. After a most heartfelt speech, the frog prince managed to convince his guard to give him but a moment alone to mentally prepare himself before leaving for the church. With this first private moment since his return, he threw himself out a window and ran to the stables, where he rode bareback, with all due haste, to the witch’s cottage.
She was waiting for him, most anxiously, with both children sobbing in a black liquorice cage, bemoaning that now they would either starve or be eaten themselves. The frog prince—chased by the royal guard—could only ride by in a flash and be passed one child at a time in a wild relay, while they cried harder than ever at the pounding hooves of the hose beneath them. Once the last child had been handed off, the witch mounted her broom and flew besides him as they made their way as quickly as possible to the royal pond.
By the time of their return, the wedding party was all confusion and the members of the royal guard who had followed them had gotten lost in the forest. The witch happily reverted the frog prince to his natural form, and the sleeping children—exhausted from such a prolonged fright—into tadpoles. She left with a happy cackle as our protagonist let out a happy croak and watched the ensuing chaos of the two-legs from within the safety of his favorite log, quite relieved to have avoided such a terrible fate. The tadpole children were soon brought to mind themselves and were adopted as the prince’s heirs, and for all but the denizens of the castle, the matter was pleasantly concluded.