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it.
    She glanced at the king, and he gazed at her with an expression that reminded her of the cats sitting on the porch watching the nesting wrens. Suddenly, her throat was tight and she doubted she could swallow another bite of the meal, despite the fact that she was starving.
    “Gwyneth.” It was the first time he’d referred to her by name. “You are a very beautiful and talented woman, despite the fact you are not of noble birth. I will admit I’m intrigued by the fact you can spin straw into gold, but I’m also entranced by your appearance and your manners.”
    “Thank you, sire.” She wasn’t certain what response he was looking for, but that seemed a safe one.
    “I believe I will make you my wife.”
    Her throat constricted and her stomach lurched. This was her father’s dream come true. It should have been hers as well. Any woman in the land would be thrilled to hear those words coming from the lips of a monarch. So why did she feel sick?
    Ignoring her lack of response, Midas went on. “But before I make such a momentous decision as choosing you for the mother of my heirs, I must be absolutely certain you are truly worthy of that honor.” He leaned forward, fixing her with his gaze. “Therefore, I have commanded another room full of straw be prepared for you. I would like another demonstration of your inestimable powers.”
    “Oh, Your Majesty,” she whispered and could say no more. Hopefully he’d think she was struck dumb by the honor of being offered his hand in marriage.
    He smiled, his white teeth gleaming in the candlelight. “And this time I’ve provided many spindles to keep the gold thread from tangling.”

Chapter Four
    Once more Gwyneth waited in the room full of straw, desperate and alone, but with a sliver of hope which she hadn’t possessed the previous night. For now she knew there was someone who could give her the magic to perform the impossible task. But what could she do to summon him?
    She stood in the center of the room, sneezing as the chaff in the air tickled her nose, and examined the chamber from corner to corner. How had he entered the room? Did one of the great stone blocks which made up the walls and floor move aside to provide him entrance? And where exactly had he come from?
    She licked her lips and cleared her throat. “Sir,” she called softly, “I beseech you to come to me again. I need your help. Please.”
    There was no answer. The dead silence was disturbed only by a tiny rustle, perhaps of a mouse brought in with one of the bales of straw.
    Gwyneth clasped her hands together. “I cannot do this alone. I need your magic. Please, I’ll do anything you require if only you will save me once more.”
    More silence. What if he didn’t come this time? Now that the king was convinced she could perform the task, he might take her refusal to accomplish it a second time as willful disobedience—perhaps treason. Could she convince him that her magic power was used up since the full moon of the fifth month was waning? She couldn’t be expected to produce gold again until another eighteen years had passed, according to her father’s bizarre claim.
    She squeezed her eyes shut and tears slipped from the corners to trickle down her cheeks. “Please, I need you,” she whispered.
    “Then you shall have me, my lady.” The voice murmuring near her ear, hot breath tickling her neck, nearly jolted her out of her skin. She started to whirl to face him and her shoulder slammed into his hard chest. He stood right behind her, as solid and immovable as a wall.
    One gloved finger reached out and caught the tear which had dripped nearly to her jaw. “Diamonds,” he murmured. “More beautiful than the green glass you wear around your neck.”
    Gwyneth automatically reached up to touch the elaborate emerald necklace that draped her throat. “You’re here,” was all she could manage to say.
    He dipped his hooded head slightly. “Your wish is my command, but as before, I will