Be, thou, with me.
I heard him breathing.
Then go I with joy, to Death and to my rest.
It had been so long since his presence walked in my mind that I knew the instant the Goblin King was near.
Oh how glad would be my end, if it be your dear hands I see, closing my faithful eyes at last.
The hitch of a broken breath. I opened my eyes, but there was no one there. But I felt his eyes upon me anyway, feather-light and invisible, gentle fingers tracing the line of my neck and arm as it held the violin. I felt its touch on my bow arm, gently holding my elbow as I moved it back and forth across the strings in a smooth, continuous arc.
“Be, thou, with me,” I said, still playing. An invitation.
“I am here, Elisabeth.”
The bow faltered, and I dropped my arms. And from the shadows appeared an austere young man.
The Goblin King had appeared before me in many guises before—a tall, elegant stranger, a poor shepherd boy, a peacock-king—but I had never seen the youth in the portrait until now. The black of his tunic set off the pallor of his skin, turning his complexion silver and his hair golden white. There was no ornamentation on his sleeves or collar, save for a small wooden cross at his throat, and there was something of the priest about him: simple, plain, and beautiful.
“You call, and I answer,” he said.
I set down the violin and the bow and held out my arms. “You come and I bid you welcome, mein Herr.”
There was nothing else that needed to be said.
We walked into each other’s embrace. We stood like that for a long while, allowing ourselves to adjust to the rhythm of each other’s breaths, to relearn each other’s shapes and curves. I had not known until that moment how empty my arms had been. He had lived in my mind for so long; now I wanted to hold more than just the idea of him. I wanted to hold him.
“Oh, Elisabeth,” he said into my hair. “I am afraid.”
He was quivering, shaking and trembling like a leaf in a storm.
“What are you afraid of?” I asked.
He laughed, an uncertain waver. “You,” he said. “Damnation. My heart.”
His heart. It beat beneath my cheek, fast and unsure.
“I know,” I murmured into his chest. “I’m afraid too.”
A confession, the first admission of weakness I had ever given him. I felt the realization all throughout his body. I had given him my hand, my music, my body, but the one thing I had not given him was my trust. I had trespassed against him in the chapel. Let him trespass against me now.
He kissed me.
It was not like any of the others we had shared. No passion, no frenzy, and I understood then that each time we had kissed before was not a gift; it was theft. We had stolen from each other, demanding something of the other without any thought to giving.
“Elisabeth,” he said against my lips. “I have done you great wrong.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I broke my promise. I gave you my music, but I withheld my trust.”
And it was true. I had given him everything but the one thing he truly needed: not my hand in marriage, not my body in his bed, not even my music. I should have trusted the Goblin King back when I was a little girl playing her music for him in the wood. I should have trusted him with the consequences of my choice to become his bride. I should have trusted him when he tried to give me back to myself.
“Oh, Elisabeth,” the Goblin King said softly. His eyes were bright, vivid, and intense. “Your trust is a beautiful thing. Let me give you mine in return.”
He fell to his knees.
Confused, I tried to bring him back to his feet, but he wrapped his arms about my waist in response.
“Mein Herr, what—”
“Be, thou, with me,” he murmured. “How glad would be my end”—he lifted his eyes to mine—“if it be your dear hands into which I commend my soul.”
Those mismatched eyes were clear as a well, and I could see down to the boy he had been. The boy he might have been, before he had been transformed and consumed by a wolf in the woods. Before he became Der Erlkönig. My hands and limbs were trembling, and I sat down upon the bench.
“Elisabeth,” he said. “You gave yourself to me, whole and entire. Let me do the same. Let me give myself back to you.”
He lowered his head to place a soft kiss against my knee. And then I began to understand.
“You would … you would have me lead you into the dark? Into wildness?”
“Yes,” he whispered. I felt every vibration of his voice, every movement of his lips against my leg. “Yes.”
I hesitated. “I’m … I don’t know the way.”
I felt the Goblin King smile. “I trust you.”
Trust. Did I have the courage to take it? Could I bear its weight? I was the Goblin Queen, but I was also just a girl. Just Elisabeth.
But was I not also a brave maiden?
I swallowed. “All right,” I said, stroking his hair and pushing it away from his face. “As you wish.”
“As you wish.”
* * *
The Goblin King bows his head with gratitude, with reverence, with submission. I tangle my fingers in the luxuriant thickness of his thistledown hair, trying to lift his head and meet my eyes. “Look at me,” I whisper.
We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment. The nakedness in his expression turns me tender and nervous at once, the trust in his face mingling with a waiting apprehension. He has surrendered all power, and it is only now I understand that he had surrendered it to me long ago. When I offered him my life for my sister’s. When I offered him my music. When I offered him myself, entire. He has been in my thrall for longer than I can remember, and the realization of it makes me gasp. I could hurt him; I do not know if I could bear to hurt him.