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In old times, when wishes still meant something, the king and queen were blessed with three children. The oldest was a daughter, born to take her father’s throne when she was old enough, witty and ambitious by nature. The people loved her, for they knew she would make a good queen. The youngest was another daughter, born to be adored by everyone who ever met her, generous and fair. The people loved her, for she was the golden child, the last born, and so they doted on her. The middle child was a son, and he had been born for no particular purpose at all. By nature he was loyal and steadfast, and that brought him no admiration of the people at all; he was just as smart and kind as his sisters, but while they sought the attention of the people of their father’s kingdom, the prince preferred to spend his time with a few select companions, and so when asked about the king’s children, the people often forgot him. To the prince this did not matter as he grew up: with his two most loyal friends he spent his days learning all a prince must know to be able to protect his kingdom, and so he grew to be quick with a sword and knowledgeable about all sorts of evil that lurked in the shadows of the world.
And yet, as the golden days of childhood faded, the prince began to feel lonely. He did not mind so much the ignorance of his family nor the disinterest of the people, for in these days monsters had become rare and his shield was wielded seldom. But as the boys turned into men, the princely companions’ attention wandered from their brotherhood. The one, a tinkerer and a bard, began to serenade every graceful maid that passed through the castle, eschewing the prince for grand, courtly romances. The other, a chivalrous knight and hunter, only pursued a single maid, although maid she could hardly be called, quick fingered and tempestuous as she was, and of no noble birth, although the prince’s companion did not care much for such things. They married quickly, and as the prince attended the ceremony, he realized the true nature of his jealousy and his heartache: Much easier his companions’ wanderings could be borne if he had one to whom his heart belonged to as well, a partner who was his before anyone else’s and whom he could share his time while his brothers were gone from him.
And so he began to watch the maidens of the castle, his sisters’ friends and enemies at first, then the more unassuming ones that faded into the background of all that went on at his father’s court, just as he had. But while his companion, the bard, fell in love with them glance after glance, the prince could not find one that held his eyes for more than a few moments of conversation. There were maidens fair and kind and noble, all more than suitable for a man of his standing and wants, and yet their talk bored him; they had little interest in monsters, cared too much for the court where he met them, and when his companion left him to talk to them alone, the prince could focus on little else than this abandonment.
One night he thus found himself withdrawing from yet another ball with a heavy heart, climbing the castle’s highest tower to watch the stars in solitude. Cold and distant companions they were, and yet more steady than those of flesh and blood that he had left behind for the night. But as he watched them, he remembered an old tale he’d once heard during his studies of a power already half forgotten by the people of this kingdom, and with it perhaps a better way to find what he was looking for.
Just then, as if it knew of his plan and the longing in his heart, a shooting star passed by the tower. And so the prince called up to it: “O shooting star so brightly as you burn in the sky, I wish that I might find one of the same heart as mine to whom my heart I can give completely and who will not abandon me.”
Now, shooting stars are careful creatures. They hear every wish one makes upon them, but few descend to mortal realms to grant them, for there are rules that every shooting star must live by. No star might return to the sky lest it has fulfilled the wish it set out to grant, and so, many of them only take upon themselves those wishes that they are certain can be fulfilled before they fade away, bound to the earth by a promise they cannot keep. And come to earth to fulfill the wish a star must, for while they were made by an ancient magic, they themselves cannot wield any and thus must intervene in human ways.
Because of these rules, wishes for love and companionship are often ignored, as they depend on another person’s heart, something that cannot be influenced by a star’s hand. And the shooting star that passed by the tower was more careful than most, young as he was and having grown up with a mother who had grown to detest humans and their wishes after she had almost been trapped in her youth by a cruel man, wishing for something he did not truly want. But that same night a maiden had made a wish, and the shooting star had heard her and decided not to grant it, for he feared it might be the kind of wish that would bind him to the earth for too long. Yet as he listened to the prince, the star remembered it and thought he might be able to grant it after all, for it seemed to him the same wish as the prince had now uttered. And so the prince was in luck and the shooting star descended to earth.
Now, stars never land exactly where their wishes have been uttered, and so it was not until the prince sat down the next day to have lunch with his sisters that he learned the old tales of shooting stars and wishes were true. The younger of his sisters was just in the process of dividing the blackberry tarts she had ordered for them, when one of the guardsmen hurried to their chambers to announce a visitor for the prince. They bade the star enter, but the prince did not recognize him for what he was, for he had almost forgotten about his wish already, thinking it unfulfilled and himself foolish.
The younger of the princesses saw the hungry way the star eyed the table, though, laden with all the best the castle kitchens could provide, and so she offered him a seat and a plate, always eager to help those in need even if they were strangers to her lands. And the star did so gratefully, for he had been wandering for hours and did not yet know how to satisfy the hunger that had started to gnaw at him.
As for the prince, he watched the stranger sample their food with careful eyes, thinking of tales of treacherous witches, coming in disguise to curse princesses and princes alike. And so once the star had cured the worst of his hunger he demanded: “Now that we have fed you, pray tell us, stranger, who you are wherefore you came.”
And the star said: “Last night you made a wish upon a shooting star. This is who I am and wherefore I came.”
“And what is it I wished for?” the prince demanded. He did not believe that tale, but he had not told anyone of his wish either, and so if this stranger was indeed what he claimed he was, he would know the answer and thus could prove the truth.
“This I cannot say for these things are secrets between those who wish and those who are wished upon.”
And so the prince bade his sisters leave. If this was, indeed, an evil witch, he reckoned that they would be safer away from her, but truth be told, hope had made its home in his heart despite his caution, and he was eager to learn if the old tales he had rested so much hope on the night before were true after all.
When they had gone, he asked again: “And what is it that I have wished, O star that you claim to be?”
“Love,” the star replied. “A companion who will never stray from you and who shares your passions as your brothers do. And of just such a maiden I know, and the way to her I will show you if you would let me.”
Then the prince was satisfied, and he called his sisters back so they could finish their lunch together. They marveled when the prince confirmed that the star was who he claimed to be, but despite their demands to know what the wish had been, he would not tell them, feeling bashful about his hopes in the daylight. But the star quickly drew their attention elsewhere with his tales about his family in the sky and the ancient magic that had made them, and the prince became quietly glad to have the star there with them and vowed that there should be friendship between the two of them forever.
In the afternoon the prince and the star sought the prince’s companions, who, too, marveled at the fact that there was a star come down from the sky. But unlike the princesses they knew about the kinds of magic that governed their world, and so they knew the tales even if they had not believed them until now and merely demanded to know what it was the prince had said to bring the star to earth. And to them the prince told all about his wish, and they did not laugh but understood his longing, and simply inquired of the star to know how he might find the prince the love he had wished for when the two of them had failed so often already at that task.
And seeing that the prince trusted these three, the bard, the hunter, and the wild maiden, the star spoke freely: “Last night upon my turn across your earth, I heard another wish made upon my light, but I did not decide to grant it for it seemed too difficult for me to do so. But this was a maiden, fair, I thought, and lonely, imprisoned in a tower as she was. She asked for companionship and freedom, and hearing your prince’s wish for the same I, at once, decided that I could help them both by helping the other, and so to earth I came to grant your wish, O prince. And thus my proposal is this: to her tower I will lead you, and there you will find the heart you asked of me, one just the same as yours, and I will help you free her and lead her back to this castle where you might live together happily ever after.”
Immediately the prince and his companions agreed to this plan, for they had sworn to protect the people of this kingdom, and even if the prince’s heart had not so longed for the love he might find in this tower, the maiden they would have gone to free regardless. And the star’s reasons struck them as wise, too, for the prince and his companions had searched far and wide for a maiden to the prince’s liking but this tower they had not found, and this explained the fruitlessness of their labor. But the star had seen far more of the world, they knew, and so they trusted his advice.
The prince and his companions traveled often, and so it did not take them long to prepare for the journey to the kingdom’s edge and beyond. The star marveled at their readiness and at the way the whole castle turned to this single purpose for a few days, preparing for these noble men to leave them. Yet when they finally did, there was little fanfare, only the princesses coming out to see them off with the king and queen, of whom the star had seen little in the preceding days but still thought highly of because of the gallant son that they had raised.
The road they took was long and winding, as the tower was not part of the prince’s kingdom but hidden to them by the darkness that lay outside it, and to the star it felt longer still for he was used to traveling across the sky, traversing the whole of the kingdom and more in less than a night. But among companions such as these the time passed joyously, and the star was delighted to see the kingdom come to life in the daytime, for he had only ever watched these people when the sky was dark and their days had already come to an end. He chatted happily with every fellow traveler and farmer that they passed, hearkening to their tall tales and woes alike, and learning all there was to learn about the way that humans lived. In one village they passed they were invited to the spring festivities, and there his companions taught him how to dance, while in another the bard delighted them with his singing so that the star could not but demand to learn how to make those same cheerful noises. The prince never ceased to make him marvel at the wealth of stories that he could recite, and seeing the children of the village delight in paints and charcoals, the star quickly learned to put them all down on paper, amazing his companion in turn with his pictures. And from the hunter and the wild maiden he learned to use the many weapons that his companions carried with them to defend themselves in the less cheerful borderlands that they now reached.
The people in these lands knew the tower that they sought, but they urged them not to go, for tales of a terrifying beast had spread among them, and they feared for the safety of the star’s company. But the prince reassured them that they would be fine, for he had studied monsters and was eager to see his wish fulfilled. And so they did not stay long but only stocked up on their supplies before they headed out again, their sights ever set on tower and on maiden. Beyond the kingdom’s borders the land was wild enough to make the hunter’s wife seem tame, and here the joy that had marked their journey until now came to and end, for the bards singing was echoed dreadfully by mean birds and their laughter made the trees weep. But onward they went, always following the path the star had shown them, until they reached the tower.
Oh, was it ever a frightful thing, that tower, all white marble with dark, thorny vines encircling it like snakes, ready to strike at any who dared to search for an entrance to its cold walls. No doors could they find that were not barred by them, and the only other opening in the gleaming, slick walls was a window so high up that they did not even see it at first. No beast slumbered beside it, though, and so when they found the window from which the maiden had watched and wished upon the shooting star, they did not hesitate to call out for her.
But it had been so long that the maiden had made her wish and not been heard, that she had forgotten all about it, as she had forgotten about being hopeful to ever leave this tower, and so when the prince and his companions she found below her tower she was weary. Few ever entered the woods beyond the kingdom’s borders, and fewer even made it to this tower, and so these strangers she did not answer but hid until she knew who they were and how they’d found her. And so the prince and his companions called in vain and turned away, questioning whether this was the right tower and if something might have happened to the maiden while they’d traveled here; perhaps another star had heard her and come to her rescue first.
Hearing this the maiden finally recalled the wish she’d made, and so she showed herself and called: “Gallant prince, wait, oh, wait! Glad I am to see you beyond words, for long I have waited for someone to stumble upon my lonely tower, and on many stars I have wished for a friend to take me away from it.”
And the prince replied: “A star has heard you and granted you your wish by guiding me here so that I might rescue you.”
At that the maiden wept, and she said: “Your companions I do not know, but if the star be among them I thank him and wish him to know he is my friend. Yet if rescue me you want, a foul beast you’ll have to slay; a spider, fat and tall as this tower lives in these woods, and it has laid these thorns around the tower like a web to ensnare me and all who might come to save me.”
But the prince was not concerned, even as the earth began to rumble with the weight of the spider, making its rounds around the forest and settings its many eyes on the maiden’s tower. Having heard the maiden speak he was made bold with hope and ready to go into battle to defend his heart. And so his weapon he drew, and his companions he advised to draw theirs too, and when the spider lumbered past the trees and into the clearing in which the tower stood, they were ready for it and the monster not at all ready for them.
It howled and sprang upon them, but the prince and his companions quickly leapt out of its way, and small as they were in comparison to it they danced around the monster’s feet, avoiding the thorny webs in which the spider tried to entangle them. Despite its many eyes, it could not track all of them, and so as the bard distracted it, the hunter and the wild maiden cut off its legs and the prince dealt it a mortal blow.
With it died the spider’s web that had kept the maiden locked up in the tower, and seeing her captor perish she raced down the stairs to greet her saviors. The prince made quick work of the dead vines that blocked the door, setting her free, and the maiden rejoiced and fell on them all in turns to thank them again and again.
With the spider gone, the darkness receded for a spell, and so they made camp below the tower for the night. The maiden brought out all the food the spider had horded in her tower and they made a feast of it, for she would have little use for it now. And as the bard sang and the hunter shared his cloak with her, she was happy, for she had never had friends before and these ones seemed to her more than she could have ever wished for.
But as the evening wound to a close, the maiden wandered off to say her farewells to the tower and her captor, and as she did the prince found her, and remembering the star’s plan he gathered all his courage and away from prying ears asked her: “Wouldst you marry me?”
And the maiden became sad for she did not know the answer to that question. And then the prince felt guilty for asking it until she replied: “Dearest prince, I’ve known you for as long as I’ve known freedom and so I cannot answer this; let us travel back to your castle and then, if you wouldst still marry me, ask me again.”
And then the prince was happy and the two of them returned to their friends. In the morning they traveled back to the village in the borderlands from whence they’d set out, and the people rejoiced to see their prince alive and marveled at the maiden that he brought with him, for they had not known what that fearsome spider had guarded. But when the maiden began to inquire whether one among them might know who her family had been or where she’d come from, none could answer her. Nor could anyone in the next village, or the one after that.
None, that was, except for an old knight, who heard about the maiden and came after their small party when they had already left his village, for he had met a woman years ago looking for her daughter. And seeing the maiden he was certain that she was her, although he could not answer her whence the woman had gone. But the maiden thanked him anyway, and invited him to travel with them if he would, for as she followed the prince to his home she began to think of where hers would have been if the spider had not taken her, and she hoped the old knight might be able to help her find her mother. And the old knight agreed, and so she gained another friend.
And so for a time they were all happy, the maiden for she was free and surrounded by friends, the star for he had granted a wish, and the prince for he delighted in the maiden’s presence and his heart was full of hope. Only the fact that the star would depart again once the prince’s wish had been granted cast a shadow over their party, but only the star knew of this and he kept it from his friends lest he spoil their happiness. Yet the prince knew the old tales well and so he guessed what ailed the star in those hours where he grew quiet and thoughtful. And so these two began to often sit by themselves, watching the others and trying to not let their own hearts grow too heavy by the knowledge that theirs was a friendship that could not last.
The prince’s sisters were glad when their brother returned, and they demanded to know the whole of the story from him and his companions. And of the new friends he had brought home with him they were immediately fond, especially of the maiden, in whom they saw a sister even without knowing that their brother’s heart beat for her. And so to welcome them all home they threw a ball, and this one, for once, the prince attended happily.
By these festivities the maiden was instantly enchanted, and she spent much time marveling at the dress they had lent her, and at the many glittering lords and ladies that whirled about the ballroom floor, and the wealth of food, and the lights which she thought turned the night magical. She had heard only the bard sing before, and now she laughed and danced to many different songs with many different companions, here with the hunter, here with the bard, once with the star, then with the wild maiden. Most of all she danced with the prince, and the star was glad to see it, for he knew then that the prince and the maiden would be to each other what he had hoped they would be.
And so it came about that the prince led the maiden far away from the others that night, up to the tower where he’d first made his wish, and there she became very sad for it reminded her of the prison he had freed her from; the stars, glittering in the night sky like the candles that illuminated the ballroom were the same ones she had watched for years from her lonely window, and the land, while brighter and more lively than the forest she had been able to see from the tower, seemed just as far away. And at the sight of the lights that glowed warmly in the distant villages her heart was suddenly filled with longing.
And also the maiden knew why the prince had brought her here, and this time when he asked her to marry her she knew what her answer would have to be. Gently she took his hands in hers and said: “Dearest prince, your words do honor me but decline again I must, for I have not yet known freedom long enough to give it up again for any place or company. Seeing these lights there in the distance makes me want to travel, and the old knight has promised to accompany me should I do so, and so with his guidance I will learn all there is to learn about this kingdom and its people. But when I return, as I know I will, to hearth and friends beside it, ask me again, if you wouldst still marry me then, and if I am yearning for a place to call my home, I will say yes.”
And then the prince could not meet her eyes and the maiden left him reluctantly, knowing she had broken his heart but not able to help it. And the prince stayed up in the tower for the rest of the night even though he only grew to loathe the lights twinkling in the distance and those high up in the sky. One by one his companions went to speak with him, and one by one he dismissed them, except for the star, to whom he turned to with all of his anger sharpened into the point of a blade.
“Are you happy now, O cold and cruel trickster that you are? Hope you’ve given me only to snatch it cruelly away again, and now you’ll get your wish to stay here on this earth instead, for mine you could not fulfill. Gone she is, the only maiden whom I’ll ever love, and you have done nothing to stop her. Begone from my sight. Begone from this castle. Live your life happily and leave me to the bitterness of mine.”
And even though the star had known what question and answer had been when the maiden had returned to them most unhappy, the prince’s words shocked him, for he had not intended this, and bitterly he felt the prince’s despair as his own. For stars had not been made for life on earth, and if the prince’s wish he could not grant, the star was bound to suffer just as greatly. But neither to him nor the old tales that had spurred his wish the prince would listen that night, and so the star did as he was bid and left the prince to his misery.
Return to the tower, though, he did, the next night and the next, waiting for his mother or his brother to show their bright tails across the sky so that he might ask them what to do about his failed wish. But as he watched his distant cousins the star was struck by how odd they seemed to him now that he was human, and when finally a shooting star did cross the sky, he realized he could not tell his mother from any other wishing star, nor could he ask it for advice, for far away it was, and its reply lost to the distance that now lay between him and his kin. And so the following night he did not seek the tower again, but kept to his chambers and wept bitterly.
The maiden, meanwhile, left the castle with the old knight at her side, to find whence she’d come if she could, and whence she might go if not, glad even though she left her friends behind for freedom beckoned her and in these days it seemed to her the greatest gift of all. And so her story came to a happy ending, even if it is not yet the end of this tale.
Between the star and the prince the castle fell into a gloom. The prince’s companions had never seen him in such a black mood and did not know how to cheer him up, and the prince’s sisters did not know the truth about the wish in the first place and so could not guess at his disappointment. The star they found equally difficult to appease, for they did not know him well yet and did not understand their quarrel. And yet they tried tirelessly to draw the two of them out of their rooms, and to reconcile, for all vows of friendship had failed and the prince and the star had stopped speaking to each other.
And so it came that the king and queen hosted another ball in honor of some far away lord that had come to visit, and the wife and daughters he had brought with him. And this ball the prince was forced to attend, however briefly, and he complained for he did not know the lord or his daughters. But the star heard this and took heart, for he realized that there was many a maiden in this kingdom that the prince had not yet met, and so his purpose was not all lost.
By the time the prince tried to slip away from the festivities, hiding himself away in the tower once more, the star had made a new plan, and so his path he barred and back into the crowd he pulled him, introducing the two of them to maiden after maiden, none of which, he knew, the prince had met before. And the prince, his anger now abated, obliged reluctantly. But afterwards, having retired to a quiet corner of the queen’s gardens after all the dancing was done, the star admitted his designs to the prince, and then all friendship was restored between them. And thus the prince shared freely his opinions of the maidens that they had spent the night with, and he was pleased to find that the star shared them all and did not argue as his brothers might have done.
And so they spent the following days making note of every maiden highborn and low that passed through the castle so they might introduce the prince to them and not fail to fulfill the his wish through negligence. But neither among the noble ladies nor the serving maidens could they find the one the prince sought, and so the star turned them towards the city below the castle next. To the candle maker’s daughter they talked, and the weaver’s daughter, the bookbinder’s, the ferrier’s, and even to the farmer’s daughter who had come into the city with her father to sell wool and hand spun yarn they spoke long. Yet the prince’s heart beat for none of them.
And seeing this the star despaired again, and to the tower he withdrew, but not to stare at the stars in the sky this time but to watch the human world below. He wondered where the maiden from the tower had gone, and if she was happy, and then an idea came to him and he left his lonely perch to seek the advice of the prince’s companions, for they were more familiar with the land than him who only knew it in the terms of wishes unheard. And so a path they helped him find that would take them to every castle and every village within the kingdom’s bounds, and there they would meet every maiden that lived under the king’s rule, and one of them would be sure to win the prince’s heart.
When they presented their plan to the prince, he was warmed by their care for him, and all jealousy and bitterness that he had still harbored at the easy way with which they had found other bonds outside of their brotherhood fled from him for he realized that these had not made their bond to him lessen. And so to the king and queen he accompanied them to beg their leave, and to the star’s plan they agreed, for they thought it wise that the prince should tour the whole of the kingdom and show himself to the people of even the farthest corners. And for that same purpose they decreed that the youngest princess should accompany them, as should a number of courtiers and visiting nobles, and so when they left this time it was with many more companions and wagons to slow them down.
The star did not mind, for he had become fond of traveling in this manner, the horse which the prince had gifted him a handsome animal and the view from its saddle always novel and bright, the world a very different one than the one he had seen whenever he had raced across in the night sky. And his companions he loved, of course, and with their tales and with their songs they brought him much joy, to which the new company of the princess only added. And even the prince, full of doubt again once they set out for he was not fond of the courtiers and the royal responsibilities of which they reminded him, could not remain morose in his manner for long with the star always eager to point out all the simplest delights to him, from the blue sky above to the long road ahead of them with those they loved best at their side.
When they reached the first town on their journey the prince let the star lead him through the streets, and talked to all of the maidens that he bade him talk to, and he did not have to put on a happy mask but was truly joyful even as their task remained incomplete and the prince’s heart lonely. And so it went as they traveled to the farthest corners of the kingdom, visiting old castles and even older ladies who had more nieces than they could remember, and newly raised nobles who were eager to impress them with the most ambitious of their daughters. They danced nights away in candlelit ballrooms, giving their hands to maiden after maiden in the hopes that she might be the one the prince was searching for, and they spent just as many nights among the common people, sometimes openly, sometimes making a game of it and disguising themselves, sharing in their simple life and their festivals. And there was much laughter and many bright days then until the prince even forgot why they were traveling, so delighted was he by his companions and all they saw and did. For while he had traveled much before the star’s arrival, little of it had been for pleasure. But now it felt to him almost as if the golden days of his childhood that he had come to miss so had been returned to him.
Yet the star did not forget, and even as he delighted in all the same things as the prince did, his thoughts began to wander to his family again, for often they slept under clear night skies where they could watch the stars glitter and stand guard above them, and he began to worry about his purpose and feel homesick. So his search he intensified by day while at night he grew troubled, gaze always straying to the sky where he hoped to catch a glimpse of his mother or his brother. And when the prince noticed his distraction and his yearning, the star did not keep the truth from him but told the prince of his home and his family and found in his friend only understanding, for the prince also missed his family and his home whenever he was away from them. And he vowed to renew his efforts for the sake of his celestial friend.
But secretly a different doubt began to make its home in the prince’s heart, and this he kept from the star for it felt to him like a betrayal. For as much time as he spent in the company of these stranger, the prince spent in the company of his friends, and these moments seemed to him the greater bliss, and thus his wish he began to question. For what had it really been that he had asked for that he had not already found again in his friends?
Yet for the star’s sake he continued to travel and seek the company of strangers, and once the dancing was done he returned to the star’s side and told him all that had transpired that evening and which maidens he had found tolerable and why so, hoping that by keeping the star’s hope alive he could rekindle his own. For, even though the prince already felt that his wish was far from the truthful yearnings of his heart, he knew that once uttered it had to be fulfilled or his friend would be bound to earth forever.
And it was on just such a night, when the dancing was done and the prince had sought the star on the far flung parapets that he retreated to whenever possible these days to watch his distant kin in the night sky, that the truth of the prince’s heart first revealed itself to both of them, although they did not yet know the calamity for what it was. For when the star stumbled as they wandered across the length of the castle wall, clinging to the prince’s side until he had regained his balance, the star replied to the prince’s worry that it was merely the weather and the lateness of the hour that had left him weak and out of sorts. And since the wheel of seasons had made the weather begin to turn cold and the prince was unable to disguise his own exhaustion after a night of festivities, he had no reason to doubt what the star himself saw as the truth. And so they retired to their chambers none the wiser to restore their strength for the long journey that awaited them in the days to come.
But not all was well, and as they traveled on, the prince increasingly began to notice. The star did not laugh as brightly as he was wont to do in the early days of their friendship, and he did not inquire about all it was that humans did with the same eager curiosity as he had done when it had all still been new to him. When the prince and his companions raced their horses along the winding road, the star did not join them anymore, and in the evenings he began to eat and to sing and to talk less. And as the star withdrew, the prince knew it was not the result of homesickness, for even when his friend’s distant family graced their skies at night the star did not regain his happiness and share with his friends all that there was to share about his previous life, as had so often been the cure, but turned from them with the same gloom that haunted his days.
Yet when the prince tried to ask his brothers for advice, they had not noticed the new quiet of the star, nor did they share the prince’s concerns when he drew their attention to it. To them the star had always seemed reserved and thoughtful and so they blamed any change, should it have occurred at all, not on any illness or unhappiness but simply, as the star had that first night, on the weather. And as the star delighted in warm hearths, fur lined clothes and all the other novelties that the colder seasons brought with them, the prince tried to believe them. For their journey was far from done, and tired as he was of traveling and of strangers, the prince knew that without the star to guide him he would give up before the year was yet done.
And so for a while they continued on, and the prince keenly watched the star and did not notice any decline that could not be blamed on the weather, ever more fierce in the northern parts of the kingdom that they had so foolishly chosen as their destination for this time of the year. The delights of the season for which their choice had been made also kept him occupied and the star, for a little while, shone brightly again, his eyes twinkling as he took in the harvest festivities and the joy of the people despite the dying season. And so the prince dismissed his worries as simply the guilt for his heart, which had now turned almost fully from their purpose, content to stay with his companions always and unwilling to seek strangers.
But the star began to feel that he had dismissed his growing weakness too easily, for even as the new season and the novelty it brought with it delighted him, he could feel a cold seeping into his bones that went beyond the cold of sunless days. And while he tried to placate his friends, especially the prince, who he thought was neglecting their quest in his worry for his ailing companion, there was little disguising of the fact that the very life seemed to leave him. The food he had so enjoyed once began to lose its taste, and his friend’s singing and talking began to strain his ears, and watch his companions he could not for long for the brightness of the colors began to hurt his eyes. But flee to watch his family wheel across the sky he did not, for as the weakness set in, the star began to lose hope that he would ever return to them.
For this is how it is with stars: they live to grant human wishes, and so if a wish cannot be granted they are doomed to fade away, to be reborn again by the same ancient magic that had made the first of their fiery brethren, so that their magic might not fade with them. For a wish binds wished upon and he who wished together for as long as they both breathe or the wish is granted. Thus are the terms of every wish, and thus every star learns when they are young, and this one had heard the story of his mother, too, urging him to caution. But still he was young and romantic, and having heard the wish of maiden and of prince both, he had not heeded any warning but set out to gladden two hearts at once, not knowing just how quickly youthful strength could fade or how impossible it was to grant someone the utmost part of a heart that was not ones own.
And despite his most valiant attempts, the star could not hide the truth about the nature of unfulfilled wishes from the prince. For when the night was done and the two of them whirled around their rooms, reenacting the night’s diversions for their friends, he stumbled often and grew tired quickly, and when they sat at dinner, the star ate little even of those dishes that he had grown fond of, and when the two of them spent quiet hours together away from their more boisterous friends, the star could not hold his hands steady anymore and he drew little while he listened to the prince read. And while they did not yet speak of it, he knew the prince had guessed already, and none of the star’s reassurances or his brothers’ easy dismissal could persuade him of another explanation.
Thus, for a time, the prince increased his efforts to fulfill the wish so that the star might yet live, dancing longer into the night with maiden after maiden, begging the musicians to play just one more song in the hopes that his partner now might be the one, and pressing his company ever onward in the hopes that the next town might hold what they were looking for. But as fall wound to an end and the roads grew ever more perilous, still his heart refused the wish which now spelled doom for the star upon whom he had so foolishly uttered it. And soon resentment grew in him for all of those strangers who would take him from the side of his ailing friend, and thus his attention turned to the star and the star alone, much to the dismay of his companions and himself, for he knew the only remedy to his friend’s condition was the fulfillment of the wish.
But when the star nearly fell out of his seat with exhaustion, the prince abandoned the dances to retire early with his friend. When the star could not muster the strength to venture outside to see the early snows and seek for the other half of the prince’s heart among the winter markets, the prince stayed inside with him, reading to him while the star rested fitfully. And when the cold got the better of the star, he piled logs onto the fire and blankets onto his friend and finally offered what little heat he could provide himself to alleviate his friend’s suffering. And they spoke little when the star’s condition was such, but that was just as well, for they had passed that point in any friendship where words were necessary.
When the star finally admitted the truth of his growing weakness to his friends, he was much comforted by the fact that the prince already knew, and he was comforted also by the love his friends showed for him in those days. Never was there an hour when one of them was not near him, the hunter and the wild maiden keeping watch over him together, the bard delighting him with his singing, the prince’s sister reading to him, and as always the prince himself, loathe to leave the star’s side even as he now had his companions to rely on. And no rest was worth half as much as their company, and so the star found a little more strength for he did not yet want to fade from these people for whose sake he could not even regret his choice to grant an impossible wish. For their life, and now this doom, seemed to him far better than the cold and lonely night sky whence he had come.
Yet while the star tried to rally around his friends, the prince’s heart failed him utterly. For even as he left the star in his companions’ care to seek still the strangers that were their only, vain hope, he returned always to stay longer and longer by the star’s side, ignoring invitations to dances and meals if the star was not also going, ignoring festive markets and outings in the cold if the star was not able to keep himself warm enough throughout them, and ignoring even those maidens that made the effort to speak to him first, be they noble or not. And even as his companions tried to draw him to these strangers, so that their quest might not fail, the star knew the prince’s heart had settled and so accepted his companionship and did not argue with him as they did. And so their friends they often fled together to the castle’s parapets or some tower, wherever they would be closest to the sky, and this was the only place the star now went gladly for even if he did not regret his choices and loved his companions, his family he longed to see just once more before his strength left him completely.
And thus their days only slowly turned to misery, but turn they did. And as the prince now refused to leave the star’s side, he began to feel his own homesickness more keenly, and his heart weighted on him, so that before winter had run its course and they visited every corner of the kingdom, it seemed to him that their quest had come to an end. For travel only worsened his friend’s condition, the carriage which he now preferred to horseback too cold, the long hours riding too exhausting, and the purpose with which they took these hardships upon themselves futile. Nor did the prince want to suffer the unhappy ending that loomed above them all in a remote corner of his father’s kingdom but at least have the comforts of home around him when to this unexpected but dear friend he had to say goodbye. And the star agreed, and so even though their concern they voiced, their companions made all the necessary preparations to see them home.
Out of all of them the princess alone did not yet despair, however, for learning of the star’s ailment and its only cure, she began to watch her brother and foresaw that he would return home ere long. And so to her sister she wrote, and together the two of them made plans to yet save the star, for they too had quickly grown fond of him and did not want to see him suffer. Letters they sent to nobles far and wide, inviting them to their father’s castle for the winter tide, and word the princess spread, too, as they traveled, of the festivities that were being prepared in their absence, so that she could not keep her plans secret from the prince’s companions for long. And with their help the whole of the kingdom would be in attendance of the grandest ball that any of them had ever had the pleasure to behold, and this gave them hope and only spurred them on.
But the prince and the star did not learn of it until their journey came to an end, for with the star growing ever more weak, they now kept no company except each others. And this was well, for the prince grew immediately weary, and the preparations he left to his sisters and his mother while he would not stray from the star’s side. For his friend’s health was now such that he could not even leave his bed, and so books and music and company the prince brought to his rooms and no other interest than to make his friend’s remaining time on earth as pleasant and as joyful as possible did he have. And this his companions and his family watched with worry, but in their plans they were not deterred, for the star and the prince they both loved, and the heartbreak of the star’s unhappy departure they could not help but want to prevent.
So, when the day came, the princesses hoisted finery upon the prince and threatened him lest he should seek to avoid the ball they had prepared in his doomed friend’s honor, but the prince surprised them, and he knelt by the star’s bedside and promised him not to rest until he had danced with every maiden that had taken the perilous journey upon herself to meet him and his heart had found what it was looking for. And hearing all of this the star took strength, and so, as he had not done in weeks, he rose to attend these festivities beside the prince. And the prince was heartened by this in turn, and resolved to not let his despair guide him. But the star knew that as this feast would draw to an end, so would his life, and it seemed fitting and joyous to him that thus should be his last impression of the people he had come to love.
And what a festival it was when the doors were thrown open to all the people who had traveled there from far and wide. Lights twinkled in every corner of the castle like the distant stars, and in every room music trilled and people danced, ladies’ skirts flashing in a million colors as they whirled by the seat that the star had taken among the crowd, making him itch for the paints he was no longer strong enough to wield. And everywhere he turned there was chatter and laughter and happiness, and if he had still had the strength to wander he would have never stopped for he delighted so in all of it.
But the prince saw little of what brought the star joy, for as he had promised his sisters and his friend, he made the acquaintance of every maiden that had come to see him, and he granted each of them a dance, even those he had met before, and so the night progressed, and then the next day, and he persisted even as he grew tired of conversation and tired of dancing and tired of every face that was not his friends’ for he knew also what the star had realized as the prince had guided him down the stairs, which was that there would be no other chance to fulfill his wish and save the star after this. And as he whirled across the dance floor with maidens both familiar and strange, as the sun replaced the moon in the sky and then the moon replaced the sun again, what little hope he had been able to rekindle fled him again. And even if there had been a maiden among all of them who could have caught his heart, she would not have been able to penetrate the gloom that now surrounded him.
And so, when the moon once more stood high in the sky and the prince took a survey of all the maidens that still awaited their promised dance, he knew that he had failed, and he turned towards the star for in his heart he knew his friend’s company, however little there remained of it, was all that mattered to him now. But the star was not where the prince had left him, and in no other seat he could find him, nor had anyone seen whence he might have gone, and so fear gripped the prince as it had never before, not even as he had faced the spider that had guarded his maiden love’s tower, and so he fled from the ballroom.
But the star had not yet gone from them, and the prince found him in the tower where so long ago he had utter his foolish wish, watching the stars just as the prince had watched them that fateful night. And when he heard the prince, he turned to watch him instead, and granted him a rueful smile. And he said: “I thank you, dearest prince, for all that you’ve done for me, and know that as I pass now, I do so happier than I ever could have lived in that dark and lonely firmament from which I first descended for your company.”
With a cry the prince went to his knees beside his friend and begged him not to go, for if he could just find the strength to hold on a little longer, perhaps the prince’s heart would recover from the blow his maiden love had dealt it, and his wish not be impossible after all.
But the star shook his head, and, placing his arm around his friend, said: “Doomed my quest had been from the beginning, though too young and wide-eyed I had been to see it. But never the fault was yours for wishing as you did, and having seen all that humans do and having felt all that humans feel I understand it now better than I ever did before. And thus I hope that you’ll not let your heart suffer to greatly from this loss, so that it may never beat again for any other, for if wish I could and not just be the wished upon, this mine wish would be: that one day yours does come true, belated as it may seem then, and the tears you cry now turn to happiness for all your days to come.”
Then the star fell silent and sleep stole over him, but the prince never left his side again that night for he knew that the end was upon them. And he held the star as closely as he ever had, and kept watch over him and not the sky above, for he knew now of that magic and its price and would not make a hopeless wish again.
And when the star took his final breath he wept bitterly, and he learned then what his heart had known all along: that his search had been in vain for his impossible wish had already been fulfilled the day that the star had arrived at the castle. And not his maiden love nor any other would have made him happy but the love which now lay dead in his arms, for in him and him alone the prince had found a companion of his own heart, and apart from the doom of stars he would have never strayed. But he had recognized the truth too late, and now there was nothing to be done but hold his love and weep. And he knew, too, that the star’s final words would never come true, for his heart ached so that even if its breaking he should survive, never beat again it would for any other.
All night the prince wept, and even as his tears ran dry he could not leave the star’s side or tell the others of what had happened. And so he sat alone when the sun rose pink and golden on the horizon to reach its loving arms towards him and his lost love and take the magic that had once been the star’s life. But as it did, the star shuddered in the prince’s arms, and took yet another breath. And thus the prince’s wish was granted.
This time the prince wept for joy, and he held his love all the more tightly lest it slip through his fingers again. But the star could feel his magic flee him even as his strength returned, and he knew that it was that magic that the prince had wished upon and he only the arbiter. And thus a mortal life he was granted as his magic returned whence it had come, to find a different star and grant a different wish. And he, too, wept, first for his family in the sky to which he now never could return, and then for the companions whom he had gained, and the joyous life that he would live at their side. And when the prince kissed him, he returned his every affection, for he loved him too and was glad to not have been parted from him in any manner.
Thus the prince’s companions found them, and they were overjoyed when they learned that the star was neither doomed nor would leave them to return to his celestial existence. And the princesses were pleased when they learned that the star had been who the prince had been looking for and now would be as a brother to them. As for the king and queen, they had grown rather fond of the star as well, and after their surprise at all that had transpired that night had worn off, they welcomed him like a son, and were glad for the prince for his solitary heart had worried them often. And so the kingdom celebrated the happy couple, and many wishes upon the star’s brethren they made for their sake.
But the prince and the star could never wish for anything but all that life had already gifted them, and so when their eyes caught a shooting star on its travels across the sky, they only greeted it like an old friend and let it pass them by. And thus it was that they lived happily for all their days to come.
