The Frog King, or Iron Heinrich - Retelling

↪ A Grimmveil Fairytale

Written by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, first published in 1812, The Frog King, or Iron Heinrich is one of the earliest tales in their collection and one of the most misunderstood. This is not a cute story about kissing frogs. This is a story about promises, disgust, obedience, transformation, and consequences. Keep that in mind. The frog is not here to be charming. He is here to be kept to a bargain.

Now let me tell it to you properly.

Once upon a time, in a kingdom edged with deep forests and older magic, there lived a young princess. She was beautiful, spoiled, and very fond of her favorite toy - a golden ball that gleamed like captured sunlight.

One day, while wandering near a cool, dark forest pond, she tossed her golden ball into the air again and again. She laughed. She played. She did not pay attention.

Naturally, the ball slipped.

Plop.

Straight into the pond.

The princess froze. The water was deep, dark, and unpleasant. She stared at the ripples, her joy sinking faster than the ball itself. Then she did what many royal children do best.

She cried.

Not delicate tears. Oh no. Full despair. Loud enough to wake old magic.

And something did.

From the pond rose a frog. Green, wet, wide-mouthed, and very much alive. He looked at the princess and spoke.

Yes, spoke.

“Why are you crying so bitterly?” asked the frog.

The princess, startled but desperate, explained the tragedy of her lost golden ball. The frog listened, blinking slowly.

“I can help you,” he said, “but what will you give me in return?”

Now pause here. This is where the story turns.

The princess promised everything. Jewels. Crowns. Dresses. Anything. She was generous when she thought she would never have to pay.

The frog shook his head.

“I do not want gold or jewels,” he said. “I want to be your companion. I want to eat from your plate, drink from your cup, and sleep on your pillow.”

The princess shuddered. Internally screamed. But out loud?

She agreed.

Because she wanted her ball back.

The frog dove into the pond and returned with the golden ball shining in his mouth. The princess snatched it up without a thank you, without a second glance, and ran straight back to the castle.

Promise forgotten.

Oh, but Grimm magic does not forget.

That evening, as the princess sat at dinner, there came a knock at the castle door.

Knock. Knock.

Down below croaked a familiar voice.

“Princess, youngest princess, open the door for me.”

The frog had come to collect.

She recoiled in horror. She begged her father, the king, to make him go away. Surely a frog could not sit at a royal table.

The king, however, was very old-school about honor.

“You made a promise,” he said. “And a promise must be kept.”

So the frog was brought inside.

He hopped right up onto the table. He ate from her golden plate. He drank from her jeweled cup. Every bite made the princess more furious and more disgusted. Side note - she is not being brave here. She is being furious compliance.

When the meal was over, the frog said calmly, “Now I am tired. Take me to your room.”

The princess nearly screamed.

But the king insisted.

Up the stairs they went. The princess tossed the frog onto the floor instead of the bed. He croaked in protest.

“I am tired,” he said. “Lift me up.”

And here is the moment everyone argues about.

The princess, filled with rage and revulsion, grabbed the frog and hurled him against the wall.

Not kissed. Thrown.

Magic cracked the air.

Where the frog struck the wall, a prince fell to the floor. Tall, human, and very much not slimy. The spell was broken.

He told her then that he had been enchanted by a wicked witch and that only her keeping her promise could free him. Yes, even the ugly parts. Especially the ugly parts.

They slept that night peacefully. Separate beds. Grimm was dark, not indecent.

The next morning, a carriage arrived to take the prince home. Riding behind it was his faithful servant, Iron Heinrich, whose heart had been bound with iron bands while his master was enchanted, so it would not break from grief.

As the carriage rolled away, the iron bands snapped one by one.

Not from magic.

From joy.

And that is the real ending. Not romance first, but release.