Create Your Own Fairytale Adventure

(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[<img src="http://authorsarahcarlisle.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/Depositphotos_152705710_XL-scaled.jpg" width=50%>] How does this work? In this story, you get to star in the fairytale! You get to choose how your adventure will progress. At the end of each section, there will be choices as links. Click on one of them to continue your adventure! When you’re finished, you can enjoy your happily ever after . . . or you can go back and try again! (align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[<img src="http://authorsarahcarlisle.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/Decorative-border1.png" width=50%>] Your kingdom, Fairelandia, has been at war with Romancia for decades. At last, your father, King Oberon, and King Marnil of Romancia have agreed to a truce. The only problem is that this truce requires you to travel to Romancia to marry Prince Darvik, the oldest son of King Marnil. You know nothing about this prince, and now you're being sent to a foreign country to marry him with no say in your own future. Your parents, knowing you well, decided not to tell you until the papers were signed, the arrangements were made, and the carriages were packed. Tonight is your last night in your own bedroom before you leave for your arranged marriage to Prince Darvik. Of course, your bedroom does overlook the seashore, and the latticework and vines have always been a convenient escape for childhood escapades. You could run for it! But if you do, what will happen to the truce that would end the war? Do you: [[get a good night’s sleep]] and depart early in the morning for Romancia to marry Prince Darvik? or take your chance and [[escape out the window]] in the hopes of choosing your own husband?

You reluctantly travel across land by carriage to your marriage with Prince Darvik. It isn’t the marriage you would have chosen, but it will be a good thing for your kingdom. Your marriage will ensure peace between Fairelandia and Romancia and your people will be able to live their lives without fear. Your sacrifice will save many people. Before you left, Mother gave you a last gift before you go. It's a simple necklace with a silver locket that you remember seeing in her jewelry box when you were a little girl. “I had it charmed,” she whispered. “It will keep you safe. Wear it always, my dear. Promise me. Those Romancians . . . I do not know what sort of people they will be, but as long as you wear the locket, they cannot harm you.” You keep the chain around your neck, the locket hidden out of sight beneath your gown. Across the carriage is your handmaiden, Felicia. She gives you a bright smile before turning to look out the window again. As the daughter to an earl, she too is being sent to marry in Romancia in order to create more bonds between your people. Unlike you, she gets to choose her own husband. She will join the court there and meet many handsome gentlemen during the social season, although her parents do expect her to choose one and marry before the end of it. The carriage slows to a stop by a stream. One of the guards rides by and nods to Felicia, who smirks back. She turns to you. “Would you like to walk for a few minutes while the guards arrange the load and refill the water barrels? It will be a welcome respite after our long hours in the carriage.” You //have// been in the carriage for a long time with only brief stops at various inns to refresh yourself. It will take the guards a little while to fill the water barrels, and a walk would do you good. Do you: [[agree to go on a walk]] with Felicia, staying in sight of the carriages of course or prefer to [[stay in the carriage]] and read while you wait to continue your journey?

You reach the ground safely and breathe a sigh of relief. No forced marriage for you! But if you aren’t going to marry Prince Darvik, where should you go? The palace overlooks a beautiful bay that leads out into the ocean. You could walk along the beach until you find a boat you could . . . borrow. Then you could escape by sea. It might be faster, but it may be harder to avoid drawing attention once you’re on the water. The other direction would take you across land. A busy road leads from the palace through the capital city and then to lands beyond. But it isn’t the only road you could take. There is a much smaller road that winds its way through the forest into the mountains. It’s quieter and less traveled, and you would be less likely to draw much attention to yourself there. Do you: [[walk along the beach]] looking for a boat or [[head up the road]] winding into the mountains?

The carriages have stopped at a peaceful stream just before it joins with a larger, faster-moving river coming from the east. Where the two join, the water picks up speed and strength. It’s a good thing your group stopped now, as trying to fill the barrels in that water would be dangerous! As you walk along the babbling brook at your side, you look longingly at the water. It’s so fresh and clear, and you’ve been traveling so long with the dust and dirt of the road blowing into your face. You’re parched! “Will you fetch me a cup?” you ask Felicia. She makes a face. “I’m not your servant. Fetch your own water.” Surprised, you look back to the carriages. You have no idea where cups could be had. The guards are all busy loading the barrels–except for one guard, the one who greeted Felicia before. He is watching the two of you carefully. You shrug. Well, a cup isn’t absolutely necessary to drink water, only to look ladylike while doing it. There’s nobody out here to see you other than Felicia and the guard. You drop down to your knees at the stream and lean foward, cupping your hands for a drink. As you do, your locket drops forward. You move to grab it, as its clasp has always been a little loose, but before you can, it drops into the stream and is swept away! Panic brings you to your feet. Mother’s locket! You cannot lose it! You run along the stream, which is moving fast. There! A glitter just before you! But before you can reach it, Felicia is there, dipping her hand into the stream and snagging the locket as it swept by. “Oh, thank you!” you cry, reaching out your hand for the precious charm. “That was my mother’s, and–“ You stop short. Felicia has tucked the locket into her waist pocket. “That’s mine,” you say slowly, reading something unfamiliar and dark in her face. “It belongs to the Princess of Fairelandia,” Felicia says. “And as of that moment, I am the princess.” “What?” “You are my traveling companion, a maid from the palace sent to serve me. I will find a place for you in my new palace . . . as long as you behave properly. I am the princess, sent to marry Prince Darvik, and I will not have any uppity maids confusing people.” “Felicia . . .” You do not know what to say. “Felicia, don’t do this.” “Princess.” It’s the guard. They must have finished filling the water barrels. “Princess, we are ready to go.” To your horror, you realize he is not addressing you. He is addressing Felicia. “Very well.” She turns to follow him. “Come, servant.” The other guards are watching now, but none of them make a move to stop this. One or two look uncomfortable. One smirks. But the rest simply mount their horses or climb into their carriages and prepare to leave. They must all be in on it, or they must have been paid off. They will not help you. Do you: [[get back into the carriage]] for now, planning to reveal the truth to the royal family when you arrive in Romancia or race [[into the woods]] to escape? or [[attack Felicia]] while her back is turned, trying to steal back your charm?

You stay in the carriage for the rest of the trip to Romancia, which seems to displease your handmaiden for some strange reason. When you arrive at the palace and step down from the carriage, King Marnil and Queen Philima are waiting to greet you along with two young men. “My sons,” King Marnil introduces proudly, “Prince Darvik the elder, and Prince Robin the younger.” You curtsy and try to examine Prince Darvik without being obvious about it. He has dark hair, almost black, with a medium skin tone and very dark eyes. He is scowling. His younger brother has the same complexion, but his hair is light, almost blond, and his eyes are a warm hazel. He smiles boldly at you, but you do not return his smile, much as you might want to. It would not do to create rumors that the princess likes the wrong prince—even if Prince Robin looks like a pleasanter person. Prince Darvik offers you his arm, and you take it. But he keeps his elbow extended as his body so that you are kept at a distance. Well. He probably doesn’t care for this marriage, either. His parents have prepared a court dinner and a ball this evening. They must not travel much, or they would know how exhausted you are after traveling all day and how little you wish to eat in front of a court of curious nobles or dance with a crowd of people you don’t know after having barely the time to wash the dust of travel from your clothing. No matter. You are a princess, and you will rise to the occasion. At dinner, you are not surprised to be seated next to Prince Darvik. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” you say. He makes a grunt that might be “hmmph” or it might be indigestion. You try again. “I have heard that it rains often in Romancia. I am glad we had good weather for our travels.” This time he doesn’t deign to respond at all, and you give up and enjoy your shrimp salad. At the ball, you expect Prince Darvik to dance with you. You are, after all, his betrothed, and you crossed an entire country to get here. Alas, he is too busy doing his impression of a statue in a corner. His brother joins him after a while, and an impish impulse leads you to sneak closer to them and hide behind a potted ficus to hear what they are saying. “She //did// cross an entire country to get here,” Prince Robin is saying. Well, look at that. The younger brother understands. “I don’t dance,” Prince Darvik says flatly. “You know that. I didn’t want this marriage anyway.” The pang in your chest takes you by surprise. //You// didn’t want the marriage, either. Why should Prince Darvik’s protests bother you? “I just want the wedding to be over,” Prince Darvik goes on. “Then she can join the women at court and leave me alone and our parents will be satisfied.” Prince Robin shrugs. “Well, I’ll ask her to dance with me then. If I can find her.” He looks out into the crowd of dancers but doesn’t see you. Because you are hiding behind a ficus plant. You don’t really want to dance with Prince Robin, nice as he seems. Not after the conversation you overheard with his brother. But if he asks you, it would be rude to refuse him. Do you: [[stay hidden behind the ficus plant]] for the rest of the ball or [[emerge from the plant]] and hover near the punch bowl and food, hoping he will assume you are busy?

By Felicia’s slow, dramatic glide, you know she thinks she’s already won. She thinks you’ve given up, that you’ll meekly go along with her plot to steal your identity and your prince. But she doesn’t know you. You are the daughter of a king, and you will not give up your birthright—and your responsibility for the people of Fairelandia—without a fight! You dive at Felicia, one hand grasping at her waist pocket, the other fumbling inside for the charm. She screams, but you roll away, triumphantly clutching the locket to your chest. But you are not completely successful. The guard at her side dives at you, scrabbling for the charm. He, too, must know its significance. But there is no way you are going to lose it again. You squeeze it as if your life depends on it—and it probably does. He tackles you, and you struggle for air as he tries to open your hand to steal the charm. You have to breathe! You roll, shoving your hips to the side to get out from under him. But as soon as you pull free, you realize you made a miscalculation. You were too close to the riverbank, and that final roll has unbalanced you. You shriek as you fall down, down, down, splashing into the water. The stream is moving faster than you realize, and you are swept downstream. Struggling to keep afloat and swallowing more water than is good for you, you see Felicia and the guard racing ahead. When the stream spins you around a corner, you see why. They took a shortcut to get to the edge of the water just ahead of you. Felicia holds out her hand. “Grab my hand!” she cries. “Before you drown!” You aren’t a very strong swimmer and you’re already struggling to keep afloat. Taking Felicia’s hand would mean going along with her plan, but at least it would save your life! Do you: [[take Felicia’s hand]] and let her “rescue” you, even if that means letting her take back the charm and your identity as the princess? or [[take your chances in the powerful stream]] and hope you can escape before you drown?

When you arrive at Romancia’s palace, Felicia hardly waits until the carriage stops moving before she pushes past you to the door. Obviously she wants to be sure to declare herself before you can. She flings the carriage door open and accepts the hand of a footman to lower herself to the ground. Before you can follow her, the door slams shut. You stare at it. Is she really trying to trap you in the carriage? How does she think that will work? There’s another door! But if you exit the door on the other side, you will be behind the carriage and invisible to the royals until you would all the way around—and you already know the guards are loyal to her. If you go out that door, they will probably grab you and hold you until Felicia puts into motion whatever her plan is. No, if you go out that door, you’re better off escaping entirely and finding another way to steal back your identity. Do you: [[escape out the back door]] and go on the run or [[wait until the door is opened]] and convince the royal family of the switch?

You reluctantly accept Felicia's hand and help. She uses more force than necessary to yank you out of the stream and throw you onto the shore. At least you're out of the water! "Give it," she says, holding out her hand. You hesitate, but the guard moves behind you and hauls you to your feet, yanking your hands behind your back and peeling the charm out of your frozen fingers. He hands it to Felicia, who pockets it with a smile. "Thank you, darling," she says to the guard. She glares at you. "Get in the carriage." Wet, bedraggled, and hopeless, you climb back into the carriage and hope you dry before you reach Romancia and whatever fate you have in store there. There is at least one good thing that came out of this! It looks like you won't have to marry a stranger after all! It's time to [[get back into the carriage]].

You duck away from Felicia's outstretched hand and are immediately swept under the water. You come up coughing and choking. You're free, with Felicia and the guard shouting from behind you, but at what cost? You paddle frantically, but the little bit of swimming you've learned in calm public bathhouses has done nothing to prepare you for this. You can barely keep your head above the water as the rushing water keeps pushing you farther and farther away from the carriage and all you have known. It seems like hours but is probably only minutes before you, eyes glazing over with fear and exhaustion, spot a tree branch hanging over the water ahead. When you reach the branch, you throw your arm over it, your other arm grasping and clawing at the tree branch to get a hold. It works. You cling for a breathless moment until your heart rate slows and you can assess your next steps. Then, carefully, you pull yourself along the branch to the shore and step out, exhausted and sopping wet. The locket! Heart pounding, you open both fists, staring down at your empty hands. You lost it in the river, and now your charm and any protective magic it may have held is gone. You're on your own. Fighting back tears, you look towards the woods. You've never been so tired or bedraggled your entire life . . . and you can't stop and rest. What if Felicia and her guards follow the river to find you? It will help a little that the forest is dense here. Trees hang over the narrow, fast-moving river on both sides, and as soon as you take a few steps away from the water, thick trees blot out the sunlight. You need to dry off, and you need shelter before the sun sinks too low in the sky. If only there was sun to dry you off! But there is no other option than to shiver and keep going, hoping your pursuers—if they bother pursuing, that is—do not see the place where you left the river. Keep on walking [[into the woods]].

You hurry at first, jogging along and dodging through undergrowth and around trees, but gradually your pace slows. You have been walking for some time, your feet growing sore, when you hear an odd rustling overheard. Birds? But no. To your dismay, a fat raindrop lands on your nose. Then another. And another. Soon, it's pouring down rain, soaking you further, until your clothes are sodden and heavy. Your pace slows as you take deep breaths, trying not to dwell on your misery. If only there was some shelter to be had. You keep walking, hoping to find something—a village, a meadow, even a little roadside inn or a farmer's barn! But wait. What is that? A cottage! There is a cottage visible through the trees ahead! You hurry towards it, eager to get out of this rain. But as you approach it, you see with dismay that there are no lights on in the windows despite the darkening sky. You knock hopefully on the door anyway, but there is no answer. Nobody is home. Without thinking about it, you try the handle. It turns. The door is unlocked! It isn't your house. If you enter, you will be trespassing. And you know nothing about the residents of this home. And yet, the rain is still pouring down and shows no sign of stopping. Do you: [[enter the house]] and hope for the best? or [[continue through the forest]] until you can find shelter?

You cautiously push the door open and step inside, wrinkling your nose. The house most likely has not been inhabited for months. There are cobwebs on the walls and ceiling and a //layer// of dirt, dust, broken bits of leaves, and other unidentifiable things littering the floor. The windows are so grimy that little light shines through. Ancient and moldy books, maps, wooden toys, and strange mechanical equipment covered what might be tables, sofas, and much of the floor. There’s a loft upstairs, and a quick peek shows a room with slanted ceilings the same size as the cottage, filled with beds. There must be eight of them at least! The bedclothes don’t look rotten or moth-eaten, at least. That’s good, as it isn’t a good day to dry laundry. The worst part is the kitchen. Oh, the kitchen. There are pots and pans stacked in the sink, plates of half-eaten food on the countertops, utensils and bowls everywhere. Strange. The food is often crusted on, but there isn’t mold as you would have expected with the cottage being abandoned. Maybe something about the house preserves things? Well, you aren’t going to be able to make yourself comfortable in the house like this, even if you are still wet. You’ll begin by lighting the fire. Perhaps it's a good thing you've always hated the cold and learned to light your own fires so that you never had to wait for the maids. The warmth, combined with moving around, will help to dry your gown faster. There’s no way you’re putting on any cloth from this house! Once you have a roaring fire in the fireplace, you contemplate the house, finding yourself smiling with anticipation. Most princesses, you dare say, would have no idea how to make a place like this livable. But you have spent your lifetime watching with deep satisfaction as the maids cleaned the palace. You've always enjoyed watching their clever hands take something dirty and make it shining and clean. And now, for once, you get to do it yourself! Your careful attention to their methods should stand you in good stead. Where shall you start? Do you: start with [[the windows]], as that will let in more natural light and make cleaning easier, or start with [[the kitchen]]—you’re starved! or start with [[the living room]] so that you can have a place to rest and to sleep tonight?

The rain has finally settled to a soft pitter patter, but your wet clothes are chafing and your teeth are chattering. You keep walking. There must be people somewhere in this forest! Your eyes are so bleary that you almost walk directly into a wall of flat green leaves. A hedge? What is a hedge doing in the middle of the forest? It's thick enough to be impenetrable and as tall as two men. Hesitantly, you turn to the side and walk along the hedge, looking for an opening or an end to it. It seems to go on and on for miles, though. When you do finally reach the edge, you are almost surprised. There is a sharp turn, and the hedge continues, making a sharp corner. Ahead, you can see guards. In livery. And you suddenly know where you are! This is the summer palace of Phantasia! You must have traveled farther north than you knew and crossed into Phantasian lands! Phantasia was neutral in the war between Fairelandia and Romancia, but Father and Mother used to travel to visit their kingdom in their youth. Mother told stories about the hedge that surrounded their summer palace and the legend about it once protecting a sleeping princess. This had to be it! Confident now, you march toward the nearest guard. He looks as miserable as you feel, keeping to his rounds despite the rain. But when he reaches the corner and turns back, he sees you, and he perks up with excitement. There probably aren't many visitors to the summer palace in late spring, although you suppose the king and queen will be opening it up soon for the summer. Hopefully there are servants who live here full-time who can help you find something dry to wear! "Excuse me," you say as the guard approached. "I'm the Princess of Fairelandia and have met with disaster on my travels. May I enter the Summer Palace to dry my clothes and perhaps eat a meal?" You don't dare ask for too much. "Of course!" says the guard eagerly. "Right this way!" Is he a little //too// eager? As you follow him around the corner to the front of the summer palace, you see a road traveling away from it. Do you: [[follow the guard into the palace]] or say farewell and [[head down the road]]?

You follow the guard into the palace only to be stopped by an imperious voice. "Who is this? Anders, why are you bringing this wet young lady into my palace?" You look up to see a woman with a tiara perched on top of her voluminous hair, her silk gown sweeping along with her as she glides into the hall. "I thought I gave you strict orders that no guests were to be admitted." The guard cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon, Your Majesty, but I believed you were looking for a true princess." Your Majesty! She was Queen Shilah of Phantasia, then. But why was she at the Summer Palace so early in the season? The queen's eyebrows raise to her hairline. "A princess? In that gown?" "Yes, Your Majesty. The Princess of Fairelandia, she says." The queen's eyes flick to you. "//Are// you a princess? A true princess?" "I am," you say, giving her the proper curtsy from a visiting princess to a monarch. Your governess's lessons have come into use for once, as you keep perfect poise despite the squelching sound from your slippers. "Well, then. Excellent. You are correct, I have been searching for a true princess. You, my dear. Follow Harriet. She will find you dry clothes and a bedroom fit for a princess. Go on, go along." An hour later, properly dressed, you peek into the hallway outside your bedroom. A servant brought a tray to you in your room, so you have eaten and feel content again, but it's too early to sleep. Your earlier exhaustion is gone now that you're warm, dry, and fed, and your feet are itching for a new adventure. You meander down the hallway in search of something. Should you go to the kitchens to chat with the servants? No, they are likely busy at their work and would resent the disturbance. To your delight, the second door you peek into reveals a library! You love to read, and a book would be the perfect way to while away an hour or two before bed. You step inside. But you are not alone. A young man is lounging on the sofa near the fire, his legs propped on the armrest, his jacket flung over the back of the sofa. When he sees you, though, his eyes widen. "Oh!" he exclaims, leaping to his feet. He looks down, seemingly horrified to realize that he took his shoes off. "Oh, um, um . . ." He trails off as he yanks his shoes out from under the sofa, jumping up and down as he puts them on the wrong feet. He catches a glimpse of his jacket on the back of the sofa and turns bright red, shoving one arm into the armhole and getting it twisted around as he tries to pull it around his back. "Here, let me," you say, grabbing the jacket before he can wrinkle it utterly. You straighten it out and hold it while he slides it on. "Thank you," he says, face still red. "I did not realize we were expecting visitors." "I was not expected," you explain. "I was lost in the forest and looking for shelter from the rain. "Mother let you stay?" His face shows his surprise. You shrug. "It may have been because the guard told her I was a princess." "Oh. Are you?" "Reluctantly, yes." You aren't sure why, but you tell him about the truce with Romancia and your parents' determination to send you as Prince Darvik's bride. "You're engaged, then?" You hesitate. You are, you suppose. If one can be engaged without agreeing to it. But suddenly Romancia seems very far away. Prince Darvik will have Felicia to marry. Her parents won't find out about the switch for some time, and once they do, they'll likely feel obligated to keep up the pretense. Maybe this is your opportunity for something more. "I was," you admit. "But I'm not sure I am anymore." You explain about Felicia and how she stole your identity and your groom. "It sounds like Prince Darvik and Felicia deserve each other," he said. You nod slowly, but you aren't so sure. What will happen to the treaty if Romancia finds out? "I don't suppose you play chess?" You do, in fact, play chess. In fact, you’re quite good at it. But there’s no need to tell him that. He’ll figure it out pretty quickly. And he does. But thankfully, he’s a good sport. He laughs incredulously when you beat him the first time. “And here I always thought I was something of a chess genius,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “Shows what I know. I suppose the courtiers don’t dare beat a prince.” So he //is// Prince Lias. You had wondered but didn’t like to ask outright. “You were a real challenge,” you admit. “My courtiers always lose to me, too.” He stands and holds out his hand. You shake it. “I had best get to bed,” he says. “And you . . . uh. You, too. I hope you don’t have a good night’s sleep.” You stare after him in confusion as he leaves the room. Did he mean to say he wished you //don’t// have a good night’s sleep? How rude! Maybe he misspoke? Puzzling over his words, you stop short when you enter the bedroom assigned to you to find it considerably changed. The bed is as tall as the ceiling, which, being in a palace, is some fifteen feet high! No, wait. It isn’t the bed. It’s the mattresses! There are twenty mattresses stacked one on top of the other until they reach almost to the ceiling. How very . . . strange. You are sleepy, though. The mattresses are wide enough that you are not likely to fall off. They ought to be pretty cozy with that huge stack! Does it matter why you have a stack of twenty? The Summer Palace wasn’t exactly open for visitors; maybe this room was the closet where all of the mattresses were being stored. Of course, they weren’t here earlier, when you were first brought to this room to change . . . Do you: [[go to sleep on the stack of twenty mattresses]]? or decide to [[sleep on the floor]] instead?

The road stretches before you, weaving in and out of the forest and surrounded by dense undergrowth. The thick trees block out much of the sunlight, making it feel like evening even during the middle of the day. A shiver runs down your spine. You keep to a steady pace. After all, there’s no rush. You aren’t really sure where you’re going, just somewhere away, somewhere safe. But the dim light makes you anxious. It may be early now, but eventually evening will fall. Do you dare sleep in the woods? Climb a tree and hope for the best? It may appear exciting and romantic, but it sounds uncomfortable. You have no means of tying yourself in, so you’d likely fall out as soon as you fell asleep. Does a princess falling in the woods make a sound? Probably when she awakens just as she hits the ground! You slow to a stop when a turnoff appears on the right. Imposing gates bar the way, huge wrought-iron gates with curlicues that might be a family symbol. On either side, they cling to a stone wall with embedded iron spikes that speak of disaster to anyone who might dare climb over the wall. It is like a fortress . . . But the gates are open. Only a little, but they are clearly unlatched. And, what’s more, there is an odd shimmer on the gate and on the road beneath them, like little sparkling particles that float in the air and cling to the stone. Magic! Do you: [[enter through the open gates]] to see what may lie down this road? or [[continue on your way]]?

It’s a good thing somebody left a ladder leaning against the wall, because otherwise you have no idea how you could have gotten up to the top of that stack! It’s a little precarious to climb your way up, and terrifying to think of climbing back down in the morning when you’re still a bit drowsy and sleep is in your eyes, but that’s a problem for another day. You climb upward until you reach the top mattress and drop onto the surface, rolling toward the center as it sags inward. This is such a strange castle. Maybe it would be better to be on your way in the morning. You roll over, careful not to get too close to the edge of the bed. It’s hardly a problem, as the mattresses are so soft that you naturally end up in the center. You yawn and close your eyes. Time to get some sleep. Do you: have a [[comfortable night’s rest]] on all of those soft mattresses? or [[shift uncomfortably all night long]] due to the odd sensation of being poked in the back?

You decide to sleep on the floor. For a moment, you consider pulling down one of the mattresses to rest on, but after eyeing that tower, the risk of causing an avalanche and suffering a slow suffocating death under a mound of mattresses doesn’t seem worth the risk. Shrugging, you sleep on the floor, thankful for the decorative rug that provides some comfort. It’s been an eventful day, to say the least, and you fall asleep quickly and sleep surprisingly well. You are roused in the morning by vibrations under your rug, vibrations that you quickly realize are coming from the hallway. Somebody is coming toward your room, and they’re in a hurry. You stand up and wipe the sleep from your eyes just as the queen hurries in. The queen! What was the queen doing in your bedroom? The housekeeper stands behind her, her chatelaine of keys jingling as she fidgets. What is going on? “Well, princess?” she asks impatiently. “How did you sleep?” How do you answer her? Do you [[tell her you slept like a baby]]—and omit the fact that you slept on the rug to avoid the towering pile of mattresses or [[admit that you slept on the floor]] and hope she isn’t disappointed at your rejection of her odd hospitality?

“Princess? Princess!” You yawn and gaze up at the ceiling with bleary eyes. Oh, that felt so good. You fell asleep almost the moment you curled up, the dip in the center of the mattresses giving you almost a cocooned feeling. Now you know how cats must feel when they sleep all curled up in a ball. What a delightful place to sleep. The royal family of Phantasia are the best hosts ever! And to think you doubted them when you saw that stack of mattresses. “Princess!” You yawn again and roll yourself to the edge of the mattress, peering down. The queen is standing in the middle of the room. Wait. Why is the queen in your bedroom? “Yes?” you call down. You should probably care more, but after such a delicious night’s sleep, you cannot bring yourself to wonder why she’s there. More excellent hospitality, perhaps. “Did you sleep well, princess?” she calls up. “Oh, yes,” you say. “Absolutely delightful. This mattress stack is the best invention I’ve ever heard of. Phantasia should patent the idea.” You try to stop from yawning again, but you cannot. “If you’ll forgive me,” you call down, “I’d like to grab a few more winks.” The queen sighs. “Of course, my dear,” she says. “Sleep as long as you’d like. When you wake, you can join us for breakfast before you go on your way. My servants have your clothes washed and dried and ready for you.” You nod before rolling over and pulling the blanket back up to your chin. Just a few more minutes, and then you’ll [[head down the road]].

The next morning, you are startled from an exhausted doze by a strident voice calling from below. “Well, princess? How did you sleep?” You roll over, bleary-eyed, to peer down at the queen. The queen! You sit upwards so quickly you almost hit your head on the ceiling. Was it that low last night? The pile of mattresses wobbles alarmingly, and you grasp for the ladder, clinging with all your might. Once your head stops spinning, you take hold of the top and slowly lower your feet onto the first rung. You take advantage of your slow descent to consider your answer to the queen’s question, now that you’ve had time to process it. The Queen of Phantasia is in your bedchamber! What madness is this? She must be answered, but how? You’ve had an absolutely terrible night’s sleep. If that giant stack of mattresses was meant to provide extra comfort, it was a complete failure. But one did not tell a //queen// that her accommodations were less than ideal! It would be utterly rude. You reach the floor and turn slowly. The queen stands there expectantly, but she is no longer the only one. The housekeeper stands behind her, her chatelaine of keys jingling as she fidgets. “Princess,” the queen says again, and there is a note of importance in her tone. “How did you sleep?” How do you answer her? Do you [[tell her you slept like a baby]]—omitting the fact that babies have no idea the difference between day and night and prefer to doze in twenty minute increments or [[admit that you slept poorly]] and hope that she doesn’t throw you out for your lack of diplomacy?

You weren’t exactly expecting the queen’s disappointed response to hearing that you slept well, but it’s too late to be honest. Ah, well. She may have only let you stay one night at the Summer Palace, but at least your clothes are clean and dry and you have a full stomach. What more could you ask? It’s time you were on your way again, so you [[head down the road]] to see what adventure may lie ahead.

The queen’s face brightens, and she smiles. Behind her, the housemaid drops her chatelaine. “My dear,” the queen says, stepping forward to press your hand, “I am very, very happy to meet you.” You are still puzzled when you finish dressing in a lovely green gown borrowed from the queen and emerge for breakfast. The queen is waiting outside the breakfast room. As you approach, she takes your hand. “My son will be so pleased,” she says, and pulls you into the breakfast room before you can consider what that means. “Lias,” she says, and he stands from the table. “Mother?” His eyes flick from her to you, and there is something strangely hopeful about them. “She slept terribly last night.” Why is the queen’s voice so triumphant? Has she never heard of good hospitality? Maybe you should have lied after all. Maybe the queen is so displeased with your rudeness that she is being sarcastic at your expense? But the prince’s eyes light up. “Really?” He steps forward. “You could not sleep?” At the earnestness in his gaze, you can’t lie. “No. Something made me uncomfortable in that bed. Maybe it was all the mattresses?” Maybe one of them was stuffed with boulders or something. One of the top ones. He punches the air, startling you. “Yes!” he cries. “Yes! Yes! We’ve found her!” “The wedding will be next month.” The queen regally takes a seat at the table, patting the chair beside her. “Sit here, my dear. We have much to discuss. I think roses would be lovely. They will be just in season, and they smell delightful.” “Roses?” You hate the smell of roses. But there’s something even more confusing in what she has just said. “Wedding? Whose wedding? Yours?” “Ours!” Prince Lias says, and your heart gives a flutter. He looks so happy, so excited. But . . . what? “Our wedding?” You stand up. “Queen Shilah, Prince Lias, you will need to be explicit with me. What is going on?” They exchange a confused glance. “You don’t know? About the curse?” “If I knew, I wouldn’t be standing here asking.” Thankfully, for the sake of your limited patience, Prince Lias quickly explains. “I was cursed,” he says, “by a very grumpy fairy. I stepped on her tail when I was in our courtyard, you see.” “Fairies have tails?” You shouldn’t have interrupted, but the idea is too intriguing to skip past. “Well, not anymore. Not that one, at least.” He makes a face. “She was displeased with me and cursed me. I cannot leave the Summer Palace until I marry a true princess. She gave my mother a magical dried pea and told her that she must place it under the mattresses of any princess who came to the Summer Palace. A true princess is the only one who could feel such a pea through twenty mattresses. But now that I’ve found you, my curse is over!” “That assumes I’ll marry you,” you say slowly. His jaw drops, and he and his mother exchange a look of dismay. “Not marry him?” the queen says in dismay. “But it’s the only way to break the curse!” You can see that you’re going to have to be careful to stand up for yourself with his mother. She may be well-meaning, but she will trample roughshod over you if given half the chance. But Lias is cute. You enjoyed playing chess with him last night, and he took losing well, which is a good sign. He’s a prince, and he’s a far safer bet than the cruel Prince Darvik. “Prince Darvik,” you say slowly. “My parents arranged a truce that depended upon me marrying him.” “Romancia will never go against Phantasia,” Queen Shilah says firmly. “We remained neutral in the conflict before, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t build up our weapons and watch and wait. If they try to create a diplomatic incident, it won’t go well. They’ll grumble, but they’ll accept your marriage to Prince Lias.” “I don’t know,” you say hesitantly. You’ve only just met the prince. You don’t know if you want to marry him yet. But if you stay for a while, you could get to know him and see if he’s the right man for you. Do you: [[stay here at the Summer Palace]] and get to know Prince Lias? or apologize but tell the queen and prince that you aren’t ready to marry just now, and you hope Prince Lias finds another true princess soon? You highly recommend Princess Suriya of the Fae Forest Kingdom. And now you’ll [[head down the road]] . . .

You agree to stay at the Summer Palace and get to know Prince Lias better. He is delighted at the news. “But,” you said, facing the queen, “if we do decide to marry, it will be //our// decision. And we will choose when, and what flowers we will decorate with, and who will be invited.” You might even invite your parents, as long as they are willing to accept your change of groom. The queen meets your eyes steadily, and you know she sees your determination. She raises her chin and gives you a nod of respect. “Of course,” she says. “You will be the future Queen of Phantasia. I will help as you wish, but your wedding will be your own.” With this small victory, you release a breath of relief. Queen Shilah is a strong-willed woman, but you will make sure that she does not trample all over you. “Thank you for agreeing to stay,” Prince Lias says seriously. “Perhaps . . . perhaps we might walk outside in the gardens? Now that the rain has stopped, I would love to show you my herb garden.” “I would love to,” you say honestly. “And perhaps this evening, I might challenge you to another game of chess.” “I’d be delighted,” he says, and you smile at each other. Maybe this will be the start of something beautiful. It’s your very own [[Happily Ever After]].

You confess that you slept on the rug, as you were not sure the stack of mattresses was safe. The queen is horrified. “No true princess would sleep on the floor when a bed is available!” She seems disappointed somehow, but she is still kind in offering you breakfast before you leave. Prince Lias seems equally morose this morning. Were they planning some sort of prank if you slept on the mattresses and are disappointed to have been thwarted? Well, no matter. Your clothes were cleaned and dried overnight, and breakfast is hearty. You feel a new energy as you head out the door and [[head down the road]] to a new adventure.

You walk along the beach, but this coastline all belongs to the palace for some distance and is used for nobles and courtiers to sit by the shore or play in the water. The fishing and shipping harbors are across the bay. As the sun begins to rise, you find a little inlet with a rocky shelf above it, half-hidden from the land above. The sand here is only a little strip and probably gone at high tide, but now, at low tide, there are some visible rocks in the water. You stop short and stare. On a low rock, half in and half out of the water, is a man. And not just any man. He's the handsomest man you've ever seen, with long blond hair wet from the water, pale skin, and broad shoulders. And he is singing, although you do not understand the words. You hesitate. Your parents' cautions about strange men ring in your ears. But surely he could not be a threat! "Greetings!" he calls. He has seen you. "Greetings," you say back, curtsying. He looks puzzled at the courtesy but bows a little, which looks amusing when he is half in the water. "Isn't the sunlight over the water beautiful today?" he asks, gesturing out to the sea. You follow his gaze, and your jaw drops in wonder. "Oh, it is." The sun still has a little pink left from the sunrise, and the ocean flickers with it, the frothing waves sparkling and glittering. Something about the sea seeps into you, instilling a sense of longing. The salt, the sand, the roaring and tumbling and movement of the water, they all fill your senses with delight. "I wish I could swim." His eyebrows raise. "You cannot?" "Of course not! No noble woman is ever taught to swim." Or princess, but for some reason you are reluctant to tell him your true rank. Your heart sinks as you realize that he must not be a nobleman himself. No nobleman would sit shirtless in the ocean. When the nobles bathed, it was always in thick, dark clothing. And they didn't swim, they simply allowed themselves to be dipped into the water for their health. He was a commoner, then. But what did that matter? It wasn't as if she was in love with him. "Do you come out here often?" he asked. You shake your head. "It's the first time. I've never been allowed to walk so far by myself." You wince, noticing how that sounds. Allowed. As if you were a child, instead of a woman whose parents intended to marry her off. But princesses //were// treated like little children much of the time. "This is my favorite cove," he confessed. "I like to come here to think. I have a large family, and I love them, but sometimes they can be a bit much." "I have a small family. Just my parents and me. And yet they still manage to be a bit much sometimes, too." The two of you share a grin of understanding. “What do you come here think of?” you ask. He shrugs. “My place in the world, I suppose. I’m a younger son, and my oldest brother will inherit. I’m not sure what’s left for me to do. I oversee the family farms, but most of the time the workers find it intrusive when I’m there.” He must be wealthy, for a commoner, then, to have family farms with workers he must oversee. “My parents want to marry me off. I don’t know the man, but I’ve heard bad things about him, and . . . I suppose I just don’t want that life. I left, but now I don’t know what to do with myself.” “You could start by learning to swim!” he suggests, motioning to the water around him. “I could teach you.” You blush bright red. “Oh, I couldn’t.” Your gown would cling to you in odd ways, not to mention it would likely float up and . . . “I don’t have swimwear.” But he looked distracted, gazing up at the sun. It had risen higher in the sky than she would have realized during their short conversation. “I am so sorry,” he said, “but I am late. I really must go. I loved talking with you.” You expect him to stand and walk toward you and the shore, but to your surprise, he instead dives into the water beyond the rock—revealing shimmering scales on a blue-green tail, which flicks once before it disappears into the sea behind him. For the second time this morning, your jaw drops at the sight of something beautiful. He’s not a human, he’s a merman! Do you: [[wait here to see if he will return]] or [[walk farther along the beach]] to continue your search for a boat?

Tentatively, you push the gate far enough open to slip in. The glimmer of magic makes you a little anxious, but magic can do good things, right? Perhaps there is a fairy godmother here who could grant you a wish! You walk down a very long road that meanders through trees and open grassy lawn. In the distance, you can see beautiful garden beds and what looks like a kitchen garden. Stopping short, you stare. Is that . . . is that a //penguin// in the kitchen garden? You’ve never seen one before, but you’ve heard of them in books. You thought they were bigger, though. If you aren’t mistaken, this one looks shorter than your knee. Shaking your head, you continue on your way. The estate house is before you, beautiful in its rich cream walls, marble columns, and decorative staircase. It may not be the home of a prince, but likely it belongs to a nobleman of some kind. It’s a little odd, though, how quiet it seems to be. No liveried servant stands ready to open the door as you approach . . . Wait. The door is already open a little, and you see what looks like a shimmering smear, as if of magic, on the door at waist height. This is becoming a little frightening. Maybe you shouldn’t enter. It isn’t too late, after all. Nobody’s seen you. You could run back down the road and out through those gates before anything happens. But you //are// curious. Do you: run back out the gate and [[continue on your way]] or [[push open the door and enter]]?

You wonder if you made the right decision, continuing down this road. The trees grow darker and closer together as if they lean over the road. Their trunks grow all the more twisted and strange, and you don’t recognize the shapes of the leaves. They are not any species of tree you’ve ever seen before. Yet despite the anxious ball in the pit of your stomach, you can’t turn back. Fairelandia gets its name from the great Faerie Forest, a magically dense forest that sits along the boundary of the country. The fae have always remained separate from humans, neither friend nor foe, but humans rarely venture into their forests, not if they expect to come out again. Thankfully, you are on a road, and the roads have long been considered safe passage. The road narrows, or maybe it’s your vision narrowing. Wait, what is that little sparkle up ahead? It’s as if a child, a child with wings, is running from tree to tree, keeping mostly out of sight. You hear a giggle. A path branches off the road to the left, if you can call it a path. It’s narrow, too narrow for you to pass without your gown catching on bushes and brambles as you go, and yet . . . and yet where is the main road? Why did you leave it? You cannot say. Your feet travel of their own accord, walking, now skipping as you hurry along the path. Sweet and fragrant, the scent of the air hits you first. You are in a clearing, and in the center of the clearing is a rose garden. The fae like roses. In fact, you remember warnings about fae using gardens as traps. How lucky you are to have found this garden in a safe clearing far away from the road. Stepping closer, you lean down to smell one of the roses. How beautiful! Its rich scent fills your nostrils, and you close your eyes with the joy of it. Never has a rose smelled or looked so sweet. Your hand is in front of you, reaching for the rose, although you had not thought to pick it. Almost as if at a distance, you watch as your finger extends to test a thorn. Yet why is the hair standing up on the back of your neck? There’s something odd going on here. You want desperately to rest, to give in, to touch the thorn. Do you: [[touch the nearest thorn]] or [[shake yourself out of this odd state]] and go back to the last place you felt safe, the giant gates?

You head up the road into the mountains, but you've made a major miscalculation. Not only is this road steep and narrow, but it's also the middle of the night. You try your best to stick to the road, but by the time the sun rises, you realize the road is nowhere in sight. You must have wandered off the road during the night and now you have no idea where you are! You could stop and hug a tree—but nobody will be looking for you here. Nobody is likely to find you, not before you starve, or, more likely, die of thirst. You'll have to find safety and shelter on your own. You continue walking in the hopes of finding the path or some sign of civilization, hoping you haven't just made the mistake that will cost you your life. Keeping walking [[into the woods]].

The chances of the merman returning to the same location seem low, but it isn’t as if you can follow him into the sea, so you have no other option if you wish to speak with him again. You’ve lived by the sea your whole life and always delighted in watching the ships, hearing the gulls, and smelling the salt of the water. But now you find yourself intrigued in a whole new way. Merpeople are real! What does that mean for the unexplored depths of the oceans? Are there many merpeople? Do they have cities of some sort, civilization? Or do they live in underwater caves and dart out to eat fish, like humans? They must have some sort of civilization. The merman you met spoke English, or at least you were able to understand him. And wait . . . didn’t he say something about managing the family farm? You ponder that for a moment. Is he somehow able to come out of the ocean to farm? Or maybe farm was some sort of metaphor? “You look deep in thought.” Startled, you see a woman collecting shells some ten feet down the beach. You hadn’t even noticed her arrive. Her feet are bare and tough, and her black and gray hair it endlessly long, almost to her ankles. Her dress would be considered scandalous by court standards, as it barely reaches her calves, although you can see how convenient it might be for someone wading into the sea for shells. “I apologize, I didn’t see you approach,” you say. “I was contemplating farms under the ocean.” The woman freezes mid-step. “Farms under the ocean? You met a merman, then?” You blink. “Yes. Do you know him?” Does he tell the same tales to all women he meets along the seashore? She shrugs and goes back to collecting her shells. “Your specific merman, likely not. We naiads are water creatures, though, so I have known a few freshwater merpeople in my day. Never saltwater ones, though.” Her voice takes on a bitter tone. “You’re a naiad!” You stare at her, fascinated. Other than her unusual style choices, you would never have guessed! She looks as human as any peasant woman with long hair and bare feet. “I didn’t realize there were ocean naiads.” “There aren’t. My homewater is a pond some distance back,” she says, gesturing to the woods on the other side of some rocks. “A small pond,” she says. “It was bigger once, but every year it grows a little smaller. One day I shall be forced farther inland to find a new, larger pond, away from the salt sprays and shells and driftwood and the call of the seagulls.” You nod, understanding her desolation. To be forced to leave the sea and dwell far inland would be misery for anyone who loved the ocean. How much more so must it be for a naiad, a water being, who adored the sea. Her eyes suddenly blaze with fervency. “But you . . . you are human. Fully human.” “Yes?” “You liked that merman, yes? Wouldn’t you like to see his home world, to explore under the ocean, to speak with him again?” “Yes, of course. But I cannot breathe under the ocean.” You feel suddenly the futility of waiting here for his return. What is the point? He is a merman, and you are a human. There could never be anything between you. “It just so happens that you can . . . if I help you. You see, we naiads have some magical ability of our own, and mine is stronger with so much water about. I can place a spell on you that would transform you into a mermaid so that you might swim down into the depths of the sea safely and see your friend again.” “If you love the ocean so much, why do you not use your magic to travel that way yourself? Or do you?” you ask. There is something that raises your hackles about her anxious desire to help you. There must be some benefit to her in it. Still, you are caught up in a beautiful fantasy of swimming as a mermaid, diving and dancing in the ocean with your tail, breathing in the glorious cold water of the sea without needing air. “Alas, I cannot turn a naiad into a mermaid. Merpeople are half fish, half human. Only those creatures that make up the two parts can be transformed. I could turn a fish into a merman, but since I cannot give it a human brain, I cannot ask it for the help I require. But a human—you, I can transform.” The help she requires. There //is// a catch. “What would you ask in return?” “A simple favor. The king of Wavopia has in his possession an heirloom of mine, a necklace of seas pearls that belonged to my mother and her mother and her mother before her. I lost it swimming and one of his loyal subjects discovered it and took it to his palace, where it is on display in his Hall of Curiosities. I need it back.” “You wish me to sneak into the palace to steal your necklace back?” You gape at her. “The palace?” “It should be easy for you! You are a princess! Present yourself to the palace guards as the Princess of Fairelandia and say that you have come to greet the King of Wavopia. He will give you a tour of the palace, including the Hall of Curiosities, and it will be an easy thing for you to pilfer the necklace while you are passing through.” She knows you’re the princess! She must have recognized you from one of your family’s audiences or when you’ve been taken on a tour of the capital or the docks. Does that mean she has ill intentions for you—or that she understands your need to escape the life laid out for you? Maybe she is pleased that you are a princess, as only a royal princess would dare steal from a king? Is it really stealing if you are returning the naiad’s heirloom? While you contemplate this, she continues. “Lest you should be tempted to simply stay in Wavopia and forget your benefactor, I shall limit your transformation for one day. Twenty-four hours as a mermaid. You shall feel the transformation weaken about an hour before the magic fails, giving you enough time to swim to the surface. But a warning it is. At the end of your time, you will turn back into a human, regardless of whether you are safely on land or in the depths of the sea. Last I checked, humans cannot breath not survive the pressure, even in Wavopia.” You swallow hard at the thought of being suddenly trapped without air and crushed under the weight of the water above. “Why should I help you for only a day?” you ask boldly. “Even if I find my friend again and see the wonders of the undersea kingdom, it will then be lost to me forever.” “Oh, that is the best part!” She claps her hands. “I //can// make the transformation permanent. The single day is to ensure that you do not forget your promise and you bring me my little bauble. Once you have done your duty, if you wish it, I can make the transformation permanent. You can live the rest of your life under the sea. You will have that day to see the kingdom and decide whether you wish it.” If you became a mermaid, you could live under the sea forever. You would never have to return home, nor could you, and your parents would have to make some other treaty with King Marnil that did not involve your marriage to his son. Could you give up everything you’ve ever known to live under the ocean? Could you be happy there? In running away from your parents’ plan for you, you already //have// given up your old life, but what do you know of life under the ocean? Besides, there’s something odd about the naiad and her story. Will she truly transform you as she promises? Is there a trap somehow hidden in her offer that you cannot see? One day. One day to make a decision which direction your life will go, whether a strange foreign world could be your haven and refuge or whether it would be a different kind of misery. Do you: [[agree to follow the naiad’s plan]] to retrieve her necklace and visit the undersea kingdom or [[decline and go on your way]], never to see the merman again but to avoid any potential trap the naiad is planning?

You continue walking along the beach, but you've had no luck with boats on the shore. Then, movement in the distance catches your eye, and you shield your face against the sun to look out into the bay. It's a small ship—flying royal colors! Your parents must have discovered your disappearance and are searching for you. You've still had no luck finding a boat. What do you do? Do you: [[give up and wait]] for them to find you and bring you back home or dart [[into the woods]] before they can spot you from the boat?

It looks like you aren't as successful at running away as you had hoped. Your parents are, thankfully, so relieved to find you that they don't punish you—but they //do// make absolute certain that you don't escape this time. Your trip to Romancia and Prince Darvik has been delayed by a day, which seems to make your handmaiden, Felicia, rather displeased. Reluctantly, you give in and [[get into the carriage]] the next morning, bound for Romancia.

You stay hidden behind the ficus plant until the two brothers have moved on, Prince Darvik to stand scowling in one corner, his brother dancing and laughing with one lady after another. Only then do you make your way through the crowd and find a dance partner who is //not// a prince, determined to make the best of things. Your temper slowly cools, and you remember that your betrothed, like you, has had no choice in this matter. Regardless of your doubts, you are resigned to [[give Prince Darvik a chance]].

You don’t even make it to the punch bowl before Prince Robin intercepts you. “Princess,” he greets you. “Will you dance with me?” Reluctantly, you accept. You are not as good an actress as you might like, and he can clearly tell you would rather be anywhere else than Romancia dancing with a prince—even if he isn’t the prince you are betrothed to. //Especially// as he’s not the prince you’re betrothed to. “I’m glad you’re here,” Robin said. “This palace could use some livening up.” “You’re assuming I’m lively.” “You aren’t?” You ponder the question. Are you? You’ve never been away from home before, where you’d known everybody at court since you were a very small child. Can you really judge your own liveliness in what was your own home? “I don’t know,” you confess. Your eyes fall on Prince Darvik, and you frown. As he declared to his brother, he isn’t dancing. You suppose that’s a small blessing, that if he won’t dance with you, it’s because he won’t dance with anyone. Prince Robin follows your gaze. “You know,” he says slowly, “Darvik really is a decent sort. Bit boring and serious, far too responsible for his own good. And he has . . . reasons for being more morose than usual. But all he needs is a little livening up.” His use of the word can’t be accidental. Does Prince Robin truly think you are a good match for Prince Darvik? Or is he putting in a good word for his brother out of family obligation? Do you: [[give Prince Darvik a chance]] to improve his first impression or [[tell Prince Robin that you are here unwillingly]] and are as reluctant to wed as Prince Darvik is?

You want to give Prince Darvik a chance. But he does seem utterly determined to create the worst possible first impression. He doesn’t come up to you a single time during the entire ball, and he certainly doesn’t dance. In fact, he disappears around midnight, despite the ball continuing for some hours afterward. You smile and laugh and dance, but your heart isn’t in any of it. It’s a relief when the musicians finish their last song and pack up their instruments and the dancers make their slow way to the doors and either upstairs to their rooms or outside to their carriages. If only you could make your own way outside to your carriage and back home. But your parents would only send you back. The maid showed you where your bedchamber is, and you’re fairly certain you can make your way there yourself. Well. Maybe //fairly// certain is overstating it. But you’ll probably find it eventually. Still, somehow you can’t quite bear to go upstairs to your cold, quiet room and pretend this is your life now. Instead, you wander past the ballroom and into the lovely indoor courtyard. You didn’t go this way during the ball as it was crowded with couples, but now it’s empty, the only sound the bubbling of the fountain and little hisses and clicks of the creatures that live in the ample greenery around it. It isn’t an artificial fountain with a perfectly round, smooth form and a foot of clear bubbling water inside, like the one in your parents’ courtyard. This is an organic fountain—the stones that form its shape are irregular, and the fountain connects to a miniature stream that crosses the courtyard and disappears under a stone shelf at the edge, presumably winding underground to some faraway escape route. The fountain’s water is not clear, and the pools of water at different levels are filled with algae-slicked rocks, little pebbles, sand, and underwater plants. You can hear the sounds of insects in the plants that grow along the slopes of the fountain and on the rock garden around it, and a tiny bird perches on the highest fountain level, drinking the water where it bubbles out the top. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—a natural courtyard in the middle of a palace! You take a seat on the side of the fountain and run your fingers in the water. A green frog hops up onto the ledge and peers up at you, croaking once. “Hello, little one,” you say, daring to stroke under its chin. It makes a little sound, and you smile. “Were you hiding during the ball? It was very loud, wasn’t it? I’m glad nobody trampled you.” There were enough rocks and bushes and miniature trees decorating the central area around the fountain that you suppose he had plenty of room to hide. You sigh and sit back. “This has been a disaster,” you tell the frog, who still hasn’t hopped off. “Prince Darvik hates me, or maybe hates Fairelandia.” You hadn’t thought of this before, but the idea did have merit. “He was a commander during the war. It must be hard to marry the enemy after risking your life and losing good men in fighting against them.” The war had been far more distant to you, safe at home in your palace. You didn’t hate Romancia. The war was over some sort of distant political thing, trade rights and ownership of a disputed peninsula and a valley bordering Phantasia, so you had never felt strongly about it. But Prince Darvik might hate all Fairelandians. If so, their marriage was bound to be a disaster. “I suppose the king wants me here, as this marriage was his idea. But now that I’m here, aside from having some grand wedding in a month or two, I think he’d be fine forgetting I exist. And Prince Darvik wishes he could.” Surprised that the frog hasn’t hopped away yet, you dare to stroke down its back. It’s not a cat, but it isn’t as slimy as you’ve always thought of frogs as being. And somehow its presence is comforting. “I just wish I could find something to do,” you say at last. “There must be some reason I’m here. Some purpose in this.” A distant door slams, and the frog leaps into the water. So much for company. Well, it’s late. You should really get to bed anyway. [[Tomorrow’s another day, and maybe things will look better.]]

Prince Robin sobers. “I know,” he says softly. “Palace life, arranged marriages for political or monetary reasons, all of the false faces and bitter, charming smiles . . . it’s not for me, either.” You nod. Prince Robin may be the first person you’ve ever met who really understands your frustrations with palace life and desperation to escape. He cocks his head, examining you. “Do you want to join me for a little adventure and save the world?” You grin. “Save the world? Before midnight?” Shaking his head, he says, “Well, I may be overstating it. But saving one little corner of it, that’s for sure.” “I’d be happy to help.” He pulls you behind the same ficus you were hiding behind earlier. Ironic, that. “See the nobleman over there in mauve?” You see him. “He’s a skilled dancer,” you admit. He’s incredibly handsome, too. Even more so than the princes. “He’s very popular among the young ladies. Too popular, too handsome, and oh, he knows it.” Prince Robin’s face darkens. “He manipulates young ladies, especially those new to society and who don’t have powerful connections to protect them. Currently, he is in possession of several very romantic letters he convinced a girl to write to him, and he’s blackmailing her over them. Probably so he can afford mauve waistcoats and those expensive cufflinks, not to imagine the bay charger I heard he bought at horse auction last week.” “What do you plan to do about it?” He must have something planned, or he wouldn’t have brought this up. “Ah, I’m glad you asked. This is where you come in.” “I’m listening.” “He’s staying at the palace. Has been, for some time. Given how tightly that coat and those breeches fit him, I’m certain he isn’t carrying the papers, which means they’re likely concealed in his rooms. The young lady can’t search his rooms without risking utter ruin if she were caught—but I can.” He grins impishly. “And my part of the plan?” “You’re going to keep him distracted. Dancing, talking, whatever it takes. I don’t want to risk him leaving the ballroom and going back to his rooms. I don’t think he’s likely to, but you never know.” His eyes narrow as he watches the man stop to flirt with another //very// young lady who stands with her sister at the edge of the ballroom. “We’ll wait until closer to midnight, but then we need to act.” Do you: [[agree to the plan]] or [[ask Robin how you know he’s telling the truth]] about this man? He could have some sort of less wholesome reason for wanting to check the man’s rooms, after all!

When you enter the breakfast room the next morning, you see Prince Robin and Prince Darvik speaking earnestly by the window. They don’t see you at first, as the curtains block their view, and as you head to the sideboard to fill your plate, you overhear them talking. “—give her a chance,” Prince Robin is saying. “You know—” A servant comes to add a plate of sausage, and you miss the first few lines. “—curse,” Prince Robin is saying once you can hear again. “You know. The frog thing.” You widen your eyes and glance up at them. The frog? Prince Darvik is shaking his head. “Not my problem,” he says. His voice is lower, and it’s harder to pick up what he’s saying. “—your secrets,” he says, and then he turns. He sees you, and his eyes widen. You busy yourself with filling your plate and take it to the table, but they have broken apart, Prince Darvik looking like a black stormcloud, Prince Robin looking concerned but giving you a bright smile as he sits. “Good morning,” Prince Darvik says, almost begrudgingly. He looks up at his brother as if for approval. Has Prince Robin given him some hints about good manners? Well, it’s not a moment too soon. “Good morning,” you say brightly. “I hope you slept well.” You did, surprisingly. By the time you returned to your bedroom after the courtyard, you were exhausted. He nods. After another glance at his brother, he hesitantly says, “I thought . . . you are new to the palace, and court isn’t in session at the moment. But the queen and princesses—and sometimes younger sons—are often involved in various charities in the capital and beyond. It encourages private citizens to donate their money and time when they see the royals involved.” You nod slowly. “You would like me to be involved?” “If you wish. There are a number of different charities, and usually the queen has a pet project or two, but she’ll give a little bit of time to the other organizations as well so that they all receive the benefit of her attention. You might do the same.” Not only is this the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him, but it’s the most productive, as well! You smile brightly at him. “I would like that!” “I’ll take you there after breakfast.” He turns to his meal, conversation over. Well, maybe your relationship will move forward in baby steps. Still, it’s something! After breakfast, you and Prince Darvik walk down the hall together. You are content to watch the courtiers who meander about the palace, but to your surprise, he begins a conversation. “I apologize for the ball,” he says abruptly. “The ball?” “For not dancing.” “Oh.” You look at him in shock. The last thing you imagined this morning was an apology. “I, uh—” “I didn’t want to make a poor impression. I have . . . I believe the saying is ‘two left feet’. My brother teases me for it endlessly. I’ve taken dancing lessons for years, but it’s made no difference.” He isn’t looking at you, but the side of his face you can see is bright red. It’s taken a lot for him to confess to you. You squeeze his arm a little. Do you say: [[“That’s all right! I don’t care much for dancing myself!”]] or [[“Maybe we could practice together! I don’t mind having my toes stepped on, and it could be fun!”]]

The red in his face has gone down a little. “Thank you,” he says. “I don’t mean to keep you from dancing. My brother will happily lead you out, and I’m sure that many of the noblemen will be eager to dance with you.” “Maybe sometimes we can stand together and watch the dancing,” you say. “After all, married couples don’t dance as often as the unmarried.” And in only a month, you’ll be joining those couples. “I have meetings to attend today,” he says. “Endless meetings. I’m sure you know the type.” You nod. “But before I go, [[“I have something for you.”]]

Prince Darvik laughs. “I’m not sure more practice will help. At this point, I may just have to give dancing up as a lost cause.” You probably should have listened to him. But surely he’s overstated his incompetence. Nobody could be //that// bad after years of practice, could they? When you and Prince Darvik meet the following day in the courtyard for a secret dance practice, you discover that he may not have been exaggerating after all. “Let me look at your feet,” you said, nudging him to take a step back while you squint at his legs. “Why?” He looks down at his legs, his brow furrowed. “To see if you really do have two left feet.” He laughs. “I warned you, you will remember.” You have long since lost track of how many times he’s stepped on your toes, but thankfully they went completely numb about ten minutes ago from the repeated missteps. You still dance better with numb toes than he does with fully functioning ones. But somehow it doesn’t matter. Prince Darvik is becoming something of a friend, an outcome you would never have expected that first night. “I think you’re just too stiff,” you say at last. “I’d say practice would help, but . . .” “If it hasn’t helped yet, I think it’s unlikely to help in the future.” He shrugs. “My brain does not seem to work the right way. I can’t remember what to do after the next step, and I’m too busy trying to remember what comes next to know what to do with my feet.” “Or your arms,” you say, considering. “Wait, I have an idea. I’ll whisper the next move to you just before we start.” He shrugs. “It’s worth a try, I suppose.” As he counts, you tell him the next move and sometimes pull him into the next step. “Join left hands. Now right. Circle around me to the left. Now lift your arm while I duck under.” But when you duck under his arm, he holds your hand too tightly, and when you start to circle around him, you pull him off balance. It isn’t //your// fault you didn’t notice just how close the two of you were dancing to the fountain. When he loses his balance, he hops a few times to regain it, and on the third hop he trips over a decorative sculpture and falls forward—right over the edge of the fountain. Splash! You laugh when he sits up, spitting out bits of leaves, until you suddenly remember. “Oh no! The frog!” You’d met the frog at exactly this edge of the fountain. “You didn’t crush him, did you?” He stares at you, bemused. “The frog?” “There was a frog in this fountain the other night. I was speaking . . . I mean, I was admiring him. He was a very handsome frog.” There’s an odd look on his face. “I didn’t squash a frog.” He takes your hand. “Forget the frog. I think we were making real progress, don’t you?” You nod. “I do. Let’s try it again from the top.” He holds his arms out to his sides. "I'm sopping wet!" "You'll dry faster if you keep moving," you point out. He gives you an amused look as he wrings his shirttails out over the fountain. "I should probably change before I need to go to my meetings, anyway." "Oh." He pauses at the door. [[“I have something for you.”]] He frowns down at his wet clothing. "I hope the water didn't hurt it."

Disappointed, you drop onto a large rock at the edge of the fountain. Your little frog friend isn’t here. Perhaps he’s hiding during the day. Are frogs nocturnal? You did see him at night before, after all. You can’t help your disgruntlement. It’s not the frog’s fault that he isn’t here, but you were counting on seeing him all the same. As you shift on the fountain edge, you feel the golden ball that Prince Damian gave you earlier. You had slid it into the pocket you wear around your waist. You take it out. It really is the most interesting little curiosity. How can it glow so resolutely even in the dim light where you sit, on the shady side of the courtyard where the nearby building casts its shadow? How can it feel so soft to your hand, and yet so firm when you tap it with your finger or against the stone? Curious, you roll it along the stone. It rolls effortlessly, as if it were a marble on smooth glass, despite the bumpy irregularities of the stone beneath it. There is something deeply satisfying about its feel in your hands and the sensation as it rolls. While you play with it, your mind wanders. Prince Darvik has been a far more pleasant man today, or maybe it’s just spending more time with him that has revealed more of his personality. You might not know him well yet, but already— //Plop!// You cry out with dismay as you realize you lost your grip on your ball. It’s in the fountain! Frantic, you lean over the edge and peer down. The water is clear near the surface, but the under plants and irregular rocks make it impossible to see far into the fountain. Still, you lie on your stomach and reach down into the fountain, blinding grasping for anything smooth and spherical. You cannot find it. This cannot be happening! You were so foolish to play with the ball on the edge of the fountain. One careless moment and the ball is gone—your gift from Prince Darvik! It was expensive, you know, but furthermore it was rife with meaning—his choice to give you a gift from your own country was a peace offering. You cannot have lost it on the very day it was given! Your movements more agitated, you hang over the fountain and reach as deeply as you can, your hands scrabbling at the rocks, but you find nothing. Do you: [[look for a stick to push the rocks apart]] or [[shove your face into the water so you can try to see and grab it]]?

You wake slowly, groggily, to find the face of a handsome man only inches from yours. “It works!” he cries, leaning back quickly. His eyes are bright with excitement. “Princess, you’re awake! You’re awake!” You sit up, your head swimming with confusion. “What happened? Where am I?” There’s somebody else behind the man. Not a single person. A group of people, all dressed richly in velvet, brocade, and silk, although the styles are shockingly out of fashion. They look as if they stepped out of a picture book from your great-great-grandmother’s time. “You’ve been asleep,” the man says, brushing a golden curl back from his head. You can’t help notice how it shines in the sunlight. “For one hundred years.” You gape. “One hundred years?” You clamp a hand over your mouth. “I haven’t cleaned my teeth in a hundred years.” He laughs heartily. “As for where you are, you’re in Phantasia. Don’t you remember?” Phantasia? The country of Phantasia is to the north of both Fairelandia and Romancia. How in the world did you end up in a completely different country? “And I’m Prince Hubert, eldest son of King Harbin IV. Nice to meet you.” He takes your hand and raises it to his mouth, although, thankfully for your already burning cheeks, he does not kiss it. Prince Hubert. Wait. Oh, no. As a princess, you of course learned a great deal about your country’s history, but also that of the other surrounding countries. King Hubert was the longest-reigning monarch in their history, following the line of four kings by the name of Harbin. Your mother always admired King Hubert, so much that she named you after his queen. That meant . . . you weren’t a hundred years in the future. You were a hundred years in the past. “We’re going to have a son named Hamish,” you mutter. “If you like!” Prince Hubert said cheerfully. He leaned in close and lowered his voice. “I know . . . I know it must sound horrifying to wake after so long. I promise I will not pressure you into marrying me just because I woke you with a kiss.” With a kiss? You stare at him in horror. But even as it hits you that everybody you’ve ever known—your parents, your nursemaid and governess and servants, Felicia your handmaiden, even your erstwhile betrothed, Prince Darvik—will not be born for close to a hundred years, you also feel as if a lifetime of pressure and weight have been lifted off you. There will be time to mourn. But Prince Hubert’s engaging smile—and even more, the true sympathy he’s shown—makes you think that maybe you will find your way to a different, unexpected [[Happily Ever After]] here. If nothing else, your investments ought to succeed amazingly well.

(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[<img src="http://authorsarahcarlisle.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/Depositphotos_152705710_XL-scaled.jpg" width=50%>] Did you enjoy your Happily Ever After? I hope you did! But does the story end there? It doesn’t have to. It’s just one of the many stories you could discover by the choices you make. Want to try again? You can go back to the beginning and try new paths in the [[Create Your Own Fairytale Adventure]]! Collect them all! Create Your Own Fairytale Adventure includes twists on: The Goose Girl The Frog Prince Robin Hood Snow White The Little Mermaid Beauty and the Beast The Princess and the Pea and Sleeping Beauty with many paths to reach and experience each story!

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a glowing golden ball. “It’s from Fairelandia.” You gasp as he reveals it. You’ve heard of these but never seen one in person! Reverently, you take it. The ball is absolutely perfectly smooth, and it’s so shiny that it seems to glow from within. But that’s not the most interesting thing about it. When you hold it and gently squeeze it, it is soft and squishes in your hand. There’s something satisfying about squeezing it and rolling it around your hand. But if you squeeze it hard and quickly, it feels as hard as rock and as smooth as glass. You’ve heard that they bounce off any surface but never break or chip—themselves or the surface. They’re magical creations of the golems that live in the hills of Fairelandia and sold in markets at outrageous prices, especially as they have no real use aside from the delight in handling them. One this large must have cost him a fortune! “Do you like it?” He has stopped walking and is looking at you anxiously. You beam up at him. “It’s the most beautiful, delightful thing I’ve ever seen,” you assure him. “Thank you.” You both begin to walk again, and his gaze is just as severe as it was before, but there is a new truce between you. By the time Prince Darvik goes back to his rooms to prepare for his meetings, you find you are considering him in a a whole new light. Do you: [[go visit the frog in the courtyard]] or [[go for a walk in the gardens]]?

You decide to go for a walk in the gardens. Closing your eyes, you breathe deep, inhaling the scent of fragrant flowers. Are those roses? There’s something peculiar about them that you can’t quite place. You stroke a leaf, and then it occurs to you. These roses don’t have thorns! How odd. You meander through the gardens examining the flowers closely now. Not all are roses. There are various summer flowers of all sorts, but many are roses in many shades and hues—but none have thorns. It’s an odd peculiarity. Many other flowers do not natively have thorns, of course. But the thorns on roses have for so long been considered a metaphor for life that roses without them seem almost . . . lifeless, like a life without challenge or struggle—or joy. Somehow your mind goes to the little frog you visited in the courtyard last night. He was a charming little creature. Is he still there? How odd is it to consider visiting the courtyard merely in search of a frog? Suddenly, you glimpse it. There is a single rosebush in the center of the garden, and this one has thorns like any other. Why only this one? It stands in the center, a circle of stones around it as if to mark it off. You hesitate as you approach the bush. This plant looks like any other rose. It shouldn’t raise your suspicions. And yet its very difference from the other roses in this garden draws your attention and makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You feel a sudden desperate longing to touch it, to see if its thorns are real. Do you: [[touch the nearest thorn]] or shake the odd feeling off and [[go visit the frog in the courtyard]], the last place you felt safe?

You race around the courtyard, looking desperately for a stick. There! Just under that tree near the edge of the courtyard. Hurrying back, you use the stick to pry the stones apart as best you can. Some of them move willingly, some less so. But they send up a cloud of dirt as they move, and even once it settles, there is no glimmer of gold to be seen. You try again with your hand, reaching as far into the water as you can, but you cannot even feel it. “Princess?” You turn to see Prince Robin staring at you in confusion. “What are you doing? Are you not going to dress for dinner?” You realize suddenly how late it is. “Oh, of course,” you say quickly. “I had forgotten the time.” You abandon your quest to retrieve the ball for now and hurry off to dinner, but you don’t forget. You are unable to escape your royal duties until everyone parts for their beds. It’s past midnight, so you bring a candle with you when you rush to the courtyard to try again. [[You have to find the golden ball!]] Everything depends on it!

Taking a deep breath and hoping you won’t regret this, you lean into the fountain far enough to dunk your head in. You have to force yourself to open your eyes in the water and hope that you aren’t going to end up with algae in your hair that you will have to explain to your maid. Blinking, you look around, poking through all of the hiding places you can see with your hands. Your movements stir up a cloud of dirt that blocks your vision, so you are forced to back out of the pond and wait for it to settle before taking another breath and trying again—this time with less disturbance of the dirt. You should see it! The ball glows so brightly, how can you possibly miss it? And yet you cannot see it at all. Is the fountain deeper than you realize? It’s dark between the rocks that form its lower layers, making it hard to see very far. Maybe it’s impossibly deep. You could climb into the fountain to find it. If you dove all the way in, surely you would be able to see it! Wouldn’t you? But you don’t dare do that now. It’s too near dinner time—in fact, you ought to be dressing now for dinner anyway. You think quickly. After dinner and the evening’s social activities, everyone will eventually go to bed—except you. That will be the best time to take a little swim without being caught. You will return and search again, diving down into the fountain if that is what it takes. [[You have to find the golden ball!]] Everything depends on it!

You sit your candle down on a flat stone near the fountain, but you barely need it. There’s a full moon shining overhead and casting light across the courtyard, and a few tiny magelights glow dimly from windows that overlook nearby hallways, where they are set to glow all night. Just as you are considering the best way to tackle the problem, a tiny croak alerts you. The frog is back! “Greetings, Mr. Frog!” For a moment, you feel a little lighter, as if your friend has returned. But in the next, you remember the disaster of losing the ball. “I’ve done something terrible,” you confess to the frog. “Prince Darvik gave me a beautiful golden ball. It’s special. Not just because they’re expensive and difficult to find, or because they come from my own country, but because . . . he gave it to me.” You rub at your eyes, willing yourself not to cry. “I loved it so much, but I was careless. I was playing with the ball here by the fountain, and it fell in.” You pause before realizing you are waiting for a frog to respond. Losing the golden ball may have made you lose your mind along with it. “I hope you don’t mind my invading your territory tonight,” you say to the little green creature, “but I have to get it back, no matter what. It would hurt Prince Darvik terribly to know that I lost the first gift he gave me.” The frog leaps into the water with a splash, and you wipe your eyes. Well, what did you expect? He’s a frog, not a dog—not a human who could be a real friend. But before you can move, the frog leaps back out, landing on the stone near you. “I can fetch the golden ball for you,” it says, “in exchange for a favor.” Do you: [[shriek and jump back]] or [[ask him what favor he demands]]?

You cover your mouth almost immediately, hoping you haven’t woken half the palace. You know there are magical animals that speak here and there, but you’ve never met one before. And this is a //frog//. The frog seems to have expected your surprise, as he is sitting patiently on the stone, waiting for you to recover. “How do you //talk//?” you ask. “I mean, have you always been able to talk? Did you understand me before?” “I talk with my mouth, same as you do. I’ve always been able to talk, at least since I passed out of babyhood. And yes, I have always understood you.” Your heart is still racing, but you force yourself to take a tentative seat next to the frog. A talking frog is better than a talking wolf or dragon—or spider—you suppose. “Feeling better now?” he asks, and somehow the question coming out of flat green lips strikes you as hilarious. You hold back a laugh “Forgive me. I did not realize Romancia was inhabited by talking frogs.” Suddenly, the words he said before come back to you. “You said you can get my ball for me!” But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? He’d said he would do it . . . in exchange for a favor. You are a princess. As grateful as you will be to him, offering favors is dangerous. You cannot agree without knowing. You [[ask him what favor he demands]].

“You must feed me from your plate,” the frog says, “and let me sleep on your pillow.” You nod slowly, considering. These do not seem like very great demands. You will look silly before all the court feeding a frog off your plate. Some may consider you eccentric, but others may think it speaks poorly of Fairelandia. Perhaps you can call the frog a pet? You will not mind much in giving the frog your pillow. At least nobody else will know that part. “You may sleep on my pillow tonight,” you promise, “and accompany me to breakfast tomorrow, yes.” The frog somehow shakes his head, in a move very un-froglike. “It must be tonight, before dawn. You can order a plate sent to your room.” "Oh, I can, can I?" "Certainly. Noble guests do it all the time." That was even better, more private, although would there be any kitchen servants to accept her order? And how did a frog know all of this? “A scullery maid tends the kitchen all night,” he assured her. “She has the overnight shift and wakes the kitchen servants in the morning and breakfasts with them before she sleeps. One of her duties is to find food for anyone who might wake hungry in the night.” The magical talking frog knew all about the workings of the palace at night. Well, why not? Next he would teach her how to juggle. Knives. You nod slowly. “Very well,” you say. “You may eat from my plate and sleep on my pillow. I promise.” There’s an odd tug on your chest, and you suddenly feel as though you and the frog are connected in some strange way. But before you can analyze it, the frog leaps into the water and disappears under the surface. In only a minute, the golden ball appears on the surface, pushed from underneath by the frantically paddling frog You lift the ball with one hand and scoop out the frog with the other. “Thank you!” you cry, hugging the ball to your chest. “Thank you! You have saved me, and possibly my marriage!” “You will keep your promise?” Do you: [[agree to keep your promise]] or [[dump the frog back in the fountain]] and forget you ever found this courtyard?

“Of course I shall keep my promise! Do you need me to bring a basin of water with me back to my room?” He seems to consider. “It may be wise,” he admits. “Then I shall leave the golden ball here with you as a symbol of my promise,” you say, although you tuck the golden ball into the rocks far away from the fountain this time. “I will order a plate from the kitchen and fetch an empty basin. I will be back!” You act hurriedly, as you feel anxious with the ball out of your possession. Not that you think the frog would put it back in the water, but what if someone else comes to the courtyard and finds it? Even during the night, others may occasionally wander about. The night footman agrees to send word to the kitchen, and you take the basin from your toilette table and hurry back to the garden. Thankfully, the frog and ball are still there. You fill the basin half full with water from the fountain and gingerly place the frog in it, then you carry him and the ball back to your room. By the time you return, a plate of cold meats and cheeses has been placed on your table. You aren’t hungry, but you nibble on a little food while the frog tastes them. He does not seem particularly impressed with the offering, but then, it isn’t as if the kitchen would serve flies! After the two of you have finished what you will eat, you get ready for bed in your dressing room. He may be only a frog, but it would still feel too awkward to undress around a talking animal! You try to give him one of your pillows, but he insists it must be //your// pillow, the one you are also lying on. “What if I shift and squash you during the night?” you ask. He laughs, a strangely deep rumble from such a little creature. His voice, now that you think on it, sounds familiar. “That will not be a problem,” he says. “Very well.” It’s late, so you fall asleep easily. When you wake, you sleepily feel around your pillow for the little creature so that you do not squash him when you sit up. But he is gone. Not squashed, but gone! Do you: [[go to breakfast]] or [[go to the courtyard to see the frog]]?

You race back to your room, triumphant. You have the ball. You needn’t worry that Prince Darvik will find out that it was lost. You are so desperate to get away from that fountain and the risk of losing it again that you fling yourself into your room and hurry to the little chest you brought with you. The ball is still just a little damp, so you reverently wipe it with your dress before you hide it in the chest. Now you can breathe a sigh of relief. Tap, tap. There’s a knocking at the door. Puzzled, you open it, but there’s nobody there. You are about to close it when motion catches your eye, and you look down to see the frog hopping into your room. “Some gratitude,” he says as he hops past you. “You promised, you know.” You swallow. You did promise. You were simply so wrapped up in your relief that you cared about nothing else. And it //is// a little weird to let a frog eat off your plate. “I have taken the liberty of ordering a plate sent to your room,” the frog says, leaping onto your bed. "You . . . what?" You can only imagine what the footman's reaction must have been to that order. Or had the frog been clever enough to do it behind a half-closed door so that the the footman thought it was a man speaking? Was everyone in this palace absolutely mad? “Let’s see. Which pillow is yours? This one?” He walks in circles like a dog before settling in the center of your pillow. “Don’t get it wet,” you say, and just then there’s another knock at the door. “More frog friends?” you ask, but instead, a harried footman stands there holding a plate. “You requested food from the night kitchen?” he asks, nudging it into your confused hands. You accept it with a mental groan. The frog is going to make sure you keep this promise no matter what, isn’t he? Very well. You close the door with your foot and settle the food on a table. The frog immediately leaps to the table and takes a mouthful of cheese. “You have to eat some, too,” he says around the food, some bits of cheese falling to the tray when he opens his mouth. “Otherwise it isn’t //your// plate. It has to be your plate.” Sighing, you avoid the side of the plate where he’s spewing crumbs, and you tentatively pick up a bit of ham. You don’t really have an appetite, but you nibble enough to satisfy him. “Now,” he says, pausing briefly to burp, “it’s bedtime!!!” He makes a massive leap from the table to the bed, wriggling his butt as he settles himself into your pillow. You sigh and go into the dressing room to change. When you emerge, you try to take another pillow for your head, but he insists you share the same one. “Otherwise it won’t be your pillow,” he says. Why he’s so obsessed with eating off //your// plate and sleeping off //your// pillow, you cannot say. No matter. It’s been a long day, and despite the odd crick in your neck from trying to share a pillow with the frog and not squash him, you fall asleep quickly. When you awake, you stare blinking at the ceiling for a long moment, remembering the day before. As your midnight escapade comes back to you, you leap to your feet and rush to the chest, opening it. The golden ball is still there. Thank goodness. You’ll never make such a foolish mistake again. “Frog?” you call towards the bed. “Are you awake?” There is no answer, and careful shaking of the bedclothes reveals no squashed frog. No frog at all. Where has he gone now? Do you: [[go to breakfast]] or [[go to the courtyard to see the frog]]?

You are filled with a sense you have lived this day before when you find yourself filling a plate, Prince Robin and Prince Darvik speaking by the window without noticing your presence. This time, you have no interest in their conversation, your mind completely overtaken by thoughts of the frog. Does he have a name? Are there others like him? “—frog at last!” Prince Robin says, and you look up, startled. His face is alight with joy. Prince Darvik looks pleased as well, although he isn’t glowing with it as much as his brother. He murmurs his assent. “That stupid frog curse,” Prince Robin says, waving his hand. “At last!” You blink, then slowly put your plate down on the sideboard, your head spinning. You heard them speaking of a curse once before, didn’t you? The other day when you overheard them. And now . . . frog curse. A terrible thought comes to you, and you march towards them until they both see you and turn. “You were the frog,” you say. Do you: address [[Prince Robin]] or address [[Prince Darvik]]?

The frog is gone. You’ve checked every part of the fountain and the courtyard and called for him—softly, so as not to be thought mad if anybody overhears you. But he does not come. What has become of your little friend? You were looking forward to having a talking pet. Come to think of it, you’ve only ever seen the frog at night. You had thought once that he might be nocturnal—could it be true? Maybe you should try back tonight and see if you can find him. Perhaps then he can tell you for certain. Reluctantly, you [[go to breakfast]].

Prince Robin laughs uproariously, slapping his thighs. “Me? Oh, certainly not.” He grins at his brother. “But I believe big brother here has something important to tell you.” You turn to [[Prince Darvik]].

Prince Darvik blushes as his brother, chuckling, leaves the two of you alone and heads off to the sideboard, shaking his head. “I was the frog,” Prince Darvik confesses. You think back over everything you told the frog, thinking he was like a pet, a neutral friend she could speak to without hesitation. How embarrassing. You even told him your thoughts of Prince Darvik. “I am sorry,” Prince Darvik says softly, seeming to grasp your dismay. “I was so wrapped up in my own cares, my resentment that I had to marry a stranger—and one from Fairelandia—that I made no effort to get to know you that first night. But when I met you as a frog—well, I suppose I was forced to sit and listen and think of you as a real person, not just a stranger.” “I wasn’t happy about marrying you either,” you confess. “There were a few points on my journey when . . . well, let’s just say I almost didn’t end up here at all.” “I’m glad you did.” “Me, too,” you confess. You’ve come to like him more than you ever imagined. And somehow knowing he was the frog makes him even dearer to you. “Wait,” you say slowly, “you were a human //and// a frog?” “I was cursed to transform into a frog at midnight, and then I returned to my human form with the dawn.” “It must have been tricky getting back to your room once you’d transformed,” you muse. “But then . . . are you still cursed? Do we need to break it?” “We already have. Or, rather, //you// already have. The mage who cursed me declared that I must eat from a princess’s plate and sleep on her pillow in order to be restored to myself permanently. I fell asleep, and the next thing I knew, I was myself again, long before dawn.” He blushed. "It felt awkward to be in your room then, when we are only betrothed, so I let myself out so as not to startle you." Something in your chest loosens, and you suddenly remember that strange feeling of a bond you felt last night. It’s gone now, was gone when you awoke, but you didn’t notice it at the time. That must have been the promise to break the curse settling in. She’d always heard that magical promises held real power. “By the way,” he says, “if you ever meet my paternal grandmother, beware never to interrupt her when she’s talking. She’ll talk endlessly for hours at a time, and it will put you to sleep. But she has more than a drop of magic in her blood, and there are probably worse things she could turn you into next time.” You are surprised into laughter. “Can we start over?” he asks. “We agreed to marry for political reasons, but I already consider you a friend.” “Yes,” you said. “I think friends is a great start. But I’m hoping for a love match someday.” His dark eyes land on yours, and a sudden intense look suddenly sets your cheeks aflame. “I’d like that, too.” He holds out his arm. “I can’t eat breakfast at a moment like this. Would you like to take a walk? Not to the garden this time, but to the rose garden.” You take his arm happily. No, not just happily. [[Happily Ever After]].

You do suggest a modification to Prince Robin’s plan. “Lord Theron doesn’t know me. If I try to monopolize his time all of a sudden, he’ll become suspicious and be all the more likely to go back to his room to check. It would be better for me to watch him and stay close. If he looks ready to leave or starts acting oddly, I will intercept him.” “Very sensible,” Prince Robin agrees. “Now, you had better ask for some introductions and dance with a gentleman or two so that Lord Theron isn’t suspicious if you ask to be introduced to him and hint for a dance.” You make a face but nod. Two dances later, you are finally at the punch bowl enjoying a welcome respite when you see Prince Robin signal you from across the room. It’s time. Making your way carefully across the room, you place yourself near Lord Theron and fan yourself as if you are overheated, taking slow sips of your punch. You don’t wish anyone to ask you to dance just now. Lord Theron is not dancing but flirting with a whole group of very young ladies. They are hanging on his every word, and you try not to roll your eyes in disgust now that you know what he is. He must prey on the inexperienced because the women who have been around for longer can see through his shallow charms. You peek at the clock every so often. It’s been five minutes. Ten. Suddenly, Lord Theron separates himself from the young ladies, bowing an apology. You move closer. “Retirement room,” he says. He moves towards the door. You’ve planned for this, scouting out just the right spot to intercept him where all the parties will be in place. When he nears you just inside the doors, you widen your eyes. “Oh, my!” you exclaim, fanning yourself harder. You nod toward the master of ceremonies, who stands just a few feet away. “Lord Marsel, would you introduce this handsome young man to me?” “Certainly, Your Highness!” He bows, then turns to the impatient Lord Theron. “My lord—” “Forgive me,” Lord Theron says, pushing past both of you, “but I am in urgent need of the retirement room.” Lord Marsel’s jaw drops in shock at the nobleman’s rudeness, but you hurry after him. Is the retirement room an excuse, or does he truly need it? You cannot be sure. You hurry after him as quickly as you dare without spilling your half-full glass. He does, in fact, turn into the retirement room. Perhaps he has no suspicions and simply needed it. Still, Robin has had perhaps a quarter of an hour so far, and you know your own rooms are expansive. The nobleman has probably lived here for some time and accumulated many things. Robin will need all the time he can get to search the room, and he cannot be caught. You trot down the hallway just past the men’s retirement room and wait. It would be better if the women’s room was farther down, as you could pretend to be returning from it should you need to intercept him. But since it’s on the other side, you will just have to bluff. He emerges, and for a moment you hold your breath, hoping he will return to the ball. But he does not. He turns toward you and the staircase that would lead him upstairs to his rooms. You have to stop him! Do you: [[flirt outrageously with him]] or [[hit him with your fan]] or [[spill your punch on him]]?

Robin chuckles. “That’s a fair question,” he said. “I could be making this all up. Perhaps he’s a political opponent I want the dirt on for my father.” He lowers his voice even further. “There’s a reason I said we’ll wait until midnight, though, and that’s because I know the young lady has agreed to meet him during the ball to beg for more time to get the money.” He scowled. “Theron thinks she’s meeting him to give him the first payment, but I’ve convinced her to put him off.” The gentleness in his voice when he spoke of her gives you pause. “The girl . . . is she a particular friend of yours?” “Not exactly.” He looks down. “She’s . . . well, her older brother was my good friend. He fought in the war, though, and . . .” “Oh.” You bite your lip. The war between Fairelandia and Romancia has left its mark, even on the royal family. “She has no other brothers. There is only so much I can do from a distance, but I feel like I have to protect her where I can, since Anton no longer can.” “Of course.” You take a deep breath. “Where is she meeting him? And when?” At a quarter past eleven, you and Prince Robin conceal yourselves behind potted plants decorating a quiet balcony off the ballroom. Your hiding place would hardly pass muster during the day, but in the dark, you are able to crouch low and stay hidden in the deep shadows, as long as you do not move or make a noise. Your targets soon join you on the balcony, the man languid, the girl nervously wringing a handkerchief. “Well?” he asks sharply. “Where is my money? Or would you prefer I show those letters to Lady Morganstern? I’ve heard tell she’s the biggest gossip in the capital.” “No, please,” the girl says. “Please, don’t! I need just a little longer. A week. Please, Lord Theron.” “A week? You’ve already had a week. My dear Lady Viola, my patience is not infinite.” “If you reveal my letters now, you will receive nothing.” The girl’s voice is stronger. She’s plucked up her courage. Good for her. “A week, my lord.” He clicks his tongue. “Three days. I will give you three days.” “Four.” You are surprised she did not go for five or six, but perhaps she is less sure than she appears. “Three,” he insists. She sighs and accepts. Lord Theron smiles in glee and rubs his hands, then takes one of hers to his lips and almost kisses it before dropping it abruptly and disappearing into the ballroom. Lady Viola takes a step toward the balcony and holds the railing with both hands. She is trembling so hard it is visible even from here. After a long moment, she lifts her chin and throws back her shoulders and steps back into the ballroom. You turn to Prince Robin. Do you: [[agree to the plan]] or politely decline, returning to the ball to [[give Prince Darvik a chance]]?

“Oh, there you are, Lord Theron,” you say, hooking your arm around his and leading him back toward the ballroom. “You must save me. There is a perfectly //dreadful// man who is determined to be my next partner, but I have watched him step on feet and seen the way ladies shrink from his breath. He asked for my next dance and I told him it was taken, and as we were just introduced, yours was the first name that came to my mind! Say you’ll dance with me so he won’t call me a liar, won’t you?” You are at the entrance to the ballroom now, and your prey looks suitably confused. “Oh, uh, well. I suppose so. One dance.” “Delightful.” After laying your fan and punch on the drink tray of a perplexed servant, you join him on the dance floor and keep your smile bright, hiding your distaste for touching him every time you have to take his hand. Prince Robin had better return soon, as you aren’t sure what to do after this dance. To your great pleasure, halfway through the dance, you spot Prince Robin in the doorway. He grins at you and gives a slight nod before he crosses the room. Careful not to make it obvious you are following him with your eyes, you take quick peeks and see him approaching the young Lady Viola. When he speaks to her, her head momentarily droops, and for a moment, you worry that he failed after all. But in the next moment, she is clutching his hand and smiling. Relieved, you do your best to keep your dance partner from noticing anything is wrong. You’ve danced with many an unpleasant man, so you keep your back straight and your eyes warm, and finally, the dance ends. Victory. You don’t dare approach Prince Robin or Lady Viola for the rest of the ball. Whether Lord Theron has returned to his room and discovered the missing letters, you do not know. You must avoid him suspecting any connection between your dance and Prince Robin or Lady Viola. You’re curious when and how Prince Robin intends to give the papers back to Lady Viola. He, too, is wearing too tight a coat and breeches to secret them, and she would have nowhere to hide them during the ball. But he must have some plan. You resolve to watch him as subtly as you can. The ball finally ends, the musicians pack their instruments, and the visitors stream upstairs to their rooms or outside to their carriages. And then, in the midst of all the movement and noise, you lose track of Prince Robin! Thankfully, Lady Viola is still easy to find. Near the entrance, she is now wearing her cloak and stands next to an older matron similarly garbed, who is speaking animatedly with an elderly colonel. But after a few minutes, Lady Viola takes a look about the room and begins to move, slowly, gracefully, stopping every so often to look around and smile or greet someone. She reaches the glass doors that lead down into the gardens. She hurries down them, and you wait until she disappears into the garden hedge before you dare to follow. There. In the light of the full moon, you can just see her approach a hooded and caped figure. She curtsies, and the man—who must be Prince Robin—hands her a sheaf of papers. She slips it under her cloak, curtsies again, and hurries up the stairs and into the ballroom. Now it is your turn to approach the hooded figure. When you draw near, he throws back the hood. “Princess,” he greets you. “I wondered,” you say, “how a prince would be involved in such escapades. Why you didn’t report Lord Theron’s activities to your father and have him act by force. But I think I know.” The smile fades from his face. “Know what?” “You aren’t just Prince Robin, are you? You’re Robin Hood.” He sucks in a quick breath at the name. “A prince?” he says, his voice tight, “masquerading as a highwayman? What scandal!” He grins. You don’t fall for it. “I’m sure your parents know. You’re notorious in Fairelandia and Phantasia, you know. The noble highwayman who steals from the rich and gives to the poor.” “Robin Hood has not targeted all of the rich,” he says. “He targets those who have cheated, stolen, or otherwise engaged in illicit activities to gain their wealth.” You bow your head and hide a smile. “You admit it, then.” “I admit nothing.” “Very well.” You shake your head, amused. Do you: [[tell him you wish to join his Merry Men]] or [[ask him to help you escape the palace and find your own way]]?

You panic and hit Lord Theron with your fan, striking him directly on the nose. “Oh, no!” you cry. “Oh, Lord Theron, why would you walk directly into my fan? Oh goodness, someone help! Someone! Is there ice in storage somewhere?” A footman comes running at your outcry, and a moment later, two footmen and a harried maid are helping escort Lord Theron to a chair while his nose bleeds profusely over his waistcoat and the carpet. A third footman has been sent to find ice, and meanwhile, all available handkerchiefs have been applied to stop the blood flow, leaving Lord Theron look as if he is a terrible ill patient in a hospital swathed with facial bandages. “I will be well,” he tries to say, pushing at the many hands holding handkerchiefs to his face. But the footmen are holding on too firmly, desperate to keep him from bleeding on the floor and making a mess they will have to clean up. “It seems you chose well for your waistcoat this evening!” you say brightly. “The blood won’t show against the mauve, I think, even if it doesn’t wash out. An excellent choice, my lord.” Motion in your peripheral vision catches your eye, and a moment later Prince Robin saunters past from the direction of the stairs, moving nonchalantly in the direction of the ballroom. Just before he disappears inside, he gives you a wink. He succeeded, then! You make a few more half-hearted apologies to Lord Theron before heading back into the ballroom to rejoin the ball, dancing half-heartedly with a few partners to keep from drawing Lord Theron’s attention when he returns—if he returns. You don’t dare approach Prince Robin or Lady Viola for the rest of the ball. Whether Lord Theron has returned to his room and discovered the missing letters, you do not know. You must avoid him suspecting any connection between your dance and Prince Robin or Lady Viola. You’re curious when and how Prince Robin intends to give the papers back to Lady Viola. He, too, is wearing too tight a coat and breeches to secret them, and she would have nowhere to hide them during the ball. But he must have some plan. You resolve to watch him as subtly as you can. The ball finally ends, the musicians pack their instruments, and the visitors stream upstairs to their rooms or outside to their carriages. And then, in the midst of all the movement and noise, you lose track of Prince Robin! Thankfully, Lady Viola is still easy to find. Near the entrance, she is now wearing her cloak and stands next to an older matron similarly garbed, who is speaking animatedly with an elderly colonel. But after a few minutes, Lady Viola takes a look about the room and begins to move, slowly, gracefully, stopping every so often to look around and smile or greet someone. She reaches the glass doors that lead down into the gardens. She hurries down them, and you wait until she disappears into the garden hedge before you dare to follow. There. In the light of the full moon, you can just see her approach a hooded and caped figure. She curtsies, and the man—who must be Prince Robin—hands her a sheaf of papers. She slips it under her cloak, curtsies again, and hurries up the stairs and into the ballroom. Now it is your turn to approach the hooded figure. When you draw near, he throws back the hood. “Princess,” he greets you. “I wondered,” you say, “how a prince would be involved in such escapades. Why you didn’t report Lord Theron’s activities to your father and have him act by force. But I think I know.” The smile fades from his face. “Know what?” “You aren’t just Prince Robin, are you? You’re Robin Hood.” He sucks in a quick breath at the name. “A prince?” he says, his voice tight, “masquerading as a highwayman? What scandal!” He grins. You don’t fall for it. “I’m sure your parents know. You’re notorious in Fairelandia and Phantasia, you know. The noble highwayman who steals from the rich and gives to the poor.” “Robin Hood has not targeted all of the rich,” he says. “He targets those who have cheated, stolen, or otherwise engaged in illicit activities to gain their wealth.” You bow your head and hide a smile. “You admit it, then.” “I admit nothing.” “Very well.” You shake your head, amused. Do you: [[tell him you wish to join his Merry Men]] or [[ask him to help you escape the palace and find your own way]]?

You panic and hurl your punch at Lord Theron, splashing his face and spilling onto his waistcoat. “Oh, Lord Theron!” you exclaim. “You startled me! Oh, I do apologize! I have ruined your waistcoat, haven’t I?” You pull out your handkerchief and dab half-heartedly at the wet spot spreading across his clothing. He pushes you away. “I will go upstairs to my room to change,” he says, and you blanch. You hadn’t thought of that. The fan would undoubtedly have been better. “My lord, look down at your waistcoat!” you exclaim brightly. “Why, you chose the most convenient color possible—mauve! How clever of you to choose the color that would best conceal any spills from the punch. My lord, there cannot be much longer in the ball, and if you go up to change, you will miss the rest! You must dance at least once with me, otherwise I will know you have not forgiven me for my dreadful error of spilling punch on you.” You have never fluttered your eyelashes at a man in your life, and you are not entirely sure you are doing it right. But a footman, overhearing the exchange, hurries over with a handkerchief extended. He looks puzzled at Lord Theron’s waistcoat, which truly does conceal the stain remarkably well—you will have to consider wearing mauve yourself when there is a risk of punch spills—and then offers it for him to wipe his face. “Very well, Your Highness,” Lord Theron says at last, handing the sticky handkerchief back to the footman. “I would be honored to dance with you. And of course I am not angry about the punch! Who could hold a simple mistake against such a beautiful woman?” He gives you his most charming smile. “Delightful.” You accept his arm for the walk back into the ballroom. After laying your fan and punch on the drink tray of a perplexed servant, you join him on the dance floor and keep your smile bright, hiding your distaste for touching him every time you have to take his hand. Prince Robin had better return soon, as you aren’t sure what to do after this dance. To your great pleasure, halfway through the dance, you spot Prince Robin in the doorway. He grins at you and gives a slight nod before he crosses the room. Careful not to make it obvious you are following him with your eyes, you take quick peeks and see him approaching the young Lady Viola. When he speaks to her, her head momentarily droops, and for a moment, you worry that he failed after all. But in the next moment, she is clutching his hand and smiling. Relieved, you do your best to keep your dance partner from noticing anything is wrong. You’ve danced with many an unpleasant man, so you keep your back straight and your eyes warm, and finally, the dance ends. Victory. You don’t dare approach Prince Robin or Lady Viola for the rest of the ball. Whether Lord Theron has returned to his room and discovered the missing letters, you do not know. You must avoid him suspecting any connection between your dance and Prince Robin or Lady Viola. You’re curious when and how Prince Robin intends to give the papers back to Lady Viola. He, too, is wearing too tight a coat and breeches to secret them, and she would have nowhere to hide them during the ball. But he must have some plan. You resolve to watch him as subtly as you can. The ball finally ends, the musicians pack their instruments, and the visitors stream upstairs to their rooms or outside to their carriages. And then, in the midst of all the movement and noise, you lose track of Prince Robin! Thankfully, Lady Viola is still easy to find. Near the entrance, she is now wearing her cloak and stands next to an older matron similarly garbed, who is speaking animatedly with an elderly colonel. But after a few minutes, Lady Viola takes a look about the room and begins to move, slowly, gracefully, stopping every so often to look around and smile or greet someone. She reaches the glass doors that lead down into the gardens. She hurries down them, and you wait until she disappears into the garden hedge before you dare to follow. There. In the light of the full moon, you can just see her approach a hooded and caped figure. She curtsies, and the man—who must be Prince Robin—hands her a sheaf of papers. She slips it under her cloak, curtsies again, and hurries up the stairs and into the ballroom. Now it is your turn to approach the hooded figure. When you draw near, he throws back the hood. “Princess,” he greets you. “I wondered,” you say, “how a prince would be involved in such escapades. Why you didn’t report Lord Theron’s activities to your father and have him act by force. But I think I know.” The smile fades from his face. “Know what?” “You aren’t just Prince Robin, are you? You’re Robin Hood.” He sucks in a quick breath at the name. “A prince?” he says, his voice tight, “masquerading as a highwayman? What scandal!” He grins. You don’t fall for it. “I’m sure your parents know. You’re notorious in Fairelandia and Phantasia, you know. The noble highwayman who steals from the rich and gives to the poor.” “Robin Hood has not targeted all of the rich,” he says. “He targets those who have cheated, stolen, or otherwise engaged in illicit activities to gain their wealth.” You bow your head and hide a smile. “You admit it, then.” “I admit nothing.” “Very well.” You shake your head, amused. Do you: [[tell him you wish to join his Merry Men]] or [[ask him to help you escape the palace and find your own way]]?

Robin guffaws. “Princess, you can’t join the Merry Men. First, you aren’t a man! Second, you are a princess! Third, you are engaged to my brother!” “And fourth . . . you aren’t Robin Hood so you have no idea where to find them?” you counter. He stops short. “Do you know what one of the few physical sports princesses are allowed to play is?” You don’t wait for an answer. “Archery. I’m an excellent shot, even from horseback or at a moving target. I will disguise myself as a man if you insist, but I think I can convince your Merry Men to allow a woman to join their ranks. I can be very persuasive.” His eyes twinkle in the moonlight. “Very persuasive, is it?” “I’ll need a new name,” you muse. “Something very different, something nobody will ever confuse with the princess I once was. I think . . . Marian. Maid Marian.” "And your betrothal to my brother?" You consider for a moment before remembering Felicia, your handmaiden. She was sent here to Romancia with you to find a husband in the royal court, and you know that she's ambitious. She would jump at the possibility of marrying a prince. An earl's daughter should be sufficiently high-ranked to please King Marnil, and their marriage will satisfy the treaty almost as well as yours would. "My handmaiden, Felicia, is a nobleman's daughter and would be agreeable to marrying your brother. I will leave them a note explaining the idea." Robin grins with amusement, but his grin quickly fades. "She is not a princess," he says, and he looks as if he is contemplating something. "Well, no, not now. But she is an earl's daughter, a high rank in our land. It is not as if I am suggesting Prince Darvik marry a scullery maid. Besides," you smile slyly, "once she marries Prince Darvik, she will be a princess!" Robin has a coughing fit until you try pounding on his back as you've seen men do. He ends in a sort of choking gurgle. "Robin, are you well?" “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?” he asks. “Not at all.” He pauses for a moment, looking you up and down. Finally, he sighs and holds out his hand to shake yours. “Welcome to the Merry Men, Maid Marian.” You are amused at the alliteration. “Lead on, Robin Hood. I look forward to new adventures.” And your own idea of a [[Happily Ever After]].

"What about my brother?" Prince Robin asks. "You are his betrothed. In helping you escape, I will be endangering the treaty between our countries." You consider for a moment before remembering Felicia, your handmaiden. She was sent here to Romancia with you to find a husband in the royal court, and you know that she's ambitious. She would jump at the possibility of marrying a prince. An earl's daughter should be sufficiently high-ranked to please King Marnil, and their marriage will satisfy the treaty almost as well as yours would. "My handmaiden, Felicia, is a nobleman's daughter and would be agreeable to marrying your brother." Robin grins with amusement, but his grin quickly fades. "She is not a princess," he says, and he looks as if he is contemplating something. "Well, no, not now. But she is an earl's daughter, a high rank in our land. It is not as if I am suggesting Prince Darvik marry a scullery maid. Besides," you smile slyly, "once she marries Prince Darvik, she will be a princess!" Robin has a coughing fit until you try pounding on his back as you've seen men do. He ends in a sort of choking gurgle. "Robin, are you well?" "I am well. Princess, you are quite the character. I am sad to see you go, but delighted that you will have the opportunity to find your own path. And yes, I will help you." You return to your room, but only long enough to get a little sleep before dawn. He assured you that nobody rises early the day after a ball, and you will face fewer questions from anyone who might meet you along the way—and will be far safer—if you wait to travel in daylight. You sleep a little, although you mostly toss and turn with excitement. Where will your life lead, when you are free to make your own choices? Soon enough, you are meeting Prince Robin at the courtyard. “This path isn’t exactly secret,” he says, “but not many people use it. Except me.” You hurry along after him. His path twists and turns among corridors, through the garden, and then behind various outbuildings until you reach the palace wall. He nods to the guard on gate duty, and the two of you pass through a gate much smaller than the one through which your carriage first entered. You breathe in deep. The air doesn’t smell any different, but already you feel freer. The wide palace road goes through the capital city, where merchants are setting out their market wares and housewives are bargaining for bread, fish and eggs, and wagons rumble with shipments of fabric, dry goods, animals, firewood, and various other supplies into the shops and warehouses. “Are you certain?” he asks, looking around. “You’re a princess, after all. Do you really want this?” “Absolutely,” you assure him. You grab his hand in yours and shake it. “Thank you, Prince Robin. You’ve given me my freedom. I won’t forget it.” He nods hesitantly. “Good luck, Princess. If you run into trouble, call on my name for help.” He grins at you saucily. “Either name.” “Thank you!” You wave and head jauntily down into the teeming city, already making plans. Much as you would love to stay in the city, for now you need to put distance between yourself and any potential pursuers. You pass through the city and [[head down the road]].

You find water, soap, and rags and begin to scrub the windows. At your palace, the servants had a special mix they used just for window washing, but you don't know their recipe or have the proper supplies. Regular soap will likely leave smears, but you have no better option right now. Even finishing one window gives you pleasure. With the dust cleared away, the fading sun shines in, lightening the room. It’s far more pleasant and feels warmer right away. Still, the sight of the dirty kitchen calls to you, and finally you reluctantly move on. Hauling water in from the well and setting it by the fire, you begin by scrubbing the sink and then washing loads and loads of dishes. You manage to find a towel that isn’t too grungy. Since you did almost all of the dishes, the cabinets are practically empty, so you have to guess where everything goes. You take an extra few minutes to wipe down the inside of the dusty cabinets first before you put away the dishes. Once that’s done, you turn to the surfaces. You clean the table, marveling at its size and the long benches that could probably fit four people down each side—one bench, interestingly, is shorter than the other. Once all surfaces are clean, you sweep and then scrub the floor. You are exhausted. But you cannot stop here. At the very least, you need a place to sleep. Spirits lagging, you move on to the living room. You’ll clear the sofa first, that way you have a place to sit and relax when you finish. The sofa is so dirty that you actually sweep it off. A toy chest is a welcome discovery, and you toss the wooden toys that you find on the sofa and scattered about the room into the chest. When you unearth a wooden box from a corner near the fireplace, you use it to collect all of the metal shapes, bolts, and nuts. What strange things to collect. Sweeping the floor takes far longer than you ever could have imagined. In some places, the dirt is so encrusted that you are practically digging into corners with the poor broom until you’ve gotten what you can. You stand back, hands on hips, and survey your work. It isn’t perfect, but it’s certainly worlds better than when you walked in. The kitchen is clean, the living room is . . . livable. The windows might still be murky and everything really needs a deep cleaning, but you’ve done what you can. You are rather proud of yourself. After all, a lot of princesses would probably have no idea how to sweep. Well, sweeping was pretty easy to pick up. But they wouldn’t know how to light a fire do dishes or scrub the floor! And even if they’d spent as much time watching the servants at work as a child, they wouldn’t have remembered how to do them. You sit on the sofa to take a moment’s rest . . . and that is when the door bursts open, and a man walks in, a crowd of children surrounding him. Do you: [[run out the back door]] or [[ask who they are]]?

You start with the kitchen. Hauling water in from the well and setting it by the fire, you begin by scrubbing the sink and then washing loads and loads of dishes. You manage to find a towel that isn’t too grungy. Since you did almost all of the dishes, the cabinets are practically empty, so you have to guess where everything goes. You take an extra few minutes to wipe down the inside of the dusty cabinets first before you put away the dishes. Once that’s done, you turn to the surfaces. You clean the table, marveling at its size and the long benches that could probably fit four people down each side—one bench, interestingly, is shorter than the other. Once all surfaces are clean, you sweep and then scrub the floor. You are exhausted. But you cannot stop here. At the very least, you need a place to sleep. Spirits lagging, you move on to the living room. You’ll clear the sofa first, that way you have a place to sit and relax when you finish. The sofa is so dirty that you actually sweep it off. A toy chest is a welcome discovery, and you toss the wooden toys that you find on the sofa and scattered about the room into the chest. When you unearth a wooden box from a corner near the fireplace, you use it to collect all of the metal shapes, bolts, and nuts. What strange things to collect. Sweeping the floor takes far longer than you ever could have imagined. In some places, the dirt is so encrusted that you are practically digging into corners with the poor broom until you’ve gotten what you can. You stand back, hands on hips, and survey your work. It isn’t perfect, but it’s certainly worlds better than when you walked in. The kitchen is clean, the living room is . . . livable. The windows might still be murky and everything really needs a deep cleaning, but you’ve done what you can. You are rather proud of yourself. After all, a lot of princesses would probably have no idea how to sweep. Well, sweeping was pretty easy to pick up. But they wouldn’t know how to light a fire do dishes or scrub the floor! And even if they’d spent as much time watching the servants at work as a child, they wouldn’t have remembered how to do them. You sit on the sofa to take a moment’s rest . . . and that is when the door bursts open, and a man walks in, a crowd of children surrounding him. Do you: [[run out the back door]] or [[ask who they are]]?

You start with the living room. You clear the sofa first, that way you have a place to sit and relax when you finish. The sofa is so dirty that you actually sweep it off. A toy chest is a welcome discovery, and you toss the wooden toys that you find on the sofa and scattered about the room into the chest. When you unearth a wooden box from a corner near the fireplace, you use it to collect all of the metal shapes, bolts, and nuts. What strange things to collect. Sweeping the floor takes far longer than you ever could have imagined. In some places, the dirt is so encrusted that you are practically digging into corners with the poor broom until you’ve gotten what you can. You are rather proud of yourself. After all, a lot of princesses would probably have no idea how to sweep. Well, sweeping was pretty easy to pick up. But they wouldn’t know how to light a fire do dishes or scrub the floor! And even if they’d spent as much time watching the servants at work as a child, they wouldn’t have remembered how to do them. You are exhausted. But you cannot stop here. You are hungry, and you will need to find food soon. Are there any food stores still viable in the kitchen? If not, you’ll need to find something. Hauling water in from the well and setting it by the fire, you begin by scrubbing the sink and then washing loads and loads of dishes. You manage to find a towel that isn’t too grungy. Since you did almost all of the dishes, the cabinets are practically empty, so you have to guess where everything goes. You take an extra few minutes to wipe down the inside of the dusty cabinets first before you put away the dishes. Once that’s done, you turn to the surfaces. You clean the table, marveling at its size and the long benches that could probably fit four people down each side—one bench, interestingly, is shorter than the other. Once all surfaces are clean, you sweep and then scrub the floor. You stand back, hands on hips, and survey your work. It isn’t perfect, but it’s certainly worlds better than when you walked in. The kitchen is clean, the living room is . . . livable. The windows might still be murky and everything really needs a deep cleaning, but you’ve done what you can. You are rather proud of yourself. After all, a lot of princesses would probably have no idea how to sweep. Well, sweeping was pretty easy to pick up. But they wouldn’t know how to light a fire do dishes or scrub the floor! And even if they’d spent as much time watching the servants at work as a child, they wouldn’t have remembered how to do them. You sit on the sofa to take a moment’s rest . . . and that is when the door bursts open, and a man walks in, a crowd of children surrounding him. Do you: [[run out the back door]] or [[ask who they are]]?

You run out the back door and into the forest. You didn’t realize that cottage belonged to someone! How embarrassing to realize that you cleaned the entire place for yourself, already imagining making a home of it, only to discover that it was inhabited! It may not be raining, but they sky is still gray, and you realize the rain may not be finished. Shivering, you hurry in the direction you hope may lead to a road. But your premonitions are soon proved correct, and the sky once again opens up, rain pouring heavily enough that even the trees do not provide much shelter. Maybe leaving so abruptly was a mistake. At least it was warm and dry in the cottage. It was small, but perhaps you could have stayed for a meal, even asked for directions. Well, it’s too late now. You don’t even know how to get back to the cottage. You’ll just have to [[continue through the forest]].

The man and the children stop short, staring at you. You stand slowly. “Who are you?” You look at the group as more and more children push their way through the door. The man takes a step forward, hampered by one of the smallest children, who clings to his leg. “I’m Snowden Whittaker,” he says, his eyes sharp. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” You gape. //His// house? You never for once imagined that it was still occupied, not with the mess. “Hey, Snow, check this out!” a kid calls, and you realize that two of them are in the kitchen gazing around in awe. “It sparkles!” “Mr. Nezzy!” The little girl who had been clutching Snowden’s legs lets go and bolts for the sofa, where you had propped the rabbit up. She snatches it up and dances around, flinging it into the air. “Mr. Nezzy! Mr. Nezzy is back!” “Whoa, you can see the couch,” an older boy says. He and another exchange a look before they both dive for it at the same time, shoving each other as they jockey for the best position—while thankfully being careful not to kick the little girl, who still stands nearby, now singing to her rabbit. Do you: [[apologize for breaking and entering]] or [[take the man to task for raising children in such a dirty house]]?

“Well, technically,” he says wryly, “you didn’t break, only enter.” You grin shyly. “That is true, I suppose.” You look around the house, trying to count the many children scattered about, but they move too much, and several look rather alike. “Just how many children do you have?” He flushes. “Seven,” he says. “And your wife?” The tallest boy hops up from the sofa. “He’s never been married.” Snowden opens his mouth, but the boy beats him to it. “He isn’t our father, either.” Before you can ask anything else about that intriguing statement, a girl calls from the kitchen. “Did anyone bring in the supplies? All I see in here is carrots.” “It’s Jonaz’s turn,” the boy on the sofa says. “No, it’s not! It’s Imogen’s turn.” The girl in the kitchen puts her hands on her hips. “Jonaz, it’s your turn, and if you don’t go fetch them then I’m going to box your ears.” Jonaz sticks out his tongue, and the boy on the sofa wallops him on the back of the head. “Get the supplies,” he says. “I’ll help!” A dark-haired girl with braids trots after him. You would help, too, as the idea of the supplies containing food sounds absolutely delightful, but your muscles have stiffened up during your time standing here, and you are suddenly incredibly sore and exhausted. You drop next to the older boy on the sofa. Snowden pulls up a chair and leans forward. “Now, then. What brought you to this cottage?” You explain your entire adventure leading up to entering the cottage, and by the time you are done, all of the children, except for the girl in the kitchen, have gathered near. Even Jonaz and his younger helper have finished bringing in the supplies and joined you. “Here,” the little girl says, thrusting a carrot at you. “You gotta be hungry after all that.” You grin at her and bite into the carrot. It may be the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted. “I think we forgot to make proper introductions,” Snowden says. “I’m Snowden, as you’ll recall. This is Pesha.” He indicates the oldest boy, perhaps about fifteen, who still holds a prime spot on the sofa. “Next to him is Jonaz. In the kitchen is Imogen. This is Marnil, and this is Henke.” He gestures to two boys, who are perhaps ten. “Nina.” She is the girl who helped with the groceries. “And Enna.” The youngest girl who still clutches the stuffed bunny. Hesitantly, you introduce yourself. Nina’s eyes grow wide. “A real princess?” she asks, stunned. “Not joking?” “Of course she’s joking,” Jonaz says, rolling his eyes. “Princesses don’t leave their palaces and go wandering in the woods.” “They might,” Nina insists, “if their parents were making them marry some nasty prince.” You hide a smile. “Where are you going now?” Pesha asks. “Since you ran away and all.” “I’m not really sure.” Imogen waves a carrot from the kitchen, where she is bubbling something on the stove. “She can stay here!” she calls. “I like having a clean kitchen!” Nina giggles. “A princess in the kitchen!” “Will anybody come looking for you?” Snowden asks. His tone is light, but you can hear the seriousness behind his words. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I don’t think so, but . . . I don’t know for sure. Now . . . you all have told me everything and nothing! Why are you here in this cottage? Are you all siblings?” You’d be surprised if they were. Enna was so pale she was almost translucent, but Nina and Jonaz had a warm brown skin tone. Imogen was almost as pale as Enna but red-haired and freckled besides. “Pesha, Marnil, Henke, and Enna are my siblings,” Snowden says. “Our father died, and our stepmother was . . . not friendly. She has a son, and she ensured that her son, even though he can barely walk and talk, would inherit our father’s holdings over us. Her petty cruelties finally drove us to leave, which is exactly what she wanted, I think. I got a job at the quarry and brought us all here.” “We heard that there was a man who had a houseful of orphans,” Imogen said. “So when me and Nina and Jonaz lost our parents, we came and found Snowden. We didn’t realize the orphans were his kid brothers and sister, we thought he was just, you know, taking in orphans.” “And you made it true.” Snowden smiles warmly at them, and you feel something happy unwind in your chest. Here is a good man, a man who would take in three orphans as well as his own four siblings and provide for them all by his hard work. He could have corrected the misunderstanding and tried to find someone else who would take them in or, more likely, put them to work. But instead, he had given them a home himself. No wonder the house is messy. Seven kids! And he must work long hours if he’s a quarry-worker. “Have you ever considered fighting your stepmother for your inheritance?” you ask. Snowden shakes his head. “She convinced him to change his will before he died. There is no law against that, and he //did// change his will himself. I shall have to content myself working at the quarry.” “He’s a //foreman//,” Enna says importantly. “That means he gets to tell everybody what to do.” You chuckle. “It sounds like you’ve made a good life here.” “Except it //is// a little messy,” Pesha admits. “Soup is ready!” Imogen calls from the kitchen, and chaos ensue. Enna is almost trampled by the stampede of children heading to the kitchen, and Mr. Nezzy is dropped in her excitement for food. Every child opens a random cabinet in the kitchen until one finds the bowls and crows with excitement, and then the pushing and shoving continues as they each grab a bowl and race to dig out spoons from the silverware tray. They jostle each other good-naturedly as they ladle soup into their bowls, and you wince at how much slops onto your recently-scrubbed floors as they make their way to the table. You are last, picking up Enna’s bunny and tossing him onto the sofa, reaching down a bowl for little Enna, and ladling out her soup. Snowden follows behind, and you realize you’ve likely usurped his position of helping the little girl. There was silence for a little while as the children guzzled down their food. Finally, Jonaz drops his empty bowl with a contented sigh, followed by a burp. “So,” he says, “are you gonna stay with us or not?” Your eyes flick to Snowden’s. He, too, is watching you solemnly, waiting. “You are welcome to stay,” he says. “I can offer you my bed and sleep on the sofa. I’ve been thinking about adding on to the house anyway. Maybe we can do that sooner than later.” “I’ll help!” Nina said excitedly. “Me too!” adds Marnil. “You’ll all help,” he assures them. He is still waiting for your response. You swallow and consider. You don’t have anywhere else to go. And you like Snowden and all the children, even if they have no manners. But can you really stay forever? “I will stay for a while, at least,” you say. “On one condition.” Eight pairs of eyes look at you expectantly. “I mean no insult,” you say to Snowden frankly, “as I am certain you are gone all day working. And some of the children with you?” Pesha and Jonaz nod. “But there are many things you need to learn as children—things that are much harder to learn when you reach adulthood. Like table manners and politeness. And perhaps even cleaning up after yourselves. It just so happens that I am a princess, and I have spent my entire life learning proper manners. I’d like to teach the children during the day. I can teach you to read and write and do sums, too, if you haven’t learned those yet. Or if you have, I can teach you geography and history.” Jonaz groans. “We have enough to do at the quarry. We don’t need fancy tea party lessons on top of that.” “Not tea party lessons,” you say with a chuckle. “More like . . . having one or two people set the table, so that everybody isn’t crowding each other to fetch bowls. Taking turns and waiting in line.” The kids look at each other guiltily. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Snowden says. “It will be a trade. We provide the house and food, and in exchange, you provide the children with education.” He narrows his eyes at Jonaz. “They will benefit from it, and I don’t have the hours in the day to teach them.” “Sounds good to me,” Pesha said. “Maybe I can get a good apprenticeship if I can read and write. I like working in the quarry fine, but I’d like to be a carpenter.” When it comes time to retire, you refuse to take Snowden’s bed. Instead, you take the sofa. You are shorter than him and fit the sofa better, and you are the interloper here after all. Besides, you aren’t sure the last time anyone has washed those sheets. The next morning, you help Imogen make breakfast and wave goodbye to Snowden, Pesha, and Jonaz as they go off to work in the garden. Nina goes along with Marnil and the quiet Henke to work in the vegetable garden, and you find a picture book on a long-forgotten shelf and begin to teach Enna how to read. “Apples!” someone calls from outside, and you look up. Who is here? “It’s the fruit-seller,” Imogen calls from the kitchen, where she is stirring a pot of stew for later. “Would you get it, Your Highness?” “I will show you!” Enna says cheerfully. She shows you a small basin with a few coins in it. “We get peddlers sometimes,” she says. “They pass through on the way to or from the village, as we aren’t so far off the pass.” The seller is an elderly lady wearing a heavy shawl. She holds a basket of bright green apples. “Delicious and tart!” she cries when she sees you. “Oooooh, look at you. A new orphan! Just for you, a free apple to try!” “That is so kind,” you say. But is it right to take an apple for free, even if she offers it? She is elderly and still working as a peddler—she cannot have a great deal of money. “Crisp!” she says, thrusting the apples towards you. “Try, try an apple, then you will want many more!” Do you: [[try an apple]] or [[decline politely]]?

“You //live// in this pigsty?” you ask. Snowden’s eyebrows raise. “I do,” he said. “How can you raise kids in such a mess? The kitchen was a disaster!” You remember now that there was no mood, only an entire kitchen full of unfinished, crusty dishes. But surely they couldn’t be only from a day or two, even with so many children. Could they? “Just how many children do you have?” His eyes narrow. “Seven,” he says. “Not that it’s any business of yours.” “And your wife?” The tallest boy hops up from the sofa. “He’s never been married.” Snowden opens his mouth, but the boy beats him to it. “He isn’t our father, either. Look, lady, it was nice of you to clean the house for us, but if you’re gonna give Snowden grief over it, it’s not worth it. Nobody asked you to come here and clean.” You sense you got off on the wrong foot, and you sigh. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have said that when I don’t know the whole story.” “Did anyone bring in the supplies?” a girl calls from the kitchen. “All I see in here is carrots.” “It’s Jonaz’s turn,” the boy on the sofa says. “No, it’s not! It’s Imogen’s turn.” The girl in the kitchen puts her hands on her hips. “Jonaz, it’s your turn, and if you don’t go fetch them then I’m going to box your ears.” Jonaz sticks out his tongue, and the boy on the sofa wallops him on the back of the head. “Get the supplies,” he says. “I’ll help!” A little girl with pigtails trots after him. You would help, too, as the idea of the supplies containing food sounds absolutely delightful, but your muscles have stiffened up during your time standing here, and you are suddenly incredibly sore and exhausted. You drop next to the older boy on the sofa. Snowden pulls up a chair and leans forward. “Now, then. What brought you to this cottage?” You explain your entire adventure leading up to entering the cottage, and by the time you are done, all of the children, except for the girl in the kitchen, have gathered near. Even Jonaz and his younger helper have finished bringing in the supplies and joined you. “Here,” the little girl says, thrusting a carrot at you. “You gotta be hungry after all that.” You grin at her and bite into the carrot. It may be the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted. “I think we forgot to make proper introductions,” Snowden says. “I’m Snowden, as you’ll recall. This is Pesha.” He indicates the oldest boy, perhaps about fifteen, who still holds a prime spot on the sofa. “Next to him is Jonaz. In the kitchen is Imogen. This is Marnil, and this is Henke.” He gestures to two boys, who are perhaps ten. “Nina.” She is the girl who helped with the groceries. “And Enna.” The youngest girl who still clutches the stuffed bunny. Hesitantly, you introduce yourself. Nina’s eyes grow wide. “A real princess?” she asks, stunned. “Not joking?” “Of course she’s joking,” Jonaz says, rolling his eyes. “Princesses don’t leave their palaces and go wandering in the woods.” “They might,” Nina insists, “if their parents were making them marry some nasty prince.” You hide a smile. “Where are you going now?” Pesha asks. “Since you ran away and all.” “I’m not really sure.” Imogen waves a carrot from the kitchen, where she is bubbling something on the stove. “She can stay here!” she calls. “I like having a clean kitchen!” Nina giggles. “A princess in the kitchen!” “Will anybody come looking for you?” Snowden asks. His tone is light, but you can hear the seriousness behind his words. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I don’t think so, but . . . I don’t know for sure. Now . . . you all have told me everything and nothing! Why are you here in this cottage? Are you all siblings?” You’d be surprised if they were. Enna was so pale she was almost translucent, but Nina and Jonaz had a warm brown skin tone. Imogen was almost as pale as Enna but red-haired and freckled besides. “Pesha, Marnil, Henke, and Enna are my siblings,” Snowden says. “Our father died, and our stepmother was . . . not friendly. She has a son, and she ensured that her son, even though he can barely walk and talk, would inherit our father’s holdings over us. Her petty cruelties finally drove us to leave, which is exactly what she wanted, I think. I got a job at the quarry and brought us all here.” “We heard that there was a man who had a houseful of orphans,” Imogen said. “So when me and Nina and Jonaz lost our parents, we came and found Snowden. We didn’t realize the orphans were his kid brothers and sister, we thought he was just, you know, taking in orphans.” “And you made it true.” Snowden smiles warmly at them, and you feel something happy unwind in your chest. Here is a good man, a man who would take in three orphans as well as his own four siblings and provide for them all by his hard work. He could have corrected the misunderstanding and tried to find someone else who would take them in or, more likely, put them to work. But instead, he had given them a home himself. No wonder the house is messy. Seven kids! And he must work long hours if he’s a quarry-worker. “Have you ever considered fighting your stepmother for your inheritance?” you ask. Snowden shakes his head. “She convinced him to change his will before he died. There is no law against that, and he //did// change his will himself. I shall have to content myself working at the quarry.” “He’s a //foreman//,” Enna says importantly. “That means he gets to tell everybody what to do.” You chuckle. “It sounds like you’ve made a good life here.” “Except it //is// a little messy,” Pesha admits. “Soup is ready!” Imogen calls from the kitchen, and chaos ensue. Enna is almost trampled by the stampede of children heading to the kitchen, and Mr. Nezzy is dropped in her excitement for food. Every child opens a random cabinet in the kitchen until one finds the bowls and crows with excitement, and then the pushing and shoving continues as they each grab a bowl and race to dig out spoons from the silverware tray. They jostle each other good-naturedly as they ladle soup into their bowls, and you wince at how much slops onto your recently-scrubbed floors as they make their way to the table. You are last, picking up Enna’s bunny and tossing him onto the sofa, reaching down a bowl for little Enna, and ladling out her soup. Snowden follows behind, and you realize you’ve likely usurped his position of helping the little girl. There was silence for a little while as the children guzzled down their food. Finally, Jonaz drops his empty bowl with a contented sigh, followed by a burp. “So,” he says, “are you gonna stay with us or not?” Your eyes flick to Snowden’s. He, too, is watching you solemnly, waiting. “You are welcome to stay,” he says. “I can offer you my bed and sleep on the sofa. I’ve been thinking about adding on to the house anyway. Maybe we can do that sooner than later.” “I’ll help!” Nina said excitedly. “Me too!” adds Marnil. “You’ll all help,” he assures them. He is still waiting for your response. You swallow and consider. You don’t have anywhere else to go. And you like Snowden and all the children, even if they have no manners. But can you really stay forever? “I will stay for a while, at least,” you say. “On one condition.” Eight pairs of eyes look at you expectantly. “I mean no insult,” you say to Snowden frankly, “as I am certain you are gone all day working. And some of the children with you?” Pesha and Jonaz nod. “But there are many things you need to learn as children—things that are much harder to learn when you reach adulthood. Like table manners and politeness. And perhaps even cleaning up after yourselves. It just so happens that I am a princess, and I have spent my entire life learning proper manners. I’d like to teach the children during the day. I can teach you to read and write and do sums, too, if you haven’t learned those yet. Or if you have, I can teach you geography and history.” Jonaz groans. “We have enough to do at the quarry. We don’t need fancy tea party lessons on top of that.” “Not tea party lessons,” you say with a chuckle. “More like . . . having one or two people set the table, so that everybody isn’t crowding each other to fetch bowls. Taking turns and waiting in line.” The kids look at each other guiltily. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Snowden says. “It will be a trade. We provide the house and food, and in exchange, you provide the children with education.” He narrows his eyes at Jonaz. “They will benefit from it, and I don’t have the hours in the day to teach them.” “Sounds good to me,” Pesha said. “Maybe I can get a good apprenticeship if I can read and write. I like working in the quarry fine, but I’d like to be a carpenter.” When it comes time to retire, you refuse to take Snowden’s bed. Instead, you take the sofa. You are shorter than him and fit the sofa better, and you are the interloper here after all. Besides, you aren’t sure the last time anyone has washed those sheets. You quickly find that you fit right in among this odd little family in the woods. Pesha is serious and loves to fiddle with mechanical devices. Jonaz is a little brash and can be rude, but he is quickest with his letters as you begin to teach them. Imogen is a brilliant cook and could probably work in a nobleman's kitchen if she wanted to—and she certainly has the attitude of a bossy cook. You're still getting to know the others, but they are at once defiant and eager to please. Snowden makes a special trip to the nearest village to buy some books so that you can begin reading lessons with the children. He also shyly presents a novel he bought just for you, after he asked the bookshop owner for recommendations. Best of all, there's a lot of cleaning involved when nine people live in a house! You enjoy rolling up your sleeves and digging in, transforming something from dirt and mess to beauty, and knowing that //you// did that. Oh, the children help—some of them more than others!—but you take special delight in seeing what you can make really shine. Nina is your eager partner in this, following you about the house with a dust cloth. The evenings are the best part. Once the children have gone to bed, you and Snowden sit in the quiet together. You talk, sometimes telling jokes or stories, and sometimes you read to him from your novel. One night, he clears his throat about twenty times before working up the nerve to say . . . something. Your own anxiety is through the roof by the time he speaks. Is he going to ask you to leave? Tell you it isn't working? "Princess," he asks at last, "I wonder . . . that is to say, do you think you might teach me to read?" You giggle with relief then have to rush to assure him you aren't laughing at him. "I thought you were going to tell me you'd had enough of my cleaning and ordering people about and you wanted me to leave!" "I would never ask you to leave," he says, his dark eyes flickering in the firelight. "You have brought such joy to all of us. The children thrive under your guidance." "And you?" "I couldn't do without you." You blush and distract yourself by pulling out a book to begin teaching him the letters. The next morning, you help Imogen make breakfast and wave goodbye to Snowden, Pesha, and Jonaz as they go off to work in the garden. Nina goes along with Marnil and the quiet Henke to work in the vegetable garden, and you pull out the picture book to continue Enna's readiang lessons. “Apples!” someone calls from outside, and you look up. Who is here? “It’s the fruit-seller,” Imogen calls from the kitchen, where she is stirring a pot of stew for later. “Would you get it, Your Highness?” “I will show you!” Enna says cheerfully. She shows you a small basin with a few coins in it. “We get peddlers sometimes,” she says. “They pass through on the way to or from the village, as we aren’t so far off the pass.” The seller is an elderly lady wearing a heavy shawl. She holds a basket of bright green apples. “Delicious and tart!” she cries when she sees you. “Oooooh, look at you. A new orphan! Just for you, a free apple to try!” “That is so kind,” you say. But is it right to take an apple for free, even if she offers it? She is elderly and still working as a peddler—she cannot have a great deal of money. “Crisp!” she says, thrusting the apples towards you. “Try, try an apple, then you will want many more!” Do you: [[try an apple]] or [[decline politely]]?

You accept an apple and polish it on your skirt before tasting a bite. The old woman was right, it really is crisp, tart, and deli— [[The world fades away]].

“No, thank you,” you say politely. “I don’t care for apples.” The woman’s eyes bulge. But before she can say anything else, Enna steps forward. “I love apples!” she says, grabbing one from the top of the basket. “I’ll take yours!” The woman reaches out an arm toward the little girl, but Enna has already crunched into the apple, her eyes full of mischief. In the next moment, they close. You leap forward and barely catch Enna just before she drops to the ground. “Enna!” you cry, cradling her head. With a thud, the basket hits the ground, and apples bounce out, spilling everywhere. You look up at the old woman, who looks horror-stricken. “What—what was in that apple?” Is she allergic? Alarm appears in the old woman’s eyes, and you turn to see Imogen, Marnil, and Henke racing towards you. Imogen slams the woman to the ground, and Marnil leaps on beside her. “She poisoned Enna!” Imogen screams. A roar sounds from the woods, and a man comes barreling out, arms outstretched. But Marnil and Henke are ready, and the leap on him before he can reach the woman. Imogen joins them, leaving the stunned woman lying on the ground. The man spins around with Marnil on his back and Imogen pounding his chest. Henke takes off running down the path, and you know he’s headed for the quarry to fetch Snowden. You are about to leap into the fray when you hesitate. There’s something strange about this. The man isn’t fighting back. He’s not kicking or punching the kids or throwing them off his back. He’s trying to push through them to get to those on the ground. “Imogen! Marnil! Stop!” you yell. They freeze. Everyone stands stock still for a moment, staring at you. Then the woman groans. You scoop Enna off the ground and glare at the man, who holds his hands up as he looks down at the woman. “You killed Enna!” Imogen spits out. “She isn’t dead!” the woman cries. She holds her head as she sits up, and you see that her makeup has smeared and her nose is a little off-kilter. It’s a false nose. She isn’t nearly as old as she portrayed. What in the world is going on here? “Why doesn’t she wake up?” you ask them, holding back your terror for Enna. You don’t know what’s going on, but you need information only they have. “It’s a magical potion,” the woman says. “It puts her into a preserved sleep. It was meant for you.” You’ve already guessed that. After all, you were the one she offered the apples to. But what could she have against you? “Why?” “Enna!” comes a cry from down the road. Snowden races into the clearing, closely followed by Pesha and Jonaz. Henke struggles to catch up behind them. “She’s alive but in an enchanted sleep,” you call to them. “These strangers were just about to tell us why.” Snowden gasps as he sees Enna in your arms, and he delicately takes her from you, holding her to his chest and lowering his face to hers to feel her breathe. You can see the moment when he realizes she’s only sleeping. His whole body seems to relax. The man cleared his throat. “The king and queen of Fairelandia sent us to rescue their daughter.” You gape at them. “Rescue?” “Immediately after you left, they learned about a plot to attack you. They sent us with a potion from the court enchanters in case we had to incapacitate you or make you appear dead in order to sneak you out. But I will say, Your Highness, it’s been a beast trying to follow you.” Snowden gives a wry smile. “From your story, I can imagine.” He shakes his head. “How do we get Enna out of this sleep?” “You don’t.” The man shrugs. “It’s a magical preserved sleep. She doesn’t need to eat or drink while she’s sleeping. Her body won’t weaken—she won’t even lose muscle tone. She’ll simply . . . sleep. Until she wakes.” “And just when will that be?” The man looks uncomfortable and glances at the woman. “Well, it was supposed to be a week or two,” the woman says. “For an adult. But it may affect a child more, I don’t know.” Snowden lowers his head. “Enna,” he whispers. “Snowden . . .” You hesitate. “This is all my fault.” You brought this disaster here. And Enna, poor Enna, was the one hurt! What if her parents had sent others? What if the dose was too strong for such a little girl and Enna never awakened? Snowden’s head shoots up. “It’s not your fault,” he says fiercely. “You are here under my protection. You could not know your parents would do such a thing.” He blanches suddenly and looks out into the forest, and you know he’s thinking the same thing you are. The couple don’t seem to have any real animosity for you. They were trying to save you, or at least they thought they were. They must see by now that they are not needed. But will your parents try again? Do you: send the couple with a letter to your parents and [[stay at the cottage to care for Enna]] or [[go to the palace]] and confront your parents?

You blink slowly. Everything is blurry, and sounds are muffled as if at a distance. Two dark eyes are right above yours, staring at you in shock, and you focus on them. As you blink repeatedly, the world slowly becomes clearer. You keep your focus on those dark eyes until a voice startles you. “She’s awake!” a child cries. “I //told// him a kiss would work. It always does in fairy tales. I told him and told him and told him . . .” “Hush up. He didn’t want to kiss her.” “He did! He did! He was just embarrassed.” “That’s because you said maybe Jonaz was her true love and //he// should kiss her.” There were gagging noises, and several of the boys laughed. “It’s so romantic! Snowden, come on, kiss her again! She isn’t all the way awake yet!” You sit up slowly and look around. You are on the sofa in the living room of the cottage, and Snowden and all seven children are crowded around you. “What . . . what happened?” you ask. “You ate that apple and fell on the ground,” Enna whispers. “And then this man came and tried to lift you up to take you away to a palace.” “And Imogen heard and boxed his ears!” Marnil said with glee. “And then me and Henke heard and Henke jumped on his back and Imogen started in on the old lady, who wasn’t actually old at all, and then I sat on the man because Henke had knocked him down, and that was it.” “But who were they?” you ask, still mystified. “Apparently, a couple employed by your parents,” Snowden says dryly. It hurts a little when you turn your head to face him, and your brain still feels full of cotton wool. He grimaces. “Your parents got wind too late of the plot against you by your handmaiden and sent this couple to trace your steps. They found you here. The couple were determined to fulfill their quest, so they gave you an apple meant to knock you out long enough that they could ‘rescue you’ from your ‘kidnappers’ and bring you back home safely.” “But they failed when the children fought back.” You smile warmly at Imogen, Marnil, Henke, and Enna. “They succeeded in that you fell asleep, but they failed to drag you away. Enna ran to the quarry to find me, and I got back with Pesha and Jonaz before they could move you. When I learned they were here on behalf your parents, I went and spoke to your parents directly. And they . . .” “They’re gonna let that Felicia person stay princess!” Imogen says triumphantly. “She’s happy, you’re happy, and they decided to leave things as they are. They’re letting you stay here!” Snowden shakes his head. "Well, they aren't going to let her off quite that easily. Let's just say they plan a . . . surprise visit to Romancia to have a little chat with her." You shake your head in confusion. “But how did you get to the palace and speak with my parents and get back so quickly? Snowden takes your hand in his. “Princess,” he says softly, “you’ve been asleep for a week.” “A //week//?” You gape at him. “We couldn’t figure out how to wake you. Neither could they! They bought the potion off some traveling enchanter and didn’t know how to fix it.” Marnil seemed proud of himself for the explanation. “The castle enchanter examined you and assured them that you are in a magically preserved sleep, and that you would wake. And that it was better not to move you.” Snowden glances at Pesha. “We should send word to the palace to tell them you are awake. They will be relieved to hear it.” He squeezes your hand. “They want to see you—and apologize.” “Apologize? Truly?” “I think they are being honest. Your father is not entirely happy, but he’s satisfied that Romancia got a Fairelandia bride, and Felicia //is// a nobleman’s daughter. As long as Romancia doesn’t start a war over it, he’s willing to let you stay here.” “If I was in a magically preserved sleep, how did I wake?” You have some inkling, from words you now remember hearing as you spoke, but you don’t know how much was a dream. Snowden’s face turns red all the way to the tips of his ears. “I, uh—” “He kissed you awake!” Imogen says triumphantly. “With true love’s kiss!” You stare at Snowden in shock until reality sets in. “I only met Snowden a week ago! Well, maybe two weeks now. We aren’t in love yet.” “Maybe it means you’re magically destined for each other.” Imogen lets out a dramatic sigh. “It’s so romantic.” “Maybe it wasn’t true love’s kiss,” Pesha says softly, “but a kiss of true love. Unselfish love. Like what Snowden has for all of us.” All of you turn to look at Pesha, and now it’s his turn to redden. “Just a thought,” he says. “It’s a clever one,” Snowden says. He doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I don’t know why it worked, Princess. I just know that I’m glad to have you back.” He clears his throat. “We’re //all// glad to have you back.” “I’m glad to be back.” You smile at all the children gathered around and at Snowden most of all. A handsome man who //might// have a kiss of true love, seven mischievous children, and useful work? Not to mention possibly reuniting with your parents? This really is [[Happily Ever After]].

You stare at Enna’s still form, willing her to twitch, to yawn, to wake. The lively little girl is never so still, likely never even in her sleep. She doesn’t shift or turn her head or snort or roll over or any of the things people do while sleeping. Her form is perfectly, unnaturally still. If it weren’t for the pink in her cheeks and her even breaths, you would be certain she was dead. Nina appears at her side, softly pushing Enna’s bunny under her arm and tucking it in. “She needs Mr. Nezzy,” she says softly. “Princess.” Snowden calls you from the kitchen, and you follow him away from where the children are crowded around their sleeping sister. “I know you want to stay with Enna,” he says softly. “And I do, too. But there’s a risk your parents could send somebody else. I know you sent a note, but . . .” He trails off. “You want me to speak with them directly.” He runs a hand along the edge of the table. “I wish I didn’t have to ask. But it’s not just that. You could ask them if there is a solution to Enna’s sleep. Maybe there’s an antidote that they didn’t tell the couple about.” You nod. You know he’s right. But you are terrified to go back to the palace, and you know that you can’t ask him to go with you. Closing your eyes, you lift your chin and take a deep breath. After all that you’ve been through today, your parents do not scare you. They can kidnap you and throw you in a carriage, but you can ruin their truce if you don’t go along with it, and you will tell them as much. You will not be meek and mild. “I will go,” you say. He nods sharply as if he expected it, but you can see his shoulders relax. “I will send Pesha and Jonaz with you,” he says. “They’re strapping lads and can deter anyone who might try to stop you.” He cocks his head, and a mischievous light comes to his eye. “And they know the way to the palace—and back to this cottage.” Oh. Good point. You have already proven your ability to get lost in the woods. “I will value their companionship.” It’s too late to leave this evening, but you speak with the boys and prepare a few supplies. You leave in the morning at first light. It’s time to [[go to the palace]] and confront your parents.

Mouths agape, your parents stare at you when you finish your tale of what led you to Snowden’s cottage. “My darling,” Mother says at the end of it all. “Oh, my darling.” She visibly swallows. “I cannot believe you survived so much. And that Felicia!” “We’ll escort you to Romancia ourselves,” Father says. “And we’ll see that Felicia receives justice.” You look at Pesha and Jonaz, who accompanied you to the palace. Snowden did not wish for you to travel alone with the would-be kidnappers, but he didn’t dare leave Enna. Jonaz tries to scuff the toe of his shoe on the marble floor, but Pesha’s eyes show anxiety as they meet yours. Does he hope you won’t leave? All you know is that you cannot go to Romancia. You belong in a cottage in the woods with Snowden Whittaker and his seven children. “No,” you say firmly. “I am not going to Romancia. Felicia can have Prince What’s-his-name.” “Oh, but—” “I will not go,” you say. “Felicia wants to be a princess. Let her. The royals in Romancia don’t know the difference. She’ll be punished by living the rest of her life under a name that isn’t my own and married to a man to whom she can never tell the truth. It will eat away at her. She’ll protect the secret with her life. An occasional ambassador may recognize that she is not me, but they will check with you before speaking out. Romancia will have its princess, and I will have my freedom.” “But—” “If you try to send me anyway, I will ruin your truce by refusing publicly to marry the prince and running away at every opportunity I have.” Mother lets out a slow breath and looks at Father. He is scratching his chin in that way he does when he is displeased. But at last, he nods. “If we are to keep up the pretense, you cannot be our daughter. We cannot visit each other openly. You will have to visit in disguise. Perhaps we can sometimes meet at the summer palace.” “I would like that.” Your eyes are blurry with unshed tears. “Oh, Mama.” You hug your mother, then your father. “Thank you.” “Yes, well, you give us no choice.” But Father clears his throat, looking a little teary himself. Then his face turns grim. "We might let that Felicia stay in Romancia, but that doesn't meant we need to let her off scot-free. What do you think, my dear?" He turns to Mother. "Shall we make a little surprise visit to Romancia and have a chat with that girl? I should like to see her face when we are announced." He chuckles a little. "Excellent idea." Mother's smile looks just a little feral, and you are pleased at the idea that Felicia will face some unpleasant consequences for her traitorous actions. But your thoughts aren't on Romancia, they're on a little house deep in the forest where several of your favorite people in the world now live, and you are growing anxious with your need to get back home to Enna. “Mother, Father, is there any antidote to the magical potion? Something to make Enna wake sooner?” Mother shakes her head slowly. “I was nervous about letting them give it to you, but the court enchanters assured me that it’s perfectly safe. There’s something about a kiss of true love, but that wouldn’t apply to the little girl.” You blush at the realization that she might think it could apply to you. “Well, thank you, anyway.” It’s too late to start back to the cottage tonight. But when you wake, after more goodbyes, you and Pesha and Jonaz leave early. By the time you reach the cottage, it’s evening. Your steps pick up pace, anxious to see if Enna really is still safe in her sleep. But as you approach the cottage, a cry arises. “Oh no!” You and the boys race the last dozen yards through the trees until you emerge in front of the cottage, only to hear . . . cheers? Pesha yanks open the door and you all tumble in, much as Snowden and the children had that first time you saw them. Snowden is leaning over the sofa, the other children gathered around. And there, sitting up and rubbing her eyes, is Enna—very much awake! “Enna!” Pesha and Jonaz dive in for hugs, and everybody is crying and laughing and hugging. You drop to your knees next to Snowden. “What happened?” He looks at you, bewildered. “I kissed her forehead,” he says slowly. “And . . . she woke.” “A kiss,” you whisper. “Of true love.” “Snowden isn’t in love with his //sister//,” Imogen exclaims. “Not //in// love,” says Pesha, picking up on what you have. “But true love doesn’t have to be romantic, does it? Snowden has sacrificed for us, so that he could take care of us and give us a real home. Isn’t that true love, too?” Enna is reveling in the attention from all of her siblings, and you sit back on your heels. A hand slips into yours, and you look up to see a shy smile on Snowden’s face. “It went well?” he asks, and you suddenly remember that you have just returned from the palace. “Yes! My parents have agreed to let me stay here without interference. I think we’ve forgiven each other.” He squeezes your hand. “I’m so glad you came back.” “Me, too.” You look around at all of the love—true love—that fills this room, and you smile. “This is my [[Happily Ever After]].”

You cautiously open the other door of the carriage. There are no footman visible here, as they have all taken up positions on the other side, which gives you the perfect opportunity. You can’t get away from the carriages right away, as a wall blocks your way, but you keep low and follow the carriages down the line until you reach the end of the wall. The footmen and guards are, thankfully, completely distracted by the conversation between Felicia and the king and queen, so you duck around the wall, past some bushes, and then begin to walk casually down the palace drive as if you belong there. When you pass a little stand of trees overlooking a field, you turn down that way, taking yourself farther and farther from the carriage where they will be looking for you. Now what to do? You could simply leave. You never wanted this marriage to begin with, and you don’t have to risk your life and freedom to try to convince the royal family of your identity. You could make your way to the road and find your own path. Or you could fight for your identity. You could find a way to survive for now, perhaps getting a job that would pay for food and a safe place to live, and look for the opportunity to speak to one of the royal family members alone. Do you: escape [[into the woods]] to find your own way or [[look for an opportunity]] to speak to one of the royals and, meanwhile, find a job?

You tap your foot on the floor as you wait, experimentally pushing on the door once or twice. You are just reconsidering going out the other side when the door opens abruptly, and you almost tumble out. The footmen do not help you. In fact, the guards have gathered around the carriage with stern expressions on their faces, and the king and queen, next to two young men who must be the princes, look at you sternly. “Whatever she’s told you,” you say, “she’s lying. I’m the Princess of Fairelandia, and this is my handmaiden, Felicia, who stole my charm during our trip and intends to present herself as the princess. Nobody responds, although one prince exchanges a look with the other. “You may send for an ambassador from Fairelandia to verify the truth.” Since your countries have long been at war, there is no ambassador here now, but surely some diplomat would jump at the opportunity to be the one to open relations by identifying the true princess. “You expect me to believe,” King Marnil says at last, “that the eight guards and the handmaiden who accompanied you from Fairelandia are all part of some conspiracy to trick us into accepting the wrong young lady as the princess?” You think quickly. “If a person //was// going to take the identity of a princess, she would arrange to travel with those she can bribe into loyalty to her, would she not?” you point out. The taller, darker prince steps forward, and King Marnil glances quickly back at him. The prince says nothing, but his brow is furrowed as he stares at you. “Enough of this,” the king says at last. “We’ll send you back to Fairelandia as soon as I can arrange a coachman and outriders.” “Your Majesty,” Felicia says smoothly, stepping forward, “would it not be better to allow her to stay? She could be given some sort of duty to give her a purpose in life. Hard work”—she smiles slyly at you—“would surely improve her character. And if, as I suspect, she may be just a little confused after that bump when the carriage went over that bridge, she may come to rights in a few weeks.” So that was part of the story she told, was it? “I assure you that I have no head injury, and that I am the true Princess of Fairelandia,” you say in one last attempt. “Please, you have countless methods of verifying my identity.” Not that you can think of one easily. But it cannot be impossible for a //king// to discover if the girl who stands before him is a princess! “Goose girl,” Felicia said abruptly. You all turn to stare at her. “Goose girl,” she repeats. “It’s the ideal job. Not too strenuous, and it doesn’t involve much thought, which will lead to faster recovery time. There must be some way to convince King Marnil that Felicia is lying. But how to do it? Nobody believes you, and in Romancia, nobody knows you or Fairelandia well enough to recognize any information you might share about yourself. What other proof can you offer? Maybe Felicia will provide her own evidence. After all, she may be a handmaiden, but she was not raised as a princess. Her own failures in education and training might reveal the lie. “An excellent idea,” the queen says smoothly, stepping forward. She takes you by the arm—firmly, but gently. “I will take you to the Keeper of Animals. She will be delighted to have another goosekeeper, as the boy who does the job is young and not always reliable.” Do you: [[plant your feet]] and refuse to be led off or [[go along to learn your new job]] for now while you determine the best way to prove your identity?

You refuse to move. “I will not be a keeper of geese,” you say firmly. “I am a princess. I insist that you verify my identity before you take the word of that imposter!” An hour later, you find yourself in the dungeon. Biting your lip, you stare at the barred window high above you. Maybe it would have been better to agree to be goose girl for now. It’s a lot hard to prove your identity stuck in a dungeon! Your stomach rumbles, but no food is forthcoming. There don’t seem to be any other prisoners here, either. The dungeons must not be used very often. That was a good sign, but not for you. When the suns sets, you lie down and try to sleep, but the only place to sleep is a hard wooden bench. It’s better than the floor, at least. Someone has tossed fresh rushes on the floor, but you can hear scurrying sounds from underneath, and you have no desire to lie in the midst of rats or mice or whatever might be sneaking about. In the morning, you are overtired, grumpy, and covered with dried bits of the rushes. Your hair is a disaster. Despite all that, you perk up when you hear the sound of someone coming. Breakfast? It is not, in fact, breakfast. It is a no-nonsense woman in what look like gardener’s clothes, a kerchief over her silvery hair. “Are you ready to relent now?” she asks. “I will not force you to admit you are not the princess as the king and queen insist. But I will ask if you are ready to be the goose girl.” Reluctantly, you nod. There is no benefit to staying in the dungeon and every reason to escape it, even if it means allowing Romancia to treat you as a servant. Maybe there was good reason your country went to war with these gullible and stubborn people! Sighing, you [[go along to learn your new job]] for now.

You are led to a field where geese graze as if they think they are sheep. The keeper gestures to a small boy who is lounging about halfway down the field. “That is Conrad. He is the other goosekeeper. Your job is simple. You drive the geese out here to the field to graze during the day, then you drive the geese back to their pen at night.” “And defend them from predators?” You’ve heard of sheepherding, if not gooseherding, and you have serious reservations about your ability to fight off wolves or would-be thieves.” The Keeper of Animals looks at you in shock, then bursts out laughing. His laugh grows loud enough that Conrad looks up and stares at his boss. Tears are in the Keeper’s eyes, and he slaps his knees a few times before getting control of himself. “No,” he gasps. “There is no need to protect them from predators.” You frown in confusion. “Very well.” If he doesn’t care about his geese getting eaten or carried off, you do not care, either. Still chuckling, he wanders off. He has not told you //how// to drive the geese, but since Conrad is here, presumably he will. You settle onto a rock to look over your herd. The geese are rather cute, really. You’ve never thought much about them before. They have pretty colors, black and gray and white. And they are rather charming as they poke at the grass, waddle around with their little bottoms waving from side to side, and swim in the creek. Stretching, you stand and make your way towards the pond. It looks lovely, and many of the dear little birds are gathered around it and in it. Several of the geese put their heads up as you approach. One of them honks. A greeting? No, a warning. And it’s all the warning you get before three geese suddenly fly-run at you, spreading their wings and flapping like mad. You try to run backwards, but you trip and fall painfully on your bottom. “Stop!” you shout at them, raising a hand as if they understand the stop motion. They do not. They keep flying at you, beaks open in honks of displeasure, giving you an excellent view of the inside of those mouths. Are those //spikes// on their tongues? What kind of devilish creatures are there? The head goose stops about a foot from you, flapping and honking like mad, before he abruptly stops and walks away with his friends, leaving you muddy, gasping, and terrified. Conrad is laughing his head off on his rock farther down the field. In fact, he’s laughing so hard he topples sideways off the rock and lands in a tumble on the grass. What is //with// these Romancians laughing at you? Have they never seen anything actually funny in their lives? Although now you may have some idea why the Keeper thought the idea that you would need to defend the geese was amusing. Why in the world do birds need fanged tongues? That’s diabolical. Those flapping wings didn’t exactly look safe, either. Glaring at the geese, you take a perch on a rock some distance away, where you can still do your duty at a safe distance. What kind of Keeper assigns somebody new, with no animal keeping experience, to tend these vicious creatures? “Oh, yeah, new girl, why don’t you take these fish and go feed the alligators?” you mutter to yourself. You will just have to [[continue as goose girl]] and keep your distance from those birds.

Your third day as goose girl is much like the second . . . which was much like the first. You have tried to discover if there is anybody in the palace who may have traveled to Fairelandia in the past and might identify you, but with the years of war, there is nobody from Romancia who may have seen you since you were a child. The best you have managed so far is planning a letter to your parents, but until you have received your first week’s salary, you have no money for paper, pen, or ink, nor the money to send the letter. Geese-tending isn’t a hard job, although it can be rather painful when the geese get irritated at being told what to do and decide to bite, but the days are utterly dull. You have no books to bring to the field with you, and Conrad is an irritating child and not a good conversationalist. Staring out into green fields is beginning to wear on your nerves when you hear a voice from behind you. “Princess.” You turn, expecting the Keeper. But instead, Prince Darvik stands behind you, his face arranged in a very placid expression. “Prince Darvik.” You probably should get off the rock and offer him a proper curtsy, but he doesn’t bow, either. Perhaps he is uncertain whether to offer you the courtesy when he isn’t certain if you really are the princess. Although he’s addressed you as such . . . does that mean he potentially believes you? "I hope you do not think I hate you," he begins slowly. "I was merely . . . surprised when our marriage was written into the peace treaty. But I //was// very pleased when the war ended, even though it took four drafts of the treaty before our fathers would agree." "I was relieved when the war ended, too," you admit. But there's something odd about what he said, and it takes you a moment to realize. "It was five drafts before they both agreed." His eyes flash. "That's right. Five. I had forgotten. My apologies. If they had gone with the second treaty, Fairelandia would have been given the Altoni flatlands and you would have married my brother, Prince Robin." "Not the Altoni flatlands, the Wesekki marsh." Had he even read the treaty? You weren't even allowed in on the negotiations, but you still poured over the treaty—every draft—for hours on that last day, once you had discovered it contained the dictate for your marriage. Alas, you had not been able to find a loophole. Had Prince Darvik's father similarly held it back from him? Prince Darvik sits back and crosses his arms, but his look is unsettling. What have you said that so disturbs him? “What food does your father favor?” You blink at the non-sequitur. Why would he ask about the treaty and then your father's—oh. OH. He is testing you! Excellent. That means he has some doubt about Felicia’s story. Why, you do not know, but it must be. Felicia would know nothing of the drafts and negotiations of the treaty, only the final result that was made public. “He adores olives,” you say. “Of any type. My mother hates them.” Prince Darvik nods, and you suddenly wonder if the prince knows this. With your countries so long at odds, would he know anything about your parents? Still, your knowledge of the treaty must give him pause. And there might be something else you can tell him. “My mother likes crickets,” you say slowly. “My father’s nickname for her was ‘Cricket’ in years past.” He still uses it, but never in public. It was, however, known among the other diplomats when your parents were newly married. Prince Darvik’s face clears. “Cricket,” he says. “A charming nickname.” “I think so.” He takes a seat on the rock next to you and looks out at the geese. “Did the Keeper warn you?” he asked. “That geese bite?” “He did not.” You don’t bother to keep the bitterness out of your tone. “I think I know what happened to my predecessor. Is he buried somewhere in this field, maybe?” You gesture towards the small hills that line the east edge of the field. “Perhaps that row is all of the previous goose girls who were eaten by their geese?” “How ridiculous,” he said. And to think for a moment you had thought he might be a decent sort of person after all. No sense of humor, at least. “Geese don’t eat their prey,” he goes on. “They just kill for fun. They leave them there for the next keeper to deal with. You are . . . let’s see. Goose Girl #57.” “Fifty-seven!” you say in mock outrage. “This year.” He grins at you before turning back to the geese. “Why do you think Felicia would want to take your identity?” he asks. You’d wondered the same thing. “Power? People who aren’t royal assume that a prince or princess has power to do anything they want. Little do they know.” He laughs bitterly. “Spoken like a true princess.” He stands, brushing off his pants. “I have something for you.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a glowing golden ball. “It’s from Fairelandia.” You gasp as he reveals it. You’ve heard of these but never seen one in person! Reverently, you take it. The ball is absolutely perfectly smooth, and it’s so shiny that it seems to glow from within. The sunlight through the windows you pass glimmers off it. But that’s not the most interesting thing about it. When you hold it and gently squeeze it, it is soft and squishes in your hand. There’s something satisfying about squeezing it and rolling it around your hand. But if you squeeze it hard and quickly, it feels as hard as rock and as smooth as glass. You’ve heard that they bounce off any surface but never break or chip—themselves or the surface. They’re magical creations of the golems that live in the hills of Fairelandia and sold in markets at outrageous prices. One this large must have cost him a fortune! “Do you like it?” You nod, unable to tear your eyes from the ball. “It’s the most beautiful, delightful thing I’ve ever seen,” you assure him. “Thank you.” He //must// believe you to give you such a lovely present! What would that mean for your identity? Would his father listen to him? “I have a way you might prove yourself,” he says. Yes! “What is that?” “Take the golden ball and go to the courtyard after midnight,” he says. “It has a natural fountain in the center, with stones and trees and plants. Just . . . stay by the fountain for a while. See what happens.” Jaw agape, you stare at him. “I’m supposed to prove I’m the princess . . . by going to a courtyard after midnight?” He bows. “As I said. Good day, Princess.” He walks off, leaving you alone with the geese. What in the world? Is this some sort of trick? Do you: [[go to the courtyard at midnight]] as the prince asked or don’t fall for his tricks and [[stay away from the courtyard]]?

You find the courtyard just as Prince Darvik described. You half expected him to be here, but it is empty. Hesitantly, you take a seat on the edge of the fountain, waiting for something to happen, and hoping that you have not made a mistake in following his directions. Is there some clue here, some piece of information you’re supposed to notice? The bubbling water isn’t an artificial fountain with a perfectly round, smooth form and a foot of clear bubbling water inside, like the one in your parents’ courtyard. This is a fountain still, but the stones that form its shape are irregular, and the fountain connects to a tiny miniature stream that crosses the courtyard and disappears under a stone shelf at the edge, presumably winding underground to some faraway escape route. The fountain’s water is not clear, and the pools of water at different levels of the fountain are filled with algae-slicked rocks, little pebbles, sand, and underwater plants. You can hear the sounds of insects in the plants that grow along the slopes of the fountain and on the rock garden around it, and a tiny bird perches on the highest fountain level, drinking the water where it bubbles out the top. It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen—a natural courtyard in the middle of a palace! You take a seat on the side of the fountain and run your fingers in the water. A green frog hops up onto the ledge and peers up at you, croaking once. “Hello, little one,” you say, daring to stroke under its chin. It makes a little sound, and you smile. “Do you know anything about why Prince Darvik asked me to meet him here?” The frog doesn’t respond, not that you expected him to, but it hasn’t hopped away yet despite your tentative stroking. It’s not a cat, but it isn’t as slimy as you’ve always thought of frogs as being. And somehow its presence is comforting. Oh! The ball! Remembering, you reach into your waist pocket and pull out the golden ball. Prince Darvik had been very specific that you bring the ball with you, so there must be some significance. But what are you supposed to do with it? He mentioned the fountain specifically. Is there some sort of magical test involved? Hesitantly, you touch the ball to the water. Nothing happens. You are about to pull the ball back to yourself to examine it when the frog leaps. As he flies through the air, he brushes against your hand, knocking the ball loose until it drops down into the water. “Oh, no!” You lean over, peering down into the water. There is a glimmer for a moment, and then the ball disappears. You hold your breath, waiting. If the ball was going to do something magic, it would happen now. But nothing changes, and after a few long moments you release your breath, disappointed. “I can get your ball for you.” You turn around so quickly you almost tumble into the water. But there is nobody there. “Who said that? Where are you?” “Down here. By the fountain.” Blinking, you turn back to the fountain. The only thing you see is the frog. “Can’t you hear me?” This time, you can’t miss the fact that the frog spoke. “I can . . .” you say hesitantly. “I just didn’t expect it.” “I can get your ball for you,” he patiently repeats. “In exchange for a favor.” You do need that ball back. You don’t know what Prince Darvik’s plan was, but you can’t risk ruining everything by losing the ball. “Very well. What favor?” “Take me to your room with you. Let me eat off your plate and sleep on your pillow.” You consider. If you let the frog eat off your plate at a meal in the servants’ hall, the other servants will think you are a mad. Could it cost you your position? “What meal?” you ask. If it’s the noon meal, you could take it into the field and eat there. “Order a tray for your room,” the frog demands. You laugh. “I’m a servant. Servants don’t get trays in their room after midnight, Sir Frog.” The frog seems dismayed at the idea. He contemplates. “My noon meal tomorrow,” you say before he can come up with some other foolish idea. “Very well. And then I can accompany you to your room at bedtime.” “Fine. Just don’t get my pillow damp.” The frog leaps into the water and reappears, pushing the golden ball and paddling madly. You take out the ball and thank him. “Don’t forget!” he calls. “You’ll share your noontime meal and let me sleep on your pillow!” It doesn’t seem like Prince Darvik is going to come to the courtyard tonight, nor is anything else going to happen to prove your identity. You might as well [[give up and go to bed]].

By the next morning, the previous night’s encounter with the talking frog seems like a strange dream. Did he really talk? Or did you fall asleep by the fountain and imagine the entire meeting? It isn’t until noon that you remember. The kitchen errand boy brings you your meal in a pail, since you and Conrad can’t leave the field. You take the lid off the pail to find cornmeal with a little bit of bread and ham on top. Hmm. You hadn’t established exactly how you would share your meal with the frog. Are you supposed to leave Conrad to look after the geese and go back to the courtyard? “Eeeeeeeeeek!” Conrad flings his pail away from him and leaps backward, squealing. “A frog a frog a frog oh yuck there’s a frog in my food!” Several geese gather excitedly, and you drop your food and race over before the geese can find the helpful frog. It isn’t hard at all to find him. “Princess!” The frog bounds towards you, and you catch him in the air. The nearest goose is //not// pleased to lose his prey. He tries to peck at you, but you dart away before he can, the frog safely nestled in your hands. “Did that frog just //talk//?” Conrad asks, eyes wide as saucers. “It talked! It’s magic! It’s probably a fairy in disguise!” You raise your eyebrows. “Talked? A talking frog? Conrad, we’ve been out here alone with the geese for too long.” His face falls. “You didn’t hear it?” “Frogs don’t talk!” His eyes narrow, and he points at the frog in your hands. “That one does. I swear it. I’m telling the Keeper you have a talking frog.” “Do as you wish.” He stoops to grab his pail. “Besides, the frog touched my food. It’s all gross now.” He thumbs his nose as you before heading back towards the barn and stable area. Once he’s gone, you open your hands and let the frog hop safely onto your rock. “I guess you chose the wrong pail, huh?” “No kidding. Although at least it got rid of Conrad.” He sniffs at your food. “It isn’t on a plate.” “Oh! I brought one!” You pull out the old earthenware plate you had carefully brought to the field today. “You said plate, and I realized I eat from a pail, and it might be too deep for you to reach the food without sitting on it.” Left unsaid was that you don’t really want to eat food a frog has been sitting in. You share at least that much with Conrad. “Excellent idea.” Sharing your food with a frog isn’t so bad. He is a gentleman and only eats the food you set aside from him, and only nibbles at that. It’s a good thing, since you’re hungry. “Tonight, should I come to the courtyard to get you, or will you come to my room on your own?” you ask as you smooth crumbs off your dress. “I will come on my own,” he says. “Be ready.” Conrad never does return to the field, leaving you to supervise and drive the geese in on your own. No matter. By this point, you know what is expected, and you are only bitten twice. You get ready for bed long before midnight, but you can’t go to sleep while waiting for the frog, so you sit up in a chair, contemplating the oddness of this situation. You haven’t seen Prince Darvik again nor learned anything of his intentions when he asked you to go to the courtyard after midnight, nor do you have any way to contact him to ask. If he was meant to meet you and failed, perhaps he will find you again in the field. It isn’t as if you’re difficult to find. Tap, tap. There’s a knocking at the door. You open it and look down, unsurprised to see the frog there. “Which pillow is yours?” he asks, hopping towards the bed. You roll your eyes. “This is a servant’s room, Sir Frog. There’s one pillow. And it’s flat at that. Just . . . don’t get it wet.” He doesn’t respond, merely leaps onto the pillow, hopping around in a little circle like a dog before settling. “Where is the golden ball? Do you have a safe place for it?” You shrug. “Again, it’s a servant’s room. I have the bed and a chest of drawers. Want me to hide it under my aprons?” “Hmm. Maybe under the mattress?” Do you: humor the frog and [[put the golden ball under your mattress]] or roll your eyes and assure the frog that nobody is going to come steal the ball during the night, and [[put it in your chest of drawers]]?

You shrug and shove the golden ball under the mattress, not mentioning that you just left it on the floor the previous night. The frog clearly does not want to risk being sent to hunt for the thing again. You climb into bed, grumbling slightly about the tiny corner of pillow left to you. “Good night, Princess!” the frog calls almost gaily. “Good night.” You close your eyes, but you do not sleep. The bed has never been precisely comfortable, nothing compared with the beds you used to sleep in while you were still recognized as the Princess of Fairelandia. But somehow it seems even worse tonight. Your neck is going to get a crick in it, sleeping at such an odd angle to share the pillow with the frog, and finally you roll off the pillow entirely so your head can at least be in line with the rest of your body. You should be tired. It’s already well past midnight, and you were outdoors all day. But the sudden discomfort of your bed makes it hard to sleep, and you find yourself turning over and over again the conversation with Prince Darvik. He was testing you, you are certain, and it seemed as if he believed you, or was on the verge of doing so. And then . . . what? Was the meeting at the courtyard a ruse? A prank? But nothing became of it, except of course your coincidental meeting with the frog, and that couldn’t have been planned. You roll over, but your brain will not rest, and neither will you. Even telling yourself that you will just have to wait until the prince finds you again in the goose fields does not help. You toss and turn all night long, getting up now and then for a drink of water or a brief stretch to see if that will help you sleep. The frog sleeps through it. You are staring at the wall, your eyes bleary with exhaustion, when the sky begins to lighten. You hear the frog awaken and stretch, but you close your eyes. You are too tetchy from your lack of sleep to wish any more conversation with an amphibian. Thankfully, he does not try to wake you, simply hops over to the door. There is an odd squelching sound, and then silence. Confused, you sit up and look at the door. The frog is gone, but you realize there is a rather large gap under the door. Did he really just squeeze out underneath? Shaking your head, you roll over again and feel a hard lump under your hip. That blasted golden ball! Furious, you pull it out from under the bed and shove it into the nearest drawer. You climb back into bed. This time, exhausted, you finally manage to drift off. When you wake a second time, it’s to the realization that the sun is far higher in the sky than it ought to be. You overslept! You dress hurriedly and race down the passageways and out towards the barns and stables. As you pass behind the stable, you hear a familiar voice. It’s Prince Darvik and his brother! They must be on their way for a morning ride. “—tested her,” Prince Darvik is saying. “She isn’t the real princess. I’ve already told Father.” You swallow. What? You had been certain . . . but had he said outright that he believed your? Or did he just imply it? You are no longer certain. “Maybe it can’t be broken,” Prince Robin says. “By a princess or anyone.” Their voices are growing closer, and you don’t dare listen anymore. You hurry around the stable and towards the barn, seething. So he tested you and found you wanting? Then his test was flawed! Because you know perfectly well that you are the princess! Stupid prince. You [[go out to the field]] to find Conrad and the geese.

The frog glares at you balefully, but you leave it in the chest of drawers and walk back to the bed. “Nobody’s going to steal it during the night,” you say. “Don’t worry so much.” The frog settles on your pillow, and you do your best to share it with him, although as he’s clearly smaller than you, you really should get the larger half. And yet somehow he takes over three quarters of the pillow. Well, it’s only for one night. “What if I roll over during the night and squish you?” you ask. He laughs, a strangely deep rumble from such a little creature. His voice, now that you think on it, sounds familiar. “That will not be a problem,” he says. “Good night, Princess.” “Good night, Sir Frog.” You close your eyes and allow yourself to drift off into sleep. It’s late, so you fall asleep easily. When you wake, you sleepily feel around your pillow for the little creature so that you do not squash him when you sit up. But he is gone. Not squashed, but gone! Confused, you dress as usual, wondering if it was all some sort of crazy dream. Perhaps your porridge had gone off? When you open the door to the passageway, you are met with a footman who has clearly been waiting for you. “Your Highness,” he says, and bows low. You are about to give the appropriate slight nod from a princess to a servant when you freeze. He has greeted you as a princess. Does that mean . . . what does that mean? “I am sent to escort you to an audience with the king,” the servant said. “If you will accompany me.” Anxiety churns in your stomach as you follow him. This could be a good sign, but you are hesitant to allow yourself to be too optimistic. When you enter the throne room, the king and queen are sitting on their thrones, one son on each side. Felicia stands next to Prince Darvik. She is clearly shocked to see you, but she still manages a smirk. “Prince Darvik,” the king intones, his voice deep and dramatic, “I understand this young woman has been claiming to be the rightful princess of Fairelandia?” “That is true,” says Prince Darvik. For a moment, you feel betrayal. Is this some sort of trial? But his eyes flick to you, and you see warmth and excitement in them. Whatever this is, you are not in danger. “And you,” the king says, turning to his would-be future daughter-in-law, “it is your role that she claims. What do you think the punishment should be for claiming an identity and title that isn’t your own?” “Oh, I hardly dare to suggest anything.” Felicia smiles slyly. “After all, I am hardly an unbiased judge. I would likely wish to let such an imposter off leniently. Perhaps she might be dragged through the streets behind a horse in a barrel lined with spikes, something along those lines. Or tar and feathers? Not a death sentence, though, I could not bear to hear of such a terrible thing.” The king raises his hand, and two of the guards from the front of the throne room step forward. “Take this imposter,” the king says, gesturing to Felicia, “and punish her as she has suggested. The barrel, that is, not the tar.” Felicia’s eyes grow wide with terror. “What? Your Majesty, I do not understand. //She// is the imposter, not me!” The guards take her by the arms and drag her towards the door. “Your Majesty! Prince Darvik, you can’t let them do this to me! You know me! You tested me!” Your eyes shoot to Prince Darvik, who looks guilty. “You tested her?” you ask. He nods slowly. “I tested both of you. Her first, since her claim seemed better supported. She failed my test, and so I tested you. Your knowledge seemed more complete than hers, but I wasn’t sure. And then . . . you were the one who passed.” “The frog,” you say softly. “It was something with the frog, wasn’t it?” He nods. “You had to let the frog eat off your plate and sleep on your pillow with you.” “That was the test?” He clears his throat. “If a //princess// allowed me to eat off her plate and sleep on her pillow, then my curse would be broken.” He’d said ‘me.’ “You were the frog.” “Yes.” You sit down, right on the marble floor in front of the king’s throne. “You were the frog.” He ate off your plate and slept on your pillow. Not a talking frog, but Prince Darvik. “And now that that imposter is taken care of, we can begin planning the wedding!” the king announces, generously ignoring the fact that you are sitting on the floor in front of him. In exchange, you generously ignore his pronouncement. After all, the events of the past few days have not exactly been conducive to preparing for a wedding. You are startled out of your thoughts when Prince Darvik drops neatly into a cross-legged position in front of you. He takes your hand. “I know this isn’t the way we intended our betrothal to go.” His face reddens. “And I know we have a lot to talk about. I’m sure you resent me for not believing you. And I think I had good reasons not to believe you at first, not without evidence beyond your word. But I’m impressed with what I’ve seen of you. I wonder if we might . . . give this a second try. I am not suggesting we forget the past, merely start from here.” You consider his hand holding yours. There was a moment in the field together when you thought you might be able to like Prince Darvik. Despite your frustrations, you do know that it would be difficult for him to know which “princess” was the true one, and it was to his credit that he planned a fail-proof test to reveal the true princess. Your memory flashes back to seeing Prince Darvik stalk towards you across the field, the wind blowing his hair dramatically back, and you flush, remembering how handsome you had thought him. “To second chances,” you say, and you shake his hand. He grins, and the two of you stand together. “Father,” he says firmly, “the princess has been through a great deal these past few days. It is too soon to pick a date and arrange the wedding. We need time to get to know each other first.” “Oh, er, but—” “That sounds like an excellent plan, my dear,” the queen interjects smoothly. The king frowns, but after a glance at his wife, he yields. “Very well,” he says. Prince Darvik is still holding your hand, and you give his a little squeeze. Already he’s finding ways to impress you. It’s an excellent sign that he’s willing to stand up to his father to protect you. In fact, your feelings for him are already warmer than you would ever willingly admit to him. Maybe you should arrange a test of your own to see if he’s a true prince. You could test whether he likes geese! Only, you aren’t sure which the correct answer is. Regardless, you’re pleased with your new betrothed and looking forward to coming to know him better. At last, you have found your [[Happily Ever After]].

You are sitting on your favorite rock, rolling the ball back and forth between your hands, when you see Prince Darvik stalking across the field towards you. He looks like a hero in a storybook, the hair blown back from his face, his expression stormy. That handsome face was wasted on him. A villain’s face would suit him better. “I’d like my ball back,” he says, stopping a few feet from your rock. “As you will recall, it was a gift.” You roll it around your hand, amused at the way his eyes follow it. “That was when I thought you were the princess.” He snaps out the words as if each one cost him another precious golden ball. “I //am// the princess. So it’s still my ball.” You toss it lightly into the air, enjoying how it sparkles in the sunshine. “You aren’t. I have disproved your claims.” “Then your test was flawed, because I am the princess.” “Just . . . just give me the ball back. I need it for something.” He takes a step towards you, and suddenly you don’t want him to have the ball back. You don’t want any of these Romancians to get anything they want. You want them to find out they were wrong about you, but not until you are halfway back to Fairelandia and people who actually believe you. “Your stupid ball was responsible for keeping me up all night,” you say, waving it at him. “I was //trying// to keep it safe as . . . as someone recommended. It might feel soft and squishy, but I tossed and turned all night because of the lump it made in my bed.” You frown at it. “You didn’t sleep last night?” “No!” All of your temper from your sleepless night and your disappointment in Prince Darvik hits you at once. You hurl the ball across the field, narrowly missing knocking Conrad’s hat off. Conrad leaps to his feet, batting at the air around his face. “She’s got magic!” he shouts, pointing at you. “Evil magic! Get away from me, goose girl!” He races off towards the barn and stable area. Again. You bet he won’t be back. “Princess.” Prince Darvik’s urgent tone calls your attention back to him. “You didn’t sleep last night? With the frog in your room?” Wait. “How could you know about the frog?” “I just . . . I just do.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to try again tonight. Will you? Please?” Do you: reluctantly [[agree to host the frog]] again tonight or [[tell him enough with the games]], he needs to tell you what’s going on or you won’t do it?

You shift in your bed, sharing half the pillow as the frog requested. No, demanded. He did manage to take a little less of the pillow this time, but he insisted that you share it and not roll off. Told you it was important. You have no idea what’s going on, but clearly Prince Darvik knows something about it and intended you to meet the frog. And since he’s the only one who has made any effort to determine whether you are the princess or not—even if he’s an idiot who thinks you failed his test—you’re going to make one last try to do whatever this is. You //are// tired. You can’t stop yawning. After a final squirm, you finally find a position that, if not precisely comfortable, will do, and you close your eyes. Despite the pillow sharing, the bed itself is far more comfortable tonight. To think that that ball caused so much trouble last night and you didn’t even realize it was the cause! You drift off to sleep. When you wake, the frog is gone. You shrug and dress, feeling far more rested than the previous day. You might even give Prince Darvik his golden ball back. That is, if the frog hasn’t already swiped it. You open the drawer to make sure, and somehow you are relieved to discover it there, still nestled in your aprons. When you open the door to the passageway, you are met with a footman who has clearly been waiting for you. “Your Highness,” he says, and bows low. You are about to give the appropriate slight nod from a princess to a servant when you freeze. He has greeted you as a princess. Does that mean . . . what does that mean? “I am sent to escort you to an audience with the king,” the servant said. “If you will accompany me.” Anxiety churns in your stomach as you follow him. This could be a good sign, but you are hesitant to allow yourself to be too optimistic. When you enter the throne room, the king and queen are sitting on their thrones, one son on each side. Felicia stands next to Prince Darvik. She is clearly shocked to see you, but she still manages a smirk. “Prince Darvik,” the king intones, his voice deep and dramatic, “I understand this young woman has been claiming to be the rightful princess of Fairelandia?” “That is true,” says Prince Darvik. For a moment, you feel betrayal. Is this some sort of trial? But his eyes flick to you, and you see warmth and excitement in them. Whatever this is, you are not in danger. “And you,” the king says, turning to his would-be future daughter-in-law, “it is your role that she claims. What do you think the punishment should be for claiming an identity and title that isn’t your own?” “Oh, I hardly dare to suggest anything.” Felicia smiles slyly. “After all, I am hardly an unbiased judge. I would likely wish to let such an imposter off leniently. Perhaps she might be dragged through the streets behind a horse in a barrel lined with spikes, something along those lines. Or tar and feathers? Not a death sentence, though, I could not bear to hear of such a terrible thing.” The king raises his hand, and two of the guards from the front of the throne room step forward. “Take this imposter,” the king says, gesturing to Felicia, “and punish her as she has suggested. The barrel, that is, not the tar.” Felicia’s eyes grow wide with terror. “What? Your Majesty, I do not understand. //She// is the imposter, not me!” The guards take her by the arms and drag her towards the door. “Your Majesty! Prince Darvik, you can’t let them do this to me! You know me! You tested me!” Your eyes shoot to Prince Darvik, who looks guilty. “You tested her?” you ask. He nods slowly. “I tested both of you. Her first, since her claim seemed better supported. She failed my test, and so I tested you. Your knowledge seemed more complete than hers, but I wasn’t sure. And then you failed the true test.” “The frog,” you say softly. “It was something with the frog, wasn’t it?” He nods. “You had to let the frog eat off your plate and sleep on your pillow with you.” “And because I didn’t sleep--” “I wasn’t sure if that mattered,” he confessed. “But when you failed and you were so, so positive that the test was flawed, I wondered. So I decided to give you a second chance.” “Very magnanimous of you,” you mutter. “What was the test exactly?” He clears his throat. “If a princess allowed me to eat off her plate and sleep on her pillow, then my curse would be broken.” “You were the frog.” “Yes.” You sit down, right on the marble floor in front of the king’s throne. “You were the frog.” He ate off your plate and slept on your pillow. Not a talking frog, but Prince Darvik. “And now that that imposter is taken care of, we can begin planning the wedding!” the king announces, generously ignoring the fact that you are sitting on the floor in front of him. In exchange, you generously ignore his pronouncement. After all, the events of the past few days have not exactly been conducive to preparing for a wedding. You are startled out of your thoughts when Prince Darvik drops neatly into a cross-legged position in front of you. He takes your hand. “I know this isn’t the way we intended our betrothal to go.” His face reddens. “And I know we have a lot to talk about. I’m sure you resent me for not believing you. And I think I had good reasons not to believe you at first, not without evidence beyond your word. But I’m impressed with what I’ve seen of you. I wonder if we might . . . give this a second try. I am not suggesting we forget the past, merely start from here.” You consider his hand holding yours. There was a moment in the field together when you thought you might be able to like Prince Darvik. Despite your frustrations, you do know that it would be difficult for him to know which “princess” was the true one, and it was to his credit that he planned a fail-proof test to reveal the true princess. Well, except for the part where //he// suggested hiding the ball under your mattress! Your memory flashes back to seeing Prince Darvik stalk towards you across the field, the wind blowing his hair dramatically back, and you flush, remembering how handsome you had thought him. “To second chances,” you say, and you shake his hand. He grins, and the two of you stand together. “Father,” he says firmly, “the princess has been through a great deal these past few days. It is too soon to pick a date and arrange the wedding. We need time to get to know each other first.” “Oh, er, but—” “That sounds like an excellent plan, my dear,” the queen interjects smoothly. The king frowns, but after a glance at his wife, he yields. “Very well,” he says. Prince Darvik is still holding your hand, and you give his a little squeeze. Already he’s finding ways to impress you. It’s an excellent sign that he’s willing to stand up to his father to protect you. In fact, your feelings for him are already warmer than you would ever willingly admit to him. Maybe you should arrange a test of your own to see if he’s a true prince. You could test whether he likes geese! Only, you aren’t sure which the correct answer is. Regardless, you’re pleased with your new betrothed and looking forward to coming to know him better. At last, you have found your [[Happily Ever After]].

To your surprise, instead of looking angry or amused, Prince Darvik looks . . . frustrated. “I . . . I cannot,” he says through gritted teeth. You frown. There is something going on here, something aside from your stolen identity. Something that Prince Darvik is dealing with. “And you can’t tell me?” you ask. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, and you nod. “Right. So you are somehow blocked from telling me.” If only you still had your charm! You wonder if putting your mother’s charm around his neck might somehow help. But there is another option. “Is there anyone else who knows?” His eyes light up, but when he tries to speak, nothing comes out. Still, he’s told you enough even despite the magical block that appears to be stopping him. No matter. You know who it is. “Prince Robin.” He doesn’t nod, probably because he can’t, but you know you’re right. “Where would Prince Robin be at this time of day?” you ask. This question, being unrelated to his curse, he can answer. “At the stables.” “Wait here.” Half an hour later, you return dragging a laughing, confused Prince Robin by the hand. “What’s this all about?” he asks, dropping onto the rock next to his brother. “Prince Darvik wants you to tell me everything,” you say. Prince Robin’s eyes widen and he turns to his brother. “Really?” Prince Darvik shrugs. “Well, all right, then. Prince Darvik turns into a frog every night at midnight. He turns back into a human at dawn.” Now it’s your turn to drop onto the rock and stare at Prince Darvik. “You’re the frog,” you say flatly. “You slept on my pillow last night.” “Yes.” It’s Prince Robin who answers, but he’s clearly doing so for his brother. It must be part of Prince Darvik’s curse that he can’t speak of it. “He needs a princess to allow him to eat off her plate and sleep on her pillow in order to end the curse.” “Then why didn’t you turn back into a human?” The brothers share a meaningful look. Prince Robin shrugs. “We don’t know,” he says. “But clearly my brother has some reason to be telling you all this even though his curse didn’t end last night.” You think back over your heated conversation earlier. “You were very concerned about the fact that I didn’t sleep well last night.” Prince Darvik nodded and speaks at last. “You said you didn’t sleep at all.” “Does she have to sleep?” Prince Robin asked his brother. “I don’t remember that being part of the curse.” Prince Darvik shrugs. “I swear to you,” you tell both brothers earnestly, “that I am Princess of Fairelandia. My parents sent me here with a handmaiden, Felicia, who attacked me during our trip and stole my identity. If your curse really can be lifted by a princess, it should have been. So Prince Darvik might be right—I might have to sleep.” You make a face. It was one thing to try to sleep with a frog on your pillow and a lumpy golden ball under the mattress. It will be another knowing that the frog isn’t just a talking frog, but Prince Darvik. The man you are betrothed to. Prince Robin throws his hands in the air. “Then you’ll have to try again,” he says. “You already shared a plate of food?” “Yes,” you say. He taps his chin. “I think you should do it again. Just in case the two events have to happen in the same evening. I’ll send a plate of food to your room just after midnight, Princess. As soon as Darvik turns, he will come to your room, and you can share the plate and then the pillow.” Won’t that be awkward. Husband or not, this was not the way you expected to first share a pillow. “Fine,” you say. “But if you do turn human, you have to leave and go back to your own room.” “Deal,” he says, and the two of you [[shake on it]].

You spend the night in the woods. It isn’t particularly dangerous on castle grounds, and you are thankful for the season, although it does grow chilly at night. In the morning, though, you are hungry and tired from the challenges of sleeping perched in a tree. Ignoring your hunger as best you can, you make your way to the stables. If Prince Darvik is anything like you, or the other young princes and princesses you know, he may ride out early before the courtiers are awake and eager to go with him. Sure enough, you arrive at the stables . . . just in time to see Prince Darvik and his brother, Prince Robin, ride off. Well, you know where they are and where they will have to come back to. You can wait until they return. Which should you approach? Prince Darvik is your actual betrothed, but he also looks more severe and arrogant. Will that make him less likely to believe you, especially when you are claiming the woman he is “betrothed to” is not who she says she is? Prince Robin may be the easier choice, as he is friendly and amiable. But he’s also the younger prince and likely does not have much power when it comes to convincing his older brother or parents that Prince Darvik’s bride is not whom she says she is. You contemplate the choice all during the brothers’ ride. When they return, they stay close together while they care for their horses, too close to pick off one. But your opportunity arrives when Prince Robin finishes first and, after waving to his brother, heads off for the palace. Which one do you approach? Do you: [[follow Prince Robin]] and try to catch him before he gets to the palace or [[approach Prince Darvik]] while he grooms his horse?

Prince Robin is walking swiftly back to the house, and you have to jog to keep up. “Prince Robin!” you call as you approach. He slows. “Yes?” “I am the true Princess of Fairelandia.” He puts his hands on his hips. “So this is where you ended up. The princess opened the carriage very dramatically only to reveal an empty compartment.” He hesitates. “I’m surprised you didn’t flee the palace entirely.” “I considered it,” you admit. “But I am determined to get back my rightful name and position.” “Darvik would ask why you want it,” he says. “But I suppose whether one wants to be a royal or not, it would be galling to see someone else step into your life.” “You speak as though you believe me.” Perhaps it’s a foolish thing to say, as he may only be phrasing things to placate you, but there’s something about the way he speaks that makes you wonder. He shrugs. “Call it a lifetime of reading people. I knew that girl wasn’t the true princess before she even finished her explanation of why she was keeping you shut in the carriage. And before you ask, yes, I did try to speak with both of my parents. They are stubborn people and not easy to convince without proof, and ‘the princess talks like she’s lying’ doesn’t count as proof.” It’s refreshing to think that someone, at least, believes you. “Look, the best I can do for now is suggest you speak to the Keeper of Animals.” You stare at him, perplexed. “The Keeper of Animals?” “He’s looking for a goose girl. If he hires you, you’ll be able to stay on the palace grounds. I’ll //try// to convince Darvik to come talk to you. He won’t believe me without evidence either, but he might at least consider you. And there’s something . . . there’s a way he could be convinced, maybe. I just need to convince him it’s worth trying.” You nod, although you are still a little confused. “Very well. I will speak with the Keeper.” “And I will speak with my brother.” He pauses, then bows. It’s the bow a prince gives to a foreign princess. Pleased, you return a curtsy. He nods approvingly. “Good luck. And, um, be careful. Geese can be vicious.” Geese? The birds? Aren’t they just . . . large ducks? Well, you suppose you’ll find out. You find the Keeper and ask about employment. His happiness to find a new goose girl makes you a little suspicious, but you [[go along to learn your new job]] anyway.

You walk up to Prince Darvik as he is brushing his horse. “Prince Darvik?” He looks up. “Can I help you?” “I am the true Princess of Fairelandia,” you say. “Funny.” He turns back to the horse. “You don’t look like the woman I was introduced to as the princess.” “That’s because she’s an imposter.” You explain what happened during your travels here. Finally, he sets down the brush and turns to face you. “You will understand my difficulty here. There are two young ladies claiming to be the Princess of Fairelandia. One arrived in state, with guards swearing she is who she claims to be. The other appears in the stables and makes her claim with no support. Even if I am generous and say that you both have equal claim to the throne, how would I judge one over the other?” “You could send to Fairelandia for someone who can positively identify me,” you suggest. “And lose face when we admit we cannot tell?” You hesitate. He does have a good point. “You needn’t admit the purpose. You could ask that my old nanny, Beltha, could be sent to be comfort to me in my new home.” “And then I would weigh Beltha’s testimony against all of the guards who accompanied the two of you. What if this Beltha was not, in fact, a royal nursemaid but a housemaid or other fellow conspirator who was willing to lie to elevate her position?” He puts the brush down, gives the horse one last pat, and nods to a groom. “I won’t report you, for now,” he says. “But your story is far-fetched.” He sighs. “Look, you don’t want to be a princess, anyway. Being royal isn’t all balls and silks and giving orders. It’s also a lot of dull duty, smiling even when you are miserable or ill, going places you don’t want and doing things you don’t want to do. It’s responsibility and making choices that will affect thousands of people. You’d be better off pretending to be some wealthy merchant’s daughter if you want wealth and power and luxury.” With that, he walks off towards the castle, leaving you alone. Well. That wasn’t as bad as it could have been—at least he listened to you. But you can’t exactly say it went well, either. You sigh and trudge out of the stable, not sure what your next step is. A man with graying hair is walking quickly past, but he stops when he sees you. “Oh, hello! I had just about given up and was going to get back to work! You are a few minutes late, but I will excuse it this time.” “Late?” “For the goosekeeper position I advertised for?” He cocks his head. “You are here to apply for the job, are you not?” This is it. You had worried about finding a position, and here was one right on castle grounds that would serve you well. You could take this job and become a goose keeper. But is that what you want? Prince Darvik doesn’t believe you, and likely his family will not, either. He makes a good point about the life of a princess. Felicia will serve to unite the kingdoms, as you were once meant to do, which frees you to leave and make your own way in the world. There is a forest on the other side of the fields, and you could easily disappear from this kingdom without anyone noticing. Do you: agree with the man and [[go along to learn your new job]] or cross the fields and disappear [[into the woods]].

Sharing the plate of food isn’t so bad, but sharing the pillow feels weird. He snuggles up into the spot between your ear and your neck, and it might be rather charming if he were, say, a cat. A normal cat. But when the creature is a smooth, slightly moist frog, and when you know that he’s actually your betrothed, it gets way more awkward. How are you supposed to fall asleep like this? “Want me to sing you a lullaby?” he asks after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence? “Uh . . . sure.” He croaks. You shriek and roll away, flinging a hand up to cover your poor ear and accidentally slapping Darvik-frog in the process. “Ow! My ear is // right there//!” you exclaim. “Sorry, so sorry,” he calls from where he toppled off the bed. He leaps back on, and you notice that he’s a little flatter-looking than he was before. Oops. Looks like you squashed him a little. What would happen if you flattened him entirely while he was in frog form? Or if he was eaten by an egret or something? Would he turn back into a human, or die as a frog and leave his brother to be heir? You settle back onto the pillow, this time with him silently in the same position as before. And this time, you focus on controlling your breathing, slow and deep, counting each breath until gradually, you know no more. When you wake, the Darvik-frog is gone. Is that a good sign? It’s hard to say, given that he was gone when you woke last time as well. You shrug and dress, feeling far more rested than the previous day. Opening the door to the passageway, you are met with a footman who has clearly been waiting for you. “Your Highness,” he says, and bows low. You are about to give the appropriate slight nod from a princess to a servant when you freeze. He has greeted you as a princess. Does that mean . . . what does that mean? “I am sent to escort you to an audience with the king,” the servant said. “If you will accompany me.” Anxiety churns in your stomach as you follow him. This could be a good sign, but you are hesitant to allow yourself to be too optimistic. When you enter the throne room, the king and queen are sitting on their thrones, one son on each side. Felicia stands next to Prince Darvik. She is clearly shocked to see you, but she still manages a smirk. “Prince Darvik,” the king intones, his voice deep and dramatic, “I understand this young woman has been claiming to be the rightful princess of Fairelandia?” “That is true,” says Prince Darvik. For a moment, you feel betrayal. Is this another trial? But his eyes flick to you, and you see warmth and excitement in them. Whatever this is, you are not in danger. The curse must have broken! “And you,” the king says, turning to his would-be future daughter-in-law, “it is your role that she claims. What do you think the punishment should be for claiming an identity and title that isn’t your own?” “Oh, I hardly dare to suggest anything.” Felicia smiles slyly. “After all, I am hardly an unbiased judge. I would likely wish to let such an imposter off leniently. Perhaps she might be dragged through the streets behind a horse in a barrel lined with spikes, something along those lines. Or tar and feathers? Not a death sentence, though, I could not bear to hear of such a terrible thing.” The king raises his hand, and two of the guards from the front of the throne room step forward. “Take this imposter,” the king says, gesturing to Felicia, “and punish her as she has suggested. The barrel, that is, not the tar.” Felicia’s eyes grow wide with terror. “What? Your Majesty, I do not understand. //She// is the imposter, not me!” The guards take her by the arms and drag her towards the door. “Your Majesty! Prince Darvik, you can’t let them do this to me! You know me! You tested me!” “It worked?” you ask Prince Darvik while the others are preoccupied watching Felicia. “Your curse ended?” “I had barely drifted off to sleep before I woke as myself, long before dawn,” he whispers back. “You’ll notice I kept my promise—I slipped out of the room without waking you.” He is beaming. “The curse is over, and you, my dear, were the princess who saved me.” The king claps his hands as the door closes behing Felicia. “And now that that imposter is taken care of, we can begin planning the wedding!” he announces. You blanch. The events of the past few days have not exactly been conducive to preparing for a wedding, and while you were resigned to marrying Prince Darvik for the sake of the truce between your kingdom’s, you have hardly had the chance to get to know him. You are startled out of your thoughts when Prince Darvik steps forward, taking your hand. “I know this isn’t the way we intended our betrothal to go.” His face reddens. “And I know we have a lot to talk about. I’m sure you resent me for not believing you. And I think I had good reasons not to believe you at first, not without evidence beyond your word. But I’m impressed with what I’ve seen of you. I wonder if we might . . . give this a second try. I am not suggesting we forget the past, merely start from here.” You consider his hand holding yours. There was a moment in the field together when you thought you might be able to like Prince Darvik. Despite your frustrations, you do know that it would be difficult for him to know which “princess” was the true one, and it was to his credit that he planned a fail-proof test to reveal the true princess. Well, except for the part where //he// suggested hiding the ball under your mattress! Your memory flashes back to seeing Prince Darvik stalk towards you across the field, the wind blowing his hair dramatically back, and you flush, remembering how handsome you had thought him. “To second chances,” you say, and you shake his hand. He grins, and the two of you stand together. “Father,” he says firmly, “the princess has been through a great deal these past few days. It is too soon to pick a date and arrange the wedding. We need time to get to know each other first.” “Oh, er, but—” “That sounds like an excellent plan, my dear,” the queen interjects smoothly. The king frowns, but after a glance at his wife, he yields. “Very well,” he says. Prince Darvik is still holding your hand, and you give his a little squeeze. Already he’s finding ways to impress you. It’s an excellent sign that he’s willing to stand up to his father to protect you. In fact, your feelings for him are already warmer than you would ever willingly admit to him. Maybe you should arrange a test of your own to see if he’s a true prince. You could test whether he likes geese! Only, you aren’t sure which the correct answer is. Regardless, you’re pleased with your new betrothed and looking forward to coming to know him better. At last, you have found your [[Happily Ever After]].

Nervous as you are about the naiad’s true intentions, you are eager for a new adventure and have always loved the sea. Now that the naiad has spoken of Wavopia, you will not be happy until you’ve seen whether there really is an undersea kingdom. “I will do it,” you say. “Transform me into a mermaid, and I will retrieve your necklace.” The naiad smiles, and you realize her teeth are larger and sharper than a human’s. “Gladly,” she says. Suddenly, your legs burst into flames, or at least it feels as if they do. You fall to the ground, writhing, and a moment later you realize that your legs are no longer separate but are fusing together. Scales pop out all over your legs until they shimmer iridescently purple, and then it is all over. You are lying on the sand, your tail extended, your gown shortened to something not much more than a bodice that ends where your scales begin. You’re a mermaid! The sand itches, and you feel sluggish and awkward on the sand. You squirm, trying to reach the sea and the water that you long for, water that will soothe your itching scales. The naiad watches, not helping, as you use your arms to drag yourself towards the foaming waves, your tail helping a little but also hindering you when it scrapes painfully on rocks and seashells. “Don’t forget,” she says as you finally relax and sigh, letting a wave wash over you and cool your scratch wounds, “you have one day! One day to return my necklace, or you will transform into a human in the watery depths and //die//.” The words wash over you in time with a large wave, which tugs you into the ocean, and you give her a halfhearted farewell just before you are pulled under the water. You can breathe! You don’t know how, as you didn’t notice gills rising on your neck or anything, but you feel as if you can breathe underwater just as you do on land. And the water is not as murky as it was the few times you opened your eyes underwater while swimming as a child! The sun streams into the ocean like it does through the sparkling windows of the palace, and even as you dive deeper, your eyes adjust so that it is no darker than a sun-dappled forest or your bedroom in the palace in daylight. For some time, you pass endless sand, crabs, sea creatures, tangles of seaweed, rocks, and mounds of rotting wood and hunks of metal from shipwrecks and garbage from the shore. As you travel farther from the harbor, though, the ocean floor becomes clearer. Here you can see beds of sea anemones, tall grasses, and countless sea creatures hiding in rocky orifices in the deep. You pause, your forehead wrinkling as you look at something odd. There are beds of seaweed beyond you, not an unusual sight. But there’s something incredibly systematic about this seaweed. It grows in rows! Not only that, but there is one area with even rows of a dark green leafy seaweed. On a slightly lower level of the seabed, there are similar rows, but this time of long, red fronds. A different seaweed? And there! Barely visible in the distance beyond the red seaweed, there are more beds with a spiky green seaweed with red tips. Cultivated. This seaweed is cultivated. This is a farm! The thought brings your merman friend to mind. He spoke of managing his family’s farm. He must live locally to have appeared in your cove, so you must be close to his home! You keep swimming, looking for signs of habitation. You have no idea what kind of homes merpeople might have, but there must be something. There is something in the distance, but you cannot tell what you are seeing at first. It looks like a massive rock, perhaps an underwater mountain? No. As you swim closer, the true scale of what you are seeing becomes clear. This isn’t a mountain, but a manmade—mermade?—structure: a palace, surrounded by a city. Carved windows, doors, flowing shapes, and statues of mermen and sea creatures make this palace a work of art that must have taken hundreds of years to build in its entirety. Surrounding it are smaller rock-hewn houses, many covered with spiky shelled sea creatures or swaying anemone. The best part are the people—mermen and mermaids swimming everywhere! And a low hum throbs from this sea of humanity, people talking, singing, chatting, calling to each other, a merbaby crying, merchildren playing tag and swimming in and out of the window holes in the palace near an upper level. Do you: [[go directly to the palace and announce yourself]] as the Princess of Fairelandia as the naiad suggested or [[travel quietly to the palace]] to see what the entrances look like, whether they are guarded, and to decide how best to get the necklace quietly?

You don’t know what the naiad’s true intentions are, but something about the fervent light in her eyes and her eagerness to push you into thievery strikes you wrong. Does she intend you to get caught and imprisoned, missing the window to return to the surface safely? Why she would want to get you killed, you do not know. But there is something dangerous about her, and you are not staying to discover what it is. “I’m sorry,” you say politely, “but I cannot help you.” Her jaw drops, but you walk away quickly before she can stop you. When you are about twenty feet away, you hear her cry out, “Princess, wait! Princess!” But you break into a jog and dart down the beach until her cries fade in the distance. Now what? You’ve left the cove where you might have seen the merman again, if he were to come back. You [[walk farther along the beach]] continuing your search for a boat you can borrow.

You head directly to the palace. As you approach, a large group of laughing young merpeople swim by at high speed, laughing and singing. The current from their quick-moving group unbalances you, and you flip your tail to keep from crashing into the wall of the palace. Overcorrecting, you slam into a merman who is just now leaving the palace. “Oh, I am so sorry!” you cry, trying to pull away. But he takes hold of your arms and helps arrange you upright, and you recognize that golden hair, that bare chest. “Merman!” You blush a moment later when you realize, but he throws his head back in laughter. “I am, indeed, a merman,” he says. “How kind of you to notice, Mermaid.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t think to ask your name this morning.” "Zakos. And yours?" For a moment, you consider introducing yourself with your name alone. Does he need to know you are a princess? Will he treat you differently? Hesitantly, you introduce yourself—//with// your title. “Princess of Fairelandia,” he says thoughtfully. “I cannot say I have heard of the country, but then, we learn little of the geography above the sea. I must know, though—how is it that you are here, and that you are now a mermaid? Or was I mistaken in thinking you were a human this morning?” “I am a human. Or, I was a human. I have been given a gift—transformation into a mermaid so that I might swim down and visit your kingdom for a day.” You want to tell him that you might be able to live here for life. But is it fair to tell him when you have not yet earned it, nor know for certain if you wish to stay? “For a day, hmm? Well, then you have chosen an excellent day! It is our queen’s birthday, so there is a great celebration today with dancing and delightful foods. Come on!” He tugs at your hand, but you resist. “I would love to, but I have business at the palace first. I must introduce myself to the king.” He cocks his head. “To the king? He will be busy himself. It is his wife’s birthday, and his youngest daughter is to be formally presented to the court.” Would that make it more or less difficult to see the Hall of Curiosities. “Still, I must try.” “Very well. I will meet you after you are done. Come, I will take you to the entrance. The palace has many layers, and they can be a little confusing.” The outer walls of the palace are easily permeable, with windows that serve as doors at every level. Beautiful palace gardens of sea plants, coral, and decorative stone walls covered with pretty algae create a stunning landscape, and you wish you could stop and look closer at everything. Maybe once you have retrieved the necklace! As you swim through another layer of the palace, this one with only a few doors and all at a lower level, you enter what looks like the courtiers’ section. A few formally-attired mermen wearing elaborate shell-covered shortcoats travel by in a leisurely manner, one waving his hands as he speaks. “Ignore them,” Zakos whispers. “If you get stuck in conversation with them, they will prattle on about crop rotation and nitrogen and exports until your tail turns silver.” Until your tail turns silver? Did the tails of elderly mermen turn silver, instead of their hair? “Good evening, gentlemen,” Zakos says to two guards holding spears before a giant set of double doors. Their eyes widen when they see you and Zakos approach, and they rush to open the doors. The doors do not open outwards as you might have expected, but instead the slide into the wall. What an interesting mechanism. You find yourself in a giant hall several stories high, a throne room visible at the far end of the room. “I have an errand or two to run myself,” Zakos said. “I will leave you to speak with the king and meet you afterwards.” You nod, intimidated by the massive hall and the odd-looking golden throne at the end of it. “Very well.” Swimming forward, you enter [[the Great Hall]].

You swim toward the palace, reveling again at the delight of how easily you move through the water. You spin and turn and flip as you travel, loving the way you can move. “Beautiful dancing!” a mermaid calls to you as she passes. “Practicing for the ball?” Ball? But she’s gone before you can ask her. In the distance, strains of music waft through the . . . water? All of your ways of describing things are meant for land. You will have to develop an entire new vocabulary for your life underwater if you decide to stay! Hovering above what must be a sort of dance floor, you realize that you have followed the music instead of going to the palace you as you intended. Below you, mermaids and mermen swim and dance in groups, some couples dancing close, except that they move in all dimensions instead of staying on a dance floor. Groups hold hands in large circles, but they don’t stay parallel to the floor. The circle twists and spins and contorts, mermaids laughing as they are pulled upside down or spun backwards. It’s fascinating. “Lovely, isn’t it?” You turn to your right to see your friend by your side. “You’re here!” you exclaim delightedly. “I am a merman. I live here. The greater question is, how are //you// here? Or was I mistaken this morning when I thought you were a human?” “I am a human. Or, I was a human. I have been given a gift—transformation into a mermaid so that I might swim down and visit your kingdom for a day.” You want to tell him that you might be able to live here for life. But is it fair to tell him when you have not yet earned it, nor know for certain if you wish to stay? “For a day, hmm? Well, then you have chosen an excellent day! It is our queen’s birthday, so there is a great celebration today with dancing and delightful foods. Come on!” He grabs you by the hand, and, laughing, you allow him to pull you into the dance. It is nothing like dancing on land. Your head swims as you are spun and twisted and flipped in all directions, smiling merpeople and waving seaweed spinning by in a blur as you move. You learn how to use your tail as the mermaids do, keeping time to the music and rolling into a spin under your own control, then flipping him and making him crow with delight. When the song ends, you are both panting, but you cannot stop smiling. This is the most fun you have ever had! Who would want to dance on two legs on a flat surface when they could dance in the water? One thing slipped your mind before, and you are now determined to rectify it. You introduce yourself. “You’re the princess,” he says softly. “The only princess? You have no brothers, no sisters?” “No.” A pang of guilt hits you. Your parents will be left in an interesting position. While, as princess, you could not inherit your father’s throne and it would always be intended for a distant cousin of yours, your marriage to the Prince of Romancia would have strengthened the bonds to that kingdom and helped solidify the treaty. Now . . . now they would have to find a new way. But it also meant they could not use you as a tool, a royal child whose only purpose would be to “marry well.” No, you might pity your parents, but you do not regret your decision to leave. “I am Zakos,” he says. “And I thank you, Princess, for the dance.” You curtsy, but in the water, the movement flips you over entirely and your hair ends up in your face. You smile at yourself as you push it away from your face, but it seems to flow everywhere underwater. This new angle reveals the palace in all its glory, and your smile fades a little as you remember your mission. “Zakos, I need to leave for a little while,” you say. “Will you still be here when I return?” “Where are you going?” “I . . . I cannot say.” “Sounds mysterious. You aren’t here to assassinate the king, are you?” You are startled into a laugh. “Certainly not.” “Very well.” His flip of farewell reminds you a little of a bow, and you realize that it must be the merman form of that human gesture. The area around the ball is lit, with hundreds of mermaids and mermen swimming in every direction, little balls of light brightening the area, music swelling and voices chattering. You are curious about those balls of light, but you cannot take the time to examine them now. The palace awaits, and this is the perfect time to investigate. As you swim around the back of the palace, you are relieved to find it relatively unguarded and empty. The outer walls of the palace are easily permeable, with windows that serve as doors at every level. Beautiful palace gardens of sea plants, coral, and decorative stone walls covered with pretty algae create a stunning landscape, and you wish you could stop and look closer at everything. Maybe once you have retrieved the necklace! As you swim through another layer of the palace, this one with only a few doors and all at a lower level, you enter what looks like the courtiers’ section. A few formally-attired mermen wearing elaborate shortcoats travel by in a leisurely manner, one waving his hands as he speaks. You catch something about, “—law preventing cultivation of rapidly—” before they pass out of hearing range. Another wall looms before you, the entrance to the center of the palace, and the place where the Hall of Curiosities is likely to be. But this part has only one door, which is heavily guarded. The windows of this part are covered with some sort of hard shell that is thin enough to be almost translucent and yet prevents you from swimming through. Tentatively, you touch it and find it like glass. You could try to break it, but you’ve heard how hard it is to break glass underwater. Should you go with the naiad’s plan after all and announce yourself with your title, hoping it will get you into the palace interior? Or look for another door or perhaps a window without this shell? Do you: [[try to find a way in secretly]] or [[declare yourself to the guards]] with your title?

You examine the shell-covered windows curiously. Whatever this substance is, it is too thick to break, nor would you want to cause destruction. Like the windows on your palace at home, these are clearly designed to be opened, but they appear to lock from the inside. “How frustrating,” you say softly. “A palace that cares about security.” “Need some help?” It’s Zakos again. You frown at him. “Are you following me?” “Looks like somebody has to. Are you trying to break in to the palace?” “No.” He raises and eyebrow. “Well, yes.” You sigh. “But secrecy is clearly lost, so I suppose I should try to bluff my way through the guards.” “Nah. Come on.” He gestures, and you follow him around another side of the palace. He floats upwards to a window near the top of the palace. “This window is always unlocked,” he explains as you approach. “And how would you know that?” He shrugs and nudges the window. It opens inward, and he swims in. You follow, wondering what you are getting into. “Where do you need to go?” He shuts the window behind him, not locking it. Do you dare tell him? He already knows you are sneaking into the palace. It doesn’t seem worth keeping it a secret at this point. “The Hall of Curiosities.” “This way, then.” With a flick of his tail, he turns and swims out of the room you’re in, which appears to be some sort of sitting room, with strange lounge chairs, tables, and what looks like a bookshelf except that holds strange rolls. When you follow him, you find yourself floating above a massive hall leading to a throne room farther down and far below. It is as if you are on a third or fourth floor hallway, except that all of the floors are invisible so that you can see down to mermen swimming back and forth near the seabed. Disoriented, you struggle to swim straight as you cross the massive hallway and enter a large room across the way. So much for the “hall” of curiosities. You had imagined something like a Great Hall filled with shelves or glass cabinets displaying wondrous things. Instead, it’s a single room with a few items on display. Some objects, presumably those denser than water, sit on decorative cushions around the room. Floating objects are anchored to hooks on the floor or walls with thin, almost invisible string. “A fascinating collection,” you say as you swim slowly about the perimeter, eyeing each item carefully. "I suppose," Zakos says with a shrug. "Most of the baubles here are just interesting tidbits our people found in the sea. Curiosities, not treasure." You nod, but your focus is on finding the naiad's prize. A pearl necklace, she had described. And there it is! The necklace sits perched on a cushion at the far end of the room. You sidle over that way, but Zakos notices. “Interested in pearls? I’m not sure why that necklace ended up in here, honestly. Pearls are a dime a dozen. Now, this dagger is rare enough . . .” He turns to gesture to the weapon. Now’s your chance. Do you: [[grab the necklace]] while he isn’t looking or [[ask Zakos if you can have the necklace]] since he seems to think it of little value anyway?

You swim down to the guards. They look up, spears in hand, but they relax—a little—when they see you are just another mermaid. “I am Princess of Fairelandia, come in peace,” you declare. “I request an audience with King . . . with the King of Wavopia.” You realize too late that you do not know the king’s name, as until this morning, you didn’t know this undersea world existed! The guards exchange a glance. Lowering their spears, they each swim to a door and slide it open. You’ve never seen such a door, but for huge doors underwater, especially if the palace does not have a lot of other openings, it does make sense. The massive doors open into a hall. It is much like a foyer leading to a Great Hall in your world, but the long hall is like a wide tunnel that reaches at least four or five floors up! There are various openings all along it at different heights, and you can imagine it bustling with people on a busy day. Today, however, it is quiet and silent. Taking a deep breath, you make your way down [[the Great Hall]].

You scoop up the necklace while Zakos isn’t looking. But what should you do with it? It isn’t as if you have pockets. It’s too big to hide completely in your hands. On impulse, you slip it over your head and around your neck. Zakos will see it, though. It doesn’t hang low enough to hide inside your bodice— You choke and gag, swallowing water. Suddenly thousands of pounds of pressure begin to crush you. You try to cry out, but you only take in more water. You are crushed, suffocating, and [[your world darkens]].

"The king seemed to think the things in this room are of little value," you begin hesitantly. "But this necklace—it was lost in the ocean, and I suppose someone found it and brought it here. Do you think the king might allow me to take it back?" “The necklace?” Zakos looks at the pearls on the cushion. “Certainly. I don’t think it would be missed, although I could buy you better pearls at the marketplace.” He picks up the necklace and holds it out in front of him. “Would you like me to put it on you?” You hadn’t intended to wear them, but now that he asks, it occurs to you that you have no way to carry the pearls on you. You have no pockets, no bag. Short of carrying them in your hand or wrapping them around your wrist, wearing them is really the only way to go. “Please do,” you say. His eyes are hazel, you note dreamily as he leans close to lower the pearls over your head. They’re an unusual combination with his golden hair, but you like it. The pearls touch your skin, surprisingly cool. And then they burn. You choke and gag, swallowing water. Suddenly thousands of pounds of pressure begin to crush you. You try to cry out, but you only take in more water. You are crushed, suffocating, and [[your world darkens]].

The pressure disappears instantly, and you cough and choke, spitting out water. But you can breathe again. “What happened?” As your panic settles, you realize that Zakos has his arm around you. His very bare arm. How is it that his skin feels so warm in the cool of the ocean? “That necklace did something to you, some sort of dark magic.” Zakos is glaring down at his hand, and you realize he is clutching the pearls away from your bodies as if they are venomous. “You were dying, Princess.” As your brain clears, you remember your worries when you first agreed to this transformation, fears that you would turn human in the middle of the ocean. You would no longer be able to breathe, and you would die from the pressure of the water at this depth. “I think I almost transformed back to human.” Wait. What if it wasn’t the necklace at all? “Zakos, I was only given one day’s time to spend as a mermaid. The naiad who gave me this gift told me that an hour before I had to return to the surface, I would feel a . . .” What had she said? “Some sort of fading of the magic, I think. How long have I been here? Does time move differently down here?” “The ocean isn’t some sort of magical portal. It’s just underneath the waves. I met you this morning in the cove. I don’t know how long it was after I met you before she transformed you, but it hasn’t been a full day yet, not even close.” His eyes narrow. “A naiad was the one who transformed you? What was her name?” “I don’t know.” “I don’t like this. If she’s cheating you by shortening your hours . . .” He looks down at the necklace in his hands. “But maybe it is the necklace. The moment I took it off, you were well again.” Before you can stop him, he slips the necklace over his own neck. Dropping to his knees, he coughs and chokes. For a moment, you stare in horror as his tail begins to split into two, the scales disappearing. Then you burst into action, yanking the necklace from his bent head. Immediately, he straightens up and rubs his chest, coughing. “It’s the necklace,” you both say in unison. “Put it back,” Zakos says, pointing to the cushion where it had rested. “I will warn my father of its properties.” “Zakos, I cannot. It is the reason I came down here in the first place.” “What do you mean?” You tell him everything, about the necklace belonging to the naiad’s family and how they lost it, the naiad’s promise to offer you the options to stay a mermaid forever if you bring her the necklace, your own desire to see enough of Wavopia to decide if you could live here forever. “Forever,” he says softly. “You could stay?” You nod. He looks down at the necklace doubtfully. “Princess, I don’t know if we can safely give this necklace to the naiad. It is clearly magically powerful. It could kill someone!” You had been pondering that very problem. “But,” you say slowly, “it could only kill someone who is down here, in the depths of the ocean. If worn by someone on shore, it would do very little. The naiad could become fully human if she wore it. A merman could step out of the water.” You blush, imagining Zakos joining you on land on strong legs and exploring the forest with you. “And the naiad cannot travel into the depths of the ocean to use it on someone she could endanger,” he says thoughtfully. “You may be right.” “She mentioned earlier that her pond was drying up and she might have to move farther inland. If she knows of the magic in the necklace, she may hope that wearing it would allow her to stay farther from her homepond so that she could live near the sea.” “A reasonable assumption.” He sighs. “In the meantime, we have half a day to see Wavopia if you’re going to make a proper decision about staying. Come on!” He grabs your hand, and you allow yourself to be pulled along on the most amazing tour of your life. The nursery is full of eggs, little cloudy balls that clear as the tiny merbabies inside near their hatching dates. Some of the eggs are almost ready, and you can see tiny waving arms and wiggling tails inside each. How delightful! Wouldn’t it be fun to work in the egg nursery? His family’s seaweed farm is extensive. He shows you all five different kinds of seaweed they grow and tells you a little of how each is used. “Dulse is my favorite,” he confesses, “but we sell more salicornia overall. Those are the spiky ones.” He brings you to their storage center, where the harvested seaweed is prepared to go to the markets. “You should try some.” You get to try each of the five kinds they grow, although he assures you there are more varieties grown on other farms. “We import some, like our crispus moss. It doesn’t grow as well around here.” Every variety is absolutely delightful. Salicornia may be the most delicious thing you have ever eaten in your life, although you do appreciate his favorite, the dulse, as well. Nori is the most interesting, as it is one you have eaten on land! There, it was flattened and dried into sheets, but here it is eaten as a paste, which you like better. From the storage center, you go to a restaurant in the city, where you can try a proper meal. Your order of wild rice, which is often eaten along with the seaweed, is also delicious. And it’s a good thing you like seafood, as your plate is piled high with tidbits of crab, oyster, clam, lobster, shrimp, and octopus, along with a number of different kinds of fish to try. Sated and a little sleepy, you follow Zakos as he takes you on a leisurely tour of the city. There’s the theater, where undersea dramas are acted out, and the sports field, where merpeople compete to swat a ball through vertical hoops. There’s the school, where the merchildren take swimming lessons, learn how to evade predators, and learn techniques of reading and writing with a stylus and a special sort of soft clay that can be erased with a swipe of the hand when they are finished. Advanced students learn how to use a sort of chisel to carve words into sea rock or how to scratch marks onto a strange waxen leaf. “I’m sorry that you missed the ball,” you say as you and Zakos swim by the now empty ballroom. “It’s no matter,” he says. “My parents were too distracted with my sister’s presentation to notice my absence, I’m sure.” “Your sister’s presentation?” That sounded familiar. “The king spoke of his daughter’s presentation as well. Were a lot of girls being presented tonight?” “No.” He takes your hand in his as if he fears you will disappear. “Only one.” “Then you are—” “The youngest son of King Neptune, yes.” “You’re a prince.” You should have known. Even here Wavopia, you could not escape princes. But do you want to? “Do you have a lot of royal duties?” He shrugs. “I am meant to manage the seaweed farms, as I told you when we first met. I have too many brothers to need to do much else.” A sudden tingling runs down your legs, and you feel a momentary pressure and inability to breath. A moment later, it’s gone, and you gasp for breath. “I have an hour left,” you tell Zakos—Prince Zakos—reluctantly. “I need to swim for the surface.” “I’ll make sure you get there safely.” Thank goodness he does, as he leads you in completely the opposite direction from the one you would have gone in. You swim along with him quietly until the water begins to lighten. While you could see well enough before, presumably as part of the mermaid magic, you can still sense the warmth and light as you near the surface. The sun has risen. “Whether you choose to stay human or become a mermaid . . .” Zakos clears his throat. “I hope you know that I enjoyed my time with you immensely. And I hope that you find happiness, wherever it is.” He presses the necklace into your hands. Without thought, you throw yourself at him, hugging him tightly. “I loved being a mermaid. I promise—” “Don’t make promises,” he says fiercely. “Don’t. You may not be able to keep them.” With that, he gives you a little push, and you float to the surface. The naiad is already there, perched on a log on the beach. Her face lights up when she sees you. “Did you get it? Did you get the necklace? I want to see it!” You hold up the necklace, and she squeals with delight. “Oh, give it, give it to me now!” She wades out toward you. Your breath catches and your tail aches. The pain radiates down your tail to the tip, then explodes into fireworks of agony that send you face first into the shallow water as you fight not to drown. You drag yourself to the shore and look down. You have legs. Your day as a mermaid has ended. Wobbly on your legs as a newborn cold, you stand shivering in the water as the naiad approaches, hand extended. You take a deep breath of clear, salty air and [[give the necklace to the naiad]].

You hand the necklace to the naiad and stand anxiously by as she examines it. A sudden terrible thought hits you, and you look down and sigh with relief. You are back in the dress you were wearing this morning, covered from collarbones to ankles—although the bottom six inches of dress are damp from dragging in the surf. Hesitantly, you take a few steps towards the shore. The naiad, grinning broadly, puts the necklace on. Her smile fades. “What is this?” she says with dismay, yanking the necklace off and holding it up. “This is not the necklace I asked for!” “It was the only pearl necklace I saw!” you say defensively, taking a few hasty steps towards the shore. “I saw no other!” “It’s not magical.” She shakes it. “You wasted my time and magic, girl!” Her pitch rises as she speaks, and water seems to swirl around her. You run onto the sand, where you hope her power is weaker. “It is magical!” you call back. “It turned me into a human in the middle of the ocean!” “What?” she says, freezing. “What is this?” “I put it on after I took it from the Hall of Curiosities. I didn’t have another way to carry it, and I didn’t know it was magic. It turned me into a human, and I almost died from the pressure and lack of air. Za—somebody yanked it off, otherwise I would have died down there and never come back with it.” Her eyes are fierce and dark. “Do you swear it?” When you nod, she stares at the necklace. Then she screams, a high-pitched wail that makes your ears ring. You clamp your hands over your ears, but it cannot drown out that sound, a cry of despair like no other. The naiad drops to her knees, sobbing. She flings the necklace out into the ocean, and you gasp. After she sent you after it, risking your life, she would throw it away so easily? Yet there is something piteous to her as well, as if she has lost everything she ever dreamed of. At last, her sobs die down and she stands, wet and sandy. “It doesn’t work on naiads,” she whispers, her voice scratchy and muted. “It doesn’t work on naiads.” “What doesn’t work on naiads?” you ask, daring to approach her. “That dratted necklace! I’ve longed for it for years ever since I heard what it can do. My sister created it herself and put all of her powerful transformation magic into it." She sighs. "She was always far more powerful than I am, always learning spells. And then she married a merman. I never knew quite how they made it work, but I thought . . . I thought maybe the necklace was the key.” She gives a last choked sob. “It was my last chance to stay. My pond is almost gone. And now there is nothing for it.” “I’m so sorry,” you say, and despite her misery, she gives you a small smile. “I shall go now, and pass inland,” she says. “Goodbye. I wish you the best.” “Oh, but . . .” Your decision wasn’t consciously made. You haven’t even had the chance to consider it in your anxiety over getting back and bringing her the necklace, yet you know what it must be. “You promised to turn me into a mermaid permanently.” The moment the words cross your lips, you imagine the pain they must bring her. Indeed, her face draws tight. “No,” she says. She stalks off across the beach and over the rocky ridge at the edge of the shoreline. “Wait!” you call. “Please, wait!” But she is gone. And so is any hope you ever had of becoming a mermaid and returning to Zakos. Now it is your turn. You curl up into a ball on the sand and stare sightlessly out over the sparkling ocean, weighted down by your sense of loss. You may see Zakos again, but it will not be the same. He is a merman, you are a human, and you are destined to live apart forever. You will never see the beautiful kingdom of Wavopia again. [[You despair]].

You toss the necklace out as deep into the ocean as you can throw it. “No!” you cry. “I don’t know what you want with the necklace, but I won’t let you have it!” “You fool!” she screeches. She pounds through the surf, dodging and leaping over waves as she races for the place where you threw the necklace. She dives under the water and comes up, screaming and diving again. “You little brat!” she yells when she comes up, gasping for breath. “That necklace held transformation magic!” She tries to throw a piece of driftwood your way, but it falls short. “Get it for me! Now!” “No!” you shout again. “If I can’t use it to become a mermaid, I certainly will not transform you, girlie. You’ve lost your chance.” It hits you hard, even though you already knew what you were giving up. And now you know why the naiad wanted it as well. She had mentioned that her transformation magic didn’t work on a non-human—it must be that this necklace was the only way for her to become a mermaid. A small part of you feels pity for her. But already she has shown you her true colors, and what havoc could she have wreaked on Wavopia if she could swim there herself? You are certain now that she is the naiad that the king mentioned. You walk slowly to the shore, relieved and lost in misery at the same time. You don’t know, you may never know, why the naiad wanted it so desperately. But you could not bear if she somehow used it to hurt the sea people you have barely glimpsed but already feel a friendly affection for. The absentminded king, the friendly girl who invited you to dance, the tiny babies in their little pearlescent eggs, all of them will remain only fond memories. You find a good place to watch from a distance, a stone outcropping that looks out over the water but is less visible from below. You cannot say why, but you feel the need to keep an eye on the naiad and what she does next. She keeps diving over and over, crying, and eventually tearing her hair out. After some time, she stomps up the beach, crosses over the rocky stones that line the edge of it, and disappears into the forest. Tentatively, you walk down to the shore and stay looking out over the water, imagining what Zakos might be doing now. Has he returned to check on the farms? Perhaps it’s time for breakfast, and he’s eating some of his favorite dulse and thinking of you. Your stomach rumbles at the thought. [[You despair]].

Floating as regally as you can manage, you pass a servant swimming one direction with a covered tray, two more diplomats in their odd little shell-covered shortcoats, and finally to what looks like a throne room. A grand throne stands in the middle of the room, but it is nothing like what a human king would sit on. Instead of a seat, it has more of a slope, allowing someone to leisurely lie back, rather than to sit up straight. Sensible, as it would be rather uncomfortable to sit on a tail! Most notably, however, the throne room is empty. “You are the Princess of Fairelandia?” an old, creaky voice asks. “I am.” You spin until you find the speaker, an elderly merman who looked like a clerk. “The king is in his antechamber,” the merman says, gesturing. You follow his pointing finger to a door just off the throne room and knock loudly. “Hello?” “Come in, come in!” You enter to find a very tall, large merman holding up one, then another shelled waistcoat to his chest. “Which one, do you think? The blue, or the green?” “Oh. Um.” You consider. This merman’s tail is a very deep blue with hints of indigo. Both blue and green look good with it, the blue picking up some of the lighter blues on the tail, the green providing an interesting contrast. “The green, I think? Both are excellent choices, though.” “Don’t I know it. I have been stuck in indecision for an hour now.” He releases the blue one, which floats away, and quickly slips into the green one with no compunction about your presence. “Now, who are you?” “I’m the Princess of Fairelandia. I’ve come to visit to your fair kingdom.” You might as well ask for what you want right away, especially as he seems distracted at present. “I heard of your Hall of Curiosities and was hoping to catch a glimpse of the wonders there.” “Wonders?” he glances at you. “It’s more of a collection of pretty shells and sea glass, but if you want to see it, you’re welcome to. Fairelandia . . . is that the kingdom to the north, where that cold current sweeps in from the east?” It had never occurred to you that an ocean kingdom would be unaware of the land kingdoms. But of course, what concern would they have for lands where they could not venture? “No, Fairelandia is on land. It’s the land country you are nearest to, where the harbor and cove sit.” He stops fidgeting with the waistcoat at last and stares at you. “Is it really? I did not realize they had merpeople there.” “I’m not naturally a mermaid. A naiad transformed me into a mermaid temporarily so that I might visit.” “Hmm. My apologies,” he says, brushing past you with a fin as he swims towards the door, “but my daughter is being presented at the ball this evening and I’ll miss if it I don’t hurry. Explore the Hall of Curiosities all you want, and I’ll be eager to hear your tales of that Landia place after the ball!” He waves before disappearing through the door. When you follow him, still a little slower due to the newness of your tail and swimming abilities, you find an empty throne room and empty halls. “Looking for something?” Zakos is leaning against a pillar down the hall, his blond hair flowing behind him in a way that the men of your world would envy and women would sigh over. “The Hall of Curiosities,” you say. “The king has given me permission to visit.” “This way, then.” With a flick of his tail, he flips himself upward and swims to what would be the third floor of a land-based dwelling, but here there is no need for a staircase. He swims through a door, and you follow him into a large room. So much for the “hall” of curiosities. You had imagined something like a Great Hall filled with shelves or glass cabinets displaying wondrous things. Instead, it’s a single room with a few items on display. Some objects, presumably those denser than water, sit on decorative cushions around the room. Floating objects are anchored to hooks on the floor or walls with thin, almost invisible string. “A fascinating collection,” you say as you swim slowly about the perimeter, eyeing each item carefully. A pearl necklace, the naiad had described. And there it is! The necklace sits perched on a cushion at the far end of the room. You sidle over that way, but Zakos notices. “Interested in pearls? I’m not sure why that necklace ended up in here, honestly. Pearls are a dime a dozen. Now, this dagger is rare enough . . .” He turns to gesture to the weapon. Now’s your chance. Do you: [[grab the necklace]] while he isn’t looking or [[ask Zakos about the necklace]] since he seems to think it of little value anyway?

Out in the water, something sandy-colored emerges. You leap to you feet when you recognize Zakos’s head protruding from the water. “Zakos!” you call, running into the water. You don’t care that your gown is now wet up to your knees. He can’t come very close to shore, not with his tail. “Zakos!” He swims towards you with powerful overhand strokes, his tail hampered by the shallow water. When he nears you, he balances on his tail and holds something out to you. It’s the necklace. “I heard everything,” he says softly, swiping his damp hair away from his face. “It was never hers, you know. She wanted it so that she can become a mermaid, but it would not work on her as a naiad.” “Dangerous magic,” you whisper. “I feel sorry for her. Her pond . . . and I understand her longing for the ocean." "Yes." He looks up the rocks towards where her home pond must be. "Maybe . . . I will have to think on it. My father may know more of naiads and their magic than I do. But this necklace." The corners of his mouth quirk upwards. “This necklace could be the key for us. For a deeper friendship and alliance between the land kingdom of Fairelandia and the ocean kingdom of Wavopia." Before you can protest, he puts the necklace over his neck. He sinks beneath the waves, and you dive forward, pulling him above the water, where he gasps for breath. He gently shrugs you off, standing . . . standing on two legs. Before you, there is no longer a merman with shimmering blue-green tail, but a human standing tall on two legs. Tall and just a little wobbly. When he tries to take a step forward, he stumbles and would have dropped to his knees if you didn’t catch him. “Zakos!” you cry. “It works,” he says, touching it with a hand. “Princess, this means that I can be a human. I can come on land with you and see your country. You can show me everything that I’ve missed as a merman.” He coughs. “Perhaps introduce me to your parents.” “Oh.” Wouldn’t they just love that, to discover their runaway daughter returning home with a merman prince. On second thought, perhaps they //would// love it. Her friendship with Zakos could provide an alliance with a kingdom that no other kingdom could claim, and she had the impression Wavopia was not the only country in the ocean. “Or,” Zakos says, taking off the necklace and diving into the ocean, surfacing a moment later as a merman again with necklace in hand, “you could wear the necklace. It has the power to transform you in the opposite direction, into a mermaid. You could join me in Wavopia. I’m sure my parents and my brothers and sisters would love to meet you, and you could help me manage the farms.” It’s a good thing you loved your sampling of seaweed. You don’t have to decide forever. Sometimes, you could wear the necklace and join Zakos deep below the ocean. Sometimes, Zakos could don it, and then he could join you on land. But where shall you make your home? Do you: choose to [[live on land]] with Zakos and find a home together or choose to [[live at sea]] and join Zakos and his family in Wavopia?

After his first sunburn, Zakos has started to wear shirts on land, but he does always wear the pearl necklace as well. Your parents were so pleased at your new alliance with the undersea kingdom that they paid a king’s ransom to have the necklace charmed so that it could not be broken or damaged and so that it could not be taken from its owner unwillingly, giving Zakos protection from any would-be thieves or assassins. He looks out over the garden plot that is just now starting to sprout behind your lovely house by the sea. Once you and Zakos decided to marry, our parents argued long and hard that you should live in the palace with them, but you argued equally fervently for space and some distance from the constant court functions and political meetings. Reluctantly, they agreed to let you find your own house near the sea. It only took a few months after your very eventful first meeting with Zakos before the two of you knew you were in love. In fact, it was Zakos's actions on behalf of the naiad that first revealed it. Neither you nor Zakos had been able to forget her sorrow. While your people know little of naiads or their magic, their similar magic means that merpeople know a little more of them. Zakos spoke at length to his father, and both spent some time speaking to record-keepers among the merpeople to determine how the magic of homeponds works for naiads. Zakos then donned the necklace and, on a visit to your father, suggested a plan. "Artificially increasing her pond?" Father asked. "Will that not dilute her magic? Would she even let us?" "And is it safe to allow a powerful magical being to live so close to the palace?" Mother asked. "If she makes a magical treaty, yes," Zakos said. "Naiads are bound to their written word. If she signs a paper that she will not harm any human unless she is defending herself or another from attack, then you will provide human workers to deepen and extend her pond now and to maintain it should she ever suffer the same issue again in the future." Your parents reluctantly agreed, and were amply rewarded with the friendship of the naiad. She sent lovely gifts of seaglass and oysters to the palace regularly, as she still loved to walk along the beach as often as she could. One of Zakos's brothers was working out a magical method that might allow her to travel down to Wavopia, although he had not yet perfected it. Helping the naiad relieved some of your guilt over using the necklace. It has now become your family's dearest heirloom, the simple magic that allows you and Zakos to share a life—and a garden—together. “We should trade some of this corn for dulse,” Zakos says, examining a corn sprout that barely reaches his ankle. “Cook says it’s excellent with eggs and tomatoes.” You chuckle. “You think dulse is good with everything. And that corn will need months to grow! But don’t worry, your brothers will send a shipment of dulse soon enough. My father has scythes he is sending down to Javos to help with the farming.” Javos was the brother who had taken over Zakos’s farming duties when he decided to stay on land with you. “Mmm. Very well. I will wait for the corn.” Zakos puts his arm around you and squeezes you tight. “How about a swim?” You smile. “I would be delighted.” The two of you walk down to the shore together and wade into the foaming waves. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, and he takes the necklace off, slipping it over your head and onto your neck in a quick, practiced movement. Almost simultaneously, both of you twist and transform, Zakos reverting to his true form and you receiving the magical transformation from the necklace. “Race you to the sandbar!” Zakos calls and takes off before you can respond. Laughing, you dive under and swim after him, grabbing the edge of his fin and letting him drag you along. Life on land and sea—it’s the perfect [[Happily Ever After]].

“What do you think?” Chiva, Zakos’s youngest sister, asks, twirling around in her new dress. It’s different from anything you’ve ever seen a mermaid wear, made from a combination of mermaid and human styles and influenced heavily by human dancers. The dress is tightly fitted through the bodice so that it does not flip up, but the lower part of it is filmy and flowy in the water, spinning with her as she turns and dances. It may be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and the light yellow color suits the cheerful girl as if it was made for her. Which it was. “Perfect,” you say, squeezing her hand. She grins at you and flips her hair before floating down to the ballroom to wait with the other performers. Zakos joins you, and together you watch as the dozen dancers take to the water above the ballroom floor, spinning and looping and dancing in that wonderful way that no human bound by earthly gravity can do. “Maybe one day you could try that,” he whispers. You laugh. “Not right now! I’m as big as a manatee!” You pat your belly, and he rolls his eyes. “//After// you lay your egg, I mean.” You smile fondly, remember your visits to the egg nursery and all of those sweet eggs with their little miniature mermaids and mermen curled up inside. In another month, one of those eggs will be yours. Oh, how much has changed since that dawn when you first walked along the beach and discovered the cove. It only took a few months after your very eventful first meeting with Zakos before the two of you knew you were in love. In fact, it was Zakos's actions on behalf of the naiad that first revealed it. Neither you nor Zakos had been able to forget her sorrow. While your people know little of naiads or their magic, their similar magic means that merpeople know a little more of them. Zakos spoke at length to his father, and both spent some time speaking to record-keepers among the merpeople to determine how the magic of homeponds works for naiads. Zakos then donned the necklace and, on a visit to your father, suggested a plan. "Artificially increasing her pond?" Father asked. "Will that not dilute her magic? Would she even let us?" "And is it safe to allow a powerful magical being to live so close to the palace?" Mother asked. "If she makes a magical treaty, yes," Zakos said. "Naiads are bound to their written word. If she signs a paper that she will not harm any human unless she is defending herself or another from attack, then you will provide human workers to deepen and extend her pond now and to maintain it should she ever suffer the same issue again in the future." Your parents reluctantly agreed, and were amply rewarded with the friendship of the naiad. She sent lovely gifts of seaglass and oysters to your parents' palace regularly, as she still loved to walk along the beach as often as she could. One of Zakos's brothers was working out a magical method that might allow her to travel down to Wavopia, although he had not yet perfected it. Helping the naiad relieved some of your guilt over using the necklace. It has now become your family's dearest heirloom, the simple magic that allows you and Zakos to share a life—and a farm—together. After Chiva's dance performance, you and Zakos head back to his suite at the palace. “You got a letter from your mother,” Zakos calls, flipping through some scrolls left inside the door. “Prince Darvik and someone named Felicia are having a baby, too. Wait, isn’t Prince Darvik the one you were once betrothed to?” “Yes.” You gingerly take a seat on one of the loungers. Prince Darvik. It’s like a name from a distant past you hardly remember. “He married my handmaiden, the one who was supposed to accompany me to Romancia. I believe she was sent with one of the other handmaidens.” “Something about a curse being lifted . . . did you know anything about a curse?” You shudder. “No, and I’m glad I didn’t. We had enough challenges to contend with, thank you very much.” He swims to the lounger next to you. “I suppose we did! But if we hadn't, we would never have the necklace that allows us to be together.” You reach across the space between your loungers and interlace your hand with his. “I am grateful. And I do look forward to visiting them in a few months once our little one hatches.” Once she is strong enough, you can take her to the cove to visit with your parents. And maybe when she is older, she can wear the necklace so that she might fully leave the water, and you can take her for a visit to the palace. Someday. For now, all of your plans are dreams for the future. Your life is here in Wavopia, and you couldn’t be happier with your husband, his family, your friends, and the beautiful underwater city in which you live. This is your [[Happily Ever After]].

You never see the prince again. After his marriage to Felicia, you hear that he and his wife broke some sort of curse, but it doesn’t matter much. You do think fondly of the one afternoon you spoke with a prince, but what does it really matter to the life of a goose girl? It’s a warm day in the late summer when a man comes to speak with Conrad. About your age, the man has curly brown hair, warm eyes, and broad shoulders. He cuffs Conrad affectionately and calls out to you, “Is Conrad giving you any trouble, Goose Girl?” “Trouble? Nah. Except when he goes off and leaves me to deal with the geese. But the geese and I have an arrangement now.” You glare at a gander wandering a little too close to you and hold up your stick threateningly. It ignores you, but you notice it wanders just a little farther out of stick range. “Conrad a friend of yours?” It would be an odd friendship, with Conrad a boy of ten or twelve and this man probably ten years older, but you don’t know how else to ask how he knows the goose boy. “He’s my little brother.” Conrad scowls and turns to look out at the sheep, but the man joins you on your rock. “My name’s Will.” You frown. You haven’t had to introduce yourself for some time now. By rights, you are Princess of Fairelandia. But as far as anybody else is concerned, Felicia is the Princess of Fairelandia. You had plans for a while about finding proof she had stolen your identity, but as time went on, it just seemed . . . less important. And now, trying to claim your rightful place will only confuse things and maybe endanger the treaty. You shrug and introduce yourself by your first name only, and somehow, you feel lighter afterward, as if you’ve shed off a weight that was dragging behind you. “Conrad told me about the pretty girl who has tamed the geese, and I had to come meet you,” Will confesses. “I’ve never been a big fan of geese. Too vicious.” “Don’t I know it,” you say bitterly. “And yet it’s peaceful here. Now that they respect me, they don’t attack me, and . . . I don’t know. Maybe I like geese more than I thought.” “I guess a lot of animals are like that. The more you get to know them, the more you like them. Well, mostly. I think it may be the reverse for sheep.” You laugh. “Dug a sheep out of a hole of its own making recently? Or did you just get a good whiff of one?” “Oh, so you know sheep, I see?” You both laugh. “A little,” you say. “I never used to know much about farming or animals, honestly. I was a little overprotected growing up.” “You should come by our farm sometime.” Will stands up, brushing off his pants. “We have cows. Dozens of them, real beauties. A few calves, although they’re getting pretty big by now, but we calve in the autumn as well, so that’s a good time.” “I would love to.” Will presses your hand in his. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” He doffs his hat before walking back off across the field, patting Conrad on the shoulder as he passes. Conrad punches him back and then drops into the grass with a huff, but you find yourself thinking for the rest of the afternoon about warm hazel eyes. It isn’t your last meeting with Will. In fact, your meetings soon become almost daily, and you do visit him on his farm. His cows are beautiful, soft and brown with big dark eyes, and when the first calf is born in the autumn, he lets you name it and call it your own. Not long after, you call Will your own when the two of you marry and move into his family’s large farmhouse, full to the rafters with love and laughter. Even Conrad behaves himself—mostly. Will does well enough that you could stay home to help his mother and sisters in the house, but you find yourself unwilling to give you your work as the goose girl just yet. So you stay, tending your geese by day and spending the evening with the family, until you and Will have your own children and decide to build a beautiful new farmhouse just for you, overlooking the cow pond and a handsome stand of fir trees. You spend more time at home now, tending the house and caring for the children, but once your children are old enough, they too seek employment in caring for the geese. For your tenth wedding anniversary, Will buys you a present. It’s a mated pair of geese with their five little goslings. You have to hold back tears when you hug him in thanks. Your life with Will requires more hard work and less diplomacy than you thought your marriage would entail, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything else. Whoever would have imagined that geese would feature so prominently in your [[Happily Ever After]]?

You tentatively step inside the door to complete and utter chaos. There are penguins everywhere. Some penguins are large, as tall as a child of ten or so. Other penguins are tiny like the one you saw outside. And there are penguins of every size in between. Some are almost entirely black, others are black and white, and the littlest ones are almost a blue-gray color. A few of them look absolutely ridiculous, with tufts of yellow feathers that stick out the tops of their heads. All of them look confused, miserable, or something in between as they huddle in groups or meander through the hallway, knocking each other over and squawking irritably. One of them almost gets trampled as you look, and you scoop it up and place it in an emptier spot for safety before wading through the penguins to progress farther into the house. You hadn’t noticed it at first with the sea of penguins, but there is a lingering magic about this place, sparkles of pink that hang in the air and frost the penguins’ heads and feathers. The penguins don’t seem dangerous, but there’s nonetheless something unnatural about them, and you are hit with a sudden sympathy. They don’t want to be here, they don’t belong here—inside an estate house on a moderately warm day in late spring—and they probably have no way to escape or get home. Where did they come from, anyway? You are fairly certain penguins only live far south of the equator. At the end of the hallway, another door is open, and you see another pink handprint. Well, somebody either desperately wants you to follow them, or they are remarkably casual about leaving literal magic handprints about. It’s too late to turn back now. You approach the door. “No!” a child shouts. “You cheated! You are a cheater cheater penguin eater!” Several of the penguins draw back in startled fear. “Nooooooo!” There is a pounding sound, as if the child is pounding on a table or stomping on the floor. “Not fair! I’m gonna turn you into a beast for that!” Perplexed, you push open the door to see a little girl of about six or so with bright pink hair, pink wings, and a pink wand. She’s standing on a chair leaning over a checkerboard that has been flung awry, and across from her sits a man frozen in terror. “Ha!” she cries, just as the door you are pushing against suddenly creaks. She spins and flicks her wand at you. You are dying. Your skin is stretching, thick hair pushing its way through every part of your body. Your bones twist and lengthen, and you scream in agony as your body is torn apart and then somehow put together again. You are taller. Much, much taller. You now loom over the tiny panicking penguins that run every which way under your feet, squawking and tumbling over each other. “Oh!” The little girl looks up at you and laughs. “Who are you? Do you play checkers? Wanna play checkers with me?” You look down at yourself in confusion to find a hairy body, clawed hands, and your gown somehow magically stretched to fit you in this new form—which appears to be that of a seven foot tall beast. You are a beast. Do you: [[scream and try to escape]] or [[tell the girl to change you back]]?

You race back the way you can, but you slam into the first doorway, whacking your head and falling backwards. “Ow.” You stare up at the ceiling, rubbing your forehead, and wondering if there’s any possibility this is all a dream. A man appears over you, worry wrinkling his forehead. “Are you well? I’m so sorry! You came at just the wrong time.” He offers you a hand, which you engulf in your giant fur-covered paw. He grunts as he tries to help you up, but he only gets you as far as sitting up. “Where am I?” you ask, and you are pleased but perplexed when your voice sounds just like your regular voice. “You are at Stormhaven, my estate,” he says. “I am Lord Grayley.” He gestures to the penguins, who have all gathered around are making worried little plucking sounds. “These are my servants.” “Uh.” You struggle to your knees. “Do you like penguins or something?” He sighs. “They were humans yesterday.” The little girl skips by, waving as she passes you. “Bye-bye! I have to go for my piano and transmogrify lessons! I’ll come back when I can!” “Wait!” Lord Grayley calls, but it’s too late. The moment the little girl pushes open the front door, she flutters her wings as quickly as a hummingbird, zipping away. “Blast that brat.” Lord Grayley collapses into a chair. “I have no idea where she came from. She walked through the gardens and house, challenging every servant she passed to a game of checkers. And when they all declined, she turned them into penguins!” Your jaw drops. “Her magic is that powerful?” “She’s a fairy of some sort, I think. I’m pretty sure she’s actually a child, not just in appearance, but I have no idea who she is. I was in my study when she first arrived, so I emerged just as she returned from the kitchens, where she had transformed every last kitchen boy and scullery maid, and I witnessed her transformation of the last footman.” He groans. “The cost in fish alone is going to bankrupt me.” “You were playing checkers when I arrived? I assume that’s why she didn’t turn you into a penguin?” He scoops a smaller penguin off the floor just before a larger one waddles past. “Yes. I thought that accepting her challenge would satisfy her and that she might turn them back afterwards. But I won the game, and then things turned back.” He looks you up and down and grimaces. “I’m so sorry. That beast transformation was meant for me.” “You //won//? Wouldn’t it have been better to let her win?” “I would have!” He runs a hand through his curly black hair. “She’s so bad at the game! Like, honestly, one of the penguins could play better than her!” A penguins squawks, and he strokes its head absently. “No offense, Mrs. Houghton.” “Mrs. Houghton?” He shrugs. “I think this is the housekeeper. I’m not entirely sure, but she keeps trying to bustle around and nudge a number of other penguins into doing things. And that feather pattern looks a little like the chatelaine she usually wears.” You seem to have found a real challenge for yourself. What should you do first? Do you: try to [[find food]] for the penguins first or start by trying to [[solve the magical problem]]?

“Change me back!” you shout at the fairy child. “I had nothing to do with this!” She scrunches up her face. “You shouldn’t have walked in on a private chess game.” A penguin squawks, and you pointedly look around at all of the penguins and then back at the fairy. “Private?” “Private!” she squeaks, shoving the checkers board so that it falls on the floor, scattering checkers everywhere. “If you won’t play checkers with me, I’m leaving. //He’s// a cheater,” she says, pointing at the man, “and //you’re// a beast. Bet you don’t even know how to play checkers.” Her face lights up. “But you could learn for next time!” “Miss Fairy,” the man begins, but the girl waves in his face. “Bye-bye! I have to go for my piano and transmogrifying lessons! I’ll come back when I can!” “Wait!” he calls, but it’s too late. The fairy girl flutters her wings as she bounces down the hallway at a speed no human could match, darting out the door. “Blast that brat.” The man collapses into a chair. “What //is// this place?” you ask, taking a chair of your own. “You are at Stormhaven, my estate,” he says. “I am Lord Grayley.” He gestures to the penguins, who have all gathered around are making worried little clucking sounds. “These are my servants.” “Uh.” You struggle to your knees. “Do you like penguins or something?” He sighs. “They were humans yesterday. I have no idea where that fairy came from. She walked through the gardens and house, challenging every servant she passed to a game of checkers. And when they all declined, she turned them into penguins!” Your jaw drops. “Her magic is that powerful?” “She’s a fairy of some sort, I think. I’m pretty sure she’s actually a child, not just in appearance, but I have no idea who she is. I was in my study when she first arrived, so I emerged just as she returned from the kitchens, where she had transformed every last kitchen boy and scullery maid, and I witnessed her transformation of the last footman.” He groans. “The cost in fish alone is going to bankrupt me.” “You were playing checkers when I arrived? I assume that’s why she didn’t turn you into a penguin?” He scoops a smaller penguin off the floor just before a larger one waddles past. “Yes. I thought that accepting her challenge would satisfy her and that she might turn them back afterwards. But I won the game, and then things turned back.” He looks you up and down and grimaces. “I’m so sorry. That beast transformation was meant for me.” “You //won//? Wouldn’t it have been better to let her win?” “I would have!” He runs a hand through his curly black hair. “She’s so bad at the game! Like, honestly, one of the penguins could play better than her!” A penguins squawks, and he strokes its head absently. “No offense, Mrs. Houghton.” “Mrs. Houghton?” He shrugs. “I think this is the housekeeper. I’m not entirely sure, but she keeps trying to bustle around and nudge a number of other penguins into doing things. And that feather pattern looks a little like the chatelaine she usually wears.” You seem to have found a real challenge for yourself. What should you do first? Do you: try to [[find food]] for the penguins first or start by trying to [[solve the magical problem]]?

You cross your arms, an awkward feat considering they are much longer in proportion to your body than they were previously. “We need some sort of magical help to transform everybody back. But in the meantime, we need to figure out how we’re going to feed the penguins. Do we know if they have a human appetite or a penguin one?” His eyes brighten. “If they can eat regular human food, we should have plenty in the kitchens, even if Cook is now a penguin, too.” “Let’s start there, then.” Food first. You’ll have to work out the issue of the penguins—and your own beast form—once the basic needs are taken care of. “Come on, penguins!” Unsurprisingly, the penguins do not follow you. Still, you find your way down to the kitchens by creeping on hands and feet—the ceilings of the passageways are too low to stand. There are plenty of penguins down here as well, presumably the cook and her workers. They must have been in the process of making a meal when the fairy arrived, because meat simmers on the stove in a congealed mass, a pastry sits cooling on the table, and a pot of over-boiled broccoli is still hanging over the stove. You move the meat and vegetables away from the heat and cut off a little bit of the pastry, putting it on a plate and offering it to the nearest penguin. The penguin pecks at it before wandering away. Fish it is, then. You return upstairs to tell Lord Grayley the bad news. “Good thing we’re not far from the river!” he says. “Let me get my rod and tackle and we’ll catch some fish. It’ll be faster than trying to hitch up the horse and cart to go all the way to the market.” “You don’t know how to hitch the horse to the cart, do you?” you ask. “Not at all,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s go!” It’s a long walk to the river, but the walk is made shorter by the company. “Why did you come to Stonehaven?” he asks you. You shrug. There’s no reason to hide your aimless wandering. You tell him about your identity, your erstwhile betrothal to Prince Darvik, and your desire to escape and find your own way. “Princess,” he says slowly. “Well.” He grins and waves his rod. “I suppose you didn’t expect your adventure to lead to fishing for a bunch of penguins.” You struggle to pick up the buckets with your claws, but you manage it. “I didn’t dream of anything quite so thrilling, no.” When the two of you reach the river, he casts off. You watch, considering. You can see fish when you peer into the water, and that gives you an idea. You’ve heard tales of how bears fish, and you really aren’t so different from a bear now, are you? You roll up your gown and tuck it in above your knees—it’s a little inconvenient, but even covered with hair, you aren’t going to take it off—and wade into the river. “What are you doing?” he asks, half alarmed, half laughing. “Fishing,” you say. You lean down and peer through the water until you see a fish. Slap! You flick the fish towards the shore. And miss entirely. Well, nobody succeeds on their first try, do they? You wait until the cloud of sand kicked up by your flick settles, then you try again. This time, you do manage to hit a fish, although it doesn’t make it all the way to the shore. You grab it with both hands and find that your long, sharp claws work fantastically for grabbing and retaining a fish. Maybe that’s easier than flicking. You toss the fish onto the shore and look for more. “I’m starting to feel a little irrelevant here,” Lord Grayley calls. “Maybe I should have let the fairy turn me into a beast after all.” “You know, you seem remarkably unbothered by the fact that I look like . . . well, this.” You look down at your too-long, hairy arms, gown, and shoes, and wonder just what you look like. Tentatively, you touch your face. Fangs. Ugh. He gestures to the forest that hides much of his estate. “See that forest? That’s the Faerie Forest, where Fairelandia gets its name. It’s the most magical part of the kingdom. Heavily populated by fae.” “So you’re used to magic?” “Not only that, but a beast is also part of my family’s story. See, years ago, a fae sorceress was caught in a storm in the wood and came to my father’s house. She was rather bedraggled, and he was in the midst of entertaining a number of well-connected noblemen, so he tried to send her away, not knowing she was a sorceress. She cursed him to turn into a beast.” You blanch. “Is he—” “No.” He laughs. “His guests ran screaming to their carriages and hurried back to their estates. But the sorceress, well, she still needed a place to stay. So she stayed. And she ended up coming to appreciate the better qualities of the beast eventually.” “You mean—” “They fell in love.” He chuckled. “And the curse ended when she declared her love to the beast, despite his form. He regained his usual human body, and he married the sorceress. So you see, my mother is fae and a bit magical herself.” “Then she could transform the servants and me!” “Well, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Except that she is currently out of the country helping with a jammed portal. My father, too, although he doesn’t have any magic anyway. She won’t be able to make it back for weeks. I mean, if you want to wait . . .” “At least I’ll know there’s a last resort,” you say glumly. How awkward will it be to meet Lord Grayley’s parents as a beast. In a dress. Penguin feeding is utter chaos. Lord Grayley tries to have the penguins stand in line to be fed one at a time. The penguins do not know what a line is. Eventually the two of you are frantically tossing fish away from you just to keep from being mobbed with penguins. “This is not precisely how I expected to spend the afternoon,” Lord Grayley says, gasping, as he tosses out the last fish. “I’m out.” “Me, too.” You show your empty bucket to the penguins, but they poke and prod and squawk at it for a while before they accept the sad news and wander off. “I’m glad we didn’t try to do this in the dining room, but I’m a little concerned how we’re going to get the penguins to come back inside,” Lord Grayley says, eyeing the vast see of black, white, and gray spread across the castle lawn. He had suggested setting out picnic blankets and putting a plate of fish on each one, but you are glad you talked him down from that idea. “More fish,” you say glumly, thinking of the walk back to the river. But before you can get up, a pink sparkle appears in the midst of the penguins on the lawn. “Oh, hello!” the little fairy calls, skipping up the road towards the house. “There you are! I finished my transmogrification lesson and am ready to play checkers again!” She glares at Lord Grayley. “Not against him, though. He cheats. I can play against you!” You swallow. “Uh, I don’t know how to play checkers,” you lie. Her eyes light up. “Ooh. All the better! I will teach you.” Do you: [[agree to play checkers]] with the little fairy or [[decline and risk going from beast to penguin]]?

“The penguins won’t starve in a few hours,” you reason. “Besides, it isn’t like we have buckets of fish to feed them.” Several penguins perk up at this, but you give them a quelling look. “We need to figure out how to fix this. Do you know where that fairy lives?” “In the forest, but that’s all I know. The forest that borders our estate? That’s the Faerie Forest, where Fairelandia gets its name. It’s the most magical part of the country, //and// it’s where the fae live.” You nod. You’ve studied that in your geography lessons, but you never thought it would matter much, since the fae aren’t involved in human politics. “Should we go into the forest and try to find a sympathetic fairy?” He hesitates. “My mother is a fae sorceress,” he confesses. You stare at him. “I thought you were human. That fairy almost turned you into a beast! She turned me into a beast!” “Yeah, well . . .” He sighs. “You might say a beast is already part of my family’s story. See, years ago, a fae sorceress was caught in a storm in the wood and came to my father’s house. She was rather bedraggled, and he was in the midst of entertaining a number of well-connected noblemen, so he tried to send her away, not knowing she was a sorceress. She cursed him to turn into a beast.” You blanch. “Is he—” “No.” He laughs. “His guests ran screaming to their carriages and hurried back to their estates. But the sorceress, well, she still needed a place to stay. So she stayed. And she ended up coming to appreciate the better qualities of the beast eventually.” “You mean—” “They fell in love.” He chuckles. “And the curse ended when she declared her love to the beast, despite his form. He regained his usual human body, and he married the sorceress. So you see, my mother is fae and a bit magical herself.” “Then she could transform the servants and me!” “Well, yes.” He clears his throat. “Except that she is currently out of the country helping with a jammed portal. My father, too, although he doesn’t have any magic anyway. She won’t be able to make it back for weeks. I mean, if you want to wait . . .” “At least I’ll know there’s a last resort,” you say glumly. How awkward will it be to meet Lord Grayley’s parents as a beast. In a dress. “Does she have any relatives living in the forest who could help us?” His face hardens. “No. They were displeased with my mother for marrying a human. They think I am some sort of atrocity. You, they might help, if you went alone and disavowed any connection with me. Maybe. The fae can be . . . fickle.” “I’d have to send help for the penguins.” You consider how that would work. You cannot hide the fact that the penguins are on Lord Grayley’s estate. Maybe once a fairy helps you, they would feel honor-bound to come and help the penguins? Or maybe Lord Grayley could herd the penguins into the forest somehow? Or . . . or you could claim the penguins have “taken refuge” at Stormhaven, rather than letting on that they were servants there? “My mother does keep magical books in her study,” Lord Grayley offers. “But I do not know that they would do us any good without magic.” “Is there some sort of . . . you know, way to reverse the curse? True love’s kiss or something along those lines?” You blush, averting your face from Lord Grayley’s and pretending to examine a nearby penguin. “She didn’t mention anything. If it’s built into the curse, then it’s possible, but I would have no idea.” Just in case, you try kissing the nearest penguin on the head. Nothing happens. Of course, you aren’t in love with the penguin . . . well, not //in// love. He //is// pretty cute. Or she. You have no idea how to tell with penguins. “Maybe we could load the penguins in a cart?” you suggest. “And I could take them with me into the forest to find help?” He looks skeptical. “Do you know how to hitch a cart to a horse? My coachman is a penguin at the moment. I’m also not sure the penguins will stay in the cart.” “Maybe if we put them on leashes?” Both of you share a look for a moment before bursting out laughing. “Look,” he said, “If that’s what you want to do, I’ll go with you. Maybe together we can herd the penguins. You’re a beast, after all. Can’t you, like, nip at their heels or something? I’ll put on a disguise and we’ll hope they don’t look too closely at me.” This was utterly ridiculous. Are you really going to go herding fifty penguins into the forest on the off chance you can find a fairy willing to reverse this curse? You could start looking through those magic books instead to see if there’s some sort of built-in way to break a curse. Do you: [[herd penguins]] through the forest and try to find someone to reverse the curse or [[start with the magic books]] and look for a solution there?

“Excellent!” the fairy girl says, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s play!” For the first few moves, you are optimistic. You set her up by innocently leaving several checkers in harm’s way. And she doesn’t jump them. “Hmm,” she says, leaning over the board with her hand on her chin. “Let’s see.” She moves a useless piece forward, ignoring the three potential jumps she could have made. You are running out of space to move checkers without jumping her! “Uh-oh, I shouldn’t move there,” you say as you start to move a piece. “It would put my piece in danger.” You pretend to study the board for a bit longer, then you move the piece there anyway. She ignores the bait. “You are far too good at this game,” she says as she moves a piece away from the double jump it could have made. “You aren’t cheating, are you?” You shake your head vehemently. “I would never cheat you.” Except by losing on purpose. You are beginning to wonder if the fairy is doing poorly on purpose. Is this all some sort of game to her, forcing people to beat her at checkers so that she can turn them into beasts? Two of the penguins waddle by, jiggling the game board. One of your pieces moves out of alignment, and you fix it. Humming softly, the fairy is gazing intently at the board and doesn’t notice when an entire crowd of penguins push by and one of your pieces falls to the floor. Then a tiny blue penguin lands on your shoulder. Wait, penguins can’t fly. You turn to see Lord Grayley holding another tiny penguin aloft. He raises a finger to his lips. Grinning, you turn back to the game. The fairy makes her move. Another terrible one. She appears to know the rules of the game, as none of her moves are technically illegal, but you are fairly certain that a snail playing at random could do better than she has. This //has// to be on purpose. Squeaking and flapping wings frantically, the tiny penguin lands on the board, scattering pieces this way and that. The fair shrieks. “Get it off, get it off! Why are there so many penguins here?” With a raised eyebrow, you ‘fix’ the board, removing a few of your pieces as you do so and sneaking them into the ‘captured’ pile in front of the fairy. “You turned the servants into penguins on your last visit.” “Oh.” She giggles. “I’d forgotten. At Lord Carleton’s house I turned them into newts! But I kept stepping on them and their tails came off, which was gross. Penguins are cuter and their tails don’t come off.” You reach out with a foot and nudge a couple of smaller penguins farther away from her before she decides to test her theory about their tails. Despite your best efforts, you are finding it impossible to play against this child. “You could jump there,” she says, pointing to one of your checkers that could jump hers. How is it that she can suggest when you jump and doesn’t even notice it when she could? “I am not doing that jump because of strategy,” you explain futilely. “No.” She pounds on the table, making the checkers bounce. “You are letting me win. You cannot let me win!” Her voice rises with each word until she is almost shrieking. “Fine.” You jump her twice, taking both conquered checkers. She gasps. “Two? You took two?” If she weren’t a fairy, you would probably put her in a timeout at this point. Your eyes are blurry from your attempts not to roll them noticeably at her. The little fairy is turning increasingly red. “You are cheating!” She points her wand at you. Do you: [[ignore her and keep playing]] since you’re already a beast or [[duck under the table and out of her way]]?

“No, thank you,” you say. The little girl’s face turns red. “What?” “No, thank you. I don’t wish to play checkers right now.” You don’t know what would happen if you don’t manage to lose to her in checkers—or if you lose and she catches on that you let her win. She squinches up her face, and you quickly continue. “But maybe if you transformed all of us back to human, we might be more willing to consider it.” It only now occurs to you that, even if she transforms all of you, there’s nothing to stop her from doing it again. Well, if you can get her to transform you first, then maybe you can grab her wand before she tries anything else. “Not fair! Nobody will play with me! It’s not fair!” She kicks you in the shin. “Nobody ever wants to do what I want to do!” She stomps her foot hard several times before spinning around and racing away, her fluttering wings giving her a boost of speed. You probably should stop her. And over the next week, you desperately wish you had. You spend your days fishing and feeding the massive herd of penguins scattered all over the house and grounds. You rescue countless penguins from tumbling down the stairs, getting trapped in corners and, in one memorable instance, the coal bin. While your long hair arms and long sharp claws—which grow back instantly if you try to clip them—hamper many of your activities, you’ve learned to cope despite them, and the penguins don’t seem to mind being petting by your massive paws. Grayley uses the fish to start teaching the penguins tricks like walking in formation. They don’t learn to do the dishes or the laundry, unfortunately, so you have to send to the village for bread and a washerwoman, as neither of you have the least idea how to bake and you are too busy cleaning up after penguins to wash the laundry as well. Grayley also has the horses to take care of and has to pay neighbors to care for the home farm. In the evenings, the penguins settle into sleep, cooing softly as they huddle in little groups, and you and Grayley can finally drop onto somewhat-clean sofas and rest. He likes to read aloud and has a beautiful voice, so you often curl up in a corner and stroke the soft feathered head of the nearest penguin while listening to adventures of swash-buckling heroes or clever maidens outsmarting sorcerers. “Adventures in books always sound a lot more exciting than picking up penguin mess,” you say with a soft sigh when he finishes for the night. “You must admit, it’s been better since I taught them to use a dirt box,” he says. That much you must admit. There are boxes of dirt all over the house that need to be changed constantly, but it’s still better than before the penguins were box-trained. During your time with the penguins, you’ve come to respect Grayley more than you would have ever imagined. He might be the son of an earl, but he’s willing to spend his days helping to feed penguins, clean up their messes, rescue them from their own mistakes, and still take time to talk and read with you in the evening. He’s clever and funny, even self-deprecating about his own inabilities to do ordinary tasks, like light a fire, without a servant to help him. Thankfully, you know how to light a fire, and while you can’t do it with your claws, you were able to walk him through it the first time. It’s a late afternoon when you both perk up at a [[commotion from the gate]].

You’re already a beast. What else can she do? Turn you into a newt and yank off your tail? You move a checker piece, careful not to put yourself in a position where you’ll be forced to take one of hers. She fumes. “I ought to turn you into a newt,” she says. A moment later, your bones crack and break and your skin pulls tight, every muscle contracting and shrinking until you find yourself on the floor looking up at the red-faced fairy. She lifts her foot, but you scuttle under your chair before she can step on your tail. “Fine,” she says, waving her wand again. You can’t hold back a scream as you transform again, your bones lengthening and your body shifting, hair growing, tail swishing, until you stand almost the girl’s height. Looking down, you can see orange and black stripes. You growl and take a step forward. She pales and takes a step back. Without warning, one of the penguins clamps his beak down on her wand and races off across the room. “My wand!” the fairy races after the penguin, her fluttering wings giving her a little speed if not lift. “You stole my wand! Give it back!” She makes a flying leap forward, knocking the penguin onto the ground and wrestling the wand from its beak while all of the penguins now join in the cacophony. “SILENCE!” The little fairy and the penguins all go stone silent. An adult man stands in the doorway—an adult man who also bears wings and a wand, although his are blue. His scan of the room takes in you, the chess game, the handful of tiny penguins in Grayley’s arms, and the little fairy girl still flattening the penguin with the wand. “Hevi, get up this moment and tell me what you are doing.” Hevi releases the penguin and stands up, stomping her foot. “I was playing checkers. You told me to find somebody to play with!” “I meant a fairy, not a human! What is going on here? Why is there a beast? And why in the world is this entire estate populated by . . . are those penguins?” “They were my servants, sir,” Grayley says helpfully. “She turned them into penguins when they declined to play against her.” “Penguins, Hevi?” The adult fairy holds out his hand, and Hevi huffs and puts her wand in it. “Aren’t they cute, though, Daddy? They match my zoology book. Didn’t I do a good job?” He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he fixes them on Grayley. “Are you transformed in some way as well?” “No, sir. Just my friend here, who was transformed into a beast and now a tiger, and the penguins.” The adult fairy nods and sighs. “Hevi, turn them back.” She puts her hands on her hips, pigtails bobbing. “No. They deserve it. They cheated.” “For the last time, Hevi, they didn’t cheat. Nobody cheated. You are just absolute rubbish at checkers. Turn them back or I will take your wings and wand for a week.” “You could turn //her// into a newt and step on her tail,” Grayley helpfully suggests. “FINE,” Hevi says. “I hate penguins anyway.” She spins around slowly, flicking her wand as she does so. A small blue penguin becomes a housemaid holding a duster, another becomes a scullery maid. One of the largest penguins stands up straight and formal in his butler’s uniform, brushing off his jacket as if to remove any remaining dust left from penguinhood. Soon the entire room is filled with confused servants. Inspired, you nod to Grayley and then race downstairs. There are still penguins ambling about in the kitchen, but they squawk and run out when they see you. You roar, chasing them up the stairs and to the room where Hevi is reluctantly transforming all of her victims back into human. Grayley follows your lead and rushes outside, returning with an armful of penguins he tosses towards Hevi. She grins broadly and transforms them before they land so that they crash to the ground as humans in painful thuds “Hevi,” her father says sternly. There are only a few penguins left in the room, so you trot off room by room, scaring out any lost penguins you find and herding them towards their salvation. When you have checked the estate house top to bottom, you return to the room. “There,” Hevi says, lowering her wand. “See, Daddy? Everyone’s fine.” The servants, most demonstrably //not// fine, are all glaring at her. If there were rotten tomatoes or any sort of fruit around, you have a feeling Hevi would not be fine, either. “I believe you have one last transformation to make,” Grayley says, gesturing to you. “Hevi?” Small face scrunching up, Hevi waves her wand at you. Once again, you cry out with pain as your body twists and turns, bones scraping against each other and lengthening. This is not your human form. You look down and see dark hairy arms that are again too long for your body. This little girl might be a fairy, but you’ve had enough. Do you: [[grab her with your newly-lengthened arms]] to scare her into compliance or [[grab her wand]]?

You duck under the table and out of her way. She dives down, wand out, ready to transform you into something awful, but you are already rolling away. You dodge out from under the table and duck around an armchair. Can her magic work through furniture? “Stop!” she shrieks. “Not fair!” You peak out just as a blast of pink sparkles shoot by you, missing you by a hair. You duck back down behind the couch. “Hey!” Her dismay doesn’t seem feigned, so you peek out to see Grayson grasping the end of the wand while she struggles to free it. “Give it back!” She hits him with her free hand and kicks at his shins, but he doesn’t let go. He catches your eye, and you can see the fear on his face. If she does magic with that wand now, with his hand on the end . . . he’s the only human left in the house. Fluttering and squawking with outrage, the penguins are racing around the room, knocking each other over and pecking both the fairy and Grayley in their anxious confusion. The fairy ignores them, her fury focused on Grayley’s grip on her wand. “If you don’t give it back, I’ll—” “SILENCE!” The little fairy and the penguins all go stone silent. An adult man stands in the doorway—an adult who also bears wings and a wand, although his are blue. Not a man, then—a fairy. His scan of the room takes in you cowering behind the chair, the chess game, the panicking penguins, and Grayley’s hold on the girl fairy’s wand. “Hevi, stop that this moment and tell me what you are doing.” Hevi shoves Grayley’s loosened hand off her wand and stomps her foot. “I was playing checkers. You told me to find somebody to play with!” “I meant a fairy, not a human! What is going on here? Why is there a beast? And why in the world is this entire estate populated by . . . are those penguins?” “They were my servants, sir,” Grayley says helpfully. “She turned them into penguins when they declined to play against her.” “Penguins, Hevi?” The adult fairy holds out his hand, and Hevi huffs and puts her wand in it. “Aren’t they cute, though, Daddy? They match my animalia book. Didn’t I do a good job?” He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he fixes them on Grayley. “Are you transformed in some way as well?” “No, sir. Just my friend here, who was transformed into a beast, and the penguins.” The adult fairy nods and sighs. “Hevi, turn them back.” She puts her hands on her hips, pigtails bobbing. “No. They deserve it. They cheated.” “For the last time, Hevi, they didn’t cheat. Nobody cheated. You are just absolute rubbish at checkers. Turn them back or I will take your wings and wand for a week.” “You could turn //her// into a newt and step on her tail,” Grayley helpfully suggests. “FINE,” Hevi says. “I hate penguins anyway.” She spins around slowly, flicking her wand as she does so. A small blue penguin becomes a housemaid holding a duster, another becomes a scullery maid. One of the largest penguins stands up straight and formal in his butler’s uniform, brushing off his jacket as if to remove any remaining dust left from penguinhood. Soon the entire room is filled with confused servants. Inspired, you nod to Grayley and then race downstairs. There are still penguins ambling about in the kitchen, but they squawk and run out when they see you. You roar, chasing them up the stairs and to the room where Hevi is reluctantly transforming all of her victims back into human. Grayley follows your lead and rushes outside, returning with an armful of penguins he tosses towards Hevi. She grins broadly and transforms them before they land so that they crash to the ground as humans in painful thuds “Hevi,” her father says sternly. There are only a few penguins left in the room, so you trot off room by room, scaring out any lost penguins you find and herding them towards their salvation. When you have checked the estate house top to bottom, you return to the room. “There,” Hevi says, lowering her wand. “See, Daddy? Everyone’s fine.” The servants, most demonstrably //not// fine, are all glaring at her. If there were rotten tomatoes or any sort of fruit around, you have a feeling Hevi would not be fine, either. “I believe you have one last transformation to make,” Grayley says, gesturing to you. “Hevi?” Small face scrunching up, Hevi waves her wand at you. Once again, you cry out with pain as your body twists and turns, bones scraping against each other and lengthening. This is not your human form. You look down and see dark hairy arms that are again too long for your body. This little girl might be a fairy, but you’ve had enough. Do you: [[grab her with your newly-lengthened arms]] to scare her into compliance or [[grab her wand]]?

Your legs are short, and you put your weight on your arms and swing forward towards the little girl, who knows now that she’s made a mistake. Too late. You scoop her up, tucking her under an arm and rubbing a fist none too gently in her hair as she squeals and squirms. “Let me down! Let me down!” Her father makes no attempt to intercede, and when you catch his eye, he is smirking. “Looks like you may have made a mistake with that last transformation. How about you try it again, sweetheart? Your mother is making stew for dinner tonight.” Hevi freezes. “I can’t reach my wand.” You drop her none-too-gently on the floor and wait while she grabs her wand. If she transforms you into some other animal again, you’re going to bite her, whether it’s a mouse or a giraffe. But this time, when the horrible pain again wracks your body, there’s a rightness to it, like the kind of pain that leads to healing. And when the magic dissipates, you know. You’re yourself again. “Princess,” Grayley says softly. “You’re beautiful.” Hevi makes a face. “She’s still a cheater. You both are.” “Hevi.” Her father holds out his hand, and she slips her small one into it. “Mother is waiting for you for dinner.” He nods to Grayley. “I appreciate your patience with my recalcitrant offspring, Lord Grayley. I owe you a favor, and I do not like owing favors.” Grayley grimaces. He knows as well as anyone the danger of owing //or// being owed a favor by the fae. “You owe me nothing, sir.” The fairy raises an eyebrow. “Nonetheless. Come.” You and Grayley follow as he walks to the door, keeping a firm grip on his wriggling little girl. When he reaches the door, he eyes the pink sparkling handprint his daughter left and shakes his head. With a wipe of his hand, he rubs it out, the magic disappearing. Then he makes a symbol over the door, a blue shimmering rune that hangs in the air for a moment before it’s gone. “Oh, no fair!” Hevi says. “I was just having fun.” “And you’ll do it elsewhere. Grayley’s property, //all// of his property, is heretofore off limits. No fae can enter without permission.” She sighs. “Fine. Lord Carleton—” “Will receive the same symbol as soon as I can get there,” her father tells her. “Now come along.” You and Grayley watch as the pair walk down the road towards the gate and disappear. “I’m thinking it may be time to rename Stormhaven,” Grayley says. “Oh?” “Perhaps Penguinhaven.” He grins behind him, where his servants are shaking off their confusion over their animal transformation and gathering in groups to talk. “Do you think the others will remember what happened?” “I don’t know. I wonder why they didn’t seem to keep their humanity as animals and I did.” “Maybe because you and I played the game. Your curse was first meant for me, and your later transformations were after you played. She did love that game.” Shaking your head, you look down the road towards the distant gate. You can’t see the fairies anymore, and you probably never will. But now that you are back in human form, and so are all of the residents of Grayley’s estate, what is left for you to do? Should you go back to the road and continue on your way? “I hope you aren’t thinking of leaving,” Grayley says softly. “I’m sure that Cook is already in the kitchen plotting out something outrageous for dinner. I’d love it if you’d stay.” It’s the invitation you had hoped for. “I would love to stay. For dinner, at least.” “There’s a village beyond,” he says, gesturing. “I could accompany you there after dinner, if you wish to stay in the area but feel uncomfortable staying at my estate. There’s a nice inn, and I could court—could visit you there.” He takes your hand and presses it in his. “I don’t want you to go just yet.” “I’ll stay for dinner,” you promise. “And a little after dinner? We could play checkers.” You laugh, but already you know. You can sense it. Dinner, then chess, then a walk to the village. Many walks, dancing at the next ball. Fishing together, although this time with rod and tackle and giving the catch to Cook to prepare for dinner. Archery, maybe, and books. Laughing when you find a book with drawings of penguins. “I would love that,” you say honestly. And you will. This is the beginning of your [[Happily Ever After]].

Your gorilla form is perfect for swinging yourself forward on your long arms and making a wild leap for the wand. You grab it easily and yank it away from the child fairy. “My wand!” She leaps for it, but you block her with your heavy body, putting every ounce of menace you can into your face. You howl and use your free arm to beat your chest, and she falls back in terror. “Daddy, my wand! It has my wand!” Her father makes no attempt to intercede, and when you catch his eye, he is smirking. “Looks like you may have made a mistake with that last transformation. How about you try it again, sweetheart? Your mother is making stew for dinner tonight.” Hevi freezes. “I don’t have my wand.” You relent, tossing her wand after her but keeping a careful eye on the child. If she transforms you into some other animal again, you’re going to bite her, whether it’s a mouse or a giraffe. Her father, too, is tense and watchful. He’s ready, and he will intercede if she tries her antics again. But this time, when the horrible pain again wracks your body, there’s a rightness to it, like the kind of pain that leads to healing. And when the magic dissipates, you know. You are [[yourself again]].

It takes time to round up all the penguins, but Grayley is right. They respond far better to your growls and howls than to his attempts to call them or even nudge them with a shepherd’s crook. In the end, the two of you find yourselves on the road heading into the forest, fifty penguins in tow. He walks in the front to lead them, and you feel ridiculous as a sheep dog, jogging along behind and growling at any sheep—oops, penguins—that lag behind the herd or try to waddle off to the right or left. The trees seem to stretch over the road, blotting out the sun and leaving you shivering in the cold and dark. The farther you go into the forest, the more the trees seem to twist and sport leaves with odd, impossible shapes. “Wait!” Grayley holds up a hand and stops. Several penguins crash into him before they all stop, too, milling around. You have to run around in a circle, growling and nipping, before they settle into a huddle and look balefully at you. “There’s something up ahead,” he says. “A shimmer.” Sure enough, a pink shimmer is coming towards you at high speed. Soon enough, you recognize it. It’s the little girl fairy. “Hevi! Wait!” a male voice calls from some distance back. You can just barely make out a blue shimmer somewhere farther back in the woods. “Hevi!” Slam! The little girl fairy trips over a penguin and lands face-first on the road. “Hey!” she screams, leaping to her feet and brandishing her wand. “Bad penguin!” She points the wand at the penguin. “No!” you cry, leaping in front of the penguin. The girl, startled to see you in beast form, shrieks and falls backwards. “Hey,” she says, calmer now. “You’re that beast. The one who interrupted the checkers game I was winning.” Not quite how you remember it. “Hevi!” The man has caught up with the girl at last. No, not a man. By his blue glowing wings, he, too, must be a fairy. He eyes your herd of penguins and then you in your beast form. “Oh, no.” “This is the man I was playing checkers with, Daddy,” the little girl says, pointing to Grayley. “He cheated.” “I did not—” Grayley clamps his mouth shut, wisely stopping his words. “Dare I ask why the forest seems to be suddenly inundated with penguins?” The man’s voice is wry, which gives you hope. “They were my servants, sir,” Grayley says helpfully. “She turned them into penguins when they declined to play against her.” “Penguins, Hevi?” The adult fairy holds out his hand, and Hevi huffs and puts her wand in it. “Aren’t they cute, though, Daddy? They match my animalia book. Didn’t I do a good job?” He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he fixes them on Grayley. “Are you transformed in some way as well?” “No, sir. Just my friend here, who was transformed into a beast, and the penguins.” The adult fairy nods and sighs. “Hevi, turn them back.” She puts her hands on her hips, pigtails bobbing. “No. They deserve it. They cheated.” “For the last time, Hevi, they didn’t cheat. Nobody cheated. You are just absolute rubbish at checkers. Turn them back or I will take your wings and wand for a week.” “You could turn //her// into a newt and step on her tail,” Grayley helpfully suggests. “FINE,” Hevi says. “I hate penguins anyway.” She spins around slowly, flicking her wand as she does so. A small blue penguin becomes a housemaid holding a duster, another becomes a scullery maid. One of the largest penguins stands up straight and formal in his butler’s uniform, brushing off his jacket as if to remove any remaining dust left from penguinhood. Soon the road is clogged with confused servants. “There,” Hevi says, lowering her wand. “See, Daddy? Everyone’s fine.” The servants, most demonstrably //not// fine, are all glaring at her. If there were rotten tomatoes or any sort of fruit around, you have a feeling Hevi would not be fine, either. “I believe you have one last transformation to make,” Grayley says, gesturing to you. “Hevi?” Small face scrunching up, Hevi waves her wand at you. Once again, you cry out with pain as your body twists and turns, bones scraping against each other and lengthening. This is not your human form. You look down and see dark hairy arms that are again too long for your body. This little girl might be a fairy, but you’ve had enough. Do you: [[grab her with your long gorilla arms]] to scare her into compliance or [[take her wand]]?

Some time later, you and Grayley have gotten no further than when you started. “Animal transformation after animal transformation,” Grayley complains, “but I see nothing about how to end the curse except by another fairy’s magic.” “I guess that’s why people try not to run afoul of the fae,” you say distractedly while finishing a paragraph about wand usage. “If they all dislike you, you’re pretty stuck.” He sighs and pushes his book away. “I don’t think we’re going to find answers here. And I can’t handle the squawking anymore.” The penguins have been squawking for the last hour. “I think they’re hungry.” You sigh and stretch. “Should we see about fishing for them? I suppose we could let them loose in the water and have them fish for themselves, but this water is nothing like where penguins live. There may be predators here they wouldn’t recognize.” “They might not know how to, anyway. They aren’t //really// penguins. And while a real colony of penguins can and will lose some penguins to predators, we can’t do that. Every penguin is a real person. We can’t risk Mrs. Houghton or Mr. Banks being eaten.” “Of course.” You glance out at the window. It isn’t dark yet, but there isn’t much day left. “Shall we go fishing, then?” “I think I’m better off visiting the fishmonger to see what he has left. It may not be enough, but we can hope it will tide them over until tomorrow. I don’t know how to hitch up the wagon, do you?” You shake your head. “Useless high-borns, aren’t we?” He grins. “I’ll ride into the village then and ask him to send a wagon with all the fish he has left today. We’ll stretch them for now, and I’ll ask for a shipment tomorrow. We can fish as well.” You open the door of the study and survey the mess the penguins have made of the main floor while you were busy. “I’ll start cleaning up.” It’s a good thing you’ve always been fascinated watching the servants clean at your palace. Little as you will like cleaning up penguin mess, at least you know how to do it. The wagonful of fish sent by the fishmonger, grateful to unload the last of his day’s catch, is enough to give all of the penguins at least a little. He promises to bring more tomorrow, as much as he dares spare. “He’ll give us the worst-looking of the fish,” Grayley says. “But I suppose it won’t matter. Penguins don’t care.” Grayley finds a lovely guest bedroom to give you for the night. You don’t fit on the bed, so you end up taking the bedclothes off the bed and sleeping in a pile of them on the floor. He sleeps downstairs in the back parlor so he can keep an eye on the penguins during the night. Thankfully, the fishmonger arrives early the next morning eager to unload fish. You’ve never really had to think much about the cost of things before, as you’ve rarely left the palace, but whatever Grayley pays him must be generous, as the fishmonger smiles and whistles as he heads back down the road. Feeding time for the penguins is chaos, but it’s also endlessly entertaining. Trouble as they might be, the penguins are very cute—although you are glad you chose to feed them on the lawn and not indoors. Grayley tries to get some of the smaller penguins to do flips to earn their fish, and one of them even succeeds, earning a bonus fish. You are almost having fun . . . until a pink sparkle appears in the distance beyond the penguins. “Oh, hello!” the little fairy calls, skipping up the road towards the house. “There you are! I finished my transmogrification lesson and am ready to play checkers again!” She glares at Lord Grayley. “Not against him, though. He cheats. I can play against you!” You swallow. “Uh, I don’t know how to play checkers,” you lie. Her eyes light up. “Ooh. All the better! I will teach you.” Lord Grayley grabs your arm. “It’s dangerous,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t risk it.” Do you: [[agree to play checkers]] with the little fairy or [[decline and risk going from beast to penguin]]?

“Princess,” Grayley says softly. “You’re beautiful.” Hevi makes a face. “She’s still a cheater. You both are.” “Hevi.” Her father holds out his hand, and she slips her small one into it. “Mother is waiting for you for dinner.” He nods to Grayley. “I appreciate your patience with my recalcitrant offspring, Lord Grayley. I owe you a favor, and I do not like owing favors.” Grayley grimaces. He knows as well as anyone the danger of owing //or// being owed a favor by the fae. “You owe me nothing, sir.” The fairy raises an eyebrow. “Nonetheless. Come. We’ll need to go back to Stormhaven for this.” Stormhaven. He knows the estate Grayley comes from and yet he has still been willing to help. Either he does not have the same prejudice against Grayley’s mother for her choice in marriage, or he is willing to help anyway. You, Grayley, and the crowd of muttering servants follow as he walks down the road, keeping a firm grip on his wriggling little girl. When he reaches the gate, he eyes the pink sparkling evidence of magic his daughter left and shakes his head. With a wipe of his hand, he rubs it out, the magic disappearing. Then he makes a symbol on the gate, a blue shimmering rune that hangs in the air for a moment before it’s gone. “Oh, no fair!” Hevi says. “I was just having fun.” “And you’ll do it elsewhere. Grayley’s property, //all// of his property, is heretofore off limits. No fae can enter without permission.” She sighs. “Fine. Lord Carleton—” “Will receive the same symbol as soon as I can get there,” her father tells her. “Now come along.” You and Grayley watch as the pair turn back down the road and disappear into the forest. “I’m thinking it may be time to rename Stormhaven,” Grayley says. “Oh?” “Perhaps Penguinhaven.” He grins as the servants, still looking a little dazed as they nod to him and enter through the gate. “Do you think the others will remember what happened?” “I don’t know. I wonder why they didn’t seem to keep their humanity as animals and I did.” “Maybe something changed once I played checkers with her. She did love that game.” Shaking your head, you look down the road towards the distant gate. You can’t see the fairies anymore, and you probably never will. But now that you are back in human form, and so are all of the residents of Grayley’s estate, what is left for you to do? Should you continue on your way? “I hope you aren’t thinking of leaving,” Grayley says softly. “I’m sure that Cook is already in the kitchen plotting out something outrageous for dinner. I’d love it if you’d stay.” It’s the invitation you had hoped for. “I would love to stay. For dinner, at least.” “There’s a village beyond,” he says, gesturing. “I could accompany you there after dinner, if you wish to stay in the area but feel uncomfortable staying at my estate. There’s a nice inn, and I could court—could visit you there.” He takes your hand and presses it in his. “I don’t want you to go just yet.” “I’ll stay for dinner,” you promise. “And a little after dinner? We could play checkers.” You laugh, but already you know. You can sense it. Dinner, then checkers—or maybe chess, then a walk to the village. Many walks, dancing at the next ball. Fishing together, although this time with rod and tackle and giving the catch to Cook to prepare for dinner. Archery, maybe, and books. Laughing when you find a book with drawings of penguins. “I would love that,” you say honestly. And you will. This is the beginning of your [[Happily Ever After]].

“Princess,” Grayley says softly. “You’re beautiful.” Hevi makes a face. “She’s still a cheater. You both are.” “Hevi.” Her father holds out his hand, and she slips her small one into it. “Mother is waiting for you for dinner.” He nods to Grayley. “I appreciate your patience with my recalcitrant offspring, Lord Grayley. I owe you a favor, and I do not like owing favors.” Grayley grimaces. He knows as well as anyone the danger of owing //or// being owed a favor by the fae. “You owe me nothing, sir.” The fairy raises an eyebrow. “Nonetheless. Come.” You and Grayley follow as he walks to the door, keeping a firm grip on his wriggling little girl. When he reaches the door, he eyes the pink sparkling handprint his daughter left and shakes his head. With a wipe of his hand, he rubs it out, the magic disappearing. Then he makes a symbol over the door, a blue shimmering rune that hangs in the air for a moment before it’s gone. “Oh, no fair!” Hevi says. “I was just having fun.” “And you’ll do it elsewhere. Grayley’s property, //all// of his property, is heretofore off limits. No fae can enter without permission.” She sighs. “Fine. Lord Carleton—” “Will receive the same symbol as soon as I can get there,” her father tells her. “Now come along.” You and Grayley watch as the pair walk down the road towards the gate and disappear. “I’m thinking it may be time to rename Stormhaven,” Grayley says. “Oh?” “Perhaps Penguinhaven.” He grins behind him, where his servants are shaking off their confusion over their animal transformation and gathering in groups to talk. “Do you think the others will remember what happened?” “I don’t know. I wonder why they didn’t seem to keep their humanity as animals and I did.” “Maybe something changed after I played checkers with her. She did love that game.” Shaking your head, you look down the road towards the distant gate. You can’t see the fairies anymore, and you probably never will. But now that you are back in human form, and so are all of the residents of Grayley’s estate, what is left for you to do? Should you go back to the road and continue on your way? “I hope you aren’t thinking of leaving,” Grayley says softly. “I’m sure that Cook is already in the kitchen plotting out something outrageous for dinner. I’d love it if you’d stay.” It’s the invitation you had hoped for. “I would love to stay. For dinner, at least.” “There’s a village beyond,” he says, gesturing. “I could accompany you there after dinner, if you wish to stay in the area but feel uncomfortable staying at my estate. There’s a nice inn, and I could court—could visit you there.” He takes your hand and presses it in his. “I don’t want you to go just yet.” “I’ll stay for dinner,” you promise. “And a little after dinner? We could play checkers.” You laugh, but already you know. You can sense it. Dinner, then checkers—or maybe chess, then a walk to the village. Many walks, dancing at the next ball. Fishing together, although this time with rod and tackle and giving the catch to Cook to prepare for dinner. Archery, maybe, and books. Laughing when you find a book with drawings of penguins. “I would love that,” you say honestly. And you will. This is the beginning of your [[Happily Ever After]].

Racing to the door, you see a tall woman with long silver orbs dangling from her pierced ears, followed by a man of almost the same height who looks remarkably like an older version of Grayley. “Father! Mother!” Grayley rushes out the door. He gives the kind of tight hug to each parent that implies he actually cares more about them than propriety, which you have to respect. “Mother, I need your help.” His mother laughs as she walks towards the door holding a satchel. “Goodness, dear, let me come in and put this down before you . . . oh.” She freezes at the sight of you, and behind you, the herd of fifty penguins. “Oh my.” Grayley’s father dodges around his frozen wife and continues on the way, oblivious, until he almost stomps on a penguin that decides to waddle out the open door to freedom. “Whoops. Careful there, little guy.” He picks up the penguin and stares at it with confusion. “What are you, some sort of puffin?” He finally looks up and sees you and the penguins behind you. “Oh.” “Grayley, what //have// you been up to?” His mother asks, pushing through the penguins into the house. She gestures to you. “You first, my dear. Let me just . . .” She fiddles in her satchel until she pulls out a wand, a little like the child fairy’s except dark green with a vine wrapped around it. “There!” She flicks it at you, and immediately you feel yourself begin to shrink, bones cracking and rearranging and your skin tightening. It’s a horrid, agonizing sensation, but it’s also somehow deeply satisfying, like you imagine it would be to have a bone set after a break. The pain builds until you almost scream, and then it’s over. You stand before Grayley and his parents in your usual form. “Beautiful,” Grayley whispers, and his mother looks at him sharply. A smile teases at her lips. “So that is the way the wind blows, is it?” she murmurs. “Well. And who are all of these?” Not waiting for an answer, she begins flicking her wand at the penguins one by one. And one by one, they are transformed as she moves through the penguins, leaving humans in her wake. There is a dignified older man in a butler’s uniform, a girl in a scullery maid’s apron. A kitchen boy, a housemaid, a footman. “There may be some in the kitchens or outdoors,” Grayley says softly as she transforms the last you can see. “Hmm.” She swishes her wand in a circle and points it at the ceiling, holding it there for a long moment before lowering it. “That should call them all. They //are// all penguins, are they not?” You nod, relieved as you see the servants gaping at each other and murmuring in groups. They all seem a little dazed, and you imagine it will take some time for them to reacclimatize themselves to ordinary human life again. At least you won’t have to change out any more dirt boxes! “Grayley, would you introduce me to your young lady?” the man says, stepping forward. Grayley clears his throat with amusement. “Princess, this is my father, Lord Cotterham. Father, this is the Princess of Fairelandia.” Lord Cotterham’s smile freezes in place, and he pales. “Princess. The Princess of Fairelandia was . . .” “Transformed into a beast and helping me take care of our servants who were turned into penguins, yes.” Grayley smirks. “Her favorite part was changing out the dirt boxes.” You roll your eyes at him. You were once a princess with royal dignity, but that has all ended this week. Nobody who has spent hours every day plunging their hairy paws into a river to catch fish for penguins could retain all of their ideas of propriety for long. “What is this about the Princess of Fairelandia?” Lady Cotterham asks as she returns, rubbing her hands together with satisfaction. “We had better hope the royal family don’t hear about what happened here!” You, Lord Cotterham, and Grayley grin before you introduce yourself properly. She has almost the exact same reaction as her husband did, despite her fae background. “Your Highness, I sincerely apologize for—” “Oh, I know you weren’t responsible,” you say quickly. “It was that little pink fairy.” “Hevi, probably,” she says darkly. “I hope you will not think all of us are like that child. In fact . . .” She looks around and sighs. “I was going to invite you to stay to dinner, but I cannot imagine what disarray the kitchen must be in after the servants have all been penguins. I suppose we might all need to go into the village for dinner, and I’m sure Cook will be anxious to send in for fresh supplies when she can. I can only imagine what our coachman must have thought when there were no grooms in the stable!” Despite this inauspicious beginning, you quickly come to love Grayley’s parents almost as much as Grayley himself. Reluctantly, you inform your parents of your new location, and to your surprise, they are not as angry as you would have expected. Your handmaiden, Felicia, took your place and fulfilled the marriage treaty, and your parents are happy enough to have you staying in an earl’s house and within your own country. Nobody is surprised when, a few months later, you and Grayley announce your engagement. “I shall tell the children we bonded over the challenges of caring for a herd of penguins.” Grayley closes the book of animalia he was reading. “Did you know that it’s not actually considered a herd? They’re a colony of penguins. Or a rookery.” Grayley furrows his brow. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “The penguins weren’t all one kind. I think a colony or rookery assumes a group of penguins of the same sort, like a tribe. These were all mixed penguins.” “Maybe a huddle, then.” “Or a waddle?” You laugh. “A waddle is a great descriptor.” “I still think herd better describes the Penguins of Stormhaven. The Penguins of Stormhaven and the Beastly Princess.” You shudder. “I’m glad those days are far behind us.” He puts an arm around you and pulls you close, tossing the book of animalia back onto a table. “Me, too. Maybe we should read something more interesting together. Like a book about fish!” He barely grabs a pillow to defend himself before you wallop him on the side of the head with one. “Grayley!” And as you fight to the death with pillows, you think with amusement that you ended up in the strangest—but dearest—[[Happily Ever After]] you could have imagined.

You have no idea what is wrong, but something is. This is the fae forest, and you’re off the road. Breathing heavily, you run. Back down the narrow path. Back onto the main road, which seems even narrower and more forbidding now than before. You trip over an exposed root that surely wasn’t there before, but you drag yourself to your feet and run again. By the time you slow, panting, the road has broadened again. The trees are once again familiar and broad, allowing sunlight through their branches. And there, ahead of you, are the gates marked with magic. The wrought-iron feels familiar. Whatever is in there, it can’t be as bad as the trap that almost caught you. You [[open the gates and enter]].

Tentatively, you push the gate far enough open to slip in. The glimmer of magic makes you a little anxious, but magic can do good things, right? Perhaps there is a fairy godmother here who could grant you a wish! You walk down a very long road that meanders through trees and open grassy lawn. In the distance, you can see beautiful garden beds and what looks like a kitchen garden. Stopping short, you stare. Is that . . . is that a //penguin// in the kitchen garden? You’ve never seen one before, but you’ve heard of them in books. You thought they were bigger, though. If you aren’t mistaken, this one looks shorter than your knee. Shaking your head, you continue on your way. The estate house is before you, beautiful in its rich cream walls, marble columns, and decorative staircase. It may not be the home of a prince, but likely it belongs to a nobleman of some kind. It’s a little odd, though, how quiet it seems to be. No liveried servant stands ready to open the door as you approach . . . Wait. The door is already open a little, and you see what looks like a shimmering smear, as if of magic, on the door at waist height. For a moment, you think of the forest and that strange garden, the thorn that tried to lure you in. No, no matter what is through this door, it cannot be as frightening as that. You [[push open the door and enter]].

"You said most of the things in this room are of little value," you begin hesitantly. "But this necklace—it was lost in the ocean, and I suppose someone found it and brought it here. Do you think your people might allow me to take it back?" “The necklace?” Zakos looks at the pearls on the cushion. “Certainly. I don’t think it would be missed, although I could buy you better pearls at the marketplace.” He picks up the necklace and holds it out in front of him. “Would you like me to put it on you?” You hadn’t intended to wear them, but now that he asks, it occurs to you that you have no way to carry the pearls on you. You have no pockets, no bag. Short of carrying them in your hand or wrapping them around your wrist, wearing them is really the only way to go. “Please do,” you say. His eyes are hazel, you note dreamily as he leans close to lower the pearls over your head. They’re an unusual combination with his golden hair, but you like it. The pearls touch your skin, surprisingly cool. And then they burn. You choke and gag, swallowing water. Suddenly thousands of pounds of pressure begin to crush you. You try to cry out, but you only take in more water. You are crushed, suffocating, and [[your world darkens]].

You are mostly resigned now to your marriage with Prince Darvik. It isn’t the marriage you would have chosen, but it will be a good thing for your kingdom. Your marriage will ensure peace between Fairelandia and Romancia and your people will be able to live their lives without fear. Your sacrifice will save many people. When you returned to the palace, Mother took you aside and pressed into your hands a familiar silver locket, one that you remember seeing in her jewelry box when you were a little girl. "I know you are afraid," she said. "We would not ask this of you if it were not important. I want you to take this." She strokes the locket gently. "I had it charmed. It will keep you safe. Wear it always, my dear.” You keep the chain around your neck, the locket hidden out of sight beneath your gown. Across the carriage is your handmaiden, Felicia. She gives you a bright smile before turning to look out the window again. As the daughter to an earl, she too is being sent to marry in Romancia in order to create more bonds between your people. Unlike you, she gets to choose her own husband. She will join the court there and meet many handsome gentlemen during the social season, although her parents do expect her to choose one and marry before the end of it. The carriage slows to a stop by a stream. One of the guards rides by and nods to Felicia, who smirks back. She turns to you. “Would you like to walk for a few minutes while the guards arrange the load and refill the water barrels? It will be a welcome respite after our long hours in the carriage.” You //have// been in the carriage for a long time with only brief stops at various inns to refresh yourself. It will take the guards a little while to fill the water barrels, and a walk would do you good. Do you: [[agree to go on a walk]] with Felicia, staying in sight of the carriages of course or prefer to [[stay in the carriage]] and read while you wait to continue your journey?