Rosamund stepped toward him, shoulders square. “Perhaps we’re cursed because of the war—because you refuse to recognize the royal families of the rebelling provinces.”
She was, I knew, trying to turn the situation into something that would benefit her prince—all of the princes. The other girls agreed with her at once, chiming in that King Rothschild should grant the defeated royal families a few concessions.
The king waved a hand to stop them. “Bah! What care the fairies of the rights of mortals?”
He had a point there. None of the fairies I’d met cared about my rights.
“And what do they mean by this magic—disappearing toads and worn slippers? If any of the fae realm wish something, let them come and speak of it.”
“Well said, Sire.” Donovan gave him a slight bow. “Still, I think it would be wise if I could study the matter. Do you know of any wizards or books that deal in magic spells?”
The king gripped his walking stick, poking it at Donovan’s cap one last time. “We’ve no wizards here. Such men only make mischief. But if you’d like, you may search the castle’s book collection. We’ve writings aplenty on every subject.” He held up a finger, emphasizing his words. “You’ve only one day left. Read quickly.”
At that the king strode out of the room, an air of authority trailing him as though it had been an actual robe.
The queen didn’t follow. In a low voice she told us, “I’ll speak to your father about the rights of the provinces.” In a burst of motherly care, she squeezed Clementia’s hand, then stroked Isolde’s cheek with trembling fingers. “My poor cursed darlings. I would switch places with you if I could. Then you could be happy, and I would endure worn slippers for the rest of my days.” She gave a little sob, kissed Darby and Catherine’s foreheads, then hurried to the door, her shoulders shuddering with grief.
Madam Saxton left the room as well, our wash basins forgotten. “Toads in the castle,” she muttered. “What will be next? Snakes I suppose. And badgers after that.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, Donovan sidled up next to me. “I have the most wicked desire right now.”
“No,” I said, “You can’t bring snakes and badgers into the castle.”
He grinned. “But it would be fun.”
The princesses gathered around us, taking mincing steps in case Jason suddenly appeared on the floor. “What has become of . . .” Clementia cast a guarded look at Donovan. “. . . of the frog?”
A muffled voice came from somewhere inside the folds of Donovan’s jerkin. “Is it safe to come out now?”
Donovan reached around to the back of his jerkin and produced a bullfrog. Jason’s throat sack pumped in and out so fast his body rocked with the motion. His eyes seemed to swivel independent of each other. “Is the whacko with the broom gone?”
“A talking frog,” Donovan said, as though he hadn’t known this fact beforehand but wasn’t surprised such things existed. “No doubt the poor fellow is the victim of a magic spell, and you’ve taken him in to help him.”
Several of the princesses nodded. “His name is Prince Jason,” Rosamund admitted. “But don’t ask us to say more than that.”
Beatrix and Kayla crowded around Donovan’s hand. “We’re so glad you’re safe,” Kayla said.
Beatrix took Jason from Donovan’s hand and stroked her finger along his back like he was a lost puppy. “How did you manage to hide him?” she asked Donovan. “We saw you capture him in your hat.”
“I did it like this.” Donovan reached into the pouch on his belt and held up a coin. With one swish of his hands, the coin disappeared. He held up his empty hand, then reached out and pulled the coin from Beatrix’s ear.
She laughed and took the coin, turning it over in her hand to examine it. “What sort of magic is this, sir?”
“That was so cool,” Penny said, coming closer. “Do it again.”
“Try it on me,” Catherine chimed.
Really, they would have made him stand there making coins appear and disappear all day, if I hadn’t dragged Donovan away.
“Go check on the goblet,” I told him. “I’ll take Jason and anyone who will help me to the library. We’ll see if we can find anything about turning frogs back into humans.”
Chapter 25
As it turned out, all the princesses wanted to help. I would’ve like to think this was because they were nice people, but they may have worried that one day one of their princes would do something to tick off Queen Orlaith and they would be in the same boat.
Everybody wants a handsome prince. Nobody wants a frog.
We took our breakfast up in the king’s library. It was a large room with gleaming wooden shelves that reached the ceiling. I hadn’t expected to see so many books, hadn’t thought King Rothschild was the literary type. Rows of books spread along the walls, worn leather covers next to colorfully painted volumes. A sliding ladder stood at the end of the shelves, tempting us to search on the dusty top shelves.
We ignored the history, etiquette, and law tomes and pulled out anything to do with medicine or magic. I took an armful, stacked them by a couch, and settled in to read. The first volume was entitled Restoratives for Common Ailments. I doubted the author counted froghood as a common ailment, but you never knew. Princes were frequently turned into animals in fairy tales.
Next to me, Clementia flipped through a book about wizards’ spells. “It seems true love is the cure for many an ailment. I don’t know why it didn’t work this time. After all, your love is true enough to bring you together each night.”
Obviously not. Or maybe the problem was more complicated. Love wasn’t curing the fairies’ trees. Could love have lost its magic power? Or perhaps true love differed from romantic love. Jason thought he loved me. He didn’t really, though. Otherwise he wouldn’t want to hide me from his friends.
I didn’t want to hide Donovan. Although, come to think of it, I did want to hide his police record. Was that just as bad? Did you have to love everything about a person to truly love them?
My mom thought sports were a waste of time and nagged my dad if the ESPN was on too long. Dad thought Mom spent money on things she didn’t need, and sometimes he acted like a martyr when he paid the credit card bills. But wasn’t every couple like that?
How could I judge other people’s feelings when I wasn’t sure what real love was myself? I rested the book on my lap and watched Jason. He was perched on the top of Kayla’s chair, saying something that made her laugh.
“What is true love?” I asked out loud. “Does it take years? Or can it develop in an instant?”
Catherine casually turned a page. “It doesn’t take years. I had known my darling Leopold for only one night when I came to love him.”
Beatrix, who sat in a chair on my other side, added, “I knew I loved Frederick the moment he asked me to dance. When he took my hand, I could think of nothing but him.”
Mathilda and Philippa nodded in agreement. Rosamund put down one book and picked up another. “I tread more carefully in matters of the heart. Geoffrey wooed me for an entire month before he won me.”
All of my sisters were smiling, lit up with happiness by the thought of their princes.
“But how do you know it’s true love?” I pressed.
Beatrix sniffed, offended, and turned a page with extra force. “Of course what we feel is true love.”
Rosamund straightened. “Would we risk our father’s wrath every night otherwise?”
Maybe. It didn’t take much to invoke the king’s wrath. Having any sort of fun probably invoked his wrath. “I wasn’t implying your feelings aren’t real,” I explained. “I’m just wondering about love in general.”
Beatrix’s expression softened. “You know it’s true love because his name on your lips tastes like honey.”
“You know,” Elizabeth said, “because your soul soars at the sight of him.”
Darby let out a low whistle. “You know because he looks hot even when he’s wearin
g dorky half-pants and stockings.”
Hmm. Couldn’t I have said all those things about Jason before I got to know him? I didn’t feel that way now. “The Queen’s goblet said love was a choice. What does that mean?”
Catherine held her book down. “If the goblet said such a thing, it knows little of love. One doesn’t choose love. It chooses you—like cupid’s arrow striking your heart.”
“I didn’t want to fall in love with Prince Edgar,” Isolde put in. “I thought to be an obedient daughter and marry whomever father picked.” She smiled dreamily. “But when Edgar murmured my name in the moonlight, I was lost.”
Everyone chimed in, agreeing they too had meant to be the most dutiful of daughters until struck down by the forces of love. And I was left unsure about any of it. I didn’t feel lost when I was with Donovan. I felt . . . found. Like he had found a part of me I’d forgotten long ago.
Was I just responding to the first guy who’d ever really taken an interest in me? Was I rushing into things? Would either of us feel the same when we got home?
I dwelt on these questions while I skimmed restoratives for coughs, warts toothaches, fevers, and something called apoplexy. Not long afterward, Donovan came in the room. For a moment my soul soared at the sight of him. Which meant maybe my sisters knew what they were talking about after all. When had the goblet ever fallen in love? It wasn’t a choice.
He sat beside me on the couch. While pretending to look at my book, he told me about his meeting with the goldsmith. The man had assured him the work on the cup was progressing and would be ready after supper. Right on time.
Donovan grabbed a few books and opened one. “Find anything useful?”
“Not unless Jason develops heartburn. Then I’ll know to feed him curds and whey.”
Donovan nodded. “I guess he won’t have to worry about any spiders that sit down beside him. They’ll just be appetizers.”
“I heard that,” Jason said. He hopped further away from our couch, affronted.
I finished two more medical books, then read one on fairy origins. One theory claimed the fae folk had been angels who long ago fought on Earth in a holy war, but when God called them to come back, they delayed and were locked out of heaven. I doubted that theory was right. Queen Orlaith wasn’t at all angelic.
After a couple hours, I abandoned being ladylike and lay on the floor. It was how I always studied. Donovan joined me, and before long, everyone was sprawled in front of the fireplace.
Most of the servants couldn’t read, so we hadn’t asked anyone else to help us. Besides, it would have been hard to explain the presence of a reading frog— or one who kept sidling up to princesses and asking for a kiss.
As he hopped past me for the twentieth time, I said, “For future reference and your next girlfriend’s sake, girls don’t like it when you hit on their sisters.”
Jason paused in front of my book. “I’m not hitting on your sisters. I’m trying to break the curse.”
“I believed that the first time you kissed them, and even the second. Now it’s just a pathetic ploy for attention.”
Jason humphed and leaped over to Darby, hopping onto the pages of her book. “Come on, sweetheart, give me a kiss. I think your love could change me.”
“Just watch,” Donovan whispered. “Those will be the lyrics of his next song.”
“Actually, those were the lyrics of his last song.”
Darby made a shooing motion at Jason. “I already kissed you. Anyone who wants more time with my lips has got to spring for a meal and a night on the town.”
Donovan shut his book, finished with it. Our stacks were dwindling, most books now lying in discarded heaps. He stood up, brushed off his pants, and held out his hand to help me up.
“Your sisters can search through the rest. You have other things to do.”
I didn’t have to ask what. I had to practice being stealthy, graceful, and quick—something I’d never accomplished before. It seemed pointless to think I could pick up those skills in a few hours, but I had to at least try. I followed Donovan out of the room.
* * *
We took two goblets, a pitcher of water, and several napkins from the kitchen. I led Donovan to an empty sitting room, knowing where it was even though I hadn’t been there before. More proof, if I needed it, that my princess life was beginning to erase my modern one. Donovan set one goblet on a table and, with more optimism than he should have possessed, gave me the other goblet to keep in my pocket. “Make the switch,” he said. “You need to do it soundlessly, fast, and without spilling anything.”
For a half an hour I tried to live up to his optimism. I could manage two of his requirements, but not all three. If I was fast and soundless, I ended up spilling water. If I was soundless and steady, I wasn’t fast.
Finally I sat down in a chair, devoid of optimism or anything resembling it. Donovan mopped up the water from my latest spill and showed me how to do it again. He made it look easy. “When you over-think it, you’re too slow. The movement has to be natural. Automatic. Like riding a bike.”
“I crashed a lot on my bike. Broke my arm, in fact.”
“That was the old you. The new you is graceful.”
He motioned for me to stand up, then made me do the exercise again and again.
After two dozen failed attempts, I managed the switch once, then twice. In my overconfidence, the next time I attempted to switch the goblet, I tipped it over. The cup rolled to the floor with a loud clank, splashing water everywhere.
Donovan picked it up and set it back on the table. “Try again.”
I refilled the goblet and did. This time when I grabbed it, I was fast and soundless but a few drops of water fell out.
“Nearly perfect,” I said.
Donovan shook his head, unsatisfied. “A few drops of liquid will leave spots on Queen Orlaith’s table. If she notices those, then poof! You’re the latest amphibious addition in the household.”
I opened and closed my hands, stretching my fingers. I could do this. I had done this perfectly twice. Okay, granted, I’d done it wrong the other times, but I was getting better. Hopefully. Or maybe I was just getting lucky. Maybe anyone would be able to manage it right a couple times if they tried enough.
I reached for the goblet, silently lifting it from the table. I held the cups below the table line to hide them, poured the water from one into the other, and set the second goblet where the first had been. Not a drop spilled.
“Too slow,” Donovan said. “Do it again.”
I wanted to stamp my foot in frustration. Instead I pulled the goblet from my pocket the way he’d taught me: a subtle sweep of my hand that didn’t draw attention. “You know, some guys know how to compliment a girl. Didn’t you hear what my sisters when they came in? Frederick said Beatrix’s eyes shone like two stars.”
“That’s a compliment? Stars are burning piles of gas.”
While tilting my head conversationally, I picked up the goblet from the table. “And Hubert said the glow of Mathilda’s skin puts the moon to shame.”
Donovan smirked, refusing to be impressed. “The moon is pocked with gaping craters.”
I poured the water from the queen’s goblet into the other. Still keeping my gaze on Donovan, I replaced the second goblet, sliding it onto the table without a clink. I slipped the first goblet into my pocket. “You’re not much of a romantic, are you?”
His smirk spread into a full blown grin. “Okay, here’s a compliment. With moves like that, you’d make a decent pick-pocket.”
“Ah, thanks. My parents would be so proud.”
He took my hand and pulled me to him, interrupting my practice schedule to show me that, yes, he was a romantic after all.
When it was time to dress for supper, I could make the switch right about seventy percent of the time. Of course, being able to make the switch smoothly wasn’t going to do a lot of good if we didn’t have a distraction. We’d counted on Jason singing to the queen. Donovan didn’t s
eem too worried about this glitch.
“If Jason is still a frog,” Donovan said as we left the room, “he can sit on the table and beg Queen Orlaith for mercy. That should cause a distraction.”
“Yes, but it won’t solve Jason’s problem. We’ve got to find a way to change him before we go to the twenty-first century.”
“I think being a frog suits him.”
“He’s a star. Don’t you think fans will notice if he’s a frog?”
Donovan shrugged. “He can do lots of radio interviews.”
I hoped when I went up to my room to change my sisters would tell me they’d discovered a cure for Jason.
No such luck.
My sisters sat at their dressing tables, silently getting their hair done, an air of disappointment hanging around them as thick as their perfume.
My lady’s maid helped me into a dark green skirt and bodice, then wove matching ribbons into my hair. When she finished, Rosamund excused the servants. I knew she wanted to talk to me about Jason.
I turned in my chair to face her. “Where is he?”
In answer to my question, Elizabeth took a goblet from the fireplace mantel and tipped it onto my dressing table. A frog waddled across the top and slumped in front of the mirror.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, worried.
“Nothing.” Rosamund said, straightening the lace on her sleeves. “He’s just being dramatic.”
“We gave him a curing potion we thought might help,” Beatrix clarified.
Jason glared at her, his lips pursed. “They made me drink something with crushed newt.”
“Sadly, it proved an ineffective remedy,” Rosamund said.
Darby checked her reflection and adjusted her necklace. “He’s been carrying on about it ever since.”
“Crushed newt,” Jason repeated.
“Frogs eat worse,” Beatrix said and flounced back to her table. “It won’t hurt you.”
My sisters finished the last of their pre-dinner preparations and headed toward the door, lining up from oldest to youngest. I still sat at the dressing table watching Jason. He lay limply by my hair brush, head down, eyes closed. I assumed he’d fallen asleep and wondered if it was healthy for a frog to sleep out of the water. Would he dry out?