Hummingbeeswax candles would be easier, except every heroine has her Achilles’ curse: apples for Snow White, spinning wheels for Sleeping Beauty, and fire for the House of Emerald.
Our family became spelled after my ancestor pixed off two evil witch sisters. The witches’ curse was supposed to doom my great-great-great grandmother to turn evil and torch the world—except the spell wasn’t worded right. It didn’t specify which Emerald princess. So ever since, all the girls in the Emerald family have been stuck inside, since there’s no way to know what generation will inherit the curse.
Until we know for sure who the unlucky royal is, candles, lava lanterns, and anything with a flame is banned to keep the palace safe. As for the outside world…well, if you aren’t allowed out, you don’t have to worry about it. Completely lame that I have to suffer because one princess couldn’t mind her own glammed business.
Well, suffered—past tense—if everything goes as planned. “Father, any chance you’ve seen a prince lying about? I seem to have misplaced them all.”
“Well, which one are you looking for? Your date to the ball, perhaps?” He leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially, “I bet it’s Hudson, right?”
Hudson was the half-giant prince and Dad’s favorite of all the suitors he and Mother recently infested the palace with. Dad probably figured Hudson would make a very good hunting companion, given he was fierce looking and around the size of a boulder. Unfortunately, he also had the IQ of granite.
With a dreamy look, Father put a hand around my shoulder. “Ahhh, I remember when your mother finally accepted my suit. It took more time and patience than getting Cerberus to fetch. That’s the thing about love: the best kind isn’t easy or instant, and you often get roughed up a bit on the way.” He winked at me. “But I suppose you know a thing or two about love yourself now.”
“What in spell are you talking about?” I sighed, tired of the little talks, not to mention the entire game of thrones and accompanying prince parade. “I’d rather date Quasimodo than any of those royal rejects. I just need one of them for a little project I’m working on.”
Father exhaled heavily and crossed his arms. “I’m guessing I don’t want to know. That way I can’t get yelled at by your mother for not stopping you.”
I smiled and tapped my nose, indicating he was right. Neither of us had illusions about who wore the biggest crown in the family.
“I think I saw Sterling earlier in the hall of mirrors,” Father said and climbed back onto the ladder.
I groaned internally because, one, I’d missed such an obvious spot—Sterling was hardly ever without his entourage of stylists and personal mirror holders—and two, finding him meant I had to deal with his ego, which was so large I was constantly amazed he didn’t pop his armor wide open.
“Thanks,” I said, heading off for the south tower.
“Dorthea,” my father called after me. “Try to remember it’s a holiday and have a little fun tonight with your friends.”
“Sure.” I waved, not bothering to paste on a fake smile since he couldn’t see me. Though all the major fairy-tale families were coming tonight, I wouldn’t exactly call any of them friends. Aside from the once-a-year gathering, I never spoke to any of them, except the occasional chat on Flitter with Cinderella, since we shared a love of designer footwear. All the other princesses were too busy, wrapped up in their own adventures to distract me from my lack of them.
I found Sterling exactly where Dad said he’d be, flexing his muscles and making duck lips at one of his fifty reflections.
“Princess, you look as stunning as ever. To what do I owe this immense pleasure?” He gave a half bow, and I couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were still darting to his own reflection. He was generically dashing but unremarkable from a lineup of a dozen other princes.
Still, he fit the bill: royal and handsome—and boy, did he know it—with a sword hanging from a sheath around his waist.
“I have something that I desperately need help with. I would be ever so grateful if you would loan me the services of your sword arm.” I purposefully made the request formal, so he would be less likely to refuse.
“Of course, dearest of my heart. What manly task may I perform for you?”
“If you care for me at all, you’ll slay a dragon.”
“Such a simple task to prove my devotion? For you, I will gladly take up this quest. Why, by the age of ten, I had already felled my first ogre.”
I spun around on my satin ballet flats and started walking, so Sterling wouldn’t see me gagging as he recounted his knightly résumé for the rest of the trip through the tower’s maze of spiral staircases until we reached our destination.
“Here we are. Go get ’em.” I gave Sterling a little push toward the waist-high mother-of-pearl column situated in the alcove between the grand staircase and the entrance.