The Princess Imposter

by Vivian Vande Velde

  To the vets and vet techs

  who—like Phleg and her

  family—look after animals.

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Perfect

  Chapter 1: Welcome to a New World!

  Chapter 2: The Complications of Complicated Families

  Chapter 3: A Bad Start

  Chapter 4: Could This Day Get Any Worse?

  Chapter 5: Second Day, No Better Than the First

  Chapter 6: Stories

  Chapter 7: Councils and Rescue Parties

  Chapter 8: Evening

  Chapter 9: Liars

  Chapter 10: Geese and Badgers

  Perfect

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Once upon a time there was a princess named Gabriella, who was beautiful and sweet-natured and much beloved by her family (all of whom were in good health) and by all the people of the kingdom (which was at peace with all their neighboring kingdoms and which was situated in a region of the world not plagued by dragons or ogres or naming-day curses), and she was betrothed to a perfectly nice prince of whom everyone approved and with whom she was certain she would fall madly in love in the next year or so when she would be old enough for such things.

  In short, Princess Gabriella had a perfect life.

  —Until a band of misbehaving fairies kidnapped her and substituted one of their own in her place.

  Princess Gabriella opened her eyes and saw that she was surrounded by about a dozen fairy children, all crouched around where she lay. Definitely not in her own bed, she recognized with a certain amount of alarm, which she didn’t allow to show. Nor even in her room. Nor—she had a sinking feeling—anyplace else in her father’s kingdom.

  The children were staring and giggling. By the tenderness in her side, she suspected they had been poking her. Princesses are not generally accustomed to being stared at or giggled at. Certainly not poked at.

  Still, despite her original impression that they must have been jabbing at her with pointed sticks, she saw that none of the children held any implements. It was simply that—being of a slighter build than humans—fairies have fingers that seem sharper, just the way a pin seems sharper than a nail.

  Though alarmed by her unexpected situation, Gabriella knew that it was not good to show fear. This is especially true for royalty. In addition, she was gracious and considerate, both by nature and by training, so she decided it would be rude to scream or to weep or to complain or to mention she thought fairies had bony fingers.

  She didn’t sit up, not yet. Partly this was because taking the time to observe was better done sooner rather than later. But there was another reason she didn’t get up: All she was wearing was a nightgown, which—though it covered her adequately—was under no circumstances proper public attire for a princess.

  The children wore clothing that brought wildflowers to Gabriella’s mind, not only because of the bright colors but even more so because the shapes of the garments suggested blossoms and petals.

  Some of the fairies were boys, some girls, some … well, with some of them, Gabriella couldn’t be sure. The youngest was a toddler with a low-hanging diaper—the source of at least some of the bad smell that the princess had to use all her willpower to pretend not to notice. The eldest was a boy Gabriella judged to be a year or two older than she, though she estimated that if they were standing next to each other, his head would come only to her shoulder.

  Another way she could tell immediately that they were fairies was because of the delicate though pinched features of their faces, the slight shimmer of their skin, and the fact that they all had silver-white hair—except for the toddler, who had no hair at all.

  Well, and the wings. They had iridescent wings much like those of dragonflies. She had never met a fairy before, but she knew from her bestiary studies that despite their beauty, fairy wings are, aerodynamically speaking, as almost-useless as those of chickens.

  All that taken in, Gabriella deemed that now was the time to start the process of arising. So she sat up, which caused most of the fairies to scramble to their feet and step back. Except for the toddler, who’d been standing all along and now swayed and grabbed a fistful of material from the skirt of Gabriella’s nightdress to keep his or her balance. And the oldest boy, who grinned impertinently at her.

  At home, Gabriella’s own bed had a mattress made of the finest goose down, and there were satin sheets delicately scented with lavender, and every night a servant would set a cup of honey-flavored milk on her nightstand. Here, Gabriella saw she’d been laid onto one of several piles of straw strewn on the floor. And the straw did not smell much better than that diaper. She was too well-brought-up to scratch at the itch on her arm (princesses are too refined to have itches), but she did glance down and notice a spider making its way across her skin.

  Serenity, she reminded herself. In theory, she appreciated all God’s creations, but in practice found it hard to warm up to creatures in excess of four legs. Still, few onlookers could have suspected this, as she calmly observed, “What a fine specimen,” and blew gently so that the creature landed, unharmed and fully upright, back down on the straw from which it had no doubt come.

  “Hello,” she said quietly, so as not to startle the children, because that would have been bad manners, no matter what was going on. “Who are you?”

  Immediately the children started imitating her, as though they found her formal manner of speaking amusing. “Hello. Hello,” they said in snooty tones, bending themselves in two as they bowed to one another—boys, girls, and indeterminates alike.

  The oldest one snorted. “Really? That’s what you wanna ask? That’s your most pressing question? You’re looking for courtly introductions?”

  The smaller ones continued bowing and began adding phrases to their repertoire, things like “La-dee-da” and “To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

  Gabriella smiled indulgently. “Do I only have one question?” she asked.

  “Iffen you did,” the boy told her, “you’d’ve gone and wasted it. Twice now.”

  “All right,” Gabriella said, grateful for all the lessons she’d had in patience and deportment. “Then how about this one: Where am I?”

  “You’re here with us,” the boy said, making needlessly complicated hand gestures, somewhat like a magician in the town square showing he has nothing up his sleeves, “while our sister Phleg’s gone and changed places with you.”

  “Changeling! Changeling!” the younger ones chorused, now running in circles around one another and occasionally using their wings to lift high enough to avoid collisions.

  Of course she was troubled. And yet she knew that in the normal tradition of changelings, fairies sometimes exchanged one of their fussy, colicky babies for a happy, well-behaved human baby. They’d cast a spell to make the fairy babe look like the human one, so that the family would not grow suspicious—assuming, of course, no one noticed the total personality transformation. Once the fairy brat outgrew its foul disposition, its fairy parents would generally trade back.

  Gabriella had never heard of someone as old as she was being substituted, and this was worrisome.

  And if there was a fairy magically transformed to look like her, did that mean that she …

  Discreetly, Gabriella pulled a strand of her hair forward. She was relieved to see it was the same brown color it had always been. At least she’d been left with her own appearance.

  Even with all these thoughts racing through her head—and despite the children mocking the idea of introductions—she couldn’t ignore her training in proper protocol. “Your sister who?” Gabriella asked. “Flag?” She held her hand out to the boy, a gentle reminder—since he
seemed to have forgotten his manners—of his duty to offer her his assistance.

  “Phleg,” the boy repeated, not seeming to notice her extended hand. He rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Just like phlegm, only you pronounce the g instead of the m.”

  Gabriella, who was perfectly capable of standing on her own, did so. “Excuse me?”

  The boy obviously mistook her incredulity for lack of familiarity with the word. “Phlegm,” he repeated. He also stood, proving that Gabriella’s estimate of his height—or lack thereof—was accurate. Then he gave a great snorting cough and hacked up a wad of something mucusy, which he spat out on the floor by her feet.

  “Why?” Gabriella asked. “Why would you do such a thing?” The question could have covered any one of several of her concerns, but the boy only shrugged and answered, “We was bored. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “How lovely,” Gabriella said, recovering her decorum. “I’m sure it will be a learning experience for both … Phleg … and myself. I am Princess Gabriella of Fairhaven, daughter of King Humphrey and—”

  The boy shrugged. “You’re Phleg while you’re here. And she’s you while she’s there.”

  “Indeed,” Gabriella murmured, not wanting to argue. “And who are you?”

  “Parf.”

  “Parf,” Gabriella repeated.

  “It’s barf, but with pee.” He slapped his knees and hooted with laughter. “Get it? Get it? Barf with pee.” He sighed. “You don’t get it.”

  And she hadn’t, not for the first few moments, and once she did, she estimated the politest thing was to continue to pretend she didn’t. You awful, awful fairy boy, she thought. But as soon as she did, she felt guilty for her unkind thought.

  She resolved to be a better person from now on.

  Phleg spread her arms and legs out, reaching for all four corners of the bed. Oooh, nice, she thought. I could get used to this.

  It was such a pleasure to not have to share a bed with her half-dozen-or-so younger sisters, who squirmed, and chattered, and sometimes leaked. It was so nice not to have to share a room with her half-dozen-or-so brothers, who whined, and sniveled, and liked nothing better than to pick fights with one another or the sisters or herself. There was nothing in the world, Phleg thought, worse than a younger brother—except, of course, for an older brother.

  She rolled around on the cool, smooth satin sheets, wondering if this was how a pig in the mud felt. Until she slid right out from between the slippery things and landed on the floor. Ow! she thought, rubbing her head where she had bumped it against the stupid table that some stupid person had stupidly put right by the stupid bed.

  But then she thought she was the one being stupid. How could anyone know she had been grievously injured if she only thought it?

  “Ow!” she howled. “Ow! Ow! Owwwwww!” Not that she was expecting sympathy. She never got sympathy at home. But if she was hurting or unhappy, she preferred to share the misery.

  Immediately, someone from the other side of the door knocked knuckles against the wood. “Princess Gabriella? What’s amiss? I’m coming in.”

  Of course, Phleg had cast the spell that made her look like the princess even before she’d done the spell to transport the princess out and herself in. The servant who came into the room clearly never suspected anything.

  Then again, Phleg quickly decided that the servant wasn’t very bright. “Oh my!” the woman said, “Princess Gabriella! Are you hurt?”

  “No,” Phleg told her. “I always like to huddle on the floor going Ow! while my brains dribble out of the craterlike wound in my head.”

  “Oh,” the woman said. “Have you hurt your head?”

  “Well, duh!” Phleg said, and she held her hand out to show the brain matter that coated it. But surely … she didn’t know that much about people … but didn’t people have red blood? Phleg licked the sticky white substance that coated her fingers from where she had touched what she assumed was the gash on her head. Milk.

  Meanwhile, the servant had rushed over and used her apron to dab at Phleg’s head. “There’s a bump … ,” she said doubtfully, clearly unimpressed by the enormity of the injury.

  “Well, then, stop making such a fuss,” Phleg ordered her, “and move out of my way so I can stand.” What kind of mush-for-brains put a cup of milk right by someone’s bed, where it could easily tip over on top of someone who happened to fall out of that bed? And what was a bed doing so high up off the ground in any case?

  Phleg surged to her feet as gracefully as a walrus, missing the lift her wings would have given her.

  The servant woman put out an arm, which Phleg suspiciously swatted away, as she had fallen once too often for her brothers’ pretenses of helping.

  “You’re certain you’re all recovered now?” the servant asked. “You seem a bit … perhaps the word I’m looking for is unsteady.”

  “Well, if you don’t know what word you’re looking for,” Phleg snapped, “I certainly don’t.” She didn’t know what to make of all this. She had the feeling that although she understood all the individual words, she was still somehow missing the meaning. Sort of like with poetry. She had always suspected poets intentionally made up nonsense, just to feel superior to everyone else.

  But if the servant was confused, that made everything more complicated. To prove she was steady—in case that was the word the servant was looking for—Phleg leaned over and picked up the wooden cup that had fallen off the night table. There was still some milk in it, and for some reason this was especially delicious milk. So Phleg drank down the last of it.

  “Princess Gabriella!” the servant cried in horror.

  Phleg sighed. She seemed to be getting everything wrong, and it was important that she be able to fit in. Her brother Parf had bet her that she’d never last three days. Phleg was determined not to lose that bet. “Was it yours?” Phleg asked.

  “Certainly not!” the servant said. “But it was on the floor!”

  “The cup was,” Phleg pointed out. “Not the milk.” Not that Phleg held anything against food that had been on the floor. But she probably wouldn’t drink from the floor, no matter how sweet-tasting the milk was. Well … most likely not.

  “I can get you more if you’d like,” the servant offered. “And fresh. Maybe that would make you feel better.”

  “No, I’m done now.” Phleg was eager to explore the castle, where this princess whose place she had taken lived. She took a couple of long strides toward the door, noticing that the princess had longer legs than Phleg did, so she covered ground faster. Interesting.

  “Princess Gabriella!” the servant once again cried.

  “Now what?”

  “You aren’t dressed!”

  Phleg looked down at herself in horror. The enchantment was supposed to have transformed her exactly into how the princess looked at the moment Phleg cast the spell, right down to her clothes.

  And, indeed, she saw she was dressed in a lace-trimmed and beribboned white gown that looked just as Phleg thought a princess’s dress should look.

  “Of course I have clothes on,” Phleg said, hoisting the garment up over her knees so that the servant could see the difference between clothes on and clothes off.

  “Well, yes, certainly,” the servant sputtered. “I didn’t say you had no clothes on. I said you weren’t dressed.”

  Phleg sighed impatiently, remembering the servant apparently didn’t know all the words she should. “You’re going to have to explain the difference to me.”

  “You’re wearing your nightclothes.”

  “My what?”

  “Your sleeping gown.”

  Phleg figured if she waited long enough, a better explanation would be offered.

  Eventually, it was. Sort of. “Your gown for sleeping in.”

  Did the servant suspect she wasn’t the real princess? Was this some sort of test? Phleg asked, “I have special clothes for sleeping in?”

  The servant’s relieved tone ind
icated she thought progress was being made. “Of course you do, Your Highness.”

  “Why?”

  “So that your regular clothing doesn’t get wrinkled and mussed.”

  Phleg looked down once again at the pretty princess dress she was wearing. “This isn’t wrinkled,” she said, smoothing it out over her thighs.

  Looking as though she hated to disagree, the servant nodded and said, “But it is.”

  Phleg shrugged.

  The servant said, “Perhaps I should summon the physician to take a look at that bump on your head after all.”

  Phleg had no idea why the woman was trying to change the subject. “No, you were right before: I’m fine.”

  “Well, then, should I help you get dressed?”

  Phleg decided not to fight over every little thing. If people wore one set of clothes for sleeping in and another set of clothes for being awake in, she could do that. But then the servant’s words sank in. “Help me get dressed?” she repeated.

  The woman stepped forward and Phleg once again swatted her away. “Hands to yourself!” she commanded in the same tone she would use on her brothers.

  The woman stepped back.

  Phleg looked around the room, having no idea where the day clothes would be kept. Grudgingly she said, “Maybe you can fetch the clothes for me.”

  “Certainly, Your Highness.”

  And it was a good thing Phleg hadn’t sent her from the room, because what an awful lot of clothes there were. “Those are all mine?” Phleg asked when the servant opened the door of a huge cupboard that held dozens of dresses, in all colors and an assortment of sparkliness.

  “Certainly,” the servant murmured.

  Surely she wasn’t expected to put them all on at once. She’d never be able to move with that many layers. “Hmmm,” Phleg said, waiting for the servant to fill in the silence, to make things clearer.

  Eventually she did. “Which one will you wear today?”

  Phleg licked her lips nervously. Cagily, she announced, “This is a test: Which one do you think I should wear?”

  “I would suggest … ” The servant’s hand hovered. “This sapphire-colored one that shows off your eyes so well.”