Before the princesses went to sleep, they vowed to search for an adventure the very next day, hoping to find someone in need of their help. “We can wait until the midday rest period,” said Lysandra, “then sneak out of the castle.”
“How will we get out?” asked Tansy.
“We can use my flying carpet,” said Fatima. “It’s big enough for us all.”
“Where shall we go?” Elena asked.
“How about the village?” suggested Lysandra. “There’ll be lots of people at the market. Surely one of them will need our help.”
And so it was settled. The next day, when the trumpets announced the rest period, the four princesses prepared for their adventure. They were just about to climb onto Fatima’s flying carpet when there was a knock at the door.
“Hide!” Lysandra whispered. Fatima, Elena, and Tansy dived onto the beds and pulled the covers over their heads as Lysandra crossed the room to open the door.
Gabriella glanced around the room suspiciously. “Just checking to make sure you were all tucked in,” she said. “I heard you talking late last night and expect you didn’t get much sleep. You know that’s not good for princesses.”
Lysandra rolled her eyes. “‘To be at your best, get plenty of rest,’” she recited in a singsong voice. A loud snore came from one of the beds, followed by muffled laughter.
Gabriella lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow, but all she said was “Have a good nap.” Turning on her heel, she left the room.
As soon as Gabriella’s footsteps had faded away, Lysandra and her three new friends threw on old cloaks, then raced to the carpet. Following Fatima’s example, Lysandra sat cross-legged behind her, while Tansy and Elena climbed on too. Fatima grasped the front edge of the carpet and it rose into the air.
“How do we keep from falling off?” Elena asked, sounding worried.
“Easy,” said Fatima. “Just sit tight. I’ll make sure it’s a smooth ride. But if it’ll make you feel better, you can hold onto the side of the carpet.”
The princesses sailed out of the bedchamber window and over the valley. A delicious thrill ran through Lysandra as they soared through the air with the wind rushing past their ears.
Grasping the side of the carpet with one hand and holding onto Fatima with the other, Lysandra looked down. The fields that surrounded the village below were a hodge-podge of patchwork squares set off from one another by bright green hedges. Curling like a ribbon, a river ran through the center of town. Clustered near it, along a dusty road, were cottages and shops.
Fatima landed the carpet in an open meadow several blocks from the village square. After everyone climbed off, she rolled up the carpet tightly and strapped it onto her back. Lysandra hoped no one had spotted them as they were flying. It wouldn’t be good to have news of their adventure getting back to the castle…especially if the news reached Gabriella or her parents!
Following the ringing of church bells and the clanking of blacksmiths’ hammers, the princesses walked toward the middle of town. As they neared the market in the village square, they heard hawkers selling their wares, children shouting, and babies bawling. A cart wheel squealed, and the princesses scrambled out of the way as a peddler’s wagon lurched past.
Lysandra had only viewed the market from the inside of a carriage before. Now, with the other princesses at her heels, she rushed delightedly from one booth to another, pushing through the crowds to gawk at the variety of goods for sale. There were cages of hissing geese and clucking chickens, and all manner of fresh fruits and vegetables, including plump red strawberries; luscious, ripe peaches; big, juicy tomatoes; and huge purple beets.
The princesses wandered up one crowded row and down the next, breathing in the smells of freshly baked pastries, dried herbs, and roasting chestnuts. They ran their fingers over well-crafted belts, sweet-scented candles, cloth of many colors, and beautiful leather boots.
Coming upon a booth selling shiny, red apples, Lysandra couldn’t resist a purchase. She pulled her purse from around her neck and shook out a few gold coins. “Four, please,” she said.
The merchant took the coins from her hand. “Thank you, miss.” He handed her the apples and Lysandra passed them out to her friends.
“Mmm,” said Fatima, taking a bite. “Delicious.”
“Have you ever eaten roasted chestnuts?” asked Tansy, the juice from her apple running down her chin.
“No,” said Fatima. “We don’t have them where I come from.”
“Oh, you must taste them,” said Lysandra, and Elena nodded.
While they were weaving their way through the crowd to reach a woman selling chestnuts, a ragged man barrelled right into Lysandra, knocking her over. Without even stopping to see if she was okay, the man plowed past the girls and disappeared.
Fatima frowned. “How rude!” She and Elena helped Lysandra to her feet.
“Are you all right?” asked Tansy.
“I’m fine,” said Lysandra, brushing the dirt from her cloak. But when they reached the chestnut booth and she went to draw up her purse, it wasn’t there. “My purse!” she exclaimed. “It’s gone!”
8
Jack Flack
SUDDENLY, FROM A PLACE DEEP IN THE MARKET, someone screamed. Lysandra followed the sound with her eyes. Waving his arms wildly to ward off an angry swarm of bees was the same ragged man who had knocked her down only moments before. Lysandra could guess what had happened. “Follow me!” she yelled to her friends.
The four princesses wound their way through the crowd to where the pitiful man stood shrieking. A circle had cleared around him; no one wanted to get near the bees. Lysandra spied her open purse lying in the dust at the man’s feet. The neck strap had been cut. She hadn’t felt a thing when he’d taken the purse.
Darting into the circle, Lysandra grabbed her purse and shut it. Instantly the bees flew straight up into the sky and disappeared. “Thank you, miss,” the man murmured sheepishly. He was covered with puffy red welts where the bees had stung him.
Lysandra frowned. “If you needed money, you could’ve just asked. I would’ve given you some.”
The man bowed his head. “Sorry, miss.”
Elena stepped forward. “Those stings must hurt. Let me give you something to soothe them.”
The man smiled, and Lysandra could see that several of his teeth were missing. “You’re very kind, miss,” he said to Elena. She poured a teaspoonful of lotion from her small blue bottle into his palm. “Rub it over each sting,” she directed him.
The man did, and the painful welts disappeared. He looked at Elena in surprise. “It’s magic!”
Lysandra opened her purse. Taking out a few gold coins, she held them out to the man.
“For me, miss?”
Lysandra nodded.
The man’s eyes misted over. “I’m ever so grateful, miss.” Taking the coins, he bowed. “Name’s Jack Flack,” he said, pointing to himself. “If you ever need any help, just give a whistle and I’ll be at your service.” Bowing again, he put the coins in his pocket and sauntered off.
“He’ll probably just spend the money on ale,” Fatima remarked as the princesses watched him leave.
“Maybe,” said Elena. “But we can’t know that for sure. Doing a kindness is never wrong.”
A short while later, as they continued to walk through the market, the princesses came upon a puppet show. They laughed as three billy goats on strings danced along to a wooden bridge. Under the bridge, a puppet troll was sleeping. Suddenly he jerked to life on his strings. “Who’s that crossing over my bridge?” he roared.
Lysandra felt a hand on her shoulder. “Who’s that sneaking out of the castle?” someone hissed in her ear. Lysandra jumped and gave a startled yelp. Owen! She hadn’t seen him since he and his friends had begun playing by the stables. She hadn’t missed him either.
Owen smiled nastily. All the princesses were staring at him. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?”
Lysandra sig
hed. “Fatima, Elena, and Tansy, this is my cousin Owen.”
Owen looked from one girl to the other, then back to Lysandra. “My, my,” he said, smirking. “I don’t think your parents will be too happy to hear about this. Stealing away to the village in disguise. And during your nap time, too! They’ll probably send your new friends packing.” He paused and held out his hand, palm up. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” growled a voice. Suddenly Owen’s feet left the ground as he was hauled up by the front of his shirt. “Excuse me, miss,” Jack said. “Is this gent bothering you?”
Lysandra nodded.
Owen struggled like a worm on a hook. “Put me down! I’ll have you know, my father is the Duke of Brithia.”
“Is that so?” said Jack. “Then I’m sure he’ll be real interested to know what you’ve been up to, threatening these young misses.”
“They’re not ‘young misses,’” Owen spat out. “They’re princesses.”
Eyeing their old cloaks, Jack Flack winked at the four girls. “Of course they are,” he said. “And I’m the King of Zamora.” He drew Owen toward him until they were nose to nose. “These young misses are friends of mine. In the future you’ll be staying away from them, understand?”
Owen nodded. His chin wobbled as he tried not to cry.
“Good,” said Jack. He set Owen down. “Because if I ever hear of you bothering one of them again…” He drew a finger across his throat.
Without a backward glance, Owen bounded away like a frightened rabbit.
“Thank you,” Lysandra said, opening her purse.
“No, miss,” Jack said quickly. “It should be plain I’m no angel. You’ve already given me more than I deserve.” Whistling, he waved good-bye and went on his way.
“Not that I’m ungrateful,” Fatima said, “but I thought we were going to help someone—instead of the other way around.”
“But isn’t it good to give and to receive?” Elena asked.
“You’re right,” said Lysandra. “But maybe it’s still not too late to find someone who needs our help.”
Tansy’s eyes twinkled. “I have an idea.” She drew her flute from her pocket and began to play. As the notes flowed, a tide of thoughts swirled through the air. If the princesses hadn’t concentrated so hard on hearing them, the thoughts would’ve been lost in the conversations of the crowd. As it was, no one but the princesses seemed to hear them.
Lysandra watched a scowling woman take a plucked chicken from a nearby butcher. The woman’s thoughts drifted toward Lysandra like smoke from a fire. I just know I’m being cheated, she thought. This chicken is so scrawny, it couldn’t weigh more than a handful of feathers.
Sour old woman, thought the butcher. I give her the best I can for her few coins, but still she thinks I’m cheating her. I can see it in her face.
Turning her head in another direction, Lysandra spotted a beautiful girl flirting with a cobbler. He’s not good enough to kiss my boots, but I shall make him want to, she thought.
Iris is pretty, the cobbler thought, but I’ll take a plain girl with a good heart any day.
Lysandra turned again. Woe is me, came a sad voice. No one will ever know I’m a prince. Startled, Lysandra glanced around but couldn’t locate the voice’s source. Then she heard it again. No princess will ever want to marry me, the voice moaned. And I’ve only myself to blame.
Lysandra looked at Fatima. “Do you hear him too?” she whispered.
Fatima nodded. “A prince—here in the marketplace? But where?”
“Shh,” said Elena. Dropping to her hands and knees in a very unprincesslike fashion, she began searching the ground near their feet as Tansy continued to play.
“What’re you doing?” asked Fatima. “The prince can’t be that short!”
Suddenly Elena lunged forward, catching something between her hands. She scrambled to her feet. “He’s not your traditional prince,” she told them, opening her hands. “He’s a frog prince.”
9
Prince Jerome
THE PRINCESSES STARED AT THE LARGE GREEN frog in Elena’s hands. He blinked at them and began to croak rapidly. Lysandra bent closer. “I think he’s trying to speak,” she said. “I can almost make out some words.”
“The market’s too noisy,” said Fatima. “Let’s take him someplace quieter.”
“How about the meadow where we landed?” suggested Tansy.
“Good idea,” said Elena.
They left the market and walked back to the meadow. Tansy played her flute along the way, and their thoughts drifted above them. Fatima reddened when she heard herself think, I wish I could be the one to carry him. After all I am the oldest. A moment later Lysandra blushed too. Maybe Fatima will let me fly the carpet when we go back to the castle, she had thought.
By the time they reached the meadow, the princesses had learned to concentrate their attention on the frog to make his thoughts soar above their own. Who are these girls? What new misery is this? he thought as they set him down. I’m still a prince, even if I am a frog. Why can’t I ever get any respect?
“Be quiet, you silly frog,” Lysandra said. “We’re here to help you.”
The frog blinked. Then, for the first time, he spoke clearly. “Really? You’re going to help me?”
The princesses nodded. “We know you’re an enchanted prince,” said Elena. “We heard your thoughts while Tansy was playing her flute.”
“My thoughts?” squeaked the frog. “You’ve been spying on my thoughts?” He jumped up and down. “That’s just not right,” he spluttered. “Not right at all!”
Fatima rolled her eyes. “Sounds to me like he doesn’t want our help,” she said to her friends. “Maybe we should just chuck him in the swamp and go back to the castle.”
The frog blinked again. “The castle? What castle?”
“The castle of King Sheldon II,” said Lysandra. “He’s my father.”
For a second the frog looked puzzled. “I’ve heard that name before,” he said. “A long time ago. Must’ve been important, but—wait!” he exclaimed. “You must be a princess!”
Lysandra grinned. “We’re all princesses.” One by one, they introduced themselves.
“So now that you know our names,” said Elena, picking up the frog and placing him in Fatima’s lap, “won’t you tell us your own?”
“I’m Prince Jerome,” he said. “Or at least I used to be, before a witch placed a spell on me.”
“How long ago was that?” asked Lysandra.
“Nine years ago,” Jerome said sadly. “Nine l-o-n-g years ago.”
Tansy whistled. “What have you been doing all that time?”
“I lived with the witch for a while,” said Jerome. “But then she threw me out. I’ve never understood why, since I tried to be helpful. I showed her the proper way to stir potions, and gave her good suggestions for improving her wardrobe. She wore way too much black.”
Fatima smiled. “I can’t imagine why she didn’t appreciate your help.”
Jerome sighed. “Ever since the witch kicked me out of her hut, I’ve been roaming from one place to another. It’s a miracle I’m still alive, really. You can’t imagine how close I’ve come to being crushed by a cart wheel or swallowed up by a goose.”
He hopped to Fatima’s shoulder. “In all my years as a frog, you’re the first princesses I’ve come upon.” He eyed them each in turn. “So, which one of you is going to kiss me?”
10
Back to the Castle
FATIMA SHUDDERED IN DISGUST. “NOT ME,” SHE said hurriedly.
Lysandra shook her head. “Nor me.”
“Sorry,” said Elena. “I’m not even allowed to date until I’m at least fourteen.”
“Me neither,” said Tansy. “And I’ll probably never date. If all princes are like my brothers, I don’t ever want to get married.”
Jerome scowled. “Well, someone has to do it. It’s only proper. That’s the way these things are always done!”
&nb
sp; “You sound just like my sister,” said Lysandra. She snapped her fingers. “That’s it! We’ll get her to kiss him. They’d make a perfect match!”
“Yes!” cried the others.
“Excuse me,” said Jerome. “But would you mind telling me a little more about your sister first?”
“What do you want to know?” Lysandra asked.
A rosy glow spread from Jerome’s head to his feet. “Well…um…is she pretty?”
Lysandra hadn’t known frogs could blush. But maybe it was only the enchanted ones that could. She grinned. “My sister has classic princess good looks right down to her golden locks.”
Jerome nodded, looking pleased. “And how old is she?”
“Twenty-five,” Lysandra said, somewhat reluctantly.
Jerome exploded. “TWENTY-FIVE!”
“A very young twenty-five,” Lysandra insisted.
Fatima raised an eyebrow. “Pardon me,” she said to Jerome, “but how old are you?”
“Let me think,” said Jerome. “I’ve been a frog for nine years, and I was a prince up until the age of eighteen, so that would make me…”
“TWENTY-SEVEN!” shouted Tansy.
The princesses laughed. “You’re not so young yourself,” said Lysandra. “You weren’t married before that witch cast a spell on you, were you?”
Jerome shook his head no. “You’ll probably find this hard to believe, but I used to be rather fussy. There were lots of princesses interested in marrying me, but I rejected them all.”
“Why?” Elena asked.
Jerome stared down at his webbed toes as if he felt ashamed. “Oh, I had lots of reasons. One of them laughed too loudly. Another’s hair was too curly.” He paused. “There was one whom I almost married. She was a real beauty, and we got along wonderfully well. We were even engaged….” His voice drifted off.
The Perfectly Proper Prince Page 3
