Why did everyone say that in one way or another? “You can’t tell me what happened?”
He stepped away from her and gestured toward her feet, shod in slippers matching her dress. “You bravely distracted the Mouse King so I could slay him.”
Marie put her hands on her hips. That had not been what she meant, and he knew it. The quirk of his lips proved it so.
“You fell back against the cabinet,” he continued, unabashed, “hit your head, and cut your arm. You’ve only been unconscious a few minutes.”
She stepped forward and held out a hand to him. “I meant to you. I’ve wondered ever since Godfather brought you to us. There was always something alive about your eyes.”
His expression sobered. He took her hand and squeezed it gently before releasing it. “The cursed are never allowed to speak of their curses, my lady.”
“Then pretend you’re someone else and tell me in a story.”
“Now is a time of celebration, not of sad tales.” He gave her a sideways glance. “This tale has but one bright spot, and it will fade with dawn’s awakening.” He held out his arm to her, and she took it. “Now, O Queen of Toys, you must attend to your royal duties. Your soldiers await your command.”
“My what?” Marie clutched the prince’s arm as he turned her toward the center of the room. The fallen mice had been dragged away, except for their king, who lay beside her slipper, which was as large as a house now that it was back at its true size. A bit of moonlight glinted off the crowns on the Mouse King’s severed heads. Marie shuddered and quickly passed over the sight, but it was the rows of toy soldiers beyond that, all staring expectantly, which drew a sharp breath from her.
“Oh no,” she whispered and tried to retreat. The prince held her firmly in place.
“They fought bravely for you. You must acknowledge that and formally dismiss them to their places.”
“But—”
“You faced down the Mouse King, Marie. You can do this. They need you to.”
Marie closed her mouth against her further arguments. He was right. She should, and she could. Stiffening her spine, she released his arm and stepped forward. What speech she gave she hardly knew, but the toys cheered and saluted her, and then, thankfully, turned their metallic or painted eyes away from her and marched back to their cabinet homes.
Heart pounding worse than in the battle, she looked around for a chair—quickly amending that to anything—to lean on for support. But when the prince nodded at her in approval, the ordeal didn’t seem so bad. She even found herself straightening her shoulders once again.
“What have you to do with the Mouse King, Marie?” the prince asked suddenly.
Marie startled. A dream had never asked her to explain itself before. Once again, she wondered if she were in a dream. “I don’t know. I never saw him before last night in my dreams, but,” she paused, considering, “it may have been suggested by Magician Mouserinks’s visit. No, my father made a comment about the Mouse King and the princess’s supposed curse. It must have been that.”
“Did Mouserinks leave anything? Give you anything?”
“No. Why?” She cocked her head, curious at the prince’s earnest look.
“Think,” he said. “Mouserinks dragged you into a bridge between our world and a faerie realm, where the Mouse King could find you. He can’t do that without some connection on your part.”
“But he didn’t. He—good heavens.” She grasped her sleeve, where she’d once hidden Mouserink’s note. “The letters. He sent me two letters. I burned them.”
“You what! Never, ever, ever take anything, or burn anything, from a magician, Marie.”
Instead of cowering under the fierce glare accompanying the reprimand, Marie had the oddest desire to smile. The prince cared for her safety. “I know that now and shan’t forget. But why? Why me?”
The prince frowned, whether at her lack of remorse or her questions, she couldn’t determine. “I don’t know. Unless…one bite from a mouse of his, and…in some ways you’d be like me.”
Marie’s stomach twisted at the thought. Then another idea had her eying the prince narrowly. “A doll in the waking world?”
He gave her a sad smile and turned away, walking toward the Mouse King. When he reached him, he removed each of the seven crowns.
“What are you doing?” Marie asked as she joined him.
“I must return the seven crowns to the seven kingdoms from which they were stolen, and then—well, I must face each faerie lord. I killed a faerie king and must be brought to account for it.”
“Surely no one would blame you!”
“I do not know that.”
“Then you mustn’t go.”
“Every crown must be restored for you to return to your true form upon waking.” He shook his head, his lips curving slightly. “I don’t fear their decision. You have no need to hinder me.”
Recognizing the same stubborn resolve in the prince as in her godfather, Marie forced aside her protests. “What of you? Will you then be free?”
He looked away, but not before Marie caught a glimpse of that familiar sadness and yearning in his face. “That I do not know.” He turned back to her, a determined set to his jaw. “But you shall be free.” He added quietly to himself, “I shall not falter this time.”
“Are the kingdoms dangerous then?” she asked, confused.
“There’s always a risk when traveling in the faerie realms, but I do not think them dangerous, most of them, since they will be grateful we slew the Mouse King.” He smiled a smile that was entirely too bright for Marie to trust. “But I must go now.” He bowed low, the crowns a cumbersome pile in his arms, one crown near to toppling off. “It was a pleasure to serve you, my lady. Will you now excuse me?”
Marie shook her head, her heart twisting inside her. What curse or curses did the prince bear? She couldn’t leave him entrapped like this! “I’ll come with you.”
The prince’s eyes widened, as did Marie’s. Living in a dream had made her bold.
“You have no need to. Sleep. When you wake, I will’ve returned the crowns. I will not let you stay in this cursed half-realm.”
The determination in the prince’s last words pierced her. Would she truly be trapped here, in a doll’s size? Nonsense. This was a dream. Or, at least, that’s what she told herself to gather her courage. “You risked your life to save me. The least I can do is help you now, if only to carry some of the crowns.” She dipped her chin toward the faltering pile in his arms.
He quickly rearranged them to keep the loose one from falling, but another worked itself from his hold. “Really, that’s not neces—”
Marie caught the falling crown. “But it is.” She held the crown up to him and then took three, one of which she settled on his head, smiling at his bewildered expression. “There, my prince. That’s three for each of us. You get to wear one to make it even. It’s too large for my head, and since you killed the beast, you get the honor.”
He watched her, wide-eyed, but then coughed and straightened the crown on his head. “You know you’re very much like your mother at times.”
“Bossy?”
“A tad. A wonderful woman, but a tad bossy.”
“Ha. You were able to watch us as a nutcracker.” Marie’s fascination with the idea died as suddenly as it came. Had she acted a fool in front of him? Or unkindly? Or…good heavens! She’d been in her nightclothes in front of him only this night!
“Yes, but”—he cleared his throat again, his face red—“I know when to close my eyes.”
Cheeks as red as the prince’s, Marie nodded. “Thank you.”
“Yes, well, my mother was a wonderful woman too and taught me…ah…proper behavior.”
Marie nodded again. While she told herself that proving he was a gentleman should make the embarrassment she was suffering worthwhile, it didn’t. That is, until she recalled the jealousy in the doll’s eyes after Lord Blaine’s visits. A mischievous grin spread across her face and an alarmed loo
k spread over the prince’s.
“How do you fancy Lord Blaine?” she asked. “Did you know him before your curse?”
“I…um…did meet him a time or two, yes. He’s…a…um…good man.”
Was it her imagination or had the prince ground out the last two words?
“I’ve always thought so, or I would never have allowed him to call on me, and Papa certainly wouldn’t have. But I do feel Caroline suits him better. You’ve seen her when she’s called. What do you think?”
The prince cleared his throat again and looked somewhere over Marie’s shoulder. “It’s not my place to say, but since you ask, I do think she might suit him better—that’s no offense to you or Lord Blaine. No, he’s quite worthy. Yet looking at the two of you from a personality standpoint, I feel you might be better suited to…someone else.” He gave Marie a sideways glance. For a split-second, she thought she saw in the intensity of his gaze the identity of the someone else who might suit her perfectly. Then the light in his eyes was overshadowed by the hopeless sadness she’d noticed in her nutcracker so often.
The butterflies fluttering in her stomach stilled. How could she be so cruel? The prince might never be free, and she was tormenting him, driving him to demonstrate a preference for her merely to flatter her vanity. She forced a bright smile. “I’m glad to know someone else thinks as I do on the matter. Tell me about these kingdoms we’ll visit?”
“You’re determined to come?” he asked, his expression unreadable.
Marie hesitated, aware now of what she was asking. Her presence would be a reminder of all he’d lost through his curse. Was it possible he’d consider her company worth the pain? “I—I don’t want to be a burden to you. I should stay. Here, here are the crowns back. I’m sorry I took them. I—”
“Marie.” The command in the prince’s voice stilled her stumbling words and forced her to meet his gaze. He smiled, not a smile of mirth or cynicism, but a deep, warm kind that always seems a rare gift. Her heart stuttered as he bowed and held out his hand. “Would you accompany me to the faerie realms? I would treasure your company.”
Marie’s eyes gave the prince his answer, as did the blush brightening her cheeks. He offered her his arm, and carefully adjusting the crowns, she slipped her arm through his.
“You asked what the faerie kingdoms were like,” he said, leading her toward the fireplace. “They’re like…the wildflower you find one day in the rose garden you’ve walked a hundred times before. It’s exquisite and beautiful and altogether otherworldly, and all the more wonderful for the unexpectedness of it.”
The first of the seven crowns began to glow, and a shimmer formed in the air in front of them. It grew brighter, and Marie’s room disappeared.
Chapter 6
SIX KINGDOMS THEY visited, each more splendid than the last. And in each, the faerie greeted them with joy and sternness. In joy, begging them to stay a while and tell them of the Mouse King’s defeat. In sternness, reminding them they must meet at the seventh land for judgment, for the prince had slain a faerie king.
The handsome, silver-haired King of the Mountains, the first of the faerie to regain his crown, included Marie in his gaze as he spoke of the judgment awaiting them. The prince stiffened beside her, drawing Marie closer to his side. A chill swept down her.
“Why did you look at me so?” she asked. “I will not desert the prince. I will be a witness for him. He has done no wrong.”
“Your Highness.” The prince stepped between her and the faerie lord, an alarming hardness to his voice. “I killed the Mouse King. I alone will take responsibility, if punishment is deemed necessary.”
Marie sputtered. He alone? No one was going to condemn her prince. Or her, if she read his concern aright. She moved to his side, taking his hand, as she sent a glare to the faerie.
She fancied a quirk of the faerie lord’s lips before he fixed his stern gaze on her prince. “But you did not kill the Mouse King alone—as you know.”
The prince scowled at the king, but then gave a sigh as of defeat. “‘The dust of a pure maiden’s slipper removes a faerie’s protection.’ If Miss Stahlbaum had not kicked one Mouse King and hit the other with her slipper, I could not have harmed them.”
Marie gasped.
“But she didn’t know,” the prince continued, “and even I didn’t remember until later. She can’t be held accountable for it.”
“We shall see.” The king smiled wryly at the prince. Then his expression turned musing. “You did not remember, but still you fought the Mouse King in what you thought was a hopeless fight for time till your lady might awake safely. You fought with no hope for self or glory.” The King of the Mountains paused, and the prince bowed his head under the king’s intent look. “You have changed since your last encounter with the Mouse King.” Again he paused, drawing the prince’s head back up. “But enough?” He gave Marie a quick glance, the action dragging the prince’s gaze to her as well. The prince’s expression shuttered. The king continued, a paternal smile softening his features. “You will have nothing to fear when the faerie kings meet. Neither of you.”
In each kingdom, the lords and ladies implied the same, to Marie’s relief. Yet still she sensed a burden on her prince’s heart. When she asked about it, he only replied that the cursed were not allowed to speak of their curses. Thus, in each kingdom, Marie made bold to pull the queen aside and ask how she might break the prince’s spell.
“How much do you value the prince’s heart?” each asked. “Would you take him if he weren’t as you see him now—the handsome prince?”
“As a doll?” she asked, taken aback.
“No, child. Not as a doll. The Mouse King is dead. That curse is broken, if he accepts it.”
Accepts it? Marie found she could give no answer, could not determine what they meant.
But as the journey grew longer, and she began to know the prince better, she wondered if she did know after all.
In the seventh kingdom, the faerie lords met. Six kings, six golden crowns. The seventh crown they took from Marie and her prince and then bade them speak. Together, they told once more their tale, of Mouserinks and the king and the slipper, of the final stroke of the nutcracker’s sword.
Though her heart pounded as the lords gathered alone, the King of the Mountains proved truthful—they had nothing to fear. And in token of the honor due them for freeing the seven faerie kingdoms from a cruel overlord, the faerie kings appointed them to crown the new king of the seventh realm, the Mouse King’s home.
As the coronation drew near, Marie noted, for the first time in her journey through the faerie realms, the sky beginning to darken with the soft pinks and purples of a glorious sunset. Unease mingled with pleasure at the sight, but Marie couldn’t recall why it should be so.
The preparations made, the King of the Mountains escorted Marie and the prince, the last crown in his hand, to the chestnut-brown faerie mouse sitting uneasily on his new throne. The ceremony began.
Marie’s gaze met the prince’s as they held the crown over the faerie’s head. The peace there sent a jolt through Marie, even as she automatically lowered the crown with him to the new king’s head. They’d returned all the crowns. As he’d vowed, the prince had seen to the end of her curse. She would soon sleep in the faerie realm and wake in her own. But in that moment Marie knew her dreams were as real and full of enchantment as the faerie realms to which Ernst Drosselmeier had disappeared so long before. And she knew she wasn’t ready to leave them.
The faerie burst into applause as their new king rose, his crown glittering in the dusky light, but the sound dimmed as Marie’s vision darkened. The prince caught her as her legs buckled.
“Please, not yet,” she pleaded with the seven kings, but they shook their heads. Twisting to find her prince’s face, Marie blinked, trying to force her eyes to focus, her tongue to speak, but she couldn’t. As sleep claimed her, the prince kissed her, and it was goodbye.
Light hit Marie in the eyes, and
she woke with a start, the blood draining from her face as she looked around. She was back in her bed. Across the room, the nutcracker stood guard upon her cabinet, his eyes blank.
Chapter 7
MARIE FLUNG HERSELF back onto her pillow. It couldn’t have been a dream. The nutcracker prince had been so real, like someone she’d known. Like someone she wanted to know better. The only person who could hold up against her image of Ernst Drosselmeier and not be found lacking.
Marie looked around again and groaned. It was only a dream. Don’t be a fool, Marie. Things like that don’t happen, not to you.
She lay still a moment, reliving the dream with bittersweet sadness, determined never to forget it, when the stinging of a cut drew her attention to her arm.
The handkerchief that had been around the nutcracker’s jaw was around her wrist. Hadn’t the prince put it there himself after she cut her arm on the broken cabinet? She searched out the cabinet. The bottom pane was broken.
She eased out of bed, watching for glass and grateful once again she had gone to bed with her slippers on. But when her feet emerged from under the covers, one foot was bare. She hobbled over to the other slipper as it lay on the floor and slipped her foot into it. Her stomach roiled at the sight of the headless mouse beside it even as the additional evidence filled her with hope. Her nutcracker was real. That had to be why Godfather was so concerned about him. She would demand to know about his curse; Godfather could have no reason to hide the truth now. Between the two of them, she was sure they could free the nutcracker prince. After all, the faerie queens hadn’t exactly said she couldn’t free him.
Only they hadn’t exactly said how she could.
Marie carefully brushed aside the broken glass in front of the cabinet with her slippered foot and was about to pick up the nutcracker when her bedroom door flew open. Fritz and Isabel barged into the room.
“Marie!” they cried. “You aren’t dressed yet? Hurry up and come downstairs so we can open presents.”
Isabel grabbed Marie’s arms and pumped them up and down. “Please.”
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