The Princess and the Page

by Christina Farley

  There on the cover is stamped the double W emblem—one W gold, one silver. Now I understand what those Ws mean. Word Weaver. Each W begins to glow, shooting gold and silver sparks into the air until the whole room is a fireworks display of gold and silver showers.

  An apparition appears on the other side of the room, becoming clearer until I recognize it to be Gabrielle. She looks so beautiful, just as she had on that night I saw her dancing at the lawn party. But this time, the fear has vanished and Gabrielle’s smile reaches her eyes. They sparkle as brightly as the gems on her dress. Gabrielle presses her fingers to her lips and blows me a kiss that rushes over to me like a gust of wind, swirling around me. This time the wind is warm with a hint of lilies, whispering a haunting “Thank you.”

  A young man joins her side and takes her hand. That must be the prince, I realize. He kisses her hand lightly and then the two begin dancing. They spin in circles, laughter filling the air.

  Then the light from the book vanishes along with Gabrielle, and the room blankets to darkness. Wind swirls around me and it’s as if the floor drops out from under me.

  I plunge into an endless abyss so fast I don’t even have time to scream.

  * * *

  I blink a few times and then lift my head, trying to figure out where I am and to make sense of everything that happened.

  Then, as if by magic, Bella’s face appears above me, a worried crease stretched across her brow. “Keira?” she says in a frantic tone. “Keira? Are you okay? Oh my gosh. Someone call an ambulance! Quick!”

  My head jerks up. I throw my arms around Bella in the biggest hug ever.

  “You’re all right!” I say. “You got out of the tower?”

  “Huh?” Bella says. “What tower?”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “Girl,” Bella says. “We were so worried about you! After the chandeliers crashed, Chet and I couldn’t find you anywhere. And then we came out here, and you were passed out on the steps. I feel so awful. Will you forgive me?”

  “What? I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

  “I should’ve listened to you about the ghost and how it was going to ruin the whole ball. I was so fixated on my designs that I didn’t think about your safety. I promise not to be so selfish next time.”

  “Now you’re being ridiculous. But why am I lying outside, on the top step of the castle stairs?”

  A group of people on the grass are talking while Monsieur and the Joneses argue at the base of the stairs.

  “We thought that ghost had finally got you,” Chet says. “If you ask me, I think it was the ghost that made the chandeliers crash like that.”

  “Maybe it was just a bad dream.” I rub the sides of my head.

  Until a gleam of silver buried in the folds of my dress catches my eye. I lift my pen, cradling it in my hand.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a dream.

  I think about the pen and the words I wrote. Maybe it’s not the pen that is evil and nearly destroyed my family and best friend, but the words I chose to write. One thing I know: Words are powerful.

  I tuck the pen back into my dress’s sash and allow Bella to help me up.

  “How’s your dad, Chet?” I wobble on my feet, leaning hard against Bella. “I saw him pass out.”

  “He’s feeling a little better now after he pretty much threw up all of his guts,” Chet says. “I think he must have drank some of the Joneses’ punch before we threw it out. I’m sure glad whatever stuff they put in there isn’t lethal. Just make-you-really-sick kind of stuff. He’s kind of ticked off right now.

  “Oh! And is this yours?” Chet asks. He holds up a silver chalice, imprinted with the image of a ghost, hair flung behind her, skirts billowing out as if she were flying. “It was lying at your feet.”

  “Nope,” I say, trying to steady the panic rising in me at seeing the ghost’s chalice. “Looks like something from the gift shop.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right.” Chet tosses it over his shoulder into the river. “Must be some trinket knockoff.”

  A siren fills the air along with flashing lights as four squad cars speed down the castle’s dirt drive, spurting up a cloud of dust.

  “About time the police showed up,” Chet says.

  The cars screech to a halt at the bottom of the stairs. Police jump out, holding Tasers and flashlights.

  “You!” One police officer points at Bella, Chet, and me. “Don’t move! Raise your hands!”

  Instantly, we shoot our hands into the air, even though I can barely hold mine up since they’re so weak from my castle climbing. Another person emerges from one of the squad cars. But it isn’t a police officer, it’s my mom!

  “Don’t shoot!” Mom screams. “That’s my baby girl.”

  “Mom!” I shout. “You’re here. Where have you been? Are you okay?”

  Mom races up the stairs and draws me into a hug. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine. It’s you I was worried about. I gave the police all of your evidence from your journal.”

  “My journal?” I cringe, expecting her to be mad that I’d been writing so much. “You took my journal and then showed it to other people?”

  “It’s hard-core evidence.” Mom smiles warmly at me. “Good facts and solid evidence should never be ignored. You know, because you wrote all your observations, the police were able to follow some leads on the whole case. Perhaps writing isn’t such a bad thing after all. I’m so proud of you, sweetie!”

  Before long, the police have everyone escorted out of the castle, including the Joneses and Monsieur in handcuffs. Paramedics carefully ease Shan Valrose (aka Mr. Parker) onto a gurney and load him into the ambulance.

  “I better go with my dad to the hospital,” Chet tells me. “Maybe I’ll see you again someday. You sure know how to make a boring holiday into a full-out adventure. Here’s my email address if you’re ever in Canada and want to go rock climbing.”

  “Sure.” I take the piece of paper that Chet has scribbled his name and email address on. “Thanks for your help. The rock climbing sure came in handy.”

  Chet waves good-bye and jumps into the ambulance. A pang runs through me. I’m going to really miss him.

  After I give my statement (of course leaving out the part about the ghost, my magic pen, and my fairy tale), I realize I haven’t seen Madame or Ms. Teppernat since I came to on the castle stairs.

  “Have you seen Madame and Ms. Teppernat?” I ask Bella.

  “Who?” Bella says.

  “You know, Madame DuPont, who runs this place, and Ms. Teppernat from Girls’ World.”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Bella says. “Renee is the one in charge here.”

  “And Cheryl Crooner is the coordinator for the magazine,” Mom adds.

  “I don’t know what you did,” Monsieur yells across the drive as an officer pushes him into the squad car. His hair, usually slicked back to perfection, rears up like a peacock, and his glasses are skewed on his face. “But I still think you are who I said you are. I may not be able to prove it now, but once I’m free, I’m going to find out the truth about all of this!”

  Then the door slams in his face so he can’t say another word. Through the car window, I can still see his mouth moving.

  “That despicable man,” Mom says. “I hope they find lots of reasons to keep him locked up.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Because I changed the fairy tale from an unhappy ending to happy. Now there’s no way he can prove that a Word Weaver wrote it.”

  “Really!” Mom says, clearly shocked. “But how? I didn’t think it was possible!”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later,” I say. “But first I need to go check something.”

  I run back inside the castle with Mom and Bella close at my heels. I lead them past the butler, down the hall, and into the library. The château’s history book is still lying on the desk where Chet left it. I flip through the pages until I find Gabrielle’s story.

  “Look!”
I say. “Gabrielle no longer is murdered. She lives a happy life here in the castle! It really happened. I changed the ending!”

  “I don’t understand.” Bella picks up my story from the magazine article that is also still on the desk from when Monsieur brought it to show me during our talk. “That’s exactly how your story always ended.”

  Mom’s eyebrows rise, and then she bursts out laughing. “So maybe you plagiarized a little. I can forgive that.”

  I join her laughing. Mom is a whole lot smarter, and funnier, than I ever realized.

  “Do you think the story really happened?” I ask Mom. She nods, but I’m not satisfied with just that. “Bella, do you remember anything that happened in the ballroom tonight?”

  “I remember you confronting the Joneses about spiking the punch!” Bella starts giggling. “That was epic.”

  “What about right after the chandeliers fell? When you were taken by the ghost?”

  “Taken by a ghost?” Bella says, and now she’s studying me closely as if she’s worried I’ve gone insane.

  “We don’t remember any of that, sweetie,” Mom says. Then, as we exit the library, Mom whispers into my ear, “Once a story happens, only the Word Weaver remembers all the versions of the story. The rest of us just take the final version as reality.”

  “I should never have written that awful story,” I say.

  “True.” Mom squeezes me tighter. “But I should have trusted you and told you the whole truth. I was desperate to protect and shelter you, but it made everything worse. When we get home, we have a lot to talk about. No more secrets.”

  “No more secrets.” I smile, a weight lifting off me. “That sounds like a really good plan.”

  “Which reminds me.” Mom starts digging through her purse. “I think I have an article somewhere in here about the importance of not keeping secrets.”

  Bella and I groan.

  “If all my stories ended up like this new version, maybe I should think about having a career in writing,” I say.

  Mom furrows her brows. “Now let’s not get too crazy here.”

  I laugh at her expression but peek down at my magical pen clutched in the palm of my hand. It shimmers once, that bright sapphire blue. Winking.

  Promising me a whole world of adventures.

  THE END

  My love affair with the magical Château de Chenonceau began during a trip with my sister to France. Since both of us had careers as make-believe princesses, we had one destination in mind—the Loire Valley, the premiere location for enchanting castles. We toured castle after castle, but as the two of us strolled the wooded lane toward Chenonceau, instantly we knew this castle was special.

  With my journal and pen in hand, we scoured every inch of the château. (Even sneaking into restricted places and tucking ourselves into fireplaces! Shhh! Don’t tell!) We danced in the Gallery—which in The Princess and the Page I renamed the ballroom—and as we leaned over the balcony, we drank in the scent of lilies and gazed at the stunning gardens.

  During our tour, I was captivated by the tragic story of Duchess Gabrielle d’Estrées. Born in 1573, she was raised in a castle in the town of Coeuvres where her strict father forced her to study rather than ride her beloved pony. Her mother abandoned the family when Gabrielle was ten, leaving her and her siblings to be raised by their aunt. In 1590, she met King Henry IV, and the two fell madly in love.

  To show his love for Gabrielle, Henry IV acquired Chenonceau from Catherine de Médicis, although it was Gabrielle’s son, César de Bourbon, who ended up with ownership. Today a bedroom is dedicated to Gabrielle, the very one that Keira stays in at the castle, and the ceiling of the Five Queens’ bedroom is painted with the coat of arms of King Henry IV and Gabrielle.

  When Henry passed on his coronation ring to Gabrielle in March of 1599, she was thrilled knowing that the two of them were finally to be married. But heartbreakingly, on April 10, 1599, she became suddenly ill and died at the age of twenty-six.

  King Henry IV was devastated, especially when word spread that she probably had been poisoned. Loving her even in death, he gave Gabrielle the funeral of a queen and wore black, the first French monarch to wear black for mourning.

  Moved by this tragic love story, I perched on the railing of Chenonceau’s bridge and began to write in my journal. But as I stared down at my pen, a new thought occurred to me. What if a special pen could rewrite the story so that Gabrielle and Henry could have their happily ever after? What if a pen, like the one I was holding, had magical powers?

  And so, I fictionalized Gabrielle’s story, blending some of the facts of her life with my own make-believe narrative, which became Keira’s tale.

  My writer juices started flowing and the inspiration for The Princess and the Page was born. Still, the idea of “happily ever after” irked me because sometimes in real life, it seems like those endings don’t exist. I brought those feelings into Keira’s story. She makes good and bad decisions, but with each of those she holds the power to begin her “once upon a time” and create her own “happily ever after.”

  Keira’s story is about living out our lives and making the best of every situation by finding the beauty and love even in our Dark Towers of life.

  Today, as I wish upon a star, I hope you will never stop believing that you have the power to bring magic to the world around you.

  aucun — none

  allez — come on

  au revoir — good-bye

  bon — good

  bonjour — hello

  bon appétit — good appetite

  château — castle

  entrecôte — rib-eye steak

  délicieux — delicious

  Dimanche — Sunday

  Jeudi — Thursday

  la nuit de la mort — night of death

  Vendredi — Friday

  Lundi — Monday

  mademoiselle — miss

  manuel de l’immobilier — handbook of real estate

  Mardi — Tuesday

  merci — thank you

  Mercredi — Wednesday

  monsieur — gentleman

  non — no

  nous devons parler — we have to talk

  oh là là — oh my

  oui — yes

  pétanque — a game where one stands inside a circle and throws a metal ball as close as possible to a smallerwooden ball

  pain perdu —French toast

  profiteroles au chocolat — cream puff with chocolate

  voilà — there it is or there you have it

  Thank you, God, for your blessings. You amaze me.

  I am incredibly appreciative to my readers who have read my stories and are an inspiration to me. To the educators, librarians, and bloggers across the world who have been an amazing support. I love how stories have brought us together!

  To Isabella Pagani for allowing me to use your beautiful name.

  When I first saw the cover for The Princess and the Page, there were tears in my eyes because it was that perfect. So thank you to Petur Antonsson for creating such an enchanting cover.

  I am indebted to Jillian Nightingale and Ken McNeilly for their expertise and advice on the French language. Any mistakes in this beautiful language are mine.

  Thank you to my agent, Jeff Ourvan, for his insights into this story and tirelessly believing in my writing.

  This book wouldn’t have come to life without my inspirational editor, Andrea Pinkney, who is a Word Weaver and princess in every way. When she called to talk about The Princess and the Page, I knew Keira’s story had found the perfect home. I’m also incredibly grateful to the whole Scholastic team who are busy weaving magic this very moment. To my copyeditor, Joy Simpkins, and designer, Carol Ly: Your work and efforts are so appreciated!

  Special hugs to my fellow Word Weavers who literally dropped everything for emergency reads and my bizarre questions: Debbie Ridpath Ohi, Beth Revis, Andrea Mack, Carmella VanVleet, and Susan Laidlaw. These ladies are truly magical!r />
  To my Seoul Foreign writer’s group, the Inkwells, for their critiques: Dale Wood, Afaf Finan, Brent Van Staalduinen, Lonna Lutze Hill, and Doug Farley. Also, a big thanks to Jeff Bolinger, Shelley Jewell, and Mary Gibson, who graciously read an early version of this book.

  Writing can be a solitary art, which is why I’m thankful to my fellow princesses in crime: Vivi Barnes, Amy Christine Parker, and Lynne Matson, who always put up with my crazy ideas. Road trip in tiaras!

  As always, my family has been with me on this journey the whole way. Thanks Dad, Mom, David, and Cassia. And especially to Julianne for encouraging me to write my princess story. Oh the fun we had sneaking through Château de Chenonceau, drinking cafés, and eating chocolate croissants!

  To my boys, Caleb and Luke, who are my everything: Long after the pages of this book have turned to dust, my love will still be there.

  And to Doug, my love and prince: I love you, I love you, I love you! I pull out my Word Weaver pen and write, And they lived happily ever after.

  CHRISTINA FARLEY is the author of the bestselling Gilded series. Prior to that, she worked as an international teacher and at a top secret job for Disney, where she was known to scatter pixie dust before the sun rose. When not traveling the world or creating imaginary ones, she spends time with her husband and two sons in Clermont, Florida, where they are busy preparing for the next World Cup, baking cheesecakes, and raising a pet dragon that’s in disguise as a cockatiel. You can visit her online at www.ChristinaFarley.com.

  Copyright © 2017 by Christina Farley

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.