My Fairly Dangerous Godmother

by Janette Rallison

  The queen dabbed her napkin to her lips, then gingerly set the cloth on the table. “It’s simply horrible. The cobblers can’t keep up, and then my girls have nothing to wear—well, nothing that matches anyway, and you know how ladies hate that.” She let out a small laugh, expecting Donovan to agree.

  He nodded politely. “Have you tried sending them to bed without slippers?”

  The queen frowned at the suggestion. “That doesn’t seem proper. Well-bred ladies need footwear befitting each occasion. Isn’t it the same in your land?”

  “I wasn’t suggesting anything, Your Majesty. I’m only asking what methods you’ve already used to solve the problem.” Donovan was poised while he spoke. Not freaked out and fumbling like I’d been when I first found myself in the mermaid kingdom.

  He glanced upward in thought. “Have you tried putting something else beneath the princesses’ beds to see if other objects get worn out? Perhaps the beds are enchanted.”

  “Enchanted beds?” the king repeated, letting the idea sit in his mind.

  “In my land,” Donovan said, “some people think monsters live under their beds. Perhaps in your land you have monsters who suck the life out of shoes.”

  The queen put a hand to her chest, displaying an array of golden rings. “Is such a thing possible?”

  “Very possible,” Donovan said, though his expression remained unworried. “I’ve had teachers who assigned books that sucked the enjoyment out of reading.”

  The queen pursed her lips. “They must have been evil books.”

  “Evil, indeed.” Donovan’s gaze swept over the princesses, sizing us up, then returned to the queen and king. “What exactly have you done to solve this mystery?”

  The queen pressed her hands together, careful to avoid draping her sleeves onto her plate. “We keep asking the girls to tell us what happens to their slippers. We constantly assure them of our love so they know they can trust us.”

  In the same motherly tone, she added, “We also lock their door from both inside and out, and set armed guards in their hallway and below their windows—for their good, of course.”

  The king picked the remaining bits of turkey from the bone. “I threaten them frequently with disinheritance unless these shenanigans stop. They’re obviously doing something they ought not.”

  He used the bone like a pointer, jabbing it at one table and then the other. “Are you listening, daughters? I’ll sell you all to the first gypsy troop that comes by!”

  The queen smiled tolerantly at us. “Of course we won’t do that, darlings. Our children are our greatest treasures.”

  “Daughters,” the king muttered. “Twelve of them.” He tossed down the bone and picked up another turkey leg, sullenly chewing it.

  The queen kept smiling at us, meeting each of our eyes as her gaze traveled around the room. “Remember my dear girls, you can do anything you set your mind to, because you’re so special.”

  No wonder none of the princesses told their parents anything. They probably didn’t know whether they would get a pep talk or be banished.

  The princesses smiled at their mother and ignored their father’s threat. They went back to eating and murmuring to each other, still eyeing Donovan coyly.

  The queen called to a serving girl. “Set a plate for Prince Donovan. He’ll join us for supper.”

  The girl curtsied and hurried toward a door that must have led to the kitchen. A stream of servants had been coming and going from it carrying trays and pitchers.

  “To the business at hand,” the king said, chewing a bite of turkey while he addressed Donovan. “If you can tell me what my daughters do every night, I’ll give you one of them to wife and make you my heir. Are you fit for the challenge?”

  “I hope so, Sire.”

  Bits of turkey had fallen in the king’s beard and he wiped them off. “I hope so as well. I don’t like men traipsing around my daughters’ chambers. If you can’t solve the mystery within three nights, I’ll assume you’re a scoundrel—just here in the hopes of glimpsing royal nightgowns—and it’s the execution block for you.”

  The queen leaned forward, smiling at Donovan. “I’m sure you’re a very nice young man, and we’d love to have you as a son-in-law.”

  The king shook his turkey leg at Donovan. “And don’t attempt more than a glimpse at my daughters’ nightgowns, or I’ll think up something worse than execution for you.” He turned to the queen, picking up his goblet as he did. “We need to hire a wizard. One that can change eager young suitors into door stops.” He downed his drink in one swallow and then waved at a passing servant to refill his cup.

  Another serving girl set a plate and utensils in the only available place, the spot at the end of the table next to me. The queen gestured toward it. “Please sit down, Prince Donovan. The girls love company.”

  Oh yes. The princesses clearly loved company, evidenced by the fact they drugged the men who came here, thus dooming them to execution.

  Donovan bowed to the king and queen, then strode to the seat next to mine. Once the king and queen stopped speaking, the minstrel began his tune again and the volume of chatter in the room picked up. The clink of silverware reminded me I’d had precious little to eat.

  Donovan dropped into the seat at my side with a smile. “Princess Sadie, isn’t it?” His words held a mocking tone. He knew I was no more royalty than he was. “A pleasure to join you.”

  I was not about to be taken in by his blue eyes and easy smile. He had grabbed the paper out of my hand in order to get here. He was my competition.

  I matched his smile. “You have good manners for a guy with a criminal record. Is that something they teach in reform school?”

  “Of course not.” He leaned back in his seat, unruffled. “I learned how to act around kings the same way every other twenty-first century guy learns—by watching movies and playing medieval computer games.” He glanced at the bread crust sitting on my plate. “Although I always thought princesses ate better. Food allergies?”

  “No. The king punished me for coming to dinner late.”

  “I guess you shouldn’t have spent so much time trying to send me away.”

  Several servants arrived at Donovan’s seat, all bearing trays of food. One servant piled slices of turkey onto Donovan’s plate then drizzled gravy across them. Another servant spread butter on his bread and spooned steaming peas in garlic sauce onto his plate. A third came by and poured cider into his cup. The smell wafted over, flavorful and delicious.

  I took a bite of my gritty crust, ripping it with my teeth. Dry crumbs fell back onto my plate. My stomach rumbled unhappily.

  The servants finally left in search of more plates to fill, and Donovan dug into his meal, making happy “mmm” sounds. “This turkey is great,” he said between mouthfuls. “You should try it. Oh, wait . . . I forgot. You can’t.”

  “Listen . . .” I leaned toward him so none of the other princesses would hear our conversation. “I understand you want to go back to the twenty-first century and your life of crime there, but I was here first, and I need the goblet. So can’t you let me have it? I mean, your probation officer won’t miss you much, and if you stick around here, you’ll earn riches, power, and your choice of princesses. That’s better than anything you could steal back home.”

  “Sorry. I’m attached to indoor plumbing, electricity, medicine, Internet access—”

  “You get an entire kingdom. That completely trumps plumbing.”

  He raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “People travel by horse here. Horses are slow, uncomfortable, and don’t come with heating or air-conditioning.”

  “But horses are cute.”

  “Yeah, like that’s enough to convince me to give up technology.” He picked up his goblet and took a quick drink. “You can bat your eyelashes as much as you like. It’s not gonna get you anywhere.”

  I snorted. “I wasn’t batting anything. I just want you to see reason.”

  He took a bite of his turkey, w
atching me like I was a jigsaw puzzle he was trying to piece together. “I know your type. You flirt and guys give you whatever you want.”

  “You don’t know me at all.”

  “Hello. You wished to be a princess. That says a lot about you, Tiara-Girl.”

  I leaned closer to him and dropped my voice. “I didn’t wish to be a princess. I wished to be a famous dancer.”

  He let out a laugh, nearly spitting food from his mouth. He actually choked a little and had to cough a few times. “A famous dancer? Well, I take back everything I just said about you. That’s clearly a practical wish. Who doesn’t want to be remembered among the dancing ranks of . . .” he laughed again. “Are there actually any famous dancers?”

  I ripped off another piece of crust. “I’m not going to feel guilty for beating you to the goblet.”

  “Don’t be sure you will.”

  I wanted to knock the smugness out of his expression. “Really? What do you think will happen if I tell the king you’re misbehaving in his daughters’ bed chamber?” I gazed upward, considering the idea and wondering if I could infer something to the king that would get Donovan thrown out of the castle.

  Donovan’s eyes narrowed. “If you accuse me of anything, I’ll have eleven witnesses who’ll say I’m innocent.”

  “I know you haven’t read the story, but trust me. The princesses are on my side.”

  Donovan sent me a quelling look, then stood up and faced the king. “Your Majesty?”

  The conversation at the tables halted as every jeweled head turned to see what Donovan had to say. “King Rothschild, you told me if I succeed in my task, I can have the princess of my choosing.” He made a sweeping motion toward me. “I’ve picked Princess Sadie.”

  I let out a startled gasp. What was he doing? What could he possibly hope to achieve by choosing me? Besides, the soldier was supposed to end up with the oldest sister, not the youngest.

  Several of the princesses giggled. A few of them sent me reproachful looks. I wasn’t sure whether they thought I’d been fraternizing with the enemy or whether they thought it was cruel of me to encourage a suitor who wouldn’t live longer than three nights.

  The king dipped his bread into the gravy on his plate. “You decided the matter so quickly—you must be either decisive or foolish. Let’s hope for the kingdom’s sake it’s decisiveness. We’ve enough fools around here already.”

  The queen smiled at Donovan, giving him her blessing with glowing contentment. “He’s neither. True love doesn’t always need days or weeks. It can call to people in an instant.” She put her hand over the king’s, caressing it affectionately. “I felt the same way when I first saw you. And years later, we’re still as much in love as the day we wed.”

  The king grunted and took a bite of bread.

  Donovan cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t wish anyone to say anything improper happened before I marry Princess Sadie, so I ask that Madam Saxton chaperone us while I stay in the princesses’ chambers.”

  That’s why he’d chosen me—so he could enlist an ally and make sure I couldn’t accuse him of anything that would banish him from the castle.

  This wasn’t part of the fairy tale, but Donovan didn’t know how the story went and probably wouldn’t have cared about changing it. We both wanted out of this place. If that meant rearranging the story, so be it.

  The queen nodded approvingly. “Your concern does you credit. I shall bid Madam Saxton to accompany you each night.”

  Donovan sat down, smugly, and everyone resumed eating. The mandolin player began another song, and the clanking of silverware and the hum of voices filled the room again.

  Donovan returned to his food. “Do you have any other strategies you’d like to share? It’s much easier to counteract them when you tell me about them beforehand.”

  I didn’t answer. He was right. It was stupid to say anything that might help him.

  He took a bite of his peas. “Perhaps you could tell me why I’m not supposed to accept any food or drink from the princesses? Do you poison your suitors?”

  I chewed my bread silently.

  He shook his head, thinking. “No, that can’t be it. Fairy tales aren’t that dark.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “You obviously don’t know where the word grim comes from.”

  “I bet you’ll tell me.”

  I ignored the jibe. He ought to know things weren’t always happily-ever-after. “Grim comes from the Grimm brothers who first collected the fairy tales and published them.”

  A serving girl came around with a pitcher to refill glasses. I stood and took the pitcher before she could refill Donovan’s. “Here,” I said sweetly, “let me do that. After all, I’m practically his fiancé.” I poured cider into his glass with a flourish, then returned the pitcher, and sat back down.

  The serving girl moved down the table, attending to the princesses’ goblets.

  Donovan eyed his glass warily. I knew he wouldn’t drink it now. Good, let him worry. I was tired of watching his self-satisfied expression.

  He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. “Why do you want to go back to the twenty-first century anyway? You got what you wished for—you’re a famous dancer.”

  “This is not what I wished for.”

  It was the truth, at least in the ways that mattered. I hadn’t wanted to be separated from my family or time period. I’d never wanted to live in a fairy tale. But apparently my words weren’t technically the truth. A strange sensation bloomed on the tip of my nose, a tingling pushing feeling. I let out a gasp and covered my nose with my hand. Had my nose just grown?

  Donovan tipped his head to the side, a pose of vague curiosity. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” That was definitely a lie and my nose tingled again, pinching as it pushed outward. This couldn’t happen. Not in front of Donovan. He would know I was lying. How bad was it? I dumped the remaining bread from my plate and held it up, checking my reflection.

  The silver surface distorted my image, making it impossible to tell how long my nose was. Would people notice? Did I look like Pinocchio?

  I waited for Donovan to make the connection and accuse me of lying. Instead, he peered at me suspiciously. “Are you all right?”

  I couldn’t say yes, and I didn’t want to say no. I kept holding the plate up, hiding my nose behind it. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, you dumped your food on the table and now you’ve got a plate in front of your face. It’s just not something you see very often at formal dinner parties.”

  Did he not know about the lying clause in the contract? I kept gripping the plate. How had Chrissy said I could get my nose back to normal? Oh yeah—by telling the truth. “I did wish to be a famous dancer, but I didn’t want to end up here.” My nose tingled again, shrinking this time. “And yes, something was wrong a few seconds ago.” I touched the tip of my nose. “But it’s okay now.” Slowly, I lowered the plate and put it onto the table.

  Donovan was still watching me. “Do you have meds back home someone should know about?”

  “No.”

  “Uh huh,” he said, unbelieving.

  He should know I was telling the truth, but clearly didn’t . . . which meant he must not know about the clause. I put the biggest pieces of bread back on my plate, and wiped smaller crumbs onto my napkin. “Did you read your fairy’s contract before you signed it?”

  “What contract?”

  “The fairy contract. Didn’t Jade Blossom make you sign something before she gave you your wishes?”

  “Nope.”

  He hadn’t signed a contract? “How did you get a fairy godmother?”

  He picked up his goblet and almost drank from it, then eyed it suspiciously and set it firmly back down. “How did you get yours?”

  I wasn’t about to relate the story of my viral video. Not when Donovan was already acting superior. “I asked you first.”

  Donovan picked up a piece of cheese from his plate and popped it into
his mouth. When he finished chewing, he said, “If you want to know my secrets, you’ll have to give me information in return.”

  “Sorry. I won’t tell you why the princesses’ slippers are ruined each night.”

  “All right. Tell me what you wished for besides being a famous dancer.”

  “Why do you want to know that?”

  Another piece of cheese went into his mouth. “I’m curious.”

  That wasn’t it. He was gathering information about me, getting to know his enemy’s weaknesses.

  “What person asks to be a famous dancer,” he went on, “if she values freedom? Doesn’t fame take away your freedom? Celebrities have to worry about hiding from rabid fans and even more rabid paparazzi. If you want freedom, obscurity is the way to go.”

  I hadn’t thought much about the downside to being a rock star. I didn’t linger on it, didn’t want to admit Donovan had a point. “When I wrote the word freedom, I meant I wanted freedom from my problems.”

  He let out a short laugh. “It’s a good thing you didn’t wish for that from your fairy godmother. You’re only free from problems when you’re dead.”

  He was right, of course. I’m not sure which felt worse, that I’d said I wanted something so impossible or that I still wasn’t sure what I wanted most from life. I didn’t comment about it. I wasn’t going to discuss my personal life with him.

  Instead, I studied him with the same scrutiny he’d given me. If he was figuring me out, I needed to figure him out too. It would give me a better chance at stopping him. He was handsome, confident, and a professional thief. Why did a teenage guy need to steal things? Did he do it for kicks? Did he have a drug habit? Had he fallen in with the wrong crowd?

  Maybe I could offer him a deal. “I’ll tell you one of my wishes, if you tell me how you got your fairy.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  “I wished to have a beautiful singing voice.”

  Donovan shook his head, incredulous. “You really do want to be a celebrity, don’t you?”

  I didn’t deny it, couldn’t. My cheeks grew warm. “What’s wrong with that?”