He drew into a fighting stance to signal he was ready.
“Have you ever had a pet dog?” he asked.
I mirrored his stance and raised my sword. “Yeah, what of it?”
Daniel delivered the first strike across my right side and I parried and endeavored to counter. He blocked it easily and went on offense, slowly pushing me back as we continued the match.
“Well,” he explained calmly as he blocked one of my strikes after another, “a hard trick for a dog to master is balancing a treat on his nose and not eating it until the command is given. It’s a pretty big challenge because he has to be strong enough to restrain his natural instincts.”
The comment, and the little toadstool I almost tripped over, caught me off guard and filled me with annoyance.
“Am I supposed to be the treat in this anecdote?” I asked.
“Yup.”
He swung at my left arm and I sidestepped just in time.
“And you consider yourself strong because you are such a great swordfighter? And resisting making me your dog chow is a challenge?”
Daniel smirked. “In a manner of speaking.”
“All right then,” I said as I calculated my next move. “Let me ease your troubles. I give you permission not to hold back, because I’m definitely not planning to.”
At that, I broke my sword away from where he’d previously been blocking it, swung around underneath his arm, and came back across toward his head. The down and up move caught him by surprise. He ducked just in the nick of time and the shock was evident on his formerly smug face. The humility didn’t last long, though. A second later he recovered and grinned like the impressiveness of the move was more amusing than threatening. And then I realized why.
Not that I would’ve ever admitted it out loud, but he was right. Holding back was a feat for someone of his natural talent.
Daniel moved with both force and agility. He was much better at sword fighting than me, or even Blue, and it was all I could do to avoid getting sliced by his swift strikes.
It killed me to acknowledge it, but the fact was that he was just plain incredible. I had been practicing for most of my life and was not nearly as strong as him. The scary thought also occurred to me in that moment that I might never be. I mean, I was used to trying a bit harder than most people with the sword because the ability did not come easily to me, yet in the broad perspective I’d always considered myself to still be fairly skilled. But the way Daniel confidently fought me without even breaking a sweat—smirking all the while—made me feel a lot less sure of it.
Amazingly enough, five minutes later I was still in one piece.
“You’re pretty decent,” Daniel said at that point. “For a princess anyways.”
I wasn’t sure if he was being serious or sarcastic; either way the remark was unexpected and irritating enough to distract me for half a second. Half a second, however, was all Daniel needed. He came at me so fast I couldn’t even half parry his strike. The sword was knocked out of my hand and I was left standing there defeated. To add injury to insult, the universe also picked that particular instant for me to trip over a large rock when I took a step backwards—causing me to fall on my butt.
“You overextend your strikes. It’s like you think the blade is way longer than it actually is. And you make these weird swooping motions that don’t work with a sword,” Daniel lectured as I sat on the ground awkwardly. “If you ask me, sword fighting isn’t really your thing. But hey, you should be proud of yourself. For a minute there it was like I was fighting an actual opponent.”
“Thank you, Daniel,” I snapped.
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
Daniel reached out his hand to assist me, but I scowled and picked myself up. I did not want or need his help.
In a huff, I went over to collect my sword from the ground. When I turned around I saw there was a smirk on Daniel’s face, but also a bit of previously unnoticed coldness—making me wonder if maybe he didn’t naturally like me either.
I was too angry and embarrassed to say anything more, so I just marched past him, shooting a massive death glare in his direction as I did so.
“It was nice meeting you,” Daniel said sarcastically as I stomped off toward the school grounds.
“Likewise, I’m sure,” I called back.
The Prince & The Hero
gave Blue and SJ an earful that afternoon, sparing no expense in telling them that while they had both had wonderful Saturdays I had been stuck with the most obnoxious boy in the history of time.
My re-telling of the story was very theatrical and not lacking in colorful adjectives, so the two of them were thoroughly entertained as we readied ourselves for that evening’s ball.
“He was so smug-looking I just wanted to smush his face,” I continued as I searched my desk drawers for some kind of necklace to match the dress I would be wearing tonight.
“Smash,” SJ corrected as she fastened the straps on her shoes.
“What?”
“‘Smush’ is not a word. You mean you wanted to ‘smash’ his face.”
I rolled my eyes. “SJ, I’m in the middle of a rant here. Focus, please.”
“Right, sorry.” She looked at her sleek, silver watch. “Can we continue this later though, Crisa. Not that I do not love your stories, I just—”
“Yes, yes, I know. Go ahead. You have work to do. Blue and I will meet you there when we’re done.”
SJ smiled and nodded before hurrying toward the door.
“Do not be late,” she called back as she shut it behind her.
I sighed and made my way into the bathroom, and then to our adjacent closet. There I found the shimmering silver gown I would be wearing for the next few hours. It had a bodice twinkling with crystals and a skirt that poofed out in the shape of a pound cake. I tersely removed it from the hanger and inspected it closely. å
Whenever we had a ball the school seamstresses made each of us a custom gown. In anticipation of this, I always went to see the seamstresses earlier in the week to request that they sew a zipper into the back of my dress instead of making it in the normal, loathsome corset style.
Like forced socializing with irritating boys wasn’t painful enough, our professors expected us to do it while barely being able to breathe?
Not me, thank you very much. Tiny waist be darned; I happen to be very fond of not having my diaphragm crushed.
Zipped up, now all that was left were my shoes and I would be ready to go.
Tonight’s main event was being held in Lady Agnue’s grand ballroom, which was on the opposite side of the school. Given that, I laced up my trusty and comfortable black combat boots beneath my dress instead of putting on sparkly high-heels like a proper princess would.
Had SJ not already left for the ball a few minutes ago, I was sure she would have nagged me about the choice. But nothing she could have said would’ve swayed my decision. I loved my boots almost as much I hated corsets. And anyways, it wasn’t like anyone was going to see them beneath the massive skirt of my gown. Heck, I probably could’ve smuggled three dwarves across state lines under there without getting caught.
Boots secured, Blue and I left the suite and made our way downstairs. From there we commenced our walk through the dimly glowing, heavily tapestried hallways of Lady Agnue’s.
In order to get to the ballroom we had to pass through many corridors lined with dozens upon dozens of regal columns, precocious oil paintings, and hollow, armored knights dressed similarly to the live ones consistently patrolling the school.
Overall, every one of these hallways was pretty similar to its counterparts. Except for the one that connected the East and West wings of the school, that is. This hall (at least 200 hundred feet in diameter) was the vast intersection that housed the Treasure Archives I’d passed by earlier in the week.
Hmm, I never got a chance to finish telling you about those did I? Lady Agnue had interrupted my train of thought at the time.
No worries. I’ll remedy that oversight right now.
The Treasure Archives was a collection of the most precious and famous historical objects in our realm. They were the important trinkets that our fairytales were known for, and they were kept in five locked glass cases here at school.
On this night, like every other, they glowed before us in the light of the chandeliers above—all too aware of their unrivaled significance.
Like every other girl at Lady Agnue’s, I had the contents of these cases memorized from having walked past them so often. No one could help it really. From the golden magic mirror used in Beauty & the Beast to the enchanted water lily that could turn people, like Prince Egot, into frogs, each object on display was intriguing and mystifying.
Of course some of the items in these cases were also relentless sore spots for the Legacies and Half-Legacies at Lady Agnue’s. They served as constant reminders of the shadows we lived in, and the expectations we were supposed to live up to.
I knew Blue, for instance, always cringed at the sight of her sister’s torn red cloak and, next to it, the tastefully placed axe that the hunter had used to save her. It still had some blood crusted on its edges.
Super classy.
SJ, meanwhile, tried to ignore the objects that haunted her when we passed them. But, every once in a while as we made our way by the Archives to get to class, I knew of at least one that bothered her—that dang ruby red apple. It was perched on a tiny glass pedestal in the center case and angled to show off the small bite taken out of it, which revealed the apple’s poisoned white flesh.
Then there was me and my shadow—my mom’s infamous glass stiletto.
On the one hand, the delicate treasure made me happy to think of the true love my parents shared and the triumph of their coming together despite the obstacles that had stood in their way. Then again, it was also a symbol of the role my mother and pretty much everyone else in the world expected me to fill. And it was an even greater reminder that no matter what I did, I probably would never be able to fit myself into it.
As Blue and I passed the Archives on the way to the ballroom, I saw the fragile shoe sitting in the center case as usual. The glass shimmered from every angle—beautiful, transparent, and unforgiving, like so many things about this place.
After a few more minutes, we arrived at the back entrance of the grand ballroom. It was a humongous space—large enough to fit four stables—decorated with gold-encrusted walls and glistening chandeliers. The centerpiece was a massive chandelier seven times the size of all the others that hung over the middle of the dance floor. This one’s pastel crystals numbered in the thousands and twinkled like clouds of gorgeous confetti high above our heads.
Far below the chandelier’s glittering enormity, I spotted SJ—one of only a few other students in the vicinity. She was the head of the ball planning committee and, as usual, she and her team of student volunteers, along with Madame Lisbon, had gotten here early to go over their final checklists before the main doors opened.
While Blue and I generally preferred to be late rather than early to these types of functions, we had decided to come down early to help our responsible friend with her final preparations for the first ball of the semester.
SJ was scurrying about the great room in her strappy, scarlet dress—its small train intercut with streaks of sparkling navy that swayed behind her as she saw to the orchestra, the food, and the ice sculptures. She made the work appear effortless, and retained a distinct aura of fabulousness all the while. The color of that gown was perfect on her, and I wondered if she noticed just how many people’s heads turned to admire her as she passed by.
Hers was not the only remarkable outfit this evening. Blue was looking lovely in her gown too. It was a simpler dress—the same rich shade of blue as her trusty cloak, which set off her eyes beautifully. The edges of the skirt were trimmed with a jaunty, black lace design that mirrored the single strap draped across her right shoulder. And she paired the ensemble with an assortment of dazzling onyx bracelets that gleamed on her wrists like the afterthoughts of dark magic.
While I knew she didn’t really like dressing up, I imagined she had to feel relatively pleased tonight wearing an outfit that made her look so naturally radiant.
I gazed down at my own dress for a moment and considered what I looked like to the rest of the world.
Did anyone ever see me as being that pretty?
And did I really care whether or not they did?
To be honest, I was not sure on either count. All I was certain of was that I was just as proud to be wearing this shimmering, silver ball gown as I was sporting my untamable, long hair and the combat boots beneath my skirt. Was it a contrasting look? Sure. But would I have had it any other way? Absolutely not.
A few minutes later, right as Blue and I finished helping Madame Lisbon set up the check-in table, SJ came over grinning excitedly to tell us that it was time. Our professor gushed with enthusiasm and gave the guards the signal to open the grand doors on the other side of the room.
In the next instant a sea of glittering fabric and fine designer suits came pouring in.
I watched our classmates enter one pair at a time. Almost all of them were coupled off like that—one well-dressed penguin for every extravagantly feathered lady peacock. It was kind of cute in a nausea-inducing sort of way. All of Lady Agnue’s’ girls and Lord Channing’s’ boys looked like the exceptional people the world expected them to be.
Music started moments later and a formal dancing circle formed in the center of the room. Dozens of couples began waltzing perfectly in tune with the rhythm of the forty-piece orchestra.
From dancing to punch sipping, our schools’ balls were traditional to the letter—with regulations to no end. I had always been able to get away with disregarding most of these rules, but some were harder to avoid than others. Take, for instance, the aforementioned dancing circle. Formal etiquette dictated that whenever any gentleman asked a lady to dance, she had to accept. She could only stop dancing when her suitor deemed their dance over, or if the pair had been dancing together for at least ten minutes and someone else cut in.
So unfair it’s best not to even get me started.
Typically, though, this was not something I had to worry about. No one ever asked Blue or me to dance, so the two of us (plus Jason) usually hung around the snack table people-watching and making sassy commentary throughout the evening. SJ, on the other hand, spent the night running around making sure everything was progressing smoothly.
Since she was technically working in doing so, she was the only girl allowed to refuse a dance request. And SJ got a lot of dance requests.
Lucky.
I mean in regards to refusing dance requests of course, not the getting them part.
Around half an hour into the dance, Jason found Blue and me over by the buffet. He was looking fairly fresh this evening in his dark gray suit. His tie was the same color as Blue’s gown so the two of them could’ve totally passed for a matching pair when standing next to each other like that.
I shoved another miniature quiche into my mouth as Blue pointed out the girls who were clearly wearing helper bras. Jason, in return, pointed out which guys were wearing lifts in their shoes.
As they went on like that, I smiled to myself. Those two were like a couple of peas in a pod. Like Jack and Jill, only more hardcore and far more entertaining.
An hour into the dance, it was turning out to be a perfectly normal and pleasant evening until his highness, Chance Darling, showed up and added an unexpected twist to my night.
Ah, Chance Darling.
What could I possibly say about Chance Darling?
Let me start by asserting that I think every girl has a different idea of what a “totally hot guy” is. But, I also think that there is a certain level of attractiveness a guy can reach that, no matter what a girl’s specifically into, she will agree that he is by definition a good-looking fellow.
Chance Darling was o
ne of these good-looking fellows. He was the Prince of Clevaunt, grandson of King Midas, and most girls considered him to be the hottest thing since two-wheel-drive carriages. To put it in its plainest terms, he was a charmer, a ladies’ man, and a perfect young royal by all traditional standards. In addition, his physical appearance could’ve best been described as a cross between a fairytale’s ideal prince charming and a well-toned personal trainer.
So did I personally think he was handsome? Of course. However, despite his outward immaculateness, he definitely did not cause me or my friends to swoon on sight like so many of the other girls at Lady Agnue’s.
Why?
Because you could give a dirt-bag a pearly white smile and a fancy suit, but he’d still be a dirt-bag.
This punk, as Jason referred to him, was snide, conceited, and more self-absorbed than a kitchen sponge. Holding a conversation with him was like talking to a mannequin in a store window—if mannequins were endowed with a sense of self-importance and an impressive dose of narcissism, that is.
Appropriately, Chance was Mauvrey’s man. With their similar levels of superficiality, attractiveness, and their horrible personalities, the two of them had been a natural couple for years. So, knowing all of this, you can understand why the following surprised me so much.
“Good evening, Crisanta,” Chance said.
He bowed formally as I used the back of my hand to wipe the residue pastry crumbs from my face. “Uh . . . Hi, Chance,” I responded.
“Crisanta, would you do me the honor of joining me on the dance floor?”
I glanced over at Blue and Jason with a “What the heck?” expression on my face. They shrugged in confusion.
I cocked my head at Chance, but he didn’t seem to be joking.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Completely,” he replied.
Chance extended his hand and I stared at it apprehensively. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mauvrey and her cronies across the room. Her face was so red with anger as she glared at me I thought steam was going to start pouring out of her ears.
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