“Brilliant,” the genie says.
“My capons were quite happy.”
“Oh, stop your fussing,” Margaret says. “At midnight, all of my magic reverts to its original form.”
“So I have to get Gwyneth out of here before then?”
She nods and gives a finger wave at me and the genie. “Good luck.”
“Thank you,” I tell her as she shrinks back to her original size, then pops out of existence.
“I am, of course, coming with you on your adventure,” the genie says, puffing out his chest. “I deserve it, given my intervention has made this possible.”
“Fine, but stay in the lamp.”
“I must, of course, also accompany you,” the mirror man declares.
Right, I can’t leave him here, but my pockets aren’t that big. This is a lot of dress, but not enough to tuck in a life-sized mirror.
“Can you travel in any mirror?” I check.
The mirror man nods enthusiastically. “There is a hand-sized one in Malachi’s bedchambers.”
I make haste to retrieve it. Malachi’s room is opposite Hart’s, with messy bed sheets and dirty breeches strewn on the floor. I find the mirror under a pile of dark green ribbon. What in the realm does Malachi need with all that ribbon? Ugh, that is a problem for the damsel who will own their hearts. I have enough of my own issues. The mirror man smiles at me from his new little home.
“I’ll find you a bigger mirror to live in once we are safe,” I promise him, as I rush back into the living chamber.
“I will go in search of a place of safety,” the mirror man tells me. “And I will return to direct you.” Oh my Idols, the memory challenged mirror man is in charge of the safe house. The Eugene/Hamish winged horse lifts their tail and takes a dump on the floor. Bless them, they think they’re laying the biggest egg of their lives.
Patting their rump, I mumble, “Good job.”
I grab the lamp, and then the genie sucks himself inside it with a final wink at me. “Remember, if you get in a pickle, you can always call on me using the words ‘I wish.’”
I roll my eyes and step onto the dining chair, then swing my leg over the horse’s back. Ow, bareback riding is not good for one’s floof. Margaret left the window all the way open, and Eugish—my capons’ combined name—walks up to the window, and then backs up with a neigh that sounds a lot likeno. Great, I get a winged horse afraid of heights.
A swirl of a hand erupts from my pocket and slaps the horse on the rear. Eugish bucks forward and my hands grip their mane as they dart out of the window and gravity takes hold. “Fly, fly, fly,” I mutter, slamming my eyes closed and waiting for the inevitable splat of my body on the floor. At least I will look pretty when they scrape me off the courtyard.Here lies Daphne Stone, she shone with the stars for a tempo before decorating the palace in crimson.A breeze picks up and my hair lifts, so I peek open one eye. Eugish’s wings beat hard, lifting us into the sky.
“Wait, we need to land by the entrance to the great hall,” I tell them before we disappear without Gwyneth. They shake their head like it’s the worst feasible plan.
“Don’t huff at me. We need to rescue Gwyneth, then you can fly us into the night guided by the mirror man.”
Eugish angles back toward the castle, aiming for the glow of a thousand candles which line the road to the great hall where the ball must be taking place. We get closer, and a tempo later, Eugish lands and jars my floof with their bony back. “Ow,” I grumble.
I swear to the Idols, Eugish snickers as they trot toward the entrance and stop. I lift my leg and kind of slide off them in a most undignified manner. Luckily, there’s no one here to witness it.
“You need a little help there, princess?” a familiar male voice asks. Well, bunkum poop on a platter, here goes nothing.Fairy godmother magic, don’t fail me now.I spin and come face to face with all four Stirling brothers. What are the odds? I’d say for a normal maiden, pretty low, but for me? I should expect this by now. Time for operation: rescue my sister. I still have to come up with a plan A, B, and possibly, C.
ChapterTwenty-Seven
“She’s clearly here for the ball, perhaps hoping to bag herself a Charming all of her own,” Hart drawls, ice dripping from his words. It’s a stark contrast to the warmth he treats me with now.
“I’m good, thanks,” I tell them.
Nash’s brow crumples into a frown. “Have we met?”
“No, this is my first time at the palace.”
“Let the girl pass,” Malachi says, stepping forward and grasping Nash’s shoulder. “We have our own princess waiting for us.”
