“It probably won’t,” I say.
“Yes, but in case it does, I really must insist that the news be conveyed to my beloved…that is, the woman I believe I love. It will be terribly embarrassing if I am not in love with her after all, you see. Lord’s mercy, Tandy. In any event, the news must be conveyed that I shall have to break our understanding and marry the most foolish princess in the Shining Realm, and I shallnotdo it myself. After all, I’m not the reckless fool who got herselfcursed.” He gazes around at the bookstore.
“And in such aplace,” he adds, for good measure.
I can’t imagine that Hamish and I are bound by the shackles of true love, given that every interaction we’ve ever had has begun with him suggesting that I’m not especially intelligent or interesting, and generally ends with him expressing profound relief that we needn’t see each other again for some time. I don’t feel that agreeing to his demand will cost me much.
“Very well,” I say, gently. I stand, and he approaches my desk and leans across it, takes my face in his hands, squeezes his eyes almost offensively tightly shut, and presses his lips against mine for a fraction of a second.
The room falls very silent. I hear the bells in the market square chime the quarter hour.
“Is that it?” he says, pulling away. “Have you ruined absolutely everything?”
“I don’t think so,” I say.
He snorts. “Thank the merciful mountain sprites.” He sighs. “Although, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to test it out—after all, youdidget yourself cursed in the first place. It’s not that I don’ttrust your judgment, but you understand. I presume there’s some method of verification.”
The pirate snorts. “Notarized letter, Your Most Serene Highness?” he suggests. I shoot him a look. Hamish ignores him.
“Of course,” I say, squashing the urge to tell Hamish to go away and leave me alone now that he’s kissed me. I step out from behind the desk, walk to the door, and pull it open. The cool autumn air smells of wet leaves and woodsmoke.
I raise a hand and push against the invisible barrier.
The uncanny sensation of pushing against nothing more solid than the bright blue sky outside greets me. “See?” I say, leaning against the invisible barrier. I presume I look a little foolish, but needs must.
He sighs in relief.
“Sirrah,” Driz says, from somewhere behind us, “it’s really quite rude to be so clearly aggrieved that your paltry excuse for a kiss didn’t break the princess’s dread curse.”
“Aggrieved? My good sir,” Hamish says, red flaring in his cheeks as he turns to Driz, “I’m the veryoppositeof aggrieved!”
“He meant ‘relieved,’ ” I say quickly.
“What I am isannoyed,” Hamish says, his voice dangerously loud.
I have to force myself not to roll my eyes. Interesting; as a working royal, I have spent my life schooling my expressions to the point that it is second nature for me to keep my opinions off my face. Several weeks in Little Pepperidge and I’m having to rein myself in. Whatever happens going forward, I’m going to have to spend a month relearning how to conduct myself appropriately.
How exhausting to contemplate.
“What you are,” Driz begins, “is—”
“Extremely helpful,” I break in. “We knew it wouldn’t work. Hamish, now you can go home secure in your feelings for…for…”
“Chrisump,” the pirate supplies.
“Chrysalis,” Driz suggests.
“Chrisellum,” Hamish shouts. “You insult her very name—”
“It’s a terribly complex curse,” I continue, evenly. “I feel certain a kiss won’t break it,andwe’re not in love. You’re in love with someone else. I’ve asked my parents to stop sending princes and find a sorcerer instead. Several times now.”
The only response I’ve had from them is a letter telling me not to worry, that they have the situation under control. And, now, two princes.
Driz and Hamish are now, worryingly, squaring off—in the cramped vestibule of my little bookshop. “I haveneverinsulted—” Driz is saying, while Hamish reels off his beloved’s entire, very long, patronym.
“Oy,” I yelp. “You are absolutely not permitted to get into a fight here. You’ll bring down half the bookcases and probably kill yourselves in the process. If you must hiss and spit at each other, do me the favor of taking it outside.”
“I beg your pardon, madam,” Hamish yells, turning to me. “I resent the implication that I am acat, having a fight with anothercat.”
