“No, it’s a loaf of bread,” Rapscullio mutters. “Oliver told me you were a felon, but he didn’t mention that you’re feebleminded…”
If this is the castle, then I’m about to see Oliver.
Reallysee him, for the first time.
I dig in my heels, stopping Rapscullio. With my bound hands, I try to smooth my hair and adjust my shirt in a way that doesn’t show the rip from the letterJ.“Do I look all right?” I ask my captor.
“I suppose, if you’re into that starving-androgynous-plebeian look.” He tugs me forward, and as if by magic, the metal portcullis rises and four heralds trumpet my arrival. Rapscullio unties my wrists and shoves me forward, so that I land on my hands and knees in the middle of a circle of nobles and ladies-in-waiting.
“What do we have here, Rapscullio?”
I look up to find Queen Maureen staring at me. Her crown glistens with diamonds and sapphires and rubies, blinding me. There are braided gold threads in the fabric of her gown. Soft ermine fur lines the inside of her majestic purple cape. The details I can see here, up close, are nothing like the illustrations in a book. This looks so real… because itis.
It’s like a dream. Haven’t you ever had one of those, where you are utterly and thoroughly convinced that you are awake and alive? That everything surrounding you isso detailed you could draw it from memory? That what’s happening is real?
Queen Maureen gasps. “Get the poor girl a blanket. She’s practically in her undergarments!”
A nobleman throws a horse blanket at me, and I wrap it around myself, although I’m fully dressed in a T-shirt and shorts. Thinking fast, I wonder what explanation I can possibly make for myself. The book is clearly closed, as nothing like this happens in the story. Which means everything that Oliver told me was true: there is a completely different world that happens between the lines.
“Your Majesty, I bring to you a despicable, detestable, reprehensible thief!” Rapscullio says, smiling sheepishly at the queen. “I’ve been using that thesaurus you bought me for Christmas.”
I stand up, hands on my hips. “For your information, I’m not a thief. And I’m not despicable, detestable,orreprehensible. In fact, some people would call me astute, intuitive, and perspicacious.” I lift my chin a notch. “English. Straight As.”
“Astute-Intuitive-and-Perspicacious,” Queen Maureen repeats. “That’s quite a mouthful, dear. Have you got a nickname?”
“No—my name is Delilah—”
“Then why didn’t you say so?” the queen asks.
“Because”—I jab a finger in Rapscullio’s direction—“hewas too busy accusing me of being a thief.”
“I have it on direct authority from His Royal Highness Prince Oliver that this girl is a criminal.” Rapscullio sniffs.
Queen Maureen stares down at me. “She hardly looks like a felon. More like a vagrant.”
“I’m neither,” I say. “Go ask Oliver. He’ll explain everything.”
“You know the prince?” Queen Maureen asks. She looks me over from head to toe, in utter disbelief.
“Your Majesty?” a familiar voice says. “Did I hear you calling for me?”
And then, suddenly, I am only three feet away from Oliver. My heart starts hammering beneath my ribs. He is taller than I thought he’d be, and his eyes—well, they’re not the color of the ocean at all. They’re more like the sky at twilight. But his voice, it’s exactly how I’ve heard it. And the way his smile tips up on one side, that’s how I know it’s really him.
“Oliver!” I cry, and I lunge forward with my arms outstretched—
Smack.
I find myself flat on the ground, with three guards sitting on me.
“That’s quite enough,” Oliver says, pushing the guards out of the way and rolling me over. “Are you all right?” he asks, reaching to pull me up.
But I can’t say anything. And not because those guards knocked the wind out of me either.
Because for the first time, we are touching. Holding hands.
I think Oliver realizes this at the same moment, because we wind up staring at each other, transfixed.
A line from the fairy tale pops into my head:
