Frederic tended to sleep in. Sometimes until lunch. And he’d often spend over an hour grooming himself to his father’s specifications. By the time Ella finally saw him each day, she would be more than ready for some sort of excitement. But Frederic usually suggested a more subdued activity, like picnicking, listening to music, or quietly admiring some art.
Don’t get me wrong: Ella enjoyed all those things—for the first few days. But by the fourteenth picnic, she began to fear that those same few activities were all she was ever going to do at the palace. Her unchanging routine made her feel uncomfortably like a prisoner again. So one morning, she decided she would speak frankly with Frederic about what she needed.
That morning, as usual, Frederic slept late. When he eventually got up, he spent fifteen minutes (pretty quick for him) browsing a closet filled with ultra-fancy suits, before finally deciding on a crisp white outfit trimmed with gold braiding and tasseled shoulder pads. The five minutes after that were dedicated to straightening his short, light-brown hair. Unfortunately, a few stubborn strands refused to stay in place, and so the prince did what he did whenever he got frustrated:
“Reginald!”
Within seconds, a tall, slender man with a thin, pointy mustache popped into the prince’s bedroom. “Yes, milord?” he asked in a voice stiff enough to match his rigid posture.
“Good morning, Reginald,” Frederic said. “Can you fix my hair?”
“Certainly, milord,” Reginald said, as he grabbed a silver brush and began using it to tidy the prince’s bed head.
“Thank you, Reginald,” Frederic said. “I’m off to see Ella, and I want to look my best.”
“Of course, milord.”
“I think I’m going to have Cook surprise her with breakfast in bed.”
Reginald paused. “I’m reasonably sure, milord, that the young lady has already eaten breakfast.”
“Drat,” muttered the prince. “So it’s happened again. How long ago did she wake up?”
“About three hours ago,” Reginald replied.
“Three hours! But I asked you to wake me when Ella got up.”
“I’m sorry, milord,” Reginald said sympathetically. “You know I’d love to help you. But we’re under strict orders from the king: Your beauty sleep is not to be disturbed.”
Frederic burst from his seat, waving away Reginald’s brush. “My father ordered you not to wake me? He’s still trying to keep me and Ella apart.”
He rushed to the door of his bedroom, then quickly back to the mirror for one last check of the hair, and then out and down the hall to look for his fiancée.
Ella wasn’t in her room, so Frederic headed to the gardens. He paused briefly to sniff a rosebush, when he heard the sound of approaching hoofbeats. He looked over his shoulder to see that a large white horse was bearing down on him, tearing through the garden at a fast gallop, leaping over one hedgerow after another. The prince tried to run, but the golden tassels of his jacket caught on the shrub’s thorns.
Frederic tugged frantically at his stuck sleeve as the horse’s rider pulled up on the reins and brought the steed to a halt. From the saddle, Ella looked down at him and laughed. She wore a distinctly unfancy blue dress, and her tied-back hair was disheveled from the ride. Her strong, athletic build and warm, healthy glow were a stark contrast to Frederic’s slender frame and sun-deprived complexion. “I hope you haven’t been stuck there all morning,” she said, only half joking.
“No, this just happened,” Frederic said, relieved. “I don’t suppose you could possibly hop down and lend me a hand?”
Fig. 3 Lady ELLA
Ella slid off the saddle, patted her horse’s nose, and crouched down to help free the prince’s jacket from the thorns. “I told you those tassels would get you into trouble someday,” she said.
“But they’re what all the most fashionable noblemen are wearing these days,” Frederic said brightly.
He brushed himself off and struck a chest-out, hands-on-hips pose to show off his outfit. He hammed it up to get a laugh out of Ella. It worked.
“Very nice,” Ella said with a chuckle. “I’d love to see you up on a horse sometime,” she hinted, petting her mare’s pink nose.
“Yes, I’m sure I’d look positively heroic up there,” Frederic said. “It’s a shame I’m allergic to horsehair.” He wasn’t allergic; he was afraid of falling off.
“A terrible shame,” Ella sighed.
“I didn’t realize you knew how to ride,” Frederic said. “Considering the way your stepmother kept you under lock and key, I wouldn’t have thought you had much time for equestrian lessons.”
“I didn’t,” Ella said. “Charles, your head groom, has been teaching me these past few weeks. I usually practice in the mornings, while you … um, while you sleep.”
Frederic changed the subject: “So, have you heard the song that Pennyfeather wrote about you? That bard of ours certainly has a way with a quill. The song is very popular, I hear. Supposedly, the minstrels are singing it as far as Sylvaria and Sturmhagen. Before you know it, you’ll be more famous than me. Or even more famous than Pennyfeather. Though I don’t really like the fact that he called you Cinderella. Makes you sound dirty and unkempt.”
“I don’t mind,” said Ella. “I was dirty and unkempt for years. I was always covered in soot and cinders from cleaning the fireplace, so at least I see where he got the name from.”
“Speaking of names,” said Frederic, “have you noticed that the song refers to me as ‘Prince Charming’? My real name’s not in there at all. People are going to think I’m the same prince from that Sleeping Beauty song or the Rapunzel one. Here, listen and tell me what you think.” He called out to a passing servant, “Excuse me, my good man. Could you please fetch Pennyfeather the Mellifluous for us? Tell him that the prince and Lady Ella would like a command performance of ‘The Tale of Cinderella.’”
“I’m sorry, milord,” the servant replied. “Mr. Pennyfeather is unavailable. He hasn’t been seen for days, actually. It’s the talk of the palace; we assumed you would have heard by now. No one knows where the royal bard is.”
“Well, that explains why I haven’t been getting my lullaby these past few nights,” Frederic said thoughtfully.
“Frederic, maybe something awful has happened to Pennyfeather,” Ella said, sounding a bit too excited by the prospect. “We should check into it. Come on, let’s go. We need to figure out the last person to see him. Let’s start by asking at the gate—”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing so dramatic,” Frederic said quickly. The only thing he had a harder time imagining than a crime occurring within the royal palace was himself investigating such a crime. “He’s probably just off at a bard convention somewhere, one of those gatherings where they vote on the precise number of feathers a minstrel should have in his cap—that sort of thing. But don’t worry, just because Pennyfeather himself isn’t here doesn’t mean we can’t have music. I’ll just send for—”
“Never mind the song, Frederic,” Ella said, taking a deep breath. “Remember how we were just talking about my sheltered childhood?”
Frederic nodded.
“Now that I’m free, I want to have new experiences. I want to find out what I’m capable of. So, if we’re not going to look into Pennyfeather’s disappearance, what can we do today?” she asked. “What kind of adventure can we have?”
“Adventure, right.” Frederic pondered his options briefly. “It is a lovely day. Nice and sunny. I’m thinking picnic.”
Ella slumped. “Frederic, I need to do something different.”
Frederic stared at her like a lost baby rabbit.
“I hear there’s a troupe of traveling acrobats in town,” Ella suggested. “Maybe we could get them in here to teach us some tumbling.”
“Oh, but I’ve got that problem with my ankle.” He had no problem with his ankle.
“How about a treasure hunt?” Ella proposed excitedly. “Some of the kitchen staff were gossiping a
bout a bag of stolen gold that one of your father’s old valets hid in the tunnels below the castle. We could try to find it.”
“Oh, but I can’t go below ground level. You know what dampness does to my sinuses.” Dampness did nothing to his sinuses.
“Can we go boating on the lake?”
“I can’t swim.” This was true.
Ella huffed. “Frederic, what can we do? I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but I’m bored.”
“We could have a different kind of picnic,” Frederic offered hopefully. “We could do breakfast food for lunch. Croissants, poached eggs. How’s that for shaking things up?”
Ella walked back to her horse and hopped up into the saddle. “Go ahead and order your picnic, Frederic,” she said flatly. “I’m going to ride a bit more while you wait.”
“Okay,” Frederic said, and waved to her. “I’ll stay right here.”
“I’m sure you will. You’re very good at that,” Ella replied. And she rode off.
An hour or so later, Frederic sat out on the palace lawn (well, on a carefully unfolded blanket, actually—he didn’t want to get grass stains on his white pants), waiting for his lunch and his fiancée to arrive. A servant arrived and set down a tray of breakfast delicacies in front of Frederic. “Milord,” the man said, as he bowed and backed away. “There’s a message there for you.”
Frederic saw a folded piece of paper nestled between a bowl of grapefruit slices and a plate of chocolate-chip waffles. He picked up the note, with a sudden sinking feeling about what it might say.
* * *
Sweet, good-hearted Frederic,
I’m terribly sorry to do this to you, and I hope that someday you will understand why I had to leave. You seem very comfortable in your life here at the palace. I can’t make you into someone who wants to climb mountains, paddle rushing rivers, and explore ancient ruins. You don’t want to do those things, and that’s fine. It’s just not your cup of tea. Your cup of tea is, well, a cup of tea.
But I need something more.
When you mentioned that song about Rapunzel, it got me thinking. The prince in that story tried to rescue Rapunzel, but Rapunzel ended up rescuing HIM. Now, THAT girl is an inspiration. So, I’m heading off to find her. I think Rapunzel and I will hit it off. I think she’ll make a great partner for hunting down Pennyfeather. And even if we end up finding him at a boring old convention like you say, who knows what kind of adventures will be in store for us along the way?
Frederic, you are a lovely man and I have nothing but good wishes for you. For what it’s worth, that night at the ball really was the most romantic night of my life.
All the best,
Ella
* * *
Frederic dropped the letter onto his empty plate. So, he thought, the ball was the most romantic night of her life, huh? Well, that’s not saying much coming from a girl whose typical nights consisted of scraping dead spiders out of cracks in the floorboards. And look how she signed it. “All the best”? That’s how you sign a thank-you note to your dog walker. Frederic had completely lost his appetite.
“Reginald!”
“Am I really that boring?”
Frederic was back in his room, sitting slumped on the edge of his cashmere-covered bed, while Reginald, rigid as ever, stood next to him, awkwardly patting the prince’s head.
“There, there, milord,” the valet answered. “I don’t think the Countess of Bellsworth would call you boring. Do you remember how elated she was when you taught her how to cha-cha? You have many, many admirers, sir.”
“Yes,” Frederic said sorrowfully. “But Ella is apparently not among them.”
“It seems that Lady Ella simply seeks a different kind of life than that which you can provide for her here at the palace,” Reginald said.
“Poached eggs! How stupid can I be?” Frederic smacked himself on the forehead.
“There will be other women, milord.”
“I don’t want any other women. I want Ella. Reginald, what do you think I should do? And be honest with me; don’t just tell me what you think my father would want you to say.”
Reginald considered this request. He’d been caring for Frederic since the prince was a child. And he’d never been more proud of Frederic than when he saw the young man stand up to his overbearing father. Frederic could use someone as feisty and fearless as Ella in his life.
“Don’t let her get away,” Reginald said, dropping his overly stiff posture and speaking in an unusually casual tone.
“Wow,” Frederic gasped. “Did you just get two inches shorter?”
“Never mind me,” Reginald said. “Did you hear what I told you? Get a move on! Go after Ella.”
“But how?” Frederic asked, still bewildered to hear his longtime valet speaking like a regular person.
“We’ll put you on a horse. Charles can show you the basics. You don’t need to be the world’s best rider; you just need to be able to get around. Stick to the roads and you’ll be fine.”
“But—”
“I know you’re scared, Frederic. But here’s my advice: Get over it. Ella wants someone as adventurous as she is. A real hero.”
“Then I’ve got no hope.” Frederic sulked. “I’m a fantastic dresser. My penmanship is top-notch. I’m really good at being a prince, but I’m pretty lousy at being a hero.”
Reginald looked him in the eye. “There’s a bit of courage in you somewhere. Find it. Go catch up with Ella, wherever she is. And just see what happens. She might be impressed enough that you’ve left the palace.”
“There’s no way my father will allow me to do this.”
“We won’t tell him.”
“He’ll notice I’m gone eventually. And when he does, he’ll send his men to retrieve me.”
“Whichever way you go, I’ll send them in the opposite direction.”
“I’m still not sure I should. It’s really dangerous out there.”
“That’s your father talking,” Reginald said. “Look, if you go on this journey, you’re not just doing it for Ella, you’re also doing it for that little boy who once wanted to try everything.”
“You mean my cousin Laurence, who broke his leg trying to fly with those wax wings?”
Reginald looked at him soberly. “Frederic, you don’t really remember your mother, but I do. And I know what she’d want you to do.”
Frederic stood up. “Okay, I’ll go.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Reginald.
Frederic marched out of his room. A second later, he marched back in.
“I should probably change into something more appropriate for the outdoors,” he said.
Reginald put his arm around him. “You don’t own anything more appropriate for the outdoors,” he said with a smile. “Come, let’s get you down to the stables.”
The next morning, after several hours of secret, intensive riding lessons, Prince Frederic trotted out through the palace gates on horseback, with Reginald and Charles the groom waving him good-bye. His eyes were tightly closed, his arms wrapped around the horse’s neck. Then something dawned on him.
“Wait,” he called back to Reginald. “I don’t know where I’m going.”
“Ella’s note said she was going to find that Rapunzel girl,” Reginald said. “Those bards are never very good about telling you exactly where their stories take place. But based on the clunky rhymes, I’m pretty sure ‘The Song of Rapunzel’ is the work of Lyrical Leif, the bard from Sturmhagen. Humph. With a name like Lyrical Leif, you’d think the guy could come up with better lines than, ‘Her hair was real long, not short like a prawn.’ Anyway, I’d try Sturmhagen. Head south.”
“But Sturmhagen? Isn’t it supposed to be full of monsters?” Frederic said, his eyes growing wider by the second.
“Ride fast,” Charles the groom called out. “With any luck, you’ll catch up to Lady Ella before you reach the border.”
“I can’t ride fast,” Frederic said. “I’m trying hard to make sure I
ride forward.”
“Then so far you’re succeeding,” Reginald yelled. “Stay strong!”
Frederic gripped his horse tighter, wondering what in the world he’d gotten himself into. Within twenty-four hours, he would be sniffling through a rainstorm, wishing he’d never left home. In a little over a week, he’d be quivering in the shadow of a raging giant. Another week after that, he would end up at the Stumpy Boarhound. But for now, he was on his way to Sturmhagen.
2
PRINCE CHARMING DEFENDS SOME VEGETABLES
Sturmhagen wasn’t a big tourist destination, mainly because of all the monsters. The kingdom’s thick and shadowy pine forests were crawling with all sorts of horrid creatures. And yet, that fact never seemed to bother the people who lived there. For most Sturmhageners, the occasional troll attack or goblin raid was just another nuisance to be dealt with, on par with a mouse in the pantry or a ferret in the sock drawer. These are tough folks we’re talking about. Take the royal family, for instance: King Olaf, at age sixty, was seven feet tall and capable of uprooting trees with his bare hands. His wife, Queen Berthilda, was only two inches shorter, and once famously punched out a swindler who tried to sell her some bogus “magic beans.”
Prince Gustav, who stood six-foot-five and had shoulders broad enough to get stuck in most doorways, was nonetheless the smallest member of his family. Growing up as the “tiny” one among sixteen older brothers, Gustav felt a desperate need to appear bigger and more imposing. This usually involved puffing out his chest and speaking very loudly: Picture a six-year-old boy standing on top of the dining room table, posing like a statue of a war hero, and shouting, “The mighty Gustav demands his milk cup be refilled!” This didn’t make him look impressive—it made him look strange. His older siblings mocked him mercilessly.
Fig. 4 Prince GUSTAV