For Noelle

Title Page

Dedication

Map of the Thirteen Kingdoms

Prologue: Things You Don’t Know About Heroes

PART I: CRASHING THE WEDDING

1. A Hero Has Narrow Feet

2. A Hero Is a Carnivore

3. A Hero Doesn’t Remember What He Did That Was So Special

4. A Hero Doesn’t Appreciate Good Comedy

5. A Hero Cries at Weddings

6. A Hero Has a Fancy Closet

PART II: UNCOVERING THE PLOT

7. A Hero Has No Idea What’s Going On

8. The Villain Redecorates

9. A Hero Makes It Up as He Goes Along

10. A Hero Takes No for an Answer

11. A Hero Is Grossed Out by Sticky Floors

12. A Hero Has No Sense of Direction

13. The Villain Feeds the Fish

14. A Hero Starts New Traditions

15. A Hero Has a Ball

16. A Hero Forgets the Lyrics

17. The Villain Just Wants to Have Fun

18. A Hero Has Friends in High Places

PART III: STORMING THE CASTLE

19. The Villain Pulls the Strings

20. A Hero Acts Like a Clown

21. A Hero Gets Dumped

22. A Hero Hates Seafood

23. A Hero Knows How to Count

24. A Hero Smells a Rat

25. The Villain Gives Two Thumbs-Down

26. A Hero Tells It Like It Is

27. A Hero Invites the Villain to Drop In

28. The Villain Wins

29. A Hero Doesn’t Know Where to Go Next

29 1/2. The Villain Sheds a Tear

Acknowledgments

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Copyright

About the Publisher

true hero plays the flute.

A true hero always carries an eyebrow comb.

A true hero smells faintly of melon.

Are any of these things true? It depends on the hero you’re talking about, of course. But you can find all these definitions of “hero”—and many more—in the how-to-be-a-hero instruction manual being written by one Prince Duncan of the kingdom of Sylvaria. Duncan’s original title for his book had been The Hero’s Guide to Saving Your Kingdom, but he decided that was too specific. So he changed it to The Hero’s Guide to Everything in the Whole World. But that had kind of the opposite problem. He eventually settled on The Hero’s Guide to Being a Hero.

Now, you may be asking yourself, Who is this Prince Duncan, and what makes him such an expert on heroes? To which I will respond by saying that perhaps you may have skipped a book on your way to this one. You should probably check on that.

But even if you know who Prince Duncan is, you may still be asking yourself, What makes him such an expert on heroes? And that is a very good question. Duncan is a former Prince Charming, sure; but he is barely more than five feet tall, gets distracted by squirrels, and has a tendency to walk into walls. Does that say “hero” to you? Not that any of Duncan’s colleagues in the League of Princes would necessarily fit your definition of “hero” either: Prince Gustav has anger management issues; Prince Liam gets easily flustered by bratty princesses; Prince Frederic collects fancy spoons and considers “dirt” his archenemy. And yet the League of Princes did manage to save not one but five kingdoms from the diabolical plans of an evil witch. Does that make all of them heroes? Duncan certainly thinks so, as evidenced by the introduction to his book.

Fig. 1 DUNCAN, author

Hello! I’m Prince Duncan of Sylvaria. You may remember me from bard songs such as “The Tale of Snow White” or “Cinderella and the League of Princes.” Although that first one never mentions my name and the second is full of factual inaccuracies. For instance, I did not escape the Bandit King by donning a magical “ring of flight” as the song suggests; I simply fell off his roof.

But at least it gets one thing right: I’m a hero. But did you know there was a time when I didn’t even realize I was a hero? It’s true. In fact, I thought I was kind of a loser. That’s what everyone always told me, anyway. But then I joined the League of Princes, and along with my good friends Liam (the one from “Sleeping Beauty”), Frederic (the one from “Cinderella”), and Gustav (the one from “Rapunzel”), I outwitted the trolls, vanquished the giant, tamed the dragon, and destroyed the evil old witch, What’s-her-name, without even breaking a sweat. Because sweat is gross.

—from THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO by Prince Duncan of Sylvaria, aka Prince Charming (the one from “Snow White”)

Admittedly, Duncan’s description of events skims over quite a few details. But at least his account is more accurate than the version of the story told in the popular bard song about that episode with the witch (referenced by Duncan above) that initially earned the League its fame:

Listen, dear hearts, to a tale most alarming,

’Bout a gathering of princes, all formerly charming.

’Twas fair Cinderella who bade them unite

For help with a powerful witch she need fight.

The nameless old crone held us bards as her captives

And threatened to silence our melodious octaves.

A world without music! That was her aim.

But Cind’rella would stop her at her wicked game.

She knew for this mission the allies she must have:

Prince Liam, Prince Frederic, Prince Duncan and Gustav.

Not one was a coward who shudders or winces.

These were the men of the bold League of Princes.

With the maid as their leader, the heroes set off

Into the dark woods with a grin and a laugh.

—from “CINDERELLA AND THE LEAGUE OF PRINCES” by Pennyfeather the Mellifluous, royal bard of Harmonia

Hardly any of that is correct.

Not that it matters. While Pennyfeather did indeed turn the former Princes Charming into household-name heroes with that particular bit of verse, he very quickly went on to embarrass them all with his next story-song, aptly titled “The Embarrassment of the League of Princes.”

The celebration for these mighty warriors

Ended abruptly—and they couldn’t be sorrier.

For the Bandit King (who deserves forty whacks)

Had pilfered the League’s statue from behind their backs.

The Bandit had played with these princes like toys—

Appropriate, since he’s a ten-year-old boy.

—from “THE EMBARRASSMENT OF THE LEAGUE OF PRINCES” by Pennyfeather the Mellifluous

That one’s basically true. While the princes were busy touting their victory over the witch, Deeb Rauber, the young Bandit King, humiliated the team by brazenly stealing their victory monument.

The League of Princes dropped out of sight after that. They never officially disbanded, but they all thought it best to stay out of the public eye for a while. Gustav decided to tough it out in Sturmhagen, even while his brothers continued to get credit for his heroic deeds. Duncan nestled back into his woodland estate in Sylvaria to work on his book (a choice his wife, Snow White, was quite pleased with). And Liam, still on the run from his wedding-hungry fiancée, Briar Rose, returned to Harmonia, home of his friend Frederic—and Frederic’s fiancée, Ella (aka Cinderella).

But don’t worry. It wouldn’t be long before the princes reunited and put the fate of the entire world in peril. That’s just sort of what they do.

It all begins in Harmonia, where one prince’s moment of distraction starts a chain of events that will force the whole League to tackle a perilous quest—a quest during which both lives and pants will be lost. And if you’re really worried about whether our heroes will succeed on this mission, you may not want to look at the title of Chapter 28.

Fig. 2 STATUE, pilfered

The path to hero-hood will be fraught with danger, risk, and adversity. But it will all be worth it in the end when someone writes a factually incorrect song about you.

—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

rederic wasn’t always helpless. Sure, he’d spent most of his life having his servants cut the crusts off his toast, and he once fainted after merely thinking he had a splinter in his finger (it was really a biscotti crumb). But then he joined the League of Princes and managed to hold his own against bandits, giants, trolls, and witches. And if you had seen him throw himself under a falling stone pillar to save the life of a friend, you would have assumed he’d gotten over his general Fear of Everything. But only ten months after that near-death experience, there Frederic was, fleeing madly down the corridors of his own royal palace, squealing like a startled piglet.

“You can’t run forever,” his pursuer called out. “I can hear you panting already.”

“I’m aware of that,” Frederic wheezed. The pale, slender prince ducked into a corner, squatted behind a large ceramic flowerpot, and poked the tip of his sword out from behind a lush, green philodendron.

“Aha!” he shouted, peeking between the feathery leaves. “I win.”

Prince Liam stopped right before the big ornamental planter, lowered his sword, and shook his head. His long, burgundy cape fluttered down behind him. “Frederic,” he said. “You know that if this were a real fight, I could easily cut through that shrub and get to you. It’s a bush, not an iron shield.”

“I think the philodendron might technically be a tree, but I concede your point,” Frederic said, standing, hiking up the waistband of his gold-trimmed slacks, and straightening out the collar of his baby-blue velvet jacket (his “workout suit”). “However, this is not a real fight. And in this particular situation, the philodendron is a perfectly safe place to hide. So I’d say I outwitted you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Liam retorted. “You won because you changed the rules. You knew I wouldn’t attack the plant because I don’t want to hear your father lecturing me again about ‘defacing his royal foliage.’ But in these training exercises, I’m not me; I’m playing a bad guy. A bad guy who wants to hurt you. How will you learn to defend yourself if you don’t treat these bouts like real fights?”

“He’s right, Frederic,” said Ella, Prince Frederic’s fiancée and Prince Liam’s other sword-fighting pupil, who had raced down the hall to witness the climax of Liam and Frederic’s “duel.” She shook her head. “You weren’t even supposed to leave the training room.”

“But there’s nowhere to hide in the training room,” Frederic said.

“That’s the point,” Liam and Ella said in unison. They smiled at each other and laughed.

“Watch,” Ella said to Frederic. “This is what you can learn when you apply yourself.” She quickly drew the rapier that hung at her side and leapt at Liam.

“Whoa,” Liam sputtered. He was taken off guard but raised his sword in time to parry Ella’s stroke. “Nice speed,” he said as he slashed back at her.

“Thanks,” Ella replied, deftly blocking his strike. Swords clanged as she and Liam traded blows. But Liam was faster; he started to back Ella down the corridor.

“Watch that lamp!” Frederic yelled. “My great-grandmother made that! Well, bought it. Had a servant buy it, actually. . . .” His voice trailed off.

Ella was up against the wall. But as Liam swung his sword, she dove under it, sliding across the polished marble floor on her knees and hopping back onto her feet several yards away.

“Nice move,” Liam said with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t think I could get that much distance from a single slide.”

“Thank the pants,” Ella said, gesturing toward her billowy satin trousers. “I made them myself.” She cartwheeled toward Liam, her braid of brown hair whipping through the air. Liam leapt up and grabbed onto a chandelier to swing over Ella and avoid her assault.

“That’s real crystal!” Frederic yelled.

Liam dropped down behind Ella. “Boo,” he said.

Ella kicked her leg backward into his gut and sent him stumbling against the opposite wall.

“Careful with that tapestry,” Frederic called out. “It depicts my great-grandmother’s servant buying the lamp.”

“Sorry,” Ella said to Liam. “Did I hurt you?”

“Ha,” Liam said with a wincing smile. “Good reflexes, though. You’ve come a long way.”

Ella straightened the tapestry, plucked a piece of lint from it, and then charged at Liam with a quick barrage of blows—all of which he parried with ease. “A long way, perhaps” he said. “But not all the way.”

As Ella’s energy began to flag, Liam decided it was time for a little showboating. He performed an agile spinning maneuver, his cape flowing out behind him. Ella grabbed his cape as it fluttered past her and yanked him off balance. He fell to his knees, and Ella, grinning, touched the tip of her sword to his chest.

“Looks like I finally beat you,” she said.

“No fair,” Frederic interjected. “Didn’t we just establish that he’s not Prince Liam right now? He’s playing a bad guy. You can’t use his cape against him.”

“A villain can wear a cape,” Ella said.

“Of course,” Liam added. “Plenty of them do.”

“Who? Nobody we’ve ever faced,” Frederic said. “Are you also going to tell me that villains regularly compliment you the entire time they’re trying to kill you? And that they show off with fancy pirouettes in the middle of battle? You cannot honestly say you were taking that fight seriously just now, Liam. I don’t think you’re judging me and Ella equally.”

Ella walked over to Frederic and put her muscular arm around his bony shoulders. “Come on, Frederic,” she said playfully. “Don’t be jealous.”

“Jeal— um, what? Jealous?” Frederic stuttered. “Why would you say that? Jealous of whom?” For months now, Frederic had been trying to ignore the fact that Liam and Ella seemed like an ideal match for each other. They shared all the same interests (monsters, swords, monsters with swords). They shared all the same hobbies (rescuing people, climbing things, doing spontaneous push-ups). They had the same bold and daring spirit. But Ella was supposed to be Frederic’s fiancée. She was the Cinderella made beloved by the bards’ songs and stories, and Frederic was the Prince Charming who had swept her off her feet at that famous ball. But he was also the man whose life was so dull that Ella had left him in search of some real action.

It had been Frederic’s quest to reunite with Ella that brought the League of Princes together in the first place. He’d wanted to impress Ella with his heroics—and he succeeded. But on that adventure he also introduced her to his good friend Liam. And now both she and Liam lived in the Harmonian royal palace with him, neither of them sharing Frederic’s interests (artists, crumpets, artists who paint crumpets) or Frederic’s hobbies (fancy spoons, poetry, spontaneous embroidery). Still, Frederic wanted Ella to notice him. Of all the women he’d ever met—and there had been dozens lining up to dance with him at the royal ball every year—none but Ella had ever made a real impression. No woman he’d met anywhere had. Well, actually, there was one other . . . but Frederic didn’t know if he’d ever see her again.

“I’m just saying you don’t need to be jealous of my sword-fighting skills,” Ella explained. “I’ve taken to it quickly. But you’ll get better, too. I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not so sure,” Frederic said. “Look, I may never become a good duelist. But that’s okay. I’ve been telling you two for months: I’m not a sword guy. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be useful. Wit is my weapon. Words are my ammunition. You yourself helped me to realize that, Liam.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Liam said. “No one is better than you at talking his way out of a fight. But if an enemy doesn’t provide you with the opportunity for chitchat, you need to be able to defend yourself.”

“That’s when you let your steel do the talking,” Ella said through clenched teeth.

Both Frederic and Liam gaped at her.

“And to think I was worried when she went out into the woods alone,” Frederic said.

Liam gave Frederic a pat on the arm. “Come on, let’s give it another try,” he said. “Look, we’ve been living like hermits here for almost a year. I’m sure that ‘Embarrassment of the League’ song is a distant memory for most people.”

“Cook was singing it at breakfast this morning,” Frederic said.

“I said most people,” Liam said. “My point is that it’s about time we went out there and started redeeming ourselves. And if you’re going to come adventuring with me again, I need to know you can handle yourself in a fight. Swords up.”

Liam took a fencing stance and waited for Frederic to do the same.

“We should at least go back to the training room,” Frederic said. “I think this hallway has probably seen enough action for one day.” (This was, without doubt, the most excitement ever experienced in that particular corridor. Previously, the most suspenseful thing to have happened there was when two footmen hunted down a lost cuff link. It took them forty-seven seconds to find it.)

“You worry too much, Frederic,” Liam said.

Frederic sighed and lifted his blade. “All right, but I want to state for the record that—eek!”

Liam took several quick swipes at Frederic, and—much to everyone’s delight—Frederic managed to block them all. He had a giddy smile on his face as he whipped his sword back and forth to knock away each of his friend’s attacks. And then his father showed up.

“What on earth is going on here?” King Wilberforce barked as he strode down the hallway.

The sound of that deep baritone voice completely broke Frederic’s concentration. “Father,” he blurted, and turned his head at just the wrong moment. The tip of Liam’s blade sliced across Frederic’s cheek. Frederic yelped, dropped his weapon, and brought his hand up to cover the wound.

“I’m so sorry!” Liam gasped.

“Are you okay?” Ella called, running to her fiancé.

The king marched up to them in a fury, dozens of medals jingling on his chest with every stomping footstep. “What have you done to my son?”

“It was an accident,” Liam sputtered.

“It’s just a scratch, Father,” Frederic said. He checked his fingertips, relieved to see only the slightest dot of red. If there had been any more blood, he would likely have lost his composure—which he did not want to do in his father’s presence. “And frankly, it would never have happened if you hadn’t yelled and distracted me.”

“What did I do to deserve such disrespect?” King Wilberforce said, sounding appalled. “I, ruler of this realm, see my only son being assaulted by some hooligan and demand that the violence come to a stop. For this I deserve scorn?”

“Some hooligan, Father?” Frederic asked. “Liam’s been living with us for almost a year.”

“I know who he is,” the king said with disdain. “A supposed Prince Charming in exile from his own people, hated the world over because of the horrid manner in which he treated his Sleeping Beauty. A man to whom I have—against my best instincts—offered nothing but hospitality. And a hooligan who repays my kindness by fileting my son.”

“Your Highness,” Liam said. “I appreciate all the kindness you have offered me. And as I’ve tried to explain before, the rumors about me and Briar Rose are untrue. She spread those lies to get back at me because I refused to marry her. And surely you know I never meant to hurt Frederic. I was merely—”

“Oh, I know you probably didn’t intend to hurt him,” Wilberforce said. “But that’s the problem with you. You think Frederic can do things that he simply can’t. Putting my son in harm’s way appears to be a hobby for you. Are you going to deny that you almost got Frederic killed in that whole unfortunate witch fiasco?”

Liam said nothing. Nor did Frederic, who, if he were a turtle, would have slipped happily into his shell at that moment.

Fig. 3 King WILBERFORCE

The king looked down his nose at the three friends. “There will be no more swordplay within these walls,” he stated. “Or anywhere on palace grounds, for that matter.”

“But, Father,” Frederic began.

“Sir,” Liam stepped in. “Frederic is getting quite . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to say “good.” “Well, he’s improving. With more training, he could—”

“There will be no more training!” Wilberforce snapped. His perfectly groomed mustache quivered as he spoke, and a fleck of saliva hit a purple silk ribbon on his chest, leaving a tiny wet spot the likes of which no one had ever before seen on any king of Harmonia. “Push me too far, Erinthian, and I won’t hesitate to revoke the invitation I have so graciously extended to you. If I see you—any of the three of you—with a weapon in your hand, I will have you forcibly removed. Not just from my palace, but from the entire kingdom of Harmonia.” Wilberforce spun on his heels and marched down the hall. “Frederic, get to the nurse immediately,” he added as he left. “Make sure that horrible gash doesn’t scar.”

Frederic slumped down and sat on the edge of the philodendron pot. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Ella said, sitting next to him. She put her arm around him and gave a tight squeeze. “You did nothing wrong. And, hey, any time you need me to jump in and help out against Old King Grumpy-pants, just say the word.”

“Thanks, Ella,” Frederic said, resting his head on her shoulder. “You’re very sweet.”

Liam looked away. Sensing his discomfort, Frederic stood up.

“I’m just embarrassed by the whole thing,” he said. “I’m going to bed early. You two have fun.” He hurried down the hall, leaving Ella and Liam alone.

Liam opened a pair of glass doors and strolled out onto an ornate marble balcony. “I shouldn’t be here,” he sighed, watching the quickly setting sun. “I’ve outstayed my welcome.”

“But you can’t go back to Erinthia,” Ella said, joining him outside. She looked at Liam in the warm glow of the lanterns that were being lit all along the palace grounds below. He was almost ridiculously perfect as the image of a hero: mocha-tan complexion, piercing green eyes, chiseled cheekbones, a fashionable cape and lustrous black hair, both billowing behind him in the late-spring breeze. He was standing, as he often did, with his hands on his hips and his head turned to one side, as if he were waiting for some invisible sculptor to carve a statue of him. It was the kind of thing Ella usually enjoyed teasing him about, but she was too concerned to joke around.

“I mean, you still don’t want to marry Briar Rose, right?” she asked.

“Do you really have to ask that question?” Liam replied. Princess Briar Rose of Avondell, to whom he’d been betrothed since the age of three, was quite possibly the worst person he’d ever met (and Liam had met a lot of nasty people, including a witch who wanted to explode him in front of a live audience). But no one in Liam’s kingdom of Erinthia (except his little sister, Lila) seemed to care about his happiness—they only cared about Avondell’s vast network of gold mines, which Erinthia would have access to once Liam married Briar. Now, understand that the Erinthian people were plenty rich already—but they’d always been second best next to Avondell. And when you’re as greedy and petty as the average Erinthian, second place isn’t good enough. “I have no idea when I’ll ever be able to set foot in my homeland again. And I’m staying as far from Avondell as possible. I’m not going to let Briar’s family or mine force this wedding on me.”

“Where would you go, then?” Ella asked. And she started doing what she did whenever she got anxious: She cleaned.

“You know, they have servants to do that,” Liam said when he saw her scraping bird droppings off the railing.

“Sorry, old habits die hard,” she said. She turned to look him in the eye. “Just stay here.”

“Things have gotten a little awkward, don’t you think?” he asked sheepishly.

“What do you mean?” Ella asked in return, though she knew all too well what he was referring to.

Liam sighed. “What’s the situation here? I assume you and Frederic are still getting married.”

Ella glanced down at the servants locking up the palace gates three stories below. “To be honest, he and I haven’t talked about it in ages. It’s kind of an odd question to casually toss at somebody over lunch: Hey, remember that time you proposed to me and I said yes? Are we still sticking to that? I don’t know—maybe I haven’t asked because I’m not sure what I want his answer to be.”

“I understand,” Liam said. “You two are still engaged. Just like me and Briar.”

“Oh, come now,” Ella said, narrowing her eyes at him. “It’s nothing like you and Briar. I love Frederic. He’s a dear friend and a wonderful human being.”

“I know that,” Liam said quickly. “I love the guy, too. Which is why hurting him is the last thing I want to do.” Liam turned away from her and stared off at the stars that were beginning to dot the indigo sky. “My mind’s made up. I’m leaving in the morning.”

“But . . . ,” Ella started. There was so much she wanted to say to Liam—and so much she felt she couldn’t say. “But we had so many plans. We were going to drive the rat-owls out of West Thithelsford; we were going to track down the Gray Phantom in Flargstagg; we were going to break up the hobgoblin gangs in East Thithelsford. . . .”

“Yes, you and I were,” Liam said. “Do you really think Frederic will ever be ready for dangerous work like that?”

“But—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll come back for the wedding.”

Ella stepped back inside. She couldn’t let Liam walk away like this, but she knew he was too noble to put himself in the way of Frederic’s relationship with his father—or Frederic’s relationship with her. I’ll never convince him to stay on my own, she thought. He needs to hear it from Frederic.

In his very grand bedroom, Frederic sat in a cushy chair by his vanity table, his head tilted back as Reginald, his lifelong personal valet, dabbed at the cut on his cheek with a gooey substance he referred to as tincture of thistle-thyme.

“Do you really need to use that stuff?” Frederic asked. “It’s sticky. I’ve never handled stickiness well. I’m sure you remember the infamous cotton candy incident.”

“The ointment will aid in the healing of your wound, milord,” the tall, thin servant said. “But I suspect this little scratch is not the greatest of your concerns right now.”

Frederic looked his old friend in the eye. “Why is my father so cruel?” he asked. “I thought I’d proven myself to him. But he still treats me like a child. He still wants me penned in, to keep me afraid.”

Reginald sat down on the edge of Frederic’s elaborate four-poster bed. “Why does that matter? You know what you’re capable of now. So do your friends. And Lady Ella.”

Frederic shook his head. “I’m not so sure about Ella. I still don’t think she’s very impressed by me. How can she be when Liam . . .”

“When Liam what?” Reginald asked.

“Nothing,” Frederic said. He absentmindedly began fiddling with a cologne spritzer. “It’s just that Liam is trying to turn me into a true hero, so naturally my father can’t stand him. It’s only a matter of time until Liam gets banished. Father will stoop to anything to make sure I don’t mar his perfect royal image.”

“The king is not all that bad,” Reginald said with sympathy in his voice.

“You’re talking about the man who kept me in check as a child by hiring a circus tiger to terrify me.”

“Point taken,” Reginald said. “But what I’m trying to say is that the king’s motives may not be as cruel hearted as you think. It’s about time you learned the truth about what happened to your mother.”

“I already know. She died when I was an infant,” Frederic said. “A fatal dust allergy. It might be hereditary, which is why I wash my hands fifteen times a day.”

“No, Frederic. That’s just the story your father gave the public,” Reginald said. “Adventure may not be welcome in these palace halls today, but that wasn’t always the case. Queen Anabeth regularly strapped a sword to her back and went running off in search of one lost treasure or another.”

“You can’t be serious,” Frederic said, turning the idea over in his head. “My parents? Adventurers? At least that would explain how Father got all those medals.”

“Ha!” Reginald couldn’t help but laugh. “Your father awarded all those medals to himself. They’re meaningless. Have you ever read what’s engraved on them? One is for hopscotch.

“No, your mother was the only thrill seeker in the family. The king hated it. But even his objections couldn’t keep Queen Anabeth reined in. Shortly after you were born, she heard a legend about a solid gold duckling that was supposedly hidden away in an ancient ruined temple on the wastes of Dar. She wanted that priceless idol for you.”

“I do like ducklings,” Frederic said in a bittersweet tone.

“She took a small team of soldiers with her, trekked off to Dar, and never came back.”

“Never came back? Does that mean it’s possible she’s still alive?” Frederic asked hopefully.

“Sadly, no. One of her men limped back here weeks later, the only survivor. He explained how they’d accidentally set off a trap and the temple collapsed on top of the whole party. He only escaped because he was carrying your mother’s bags and lagging far behind. Your mother never packed light.”

“I can’t believe this,” Frederic said. “It’s like something out of a Sir Bertram the Dainty story.”

“It is nothing like a Sir Bertram story,” Reginald said. “Sir Bertram’s ‘adventures’ revolve around things like sorting socks and adding the proper amount of pepper to a casserole. Your mother lost her life! While treasure hunting. In booby-trapped ancient ruins. And I’m positive that her death has a lot to do with why your father is so overprotective. He doesn’t want to lose you the same way.”

“Wow,” Frederic said. “Now I feel kind of guilty.”

“Don’t,” Reginald added quickly. “You need to live your own life and do things your way. After all, you’ve got your mother’s blood in you. You need to know that. And it was time for you to finally hear the whole story.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. “Frederic?” It was Ella.

Reginald let her in. “Good evening, milady. I was just going.” He gave Frederic a formal nod and exited.

“Shut the door and come here,” Frederic said in a giddy whisper. He was standing by the corner of his bed, vibrating.

“What is it?” she asked, curious as to what had Frederic in such a state.

“My mother died trying to steal me a golden ducky!”

“Oh, my. That’s . . . I’m sorry, I don’t actually know how to respond to that.”

“I only just found out,” Frederic went on. “She was an adventurer, a real hero type. My mother—can you believe it? It’s fascinating. You know, this is probably why I’m so drawn to people like you and Liam.”

“Liam! He’s why I came to you. He’s leaving tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow? But where will he go?”

“Nowhere,” Ella answered. “He’s going to wander the world or something. He thinks he’s outstayed his welcome here.”

“Well, with my dad, maybe. But certainly not with me,” Frederic said. “I should share this new revelation about my mother with him. It might help him understand why my father acts the way he does.”

“Let’s go,” Ella said. She grabbed Frederic by the hand, and they hurried back toward the balcony where she’d left Liam.

Maybe Gustav could use a roommate, Liam thought as he stood on the balcony gazing at the dim sliver of moon in the sky. Nah, who am I kidding? He’d cut up all my capes while I slept.

A sudden clinking sound snapped him out of his musings. He looked to his left and saw something shiny glinting by the balcony railing. On closer inspection, he saw that it was a metal grappling hook.

“What the—?”

Liam peered over the edge. A rope hung down to the gardens below, but there was no one on it. He put his hand on his sword, but before he could draw it, he was clonked on the head by a short, heavy club.

Ella and Frederic appeared at the balcony door just in time to get a glimpse of a hooded man scaling a rope up to the terra-cotta-tile palace roof. The intruder had Liam, unconscious, slung over his shoulder.

“Liam!” Ella shouted. She dove out onto the balcony and grabbed the intruder’s rope. “Drop him,” she snarled as she yanked the line back and forth.

“Stop that,” the stranger moaned as his boots slid from the wall. He was left dangling momentarily but quickly managed to regain his footing. He glared down at Ella. “Think. You don’t really want me to drop your friend from this height.”

In a second he was over the roof’s edge and out of sight.

“Frederic, hold the rope steady,” Ella said. “I’m going after him.”

“I should call the guards,” Frederic argued, but he grabbed the rope nonetheless. Ella made it halfway up to the roof before the kidnapper kicked the grappling hook from its perch. Ella, the rope, and the iron hook all tumbled down onto Frederic.

“Crud,” Ella muttered. “We’ll catch him on the other side!” She jumped to her feet and drew her rapier. But she was stopped in her tracks by King Wilberforce and four royal guards.

“Swordplay. I knew it,” the king said. “As soon as I heard the noise, I said to myself, ‘There they go again.’ I knew you would disobey my orders, but frankly, I’d hoped you’d be able to restrain yourselves for longer than twenty minutes.”

“No one’s playing here, Your Highness,” Ella said urgently. “This is real. Liam was just kidnapped.”

King Wilberforce chuckled. “I sincerely doubt that. Crimes do not occur within the walls of the Harmonian royal palace.”

“We saw it, Father,” Frederic insisted. “A hooded man just grabbed Liam and swooped onto the roof.”

“Oh, so he’s a flying kidnapper?” the king said with a sarcastic smile.

“You’re letting him get away,” Ella barked.

“Seriously, Father, please send your guards out to the gates!” Frederic begged. “You might be able to catch the criminal before he gets off the palace grounds!”

Wilberforce let out a long, slow breath. “If it means so much to you.” He turned to his guards. “You two: Step outside and look for any signs of a magical winged bogeyman.”

A pair of guardsmen bowed and marched off.

“And we’ll go this way,” Ella said as she began to leave in the opposite direction.

“Stop her,” Wilberforce said, and the remaining two guards stepped in front of Ella to block her exit.

“What are you doing, Father?” asked Frederic.

“If there’s anything dangerous going on, my men will handle it,” the king said. “Neither of you will be involved. And to make sure of that, I’m confining you both to your rooms for the night. Guards, take these two to their quarters and stand watch outside their doors until morning.”

Ella considered trying to overtake the men. But she knew it would only cause more trouble. She reluctantly sheathed her sword as the guards nudged her and Frederic down the hall.

“He wore a cape,” Ella said as they walked.

“Who?” Frederic asked.

“The kidnapper. He was a villain with a cape. See? I was right.”

“Actually, it had a hood,” Frederic said. “So technically, it was a cowl.”

Ella sighed.

King Wilberforce watched them disappear around a corner. Then he closed and locked the balcony doors. That was convenient, he thought. With that Erinthian gone, it’s one nuisance down, one to go.

Frederic was sitting slumped on his bed. His father had won again. Why do I turn into a helpless infant every time that man raises his voice, he thought. How does he do it to me? He was startled by the sound of his window creaking open.

“Are you coming?” Ella asked, poking her head inside.

Frederic jumped to his feet and ran over to her.

“What are you standing on?” he asked.

“The ledge.”

“It’s so narrow!”

“Don’t act like you’ve never heard of tiptoeing, Frederic—I’ve seen you sneak behind the drapes every time Liam suggests going for a run. So, are you coming?”

“Where?”

“To find Liam. I figured out who took him.”

“I suspect my father is behind it,” Frederic said sorrowfully.

“No, it’s Briar Rose!” Ella blurted. She blinked her wide eyes repeatedly as words spilled from her mouth at a rapid pace. She couldn’t have looked more wired if she’d just guzzled an entire pot of double-strength Carpagian Wide-Awake Brew. “I know who the kidnapper is; I put all the clues together. The hood, the little gray beard, the mumbly voice like somebody just killed his puppy: That’s exactly how Lila described Ruffian the Blue, the bounty hunter. And who does Ruffian the Blue work for?”

“Bri—” Frederic began to answer.

“Briar Rose! Exactly!” Ella shouted (and then shushed herself). “Briar is still bent on marrying Liam; and now she’s going to force the wedding to happen, and you and I have to go to Avondell and stop it. So, are you coming?”

“Right now?” Frederic asked. “Can’t we just wait until morning and leave through the front doorway?”

“Do you really think your father’s going to let us?”

“No, you’re right.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it. I think I’m pretty much ready to go.”

Ella frowned when she noticed how Frederic was dressed: a pale yellow suit with a royal-blue sash across the chest and tasseled shoulder pads. “You changed into formal wear?” she asked. “When you thought you would be locked in your room all night?”

“It helps me relax.”

“Suit yourself,” Ella said.

“I just did.” Frederic laughed.

“Did what?”

“Suit mys— Never mind.”

“Okay, let’s head out,” said Ella. “Take your sword, though.”

“You know,” Frederic hedged. “Like I said before, I’m not really a sword person.”

“Take your sword,” Ella repeated.

He attached the sword to his belt along with a pouch of coins and a small satchel of writing implements, then he climbed through the window to join Ella on the ledge. He wobbled a bit when he got a view of the lantern-lit walkways three stories below. “I’m not really a heights man either.”

Ella put her hand under his chin and raised his head to look him in the eyes. “You’re my hero, Frederic. You can do this.”

“Of course I can,” Frederic said. “I’ve got narrow feet.”

As the two shimmied along the ledge, it occurred to Frederic that he was finally doing what Ella had always wanted him to: going on an adventure with her.

And she asked me to, he thought. She didn’t run off to rescue Liam on her own. She wants me by her side. Perhaps there’s hope for us yet. The pair sidled around a corner and onto the balcony where the kidnapping had taken place. As Ella had hoped, the bounty hunter’s rope and grappling hook were still lying there in a pile. She tossed the barbed hook up to the roof, where it caught onto the side of a chimney.

“Shall we?”

Climbing up onto the roof, running along the ramparts, descending into the gardens behind the palace, and hopping over the exterior gates all took much longer than Ella had hoped—Frederic moved with the speed of a wobbly toddler wearing shoes for the first time. By the time they were off the palace grounds, the sun was coming up.

“I am so tired,” Frederic said, collapsing on the grass.

“Well,” Ella said, sitting down next to him, “we need to pause and figure out a plan anyway.”

“Oh, I have a plan,” Frederic said. He pulled two pieces of parchment and a quill from his satchel. He quickly dashed off two notes, rolled them up, and stood. “Let’s head into town and hire a messenger to deliver these. It’s time to get the League of Princes back together.”

Mere words cannot defeat a true hero. Unless they happen to be the words to some sort of Instant Death spell. Magic is scary.

—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

ix months before Liam’s kidnapping, Prince Gustav exploded. Not literally. Although there was quite a mess. You see, Gustav did not share the same taste in music as his sixteen older brothers. The elder princes, for example, adored “The Sixteen Hero Princes of Sturmhagen.” That song had everything: an evil witch, five kidnapped bards, sixteen strong, young heroes. The only thing it didn’t have was Gustav, the seventeenth and youngest of the Sturmhagen princes—which was unfortunate, as Gustav was the only one of them actually involved in saving the bards. Suffice it to say Gustav didn’t care for the song. Nor was he a fan of “The Embarrassment of the League of Princes,” a tune his brothers couldn’t get enough of. After a full year of mocking Gustav for his failure to rescue Rapunzel, they were pleased to have a new reason to taunt him.

And taunt him they did. They never let Gustav forget that the Bandit King—whom the world now knew to be a ten-year-old boy—managed to rob him in full view of about a thousand people. Prince Sigfrid (#7) spattered Gustav with baby food. Osvald (#5) startled him with shouts of “Don’t look down! There’s a toddler crawling after you!” Alvar (#3) even pinned a sign to his back that read PROPERTY OF BANDIT KING. IF FOUND, PLEASE RETURN TO TOY BOX. Every time something like this happened, Gustav gritted his teeth, grumbled unseemly things under his breath, and stomped away—which, for him, showed incredible self-restraint. Despite being six-foot-five and having biceps the size of watermelons, he was the smallest member of his family. His older brothers teased him through most of his life; and in the past Gustav responded to their jibes with flying fists, thrown furniture, and sometimes even a good, old-fashioned head butt. The past year had changed him, though. Gustav was more mature now. He vowed that he would not let his brothers get the better of him.

But he was fooling himself. Gustav couldn’t swear off tantrums any more than a volcano could promise not to erupt. It was on the day of his brothers’ birthday party (all sixteen, having been born in two sets of octuplets exactly one year apart, had the same birthday) that Gustav finally lost it.

The entire kingdom came out for the big celebration, which was held in the big cobblestone courtyard outside Castle Sturmhagen. HAPPY BIRTHDAY banners were hung everywhere, bands played, food vendors handed out turkey legs and ostrich eggs, and crowds of Sturmhageners danced merrily in their leathery, fur-lined suits and dresses. All the birthday boys, from Henrik (#1) to Viktor (#16), were seated at the lengthy table of honor on a central stage. Only Gustav sat by himself, at a tiny round table-for-one that had been set for him on the outer edge of the courtyard. Behind the crowd. Under a drippy rain gutter. Next to a stinking barrel with a sign that read PLEASE DEPOSIT BONES AND OTHER UNCHEWABLES HERE.

Gustav watched glumly as his parents, King Olaf and Queen Berthilda, led a procession of bakers up onto the stage. The bakers carried an eight-foot-by-four-foot, seventy-pound sheet cake, topped with marzipan sculptures of all sixteen princes. The colossal dessert was set on a viewing platform near the edge of the stage so the crowd could marvel at it.

Fig. 4 GUSTAV, celebrating

Then Lyrical Leif, Sturmhagen’s royal bard, was introduced. The round-bodied musician pranced onstage wearing his usual green tights, puffy gold blouse-shirt, and floppy feathered hat. He took a proudly over-the-top bow and announced—to great applause—that he would serenade the birthday boys with his hit, “The Sixteen Hero Princes of Sturmhagen.”

As Leif began strumming his lute and singing (“Dear hearts, listen well to a tale most sublime / of sixteen strong princes—that’s seven plus nine”), Gustav decided he was done being ignored. He stood up, kicked the barrel of unchewables at an oblivious trio of swaying Leif fans, and shoved his way through the crowd to the stage. He climbed up and stood face-to-face with the bard (or bellybutton-to-face, really—Lyrical Leif wasn’t very tall). A tense quiet fell over the square.

“No one wants to hear that song anymore, Featherhead,” Gustav declared. “Sing the one about me.” In his heavy, fur-lined armor, with his shoulders heaving and his long blond hair hanging over his face, Gustav was an undeniably imposing figure. But the roly-poly Leif was undaunted.

“Oh, ‘The Song of Rapunzel’? In which you got beaten by the old lady and Rapunzel had to rescue you?” Leif asked sarcastically. He turned to the audience: “Who out there wants to hear ‘Rapunzel’?”

Scores of people raised their hands and hooted.

“You know which song I mean,” Gustav growled. “The one where I’m a hero.”

“Oh. You’re talking about that song in which you play the part of Cinderella’s little helper.” Leif made an over-the-top frowny face. “I’m afraid we don’t get many requests for that tune. It’s a tad too unbelievable, I think.”

His brothers crowed with laughter. As did most of the crowd.

“Starf it all,” Gustav cursed under his breath. If he couldn’t get people to like him, maybe he could at least get them to hate him. Anything was better than being laughed at.

Gustav abruptly reached out, grabbed Lyrical Leif’s floppy hat by the brim, and yanked it down to the bard’s shoulders. The cap split down the middle as Leif’s head burst through the shimmery fabric. Gustav then grabbed the bard by the seat of his tights and hoisted him up in the air with one hand. With the other hand, he reached down and scooped up a handful of richly frosted birthday cake—which he proceeded to smoosh all over Leif’s shocked face before dropping the singer on his ample belly.

As horrified gasps and shouts of derision sounded from all around the square, Gustav grinned and wiped his hands clean. “Maybe now,” he declared, “you’ll show some respect to the mighty Prince Gustav.”

He turned to walk away, slipped on a dollop of icing, and flopped face-first into the giant birthday cake. As Gustav slowly staggered back to his feet, covered from his tangled hair to his big steel boots in buttercream frosting, uproarious laughter echoed throughout the courtyard.

King Olaf gave Gustav a new job after that, one that would conveniently keep him away from Castle Sturmhagen for a while. “Go check on the trolls,” he ordered. “We need an ambassador out there, and since you’re the reason we had to turn over a hunk of our land to them, you should be the one to fill that position.”

“With pleasure,” Gustav said. Minutes later, he was riding his big gray warhorse, Seventeen, out to troll country.

As he approached a wide swath of farmland on the outskirts of Sturmhagen’s thick and wild pine forests, Gustav was suddenly encircled by what appeared to be hulking mounds of overcooked collard greens. But these were no shambling piles of vegetation; these were living creatures—nine feet tall with scraggly green fur, enormous clawed hands, frighteningly large teeth, and, in some cases, a horn or two. Or three. Trolls. And they were closing in on the prince.

Gustav hopped from his horse and waited with his massive battle-ax at the ready. Clad as he was in heavy plated armor rimmed by thick tufts of boar and bear fur, Gustav’s mere silhouette would have been an intimidating sight to most humans. Most monsters, too, really. But the trolls showed no fear.

It had been a long time since Gustav had been among the trolls and he’d been bald the last time they saw him, so most of the creatures didn’t recognize the long-haired human standing before them. One did, though: the single-horned troll who went by the name of Mr. Troll (all other trolls simply went by Troll—a practice that made taking attendance in troll schools either very difficult or very easy, depending on whom you ask).

“Prince Angry Man!” Mr. Troll shouted, gleefully calling Gustav by his “troll name.” “Troll so glad Angry Man come back!” The monster threw its furry green arms around Gustav and, much to the prince’s displeasure, lifted him off the ground in a bear hug.

“Enough, enough,” Gustav grunted, and Mr. Troll put him down. The other trolls, realizing this was their beloved Prince Angry Man, joined in with celebratory hoots and howls. Gustav couldn’t help smiling. Sure, the trolls were monsters, but they were happy to see him. And that felt pretty good.

“Trolls never thank Angry Man for giving trolls farmland,” Mr. Troll said in his low, gravelly voice.

“Yeah, that’s okay,” Gustav said. “You guys give the place a name yet?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Troll. “Trolls call place Troll Place.”

“I should’ve guessed that,” Gustav said. “So, um, I’m here as an ambassador.”

“That fantastic,” Mr. Troll said. “Troll not know what that mean. But it sound fancy. So Troll happy for you.”

“To be honest,” Gustav said, “I don’t really know what it means either. But I am a big hero, so I suppose I can teach you trolls a thing or two while I’m here.”

Mr. Troll looked ecstatic. “Prince Angry Man come to help trolls,” he explained to his fellow monsters. “Him teach trolls all sort of amazing things!” The trolls cheered.

“Yeah, sure,” Gustav said, crossing his arms and nodding. He was getting his old confidence back. “I’m great at all kinds of stuff. Hunting, fishing . . .”

Several of the monsters stopped smiling and glowered menacingly at Gustav.

“Ha-ha,” Mr. Troll said. “Angry Man joking. Angry Man remember trolls is vegetarian.”

“Oh, yes,” Gustav mumbled. “How could I forget?”

“Angry Man will teach trolls how grow veggies,” Mr. Troll announced as if it were an established fact.

“You’ve had this farm for months,” Gustav said. “You haven’t grown anything yet?” He surveyed the scene around him. The field was completely bare except for a few rickety troll stick-houses and a large rock with a log tied to it (which one helpful troll pointed to and identified as “plow”).

“No, nothing,” Mr. Troll said. The monster looked down, embarrassed (at least Gustav thought he was embarrassed; it’s hard to tell when you’re dealing with a creature that has a face like a demonic mulch pile). “Trolls not know how grow stuff. That why trolls still steal food from humans.”

“You’re still stealing food?” Gustav asked, flabbergasted. “The whole reason we gave you this farmland was to stop the food raids. Do you want to start a war?”

“No. Trolls just want eat. That why Angry Man must teach trolls grow veggies.”

Gustav paused. He knew nothing about farming. Although, to be honest, he didn’t really know anything about hunting or fishing either. But being a farming instructor was better than going home. “All right, trolls,” he said. “Let’s do some farming.”

Gustav taught the trolls everything he knew about growing fresh produce. He spent day after day out in the fields, imparting every bit of knowledge he had about preparing soil, sowing seeds, and keeping plants well watered. And after months of working under Gustav’s tutelage, the creatures were able to head out for a harvest and gather up a fresh crop—of exactly two potatoes. Each of which was approximately the size of a peanut.

Let me reiterate: Gustav knew nothing about farming.

“How ’bout I teach you trolls to fight instead?” he suggested.

The trolls greeted this new idea with enthusiasm. And that was when Gustav really started enjoying himself. He put together a lesson plan (Ramming Your Enemy, Throwing Heavy Objects, Pummeling for Beginners, and so on), and the trolls proved to be excellent students. In reality, trolls were natural fighters and didn’t need the instruction—but they had a blast taking Gustav’s classes.

One afternoon, Gustav and Mr. Troll sat together in the house that the trolls had built for their teacher (five precariously balanced logs with some loose straw thrown on top). “Troll think Angry Man better fighter than farmer,” Mr. Troll said.

“I guess you and I have something in common then, Leafy,” Gustav said.

The troll let out a harsh, retching laugh. “Maybe Angry Man be better as troll than human.”

“You know, there’s a lot I can appreciate about you trolls,” Gustav said. “You pack a solid punch, you’re not scared of anything, and you’ve got no love for fancy doohickeys and dingle-dangles. That’s why I’ve been able to tolerate you beasts for months now. But I still think I make a pretty good human. And anyway, I miss meat.”

“Troll understand. Troll not be happy living with humans either. Human houses have too many parts; make Troll claustrophobic.” Through the “walls” of Gustav’s dwelling, they could see the other trolls gathering for their next lesson. “But Angry Man inspire Troll,” Mr. Troll went on. “Troll going to be first troll hero. Trolls always bad guy in songs by Itty-Bitty-Guitar Men. Troll want Itty-Bitty-Guitar Men to write song ’bout Troll save the day.”

“Yet another thing we’ve got in common,” Gustav said.

“Huh?” the troll grunted.

“Never mind,” Gustav said. “It’s time for class.” He stood up, bumped his head against a log, and knocked the entire house down. It was the fourth collapse that week. Mr. Troll started to pick up a log to rebuild it, but Gustav told him not to bother. The two of them stepped out to the field to join the rest of the trolls.

“Okay, furries,” Gustav announced. “Today’s lesson is brawling. Everybody start beating up your neighbor.”

Dozens of the enormous monsters started attacking one another, slamming their hairy bodies together and grabbing each other in wet, sweaty headlocks. “Nice,” Gustav said, and dove into the fracas himself.

It was then that a messenger ran up. He was a skinny, gap-toothed thirteen-year-old in a heavy sweater, wool hat, green knit scarf, shorts, and tall leather boots. He was undeterred by the raucous fray going on before him. He produced a rolled-up piece of paper from the satchel at his side and cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice cracking. The brawl came to an abrupt stop, all the combatants panting and staring at the messenger. “I’m looking for a Prince Gustav. Which of you is Prince Gustav?”

Gustav cocked his head. “I’m the only one here without spinach growing out of my skin and you need to ask which one I am?”

“Sorry, sir, Your Highness, sir,” the messenger said. “But I have strict instructions to deliver this message only to Prince Gustav. I went to Castle Sturmhagen, but Prince Gustav wasn’t there. They told me that if I wanted to find Prince Gustav, I had to come here. So are you Prince Gustav?”

“Gimme the note,” Gustav said.

The messenger shook his head.

Gustav huffed. “Yes, I’m Gustav. Now give me the note, Captain Specific.”

The messenger hurried over to Gustav and handed him the letter. “Here you are, sir, Your Highness, sir,” he said. “I sense you were probably being sarcastic when you referred to me as a captain, but just to be clear, I am not one. I’m merely a messenger. My name is Smimf.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Gustav said. He unrolled the note and read, his eyes growing wide as he took in everything that Frederic had written. “Criminy Pete! Capey went and got himself kidnapped. Hey, Message Kid, go back and tell Tassels not to do anything stupid without me. Tell him I’ll be there.”

Fig. 5 SMIMF

“Right,” Smimf said. “Only, the name is Smimf.”

“Whatever,” Gustav said.

“And by Tassels, I assume you mean Prince Fre—”

“Yes!” Gustav said. “You assume right. Go.” But by the time he was finished, the messenger had already vanished.

“Angry Man got to go, huh?” Mr. Troll asked.

“Duty calls, Swamp Fuzz,” Gustav said. He’d never admit it to anyone, but he’d been waiting for months to hear from his old friends. He was somewhat annoyed that it was Liam they’d have to rescue, but the thought of a real quest got his blood pumping in a way it hadn’t in ages. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll be back. You’re in charge of lessons while I’m gone.”

“Ha-ha, excellent,” Mr. Troll said. “Troll going to do class on smacking with tree stumps.”

“Good call,” Gustav said. He gathered his things as quickly as he could, mounted Seventeen, and tore off down the long road to Avondell.

As hard as this may be to believe, some people may not like you. These people are called villains. Everyone else will like you.

—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

“kay, people, let’s try it again from the top,” Prince Duncan called out.

He and Snow White had returned to their woodland estate in the forests of Sylvaria shortly after the League of Princes disbanded. And ever since, he’d been working day and night on his guidebook for would-be adventurers. After his exploits with the League, he figured he was the perfect person to write such a manual. Unfortunately, Duncan had a very difficult time remembering why he’d done any of the things he did. To help himself figure out the motives behind his own actions, he started having the local dwarfs act out his past so he could relive it all from a spectator’s point of view. The dwarfs were not happy about this.

“From the top,” Duncan repeated. Clad in his puffy red-and-yellow pantaloons, green felt jacket, and fluffy white neck ruff, he sat on a small chair in his backyard, ready to witness a reenactment of his and Liam’s attempted escape from a heavily guarded bandit camp. He had a quill pen in hand, prepared to take notes. “That means you should start again,” he added.

With heavy sighs, two tired-looking dwarfs plodded out from behind some shrubbery.

“You’re supposed to be running,” Duncan said.

“Imagine it faster,” grumbled Frank, the first dwarf. Sylvarian dwarfs are notoriously cranky by nature, but these particular dwarfs had been dealing with Duncan all day and were in worse moods than usual.

“Can you at least pretend to run? It would help me visualize the scene better,” the prince said. “After all, what you do here today, you do in the name of all hero-dom.”

Flik, the second dwarf, simply pulled down the earflaps of his cap and pretended not to hear.

“All right, then. Carry on,” Duncan said. “Um, enter the Big Bandit!”

A third dwarf, Frak, appeared, dragging slowly behind the first two. He shook his fist halfheartedly at Flik and Frank.

“Don’t forget your line,” Duncan whispered.

“I’ll get you, princes,” Frak said in a flat monotone. Then he paused to pull a beetle out of his beard.

“Oh, no,” Flik recited without emotion. “We’re surrounded.”

Two more dwarfs, Frid and Ferd—playing the entire bandit army—entered on the opposite side, stepping out from behind a birchwood gazebo. Duncan bit his lip in excitement.

“Don’t worry . . . Liam,” Frank said to Flik. “I . . . Prince Duncan . . . have an idea. Throw me at him.”

Flik gave Frank a one-handed shove. Frank shuffled over to Frak, waving his arms limply and mumbling, “Oh, I’m flying through the air.” He stopped and faced Duncan. “Okay, you get all that?” he asked. “We done?”

Duncan leaned back in his seat and scratched his chin. “I still don’t know why I did that,” he said. “Hmmm. ‘Throw me at him.’ Why in the world did that seem like a good idea at the time? We’ll have to try it again. Maybe in reverse this time.”

“Nope. I’m outta here,” Frank said. He and the other dwarfs began to walk away.

“Okay, good idea, Frank,” Duncan said. “We could all use a break. Nice energy, by the way, Frak. And Flik, good line reading, but next time maybe you could sound a little more heroey. Let’s all meet back here in, say, ten minutes? Johnny Peppercorn!” That last bit was Duncan getting distracted by a chipmunk he suddenly decided should be named Johnny Peppercorn. Spontaneously naming random animals was only one of the many odd traits and hobbies that had made Duncan an outcast for most of his life. In fact, until the previous year, there had really been no one other than Snow White whom Duncan could call a friend. But joining the League of Princes changed that. Frederic, Liam, and even Gustav (to an extent) seemed to genuinely care for Duncan. He’d gone from one friend to several in a very short period of time. It was an undeniably positive step for his social life, but it also gave him a false sense of popularity. He believed he was a superstar. And since he never traveled very far outside his own yard, he never ran into any of the Sylvarian citizens who told jokes about him and referred to him as “Prince Dumb-can.”

“I don’t care if it’s going to get Snow White upset—we’ve got to put an end to this,” Flik grumbled to Frank as they walked around a hedge for some privacy. “I’m beginning to lose whatever trace of self-respect I have left.”

“It’s not just these pointless reenactments either,” Frank said. “Everything he does gets on my nerves. I still don’t know why we answer to these stupid names he invented for us.”

“So annoying,” Flik agreed. “Though I suppose it’s an improvement over the old days when Snow White didn’t use names for us at all. She just referred to us by personality traits.”

“Hey, at least Duncan gave you a different name. They both called me Frank!”

“You’ve all got it better than me,” yelled Fork, another dwarf who’d been hiding from Duncan in a nearby wheelbarrow.

“We need to choose our battles wisely,” Flik said. “We can tolerate the name stuff. But this reenactment business needs to stop. Let’s go talk to Snow.”

The dwarfs found Snow White at a picnic table on the other side of the garden, weaving a vest out of sunflower petals. A petite woman, she was practically swimming in a voluminous pink dress adorned with dozens of violet ribbons.

“Good day, boys,” she said cheerily. She was one of the only people alive who seemed to be able to make her eyes twinkle at will. “Having fun?”

“No, we’re not,” Frank said. “We need you to talk to Duncan for us. Tell him to stop making us perform these ridiculous scenes for him.”

Snow shook her head (and then readjusted the wreath of daisies that sat atop her black hair). “As long as Duncan is working on his book, he’s not tempted to wander off—and that’s a good thing,” Snow said. “My husband hasn’t gotten lost in ten whole months—a new record, by the way—and if you fellows stop acting out his memories for him, he’s likely to traipse off into the woods and try to make some bears do it.”

“But he’s been so insufferable ever since he started thinking he’s a hero,” Frank said. “You can’t tell me it doesn’t annoy you, too.”

“Oh, pishposh,” Snow said. “Duncan’s just got more self-confidence now, and I like that.”

“It’s Duncan’s fault we lost our dragon!” Flik griped.

Just then a call rang out from the front garden gates. “Make way for the royal family of Sylvaria!”

Snow burst from her seat and darted over to where Duncan still sat pondering his past. “Dunky, your family is here,” she said.

Duncan stood up and grimaced. “Oh, no. Not them. Not here. They’ll embarrass me in front of the dwarfs,” he whimpered.

Snow put her hands on Duncan’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. “They’re your parents and your sisters,” she said. “Be nice.”

Duncan slumped. “But I’m popular now,” he said. “And they’re so . . . not.”

You see, Queen Apricotta (named after her mother’s favorite fruit) and King King (whose parents liked to keep things simple) were shunned by the very people whom they supposedly ruled. And Duncan’s teenage sisters—twins Mavis and Marvella—were no better off. Those two girls turned weirdness into an art form (dancing to imaginary music, walking pet crickets on leashes, constantly sniffing each other’s hair). Of course, Duncan was just as unpopular as the rest of his family, but he didn’t realize that, which is why, for the past several months, he’d turned down every one of their invitations to come visit the castle. But he couldn’t avoid his family forever.

“First of all, who cares what the dwarfs think?” Snow said. “And secondly, you don’t know for sure that your family is going to do anything embarrassing.”

“Oh, Duncan!” King King called out. “Where are you? I want you to taste this pea I found under my bed.”

The king—who had announced the family’s arrival himself because no servants were willing to travel with them—strode into the yard wearing his favorite pillow-top crown and long, zebra-striped robe. A blue jay zoomed by and snatched a tiny green pea from between the king’s thumb and forefinger. “Oh, well,” King King said.

He opened his arms and beckoned for a hug. Snow nudged Duncan toward him.

“Hello, Dad,” Duncan said as his father wrapped him in a tight embrace.

“Son,” King King said happily. “You’ve grown. Or perhaps I’ve shrunk.”

Queen Apricotta stepped in alongside her husband. She wore her red hair in long pigtails that flopped against her silver gown as she walked. “Hello, hello! It’s nice to see you, Snow,” she said. “Ooh, that rhymed! That was fun. I should say hello to you more often.”

“Good afternoon, Your Highnesses,” Snow said with a curtsy. “And you, too, Mavis. Marvella.”

The stoop-shouldered, inky-haired twins stood behind their mother, both wearing feathered shirts and homemade wings strapped to their backs. Their noses were painted yellow. “We’re owls,” the girls said in unison.

“Fantastic,” Snow said, because that was the best thing she could think to say at the moment. “Would anyone like some tea?”

“Tea!” the king shouted as he finally released Duncan from the hug.

“Tea!” the queen echoed.

“S!” yelled Mavis.

“Q!” yelled Marvella.

“Okay,” said Snow.

“P, X!” added Marvella, who assumed that the game had now changed to calling out two letters at a time.

“D, A!” said Mavis.

“B, K!” said the king.

Duncan leaned over to Snow and whispered, “This could go on for a while.”

“Ooh, the dwarfs are here,” Queen Apricotta noted with delight. “They’re fun.”

“Dwarves,” Frank corrected.

King King crouched down in front of Frak. “Show me how you fellows do birdcalls. You do such wonderful birdcalls.”

“He’s squatting,” Frak complained to no one in particular.

“I can do a crow song. Want to hear?” the king said. He stood up and puffed out his chest. “Ka-caw! Ka-caw!”

“I learned a song about dwarfs,” the queen announced.

“Dwarves,” said Frank.

“I think it goes like this,” Apricotta continued. “Dwarfs, dwarfs, dwarfs, dwarfs! Dwarfs, dwarfs, dwarfs, dwarfs!”

The twins started pulling feathers from each other’s costumes and blowing them at Frid and Ferd.

Duncan whispered to Snow again, “I can’t tell if this is going well or not.”

Flik walked over to Frank and pointed to the garden gate. There was another person standing out there.

“I’ll handle it,” Frank said, and eagerly darted away from the chaos.

Smimf, the messenger, was waiting at the entrance to the yard. Frank eyed him suspiciously.

“Excuse me, sir,” Smimf said. “I’m looking for Prince Duncan.”

“He’s busy,” Frank said. “What do you want?”

“I have a message here for Prince Duncan.” He held up the note.

“Give it here,” Frank said.

“I have strict orders that the message is only to be delivered to Prince Duncan.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s me,” Frank said. “I’m Prince Duncan.”

“Then here you are, sir, Your Highness, sir.” Smimf handed over the note.

Frank’s eyes lit up as he read Frederic’s letter. “Hey, kid, wait here,” he said, and he started back into the yard.

“Yes, sir, Your Highness, sir,” the messenger said. “And my name is Smimf.”

Frank stopped. “Duncan gave you that name, didn’t he?”

“I thought you were Duncan, sir, Your Highness, sir,” Smimf said with a tinge of horror.

“Nah, but I’m gonna go get him.” Frank dashed off.

Smimf swallowed hard. My second job ever, and I’ve already muffed it up, he thought.

Frank returned several minutes later with Duncan and Flik.

“What’s this all about, Frank?” Duncan asked as the dwarfs pulled him to the gate.

“Read this,” Frank said. He shoved the note into Duncan’s hands.

“Sorry, sir, Your Highness, sir,” Smimf said. “I thought the other gentleman was you.”

“Really?” Duncan asked, looking up. “But I’m famous.”

“Just read,” Frank urged.

Duncan finished reading the letter. “Does this mean what I think it means?” he asked.

“Knowing you, probably not,” Frank said. “It means one of your Prince Charming buddies got kidnapped. And you need to go help rescue him.”

“That’s sort of almost what I thought it meant,” Duncan said, feeling rather happy with himself.

“So, go,” Frank said. He handed Duncan a small sack. “I’m sure this bag has whatever you’ll need.”

“Well, I’m not certain how to get to Avondell,” Duncan said. “Although I’m sure I can figure it out.”

“Oh, no,” said Flik. “We don’t want you getting lost and circling back here.”

“That’s why you’re gonna go with this kid here.” Frank pointed to Smimf.

“Oh, um, yes, sir, Your Highness, sir,” the messenger said. “The name’s Smimf. I can lead you there. But I’m pretty fast. I hope you can keep up.”

Flik dashed off to the stable and came back leading a dappled brown-and-white horse.

“Ah, Papa Scoots Jr.!” Duncan said. “He’s a speedy steed. I’m sure he can keep up with your horse, Mr. Smimf.”

“It’s just Smimf, sir, Your Highness, sir. And I don’t use a horse.”

“No horse?” Duncan questioned as Flik and Frank hoisted him up onto Papa Scoots Jr. “Walking will take forever, though.”

“Not for me, sir, Your Highness, sir,” Smimf said. “I’ve got these special boots. Seven-league boots, they’re called.”

“Seven leagues! We princes only have one,” Duncan said. “Do the members of all seven leagues get to wear such snazzy boots?”

“A league is a measure of distance, sir, Your Highness, sir. Three miles. The boots let me take very long steps. But I can go slower so you can follow me.”

“That is so neat,” Duncan said. “And please, tell me about the rest of your ensemble. I’d never considered wearing short-pants with a scarf and hat, but I admit it’s quite fetching.”

“Oh, well, the boots make me run really fast,” Smimf answered, “which makes my legs get hot, so I wear the shorts. But when I move with that kind of speed, the wind makes my upper half rather cold. So I wear the woolens. It all works out quite well when I’m running. Though it can get uncomfortable when I’m standing still. Like now.” He pulled off his hat and rung out a bit of his dripping, sweaty hair.

“You two can chat about fashion on the way,” Frank said impatiently. “You’re wasting time. Leave now.”

“Yeah, before Snow White sees,” added Flik.

Duncan winced. “Ooh, Snow. I’d better talk to her about this before I go.”

“There’s no time; your friend is in danger,” Frank said. “We’ll talk to Snow for you. Don’t worry.”

“You sure?” Duncan asked. “But what if—”

“This is hero business, remember?” Frank said. “The world needs you. Or something like that. She’ll understand. Now go.”

“Well, you are right about my hero responsibilities,” Duncan said. “But—”

“Go!” Frank barked.

“All right,” Duncan said. “Lead the way, Mr. Smimf.”

Smimf took one step and seemed to vanish into thin air.

“Huh? I didn’t even see which direction he went,” Duncan said, stunned.

Smimf reappeared. “Sorry, sir, Your Highness, sir. I’ve got to remember to keep it slower. Let’s try again.” He ran off at a startling speed, but Duncan was at least able to see him this time.

“Onward, Papa Scoots Jr.!” Duncan shouted, and rode off after the messenger.

Frank rubbed his hands together. He’d gotten rid of Duncan. And the royal family had Snow in such a tizzy that it would probably be hours before she realized her husband was missing. Frank and Flik did something very rare for Sylvarian dwarfs: They smiled.

You’re never too young to start being a hero. Practice dueling one-handed so you never need to drop your blankie.

—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

“ow do you like your new throne?” asked Princess Briar Rose. She looked as smug and superior as ever, standing on the red carpet of her statue-lined royal reception chamber in Avondell Palace. She wore a ruby-studded gown and sapphire-tipped shoes. Her arms were covered by long silk gloves that were only slightly whiter than her bone-pale skin, and a diamond tiara was tucked into the mountain of thick auburn hair piled atop her head. She crossed her arms and flashed a self-satisfied grin at Liam, who sat before her in a gold-plated, velvet-cushioned super-seat.

“I’d like it better if I wasn’t chained to it,” Liam said. Iron shackles bound his ankles to the legs of the throne. “Seriously. My feet are going numb. Can we loosen these cuffs a bit?”

“Sorry if your tootsies are sore, Tough Guy,” Briar snickered. “Better get used to it. How else can I make sure you don’t try to run before the wedding?”

“I don’t understand any of this,” Liam said. “You obviously hate me. Why would you want to be tied to me for the rest of your life?”

“Haven’t we been through this before, Lover Boy?” she said. “It’s destiny. You were promised to me when we were both eensy-weensy babies. And when something is promised to me, I make sure I get it.”

Liam couldn’t argue those facts. Back when Briar was an infant and he was only three years old, their parents made arrangements for the two to someday be married. But Briar ended up spending the majority of her life hiding from an evil fairy’s curse, and when Liam woke her from an enchanted slumber and finally got to meet her in person, he discovered she’d become a spoiled brat. He called off the wedding—and in doing so earned himself the scorn of both their kingdoms.

“But I still don’t get why you want to marry me. You spent the last year spreading lies about me and destroying my reputation,” Liam said bitterly. “Your people despise me. Do you think they’ll be happy to see me by your side?”

“They will feel however I tell them to feel,” Briar said. “I’m pretty much a goddess around here. And besides, nobody cares about your precious little reputation. You’re just here to be eye candy.”

That comment struck a nerve (not the eye candy bit—the part about Liam’s reputation). “You’ve tried to take everything from me just to be spiteful,” he said coldly. “But no matter what people may think, I know who I am. Being a hero is all I have lived for—ever since I was three years old and I saved the lives of your parents.”

Briar chuckled. “Oh, yes, that’s right—those two professional assassins you managed to beat up when you were just a toddler,” she said. “Nothing about that story ever seemed—oh, I don’t know—a wee bit fishy to you?”

“Look,” Liam said, “if you’re going to force me to marry you, why drag it out? Why aren’t you calling a cleric in here right now to perform the ceremony and get it over with?”

Briar shook her head in disbelief. “I’m a princess, darling. And not just any princess. I’m heir to the throne of the richest kingdom on the continent. I am having a proper royal wedding: platinum coach pulled by two dozen white horses, ninety-eight-piece marching band, cannons blasting a salute, thirty-foot-tall bouquets of flowers most people thought were extinct, little mesh bags of those pink and white candied almonds—everything!”

“And the groom in chains?” Liam asked.

“Why not?” Briar said dismissively. “I’m going to look so fabulous, most people won’t even notice you anyway. Seriously, look at us next to each other.” She sat down in the throne next to Liam’s and struck a regal pose.

“Adore me, people,” she commanded.

The dozens of servants and guards who had been standing silently along the marble walls suddenly came alive with awestruck gasps and murmurs of admiration. Several clasped their hands to their chests or fanned themselves. A few pretended to faint.

One man did nothing.

“Ahem! Ruffian,” Briar scolded. “I don’t hear any oohing and aahing coming from under that dreary hood of yours.”

Ruffian the Blue, the most notorious bounty hunter alive, stood stoically between two bronze statues of dancing goddesses. “I’m not paid to ooh,” he said. “Or to aah.”

Briar scowled at him. “But I pay you to do a lot of other things, Grizzle Face,” she sneered. “And if you’d like to receive the gold you’re due for those tasks, I’d better start hearing some adoration.”

Ruffian took a deep breath. “Ooh,” he said flatly. “Aah.”

“You’re not impressing anyone, Briar,” Liam said.

“I beg to differ,” she said. She looked to her guards: “Men?”

“We’re impressed!” they all shouted in unison.

Liam shook his head. “I pity you, Briar. I can’t imagine how hollow I would feel if I knew that none of the praise or admiration I got was genuine.”

Briar’s eyes lit up. “You know what, Hubby-to-be?” she said. “Since you don’t seem to appreciate your insanely gorgeous throne anyway, I’m going to set you up with cozier accommodations. Guards! Unchain the prince and take him down to Dungeon Level B. Cell 842. And throw in some extra rats.”

“Do your worst, Briar,” Liam said as a pair of guards unshackled him from the throne and began to haul him away. “Go ahead and try to wear me down. You’ll never get me to say ‘I do’ at that wedding.”

“Oh, I will. I have ways of getting people to do what I want,” Briar said with assurance. “And after the wedding, it will be even easier,” she added, almost to herself.

As Liam was dragged away, Briar lounged back in her throne and thrust her arms out to either side. “Buff me!” she commanded.

Two servants rushed to her and vigorously began shining her overlong fingernails with baby seal pelts.

Liam was led down a gorgeously tiled corridor, the walls of which were festooned with ribbons of spun bronze. The people of Avondell prized ornamentation and beauty above all else. Absolutely nothing in the palace was allowed to look plain or ordinary. Even the soldiers in Avondell were natty dressers: The two guards escorting Liam wore blue suede jackets and silver pin-striped pants. On their way to the stairwell, they passed a cleaning boy who was hard at work sweeping.

“Don’t step in the dirt pile,” Liam helpfully warned his captors. As the two guards looked down, Liam quickly reached out, snatched the broom from the cleaning boy’s hands, and bashed it over the heads of his two armed escorts, cracking the long handle in two.

“Aw, man,” the cleaning boy griped. “They make us buy our own brooms, you know!”

“Sorry!” Liam shouted as he dashed away down the corridor. While the two disoriented guards struggled to their feet, the fugitive prince zipped around a corner. Straight ahead of him was an open window, an easy path to freedom. But before leaping through it, he paused.

Briar is planning more than just a wedding, he thought. I’ve got to figure what.

As the footsteps of the pursuing guards echoed from around the corner, Liam abandoned the window and darted up the nearest staircase. He’d heard Briar brag about the view from her top-story bedroom, so he headed straight to the upper level. As he dashed down hallways looking for a room that could be hers, he ran past several surprised servants and even a few befuddled guards.

“New prince here,” he announced as he sprinted by and waved. “Just taking a tour of the place!”

He turned down a corridor that dead-ended in a door that was framed by a twisted border of thorny vines and bright red roses. Thank you, Briar, for having just as little subtlety as I’d hoped.

He strode up to the two sentries flanking the door and said, “How goes it, my good men?”

“Um, okay?” one answered.

Liam slammed their heads together, sending both men to the ground. He opened the door and stepped over the unconscious guards into Briar’s room. I’ve got to make this quick, he thought as he glanced around the room. He saw a carved ivory bed, platinum-plated vanity, dress dummies draped in extravagant gowns, framed portraits of Briar doing things she obviously never did (like taming a panther and throwing a spear into the moon). If Briar had some diabolical secret, where would she hide it? he asked himself. Someplace not even her maids would go. But someplace that has special meaning to her. Hmm. What has special meaning to Briar? Briar has special meaning to Briar! “The mirror!”

He dashed to Briar’s full-length dressing mirror, reached behind it, and instantly found the latch to a hidden compartment. “Man, I’m good,” he said as he pulled out what appeared to be the princess’s personal journal. What he saw when he flipped through the pages made him shudder. There was a map, which Briar had labeled “The Kingdoms Fall.” On it, the nations surrounding Avondell had all been numbered and X’ed out. The notes scribbled beside each eliminated nation were as baffling as they were unsettling. Next to Erinthia (#1) was scrawled, “Marry in. Simple enough.” But by Valerium (#2) Briar had written, “King abdicates throne”; and by Hithershire (#3) it said, “Royal family imprisoned.” Liam saw his friends’ kingdoms on the list as well: Sturmhagen—“Army disbanded”; Harmonia—“Scandal ousts king”; Sylvaria—“Monarchs disappear into wilderness.” But none of these events had occurred. Was Briar able to see the future? Or was she planning on making these things happen herself? Was she plotting a takeover?

It made sense, Liam thought. Briar never stopped wanting. And when you already own a kingdom, what is there left to yearn for but more kingdoms? The only question was how she planned to do it. What was the key to her scheme?

He turned the page and saw: “The key is JJDG!”

Well, that sort of helps, Liam thought. But what the heck does JJDG mean?

He kept reading.

“I’m so close I can taste it. It all begins with the wedding. Then JJDG. Then—”

Liam was startled by the sound of footsteps running up the hall outside. He quickly shut the diary and slapped it back into its hiding place behind the mirror as his two frustrated prison guards rushed into the room.

“Here I am, gentlemen,” Liam said, holding up his hands in the air. He was going to have to play along with Briar until he could find out more. “I give up. Take me back to Briar Rose. I’ll do whatever she wants.”

The men grabbed Liam’s wrists and pulled them behind his back. “We’ll give her the message,” said one prison guard. “But you’re crazy if you think we’re not following through on her orders first. She said dungeon, so dungeon it’s going to be.”

“Yup,” said the second guard while holding up a squirming burlap sack. “I’ve got the extra rats right here.”

Liam went quietly this time, and moments later he was thrown into cell 842 on Dungeon Level B, a tiny stone room containing nothing more than a pile of hay on the floor and a few lovely landscape paintings on the walls (this was still Avondell, after all). The guards emptied a bag of live, skittering rats into the cell with Liam and then slammed the iron-bar door shut with a loud clang. A second later, the rats all scampered back out between the bars and ran off down the hall. The guards shrugged and walked away.

“That happens every time,” came a rickety voice from the cell across the corridor. A scrawny older man with a wild, knee-length beard waved to Liam from behind iron bars of his own. A second prisoner, just as hairy and emaciated as the first, stood by his side.

Fig. 6 CREMINS and KNOBLOCK

“They always seem to think the rats will stay in the cells for some reason,” the second man said. “But of course they don’t. If I were that size, I’d have slipped through these bars ages ago. I don’t know why you don’t leave, Kippers.” That last bit was addressed to something sitting on the floor of the men’s cell.

“Is he talking to that piece of straw?” Liam asked cautiously.

“Shhh,” the first man whispered. “He thinks it’s a wiener dog. We’ve been in here a very long time.”

“Hah! You ain’t kidding,” the second man said, picking up the piece of straw and petting it. “You know, I was clean-shaven when they first put me in here. Had a chin so shiny it could light up a room. Ain’t that right, Kippers?”

Wow, these men must have been jailed here since long before Briar Rose’s reign of terror, Liam thought. “What are you two in for?” he asked.

“Attempted assassination,” the first man said. “We’re innocent, of course—but I got tired of saying that after about the eighth or ninth year.”

“Ooh! And now we get to guess why you’re locked up!” the second man hooted, hopping up and down on his calloused feet. “We don’t get to play this game very often; it’s exciting. Okay, lemme see. . . . You’re wearing a cape, so . . . I’ve got it! You’re a cape thief! They don’t tolerate stealing another man’s cape around these parts.”

“Nah, you’re all wrong, Knoblock. Look at him,” the first man countered. “Flowy shirt cuffs, spiffy belt buckle—not to mention that lustrous head of hair. He’s the swashbuckling type. You were doing a stealing-from-the-rich thing, weren’t you, kid?”

Liam shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no. I’m just here for safekeeping until Briar Rose marries me.”

The two old prisoners gaped in astonishment. “Could it be?” the first asked, his frail voice quivering. “Are you the kid from Erinthia?”

Liam took a step closer, peering through his cell door at the other men. “I am Prince Liam of Erinthia. Who are you?”

The prisoners gripped the bars of their cell and howled with glee.

“Well, I’ll be dipped in griffin dung!” the man named Knoblock cried. “Finally!”

“You’ve got to get us out of here,” the other said with desperation.

“Well, if you really are innocent men, I’ll do what I can,” Liam began. “But I’d need proof that you’re not actually assassins before I—”

“Of course we’re not really assassins!” Knoblock hollered. “You were practically a baby! Your father hired us!”

“My father? What are you talking about?”

The slightly more rational of the two men put his hands on Knoblock’s shoulders to calm him down, then said to Liam, “I’m Aldo Cremins. This is Varick Knoblock. We were actors. And good ones, too. We had fantastic careers in the Erinthian theater. People would line up around the block to see us onstage.”

“Cremins and Knoblock. You must have heard of us,” Knoblock said. He dropped into a goofy, bowlegged stance, elbowed his partner, and said in a fake nasally voice, “Hey, Cremins, what’s the difference between a goblin and a hobgoblin?”

“I don’t know, Knoblock,” Cremins replied in an equally ridiculous voice. “Please enlighten me. What is the difference between a goblin and a hobgoblin?”

“A goblin will eat your cat,” Knoblock said. “And so will a hobgoblin.”

Both men spun around to face Liam with big smiles and waggling jazz hands. Liam simply stared.

“Did we do that right?” Cremins asked, dropping the silly voice. “I don’t think that was the original punch line.”

“That would explain why it wasn’t funny,” Knoblock said.

“Could you please just finish your story?” Liam asked.

“Well, anyway, we were hot stuff once upon a time,” Cremins said. “But that was all before King Gareth hired us to make sure you won a certain contest.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liam said.

“You couldn’t have been more than three at the time,” Cremins said. “People from all over the world were showing off their kids here in Avondell so the king and queen could pick a future husband for their baby princess, Briar Rose.”

“Well, of course I know that,” Liam said. “That’s how I ended up engaged to Briar in the first place. But no one helped me win. The royal couple picked me because I saved their lives. That was the most important day of my life—the day I first became a hero. I single-handedly stopped two masked assassins from attacking . . .”

The two men pulled their beards up to cover their faces.

“Oh, man. Two assassins. It was you.”

They nodded.

“You were actors?” Liam asked, his horror growing by the second. “And my father . . . ?”

“King Gareth set the whole thing up,” Cremins explained. “He said it was the only way he could be certain you would be chosen to marry Briar Rose. We always enjoyed a challenge, so we took the job. Of course, Gareth also assured us we’d get away somehow.”

Liam’s mouth hung open as he shook his head silently.

“We also assumed he would have told you about our little charade at some point,” Cremins said. “To be honest, I feel kinda bad for you right now. You look like a kid who just had his pet goldfish served to him for dinner.”

“I’ve based my entire life around that moment,” Liam said, his voice hushed and his words slow. “My first act of heroism was really an act of deception. It’s all a lie.”

“Yeah, we feel all sorry for you and everything,” Knoblock said. “But you’re gonna get us out of here now, right? You’re gonna tell everybody we didn’t do it?”

“You are gonna make sure we’re freed, right, kid?” Cremins added hopefully.

Liam sat down on his pile of hay and said nothing. “Why couldn’t I see it before?” he mumbled as his mind flooded with thoughts of his past escapades, every flub and blunder suddenly seeming like a colossal failure. “So many mistakes . . . I lost to the bandits, to the witch, to the dragon, to Briar, to a ten-year-old boy. . . . I never actually saved any of my friends, did I? In fact, I almost got each of them killed. Several times. Everybody looked up to me and believed in my plan. But my plan didn’t work. I’m no strategist. I’ve based everything I’ve done around a skill I don’t even have.”

“Kid?” Cremins called gently.

But Liam didn’t hear him. “Briar Rose is going to take over the world. I’m the only one who knows about it. The people need a hero. But all they’ve got is . . . me.”

Planning is an essential skill for any hero. If you begin something and don’t know how to end it, then, well . . .

—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

“o you think they’ll show?” Ella asked. She and Frederic crouched within a small circle of elms outside the back gates of Avondell Palace.

“I hope so,” Frederic said. “I’ve been seeing guests go in through the front gates all morning. The wedding is probably going to begin soon.”

“C’mon, where are you guys?” Ella muttered under her breath as she peered anxiously between the trees.

“Well, whatever happens, these past few days have been quite enjoyable,” Frederic said. “You and I, dashing across the countryside together, holding secret meetings and such. Very exciting, no? Almost makes me wish it didn’t all have to end in a perilous prison break.”

Ella was barely listening. “Look, Frederic, the others are no-shows. You and I have to do this alone.” She patted the sword hanging at her side and saw Frederic tremble slightly. “Take it easy, Frederic. We can—” A figure appeared suddenly between them as if erupting from the very air itself. Ella reacted on instinct, shoving Frederic out of the way and hauling off with a gut punch that knocked the intruder flat on his back.

“Your messages have been delivered, sir, Your Highness, sir,” Smimf wheezed from the grass where he lay.

“Oh, my goodness,” Ella exclaimed. “I’m so sorry!”

“My fault,” Smimf said, holding his belly. “Got to learn not to startle people like that. I did it to my grandmother once, and she reacted the same way. Only she’s got a metal hand.”

A second later, a dappled horse galloped out of the trees, with Duncan at the reins. “Oh, dear!” Duncan cried when he saw Frederic and Ella bent over the fallen messenger. “That boy ran so fast he melted, didn’t he?”

“I’m fine, sir, Your Highness, sir,” Smimf said as Ella pulled him back to his feet.

“Duncan!” Frederic shouted.

“Frederic!” Duncan exclaimed. And promptly fell off his horse. He scrambled to his feet and enveloped Frederic in a hug.

“It’s so good to see you,” Frederic said.

“Likewise,” Duncan replied. “You’re exactly how I remember you. But in different clothes.”

“Thank you for coming, Duncan,” Ella said.

“Oh, I’d do anything for my friends,” Duncan said with a goofy grin. “Um, what are we doing again?”

Ella pointed to a large wall just outside the trees that was decorated with huge mosaic rainbows. “We have to break into that palace garden before Briar Rose marries Liam,” she said.

“Weddings always make me cry,” Duncan said.

“Duncan, we’re not here to see the wedding,” Frederic said. “We’re here to stop it.”

Duncan shrugged. “I still might cry.”

“Oh, by the way, sir, Your Highness, sir,” Smimf said. “Prince Gustav told me to tell you that he would be here as well.”

“Timely news delivery, Short-Pants,” Gustav said as he rode up on his warhorse. The brawny prince’s armor clattered as he jumped to the ground. “So when do we get to fight?”

Duncan rushed in for a hug, but Gustav sidestepped, allowing his friend to face-plant into a nearby tree. Feeling slightly bad about this, Gustav treated Duncan to a pat on the head. Duncan was satisfied.

“Hey, Mr. Mini-Cape, I see you’ve got yourself a ride this time,” Gustav said, noticing Duncan’s horse.

“Ah, yes,” Duncan said. “Allow me to introduce Papa Scoots Jr. As you surely remember, the original Papa Scoots ran away last year. I thought I’d never have a horse like that again. But as luck would have it, one autumn morning, this fine beast wandered into Papa Scoots’s old stable. To make it even more of a coincidence, he looks exactly like Papa Scoots! So I had to name him Papa Scoots Jr. It’s like fate.”

“Um, Duncan,” Frederic said tentatively. “Did you ever consider that maybe Papa Scoots just found his way back home? That this is Papa Scoots?”

“Impossible,” Duncan said. “Papa Scoots hated me.” And with that, Papa Scoots Jr. kicked Duncan into a bush.

“All right, we’ve got business to attend to,” Gustav said. “Enough horsing around.”

Frederic chuckled. “That was funny, Gustav.”

Gustav frowned. “It wasn’t meant to be. What are we waiting for? I heard you guys say the wedding was going to start any minute now. How do we get in?”

“Well, for that we need one more person,” Frederic said. A rustling rose from some nearby shrubbery. “I hope that’s her now.”

Lila struggled between two bushes, snagging her very expensive-looking magenta gown on several branches as she did (not that it seemed to bother her at all). “Hey, you’re all here,” the girl said happily.

Lila, Liam’s tweenage sister, shared her bother’s coffee-toned complexion and green eyes. She had the sleeves of her gown rolled up, and her chestnut hair curled into tight ringlets that bounced like little springs when she walked. (The hairstyle was completely her mother’s idea.)

Ella and Frederic introduced her to the other princes.

“Lila has a way to sneak us into the wedding,” Frederic explained. “We knew that, as a member of the groom’s family, she would have an invitation. So we figured she’d be the perfect inside man—or girl—for this job.”

“Happy to do it,” Lila said. “Follow me, everybody. We don’t have much time. The music has started, and the circus people are already performing.”

“Circus people?” Frederic asked, suddenly looking as if someone had a sword pointed at his heart. “What circus?”

“Oh, it’ll be a great diversion, actually,” Lila said. “Briar’s got some acrobats from the Flimsham Brothers Circus warming up the crowd for her.”

“Flimsham?” Frederic gulped. He took a staggering step backward and gripped a nearby tree trunk for support. “I can’t go out there.”

“Why not?” Ella asked.

“El Stripo,” Frederic said.

Ella, Gustav, and Duncan responded with a collective “Ahhh.” They’d all heard the story of how King Wilberforce used El Stripo—the Flimsham Brothers’ talented circus tiger—to terrify Frederic when he was a little boy. The experience of being engulfed by the mouth of a raging tiger (even a toothless one) had scarred him for life.

“Don’t worry, Frederic. I’m sure that same tiger isn’t still with the circus,” Ella said. “Do tigers even live that long?”

“Not when I’m around,” Gustav quipped.

“Let’s work this out scientifically,” Duncan said, tapping a finger to his head. “A tiger is what you get when a cat and a zebra have a baby. Cats have an average lifespan of about ten years, while zebras get about twenty-five—”

“Guys!” Lila said sharply. “Anyone who’s part of this rescue needs to come with me now.” She turned and began to head through the trees.

“She’s right; let’s go,” Frederic said. He turned to Smimf. “I’ll pay you a bonus if you stay here and watch our horses.”

“Absolutely, sir, Your Highness, sir,” Smimf said. “I don’t think they’re going to do much. But I’ll watch.”

Frederic and the others trailed after Lila as she sneaked along the palace’s outer wall.

“I bribed a guard to open the back gate and then disappear, so that’s your way in,” Lila whispered. “The wedding is being held in the big garden behind all the animal-shaped hedges. They’ve already got Liam out there, chained to the altar.”

As soon as they were on the palace grounds, huddled together on a cobblestone path, Gustav closed the gate behind them. There was a loud clink as its bolt-lock fell back into place.

Lila frowned. “I hope that wasn’t your escape route,” she said.

Awkward pause.

“Oh, man,” Lila said, growing distraught. “You guys don’t actually know how you’re going to rescue Liam, do you?”

“Well,” Frederic said. “We figured out how to get inside the gates.”

“I got you inside the gates,” Lila said in a harsh whisper. “Me—the kid! What are you going to do from here?”

“Liam’s really the planner of our team,” Frederic said, trying to hide his face in the collar of his jacket.

Ella cleared her throat. This was the kind of test-your-mettle challenge she’d been longing for. A year earlier, when she fled Frederic’s palace in search of adventure, she had ended up getting more than her fair share of thrills. But despite several near-death experiences, she’d been aching for more action ever since. “Don’t worry, Lila. I can think quick on my feet. Remember how you and I dealt with those goblins last summer? We’ll figure this out, too. Trust me.”

Lila did trust Ella. “Okay,” she said. Suddenly the sounds of trumpets, drums, and glockenspiels filled the air, followed by explosive bursts of cannon fire.

“It’s starting!” Lila said. “I’ve got to get back to my seat. Good luck!” And she dashed off to find her place among the wedding guests.

Ella surveyed the rows upon rows of hedges cut to resemble animals like bobcats, dragons, elephants, and guinea pigs (generations of Avondellian royal gardeners had been working toward the goal of having a shrub shaped like every animal in existence; after seven decades of working alphabetically, they’d only gotten as far as “iguana”).

“Come on, we need to hurry,” Ella said brusquely. She drew her sword and headed for the topiary bushes.

“Wait, who put you in charge?” Gustav asked.

“The bards did,” Ella said.

Gustav huffed but scrambled after her anyway.

“What’s the plan?” Frederic asked.

“See that tree in the far corner? That’s our new escape route,” Ella said in the gruff tone she imagined all military commanders used. “We bust Liam out of his chains, climb that tree, and head back out over the wall.”

“And if anybody gets in our way?” Frederic asked.

“We knock them down,” Ella answered.

Gustav grinned. “I think I like you, Boss Lady.”

The quartet crawled between the legs of a buffalo-shaped hedge. From beneath the “belly” of the bush, they looked out on the wedding. At least five hundred silver chairs had been set up in the enormous garden, and every one of them held a dignified, important, and very wealthy guest. Behind the audience, practically hidden by massive arrangements of roses, orchids, lilies, and snapdragons, stood dozens of musicians playing what was presumably a wedding march. (The song sounded more like a battle hymn than a bridal tune, but hey, that’s Briar Rose. . . . ) In grandstand bleachers behind the band there were at least a thousand more guests—ordinary citizens of both Erinthia and Avondell who had paid nearly a year’s wages to attend the grand event.

Fig. 7 Decorative TOPIARIES

Above the crowd, tightrope walkers—all of whom were costumed to look like Briar Rose, complete with giant wigs—sashayed along a pair of high wires that ran from the palace roof to the top of the wisteria-covered pergola behind the altar. Below them, along a long red carpet that ran down a wide center aisle, acrobats in formal wear cartwheeled in time to the orchestra music, while top-hatted clowns pretended to pluck large, lustrous rubies from the ears of audience members.

The red carpet ended at a raised altar, on which stood Liam, dressed in an exquisite royal-blue tunic and shimmering white cape trimmed with gold filigree. But his attire was the only elegant thing about him. His shoulders were slumped, his head drooped nearly to his chest, and his normally stylish hair hung limply over his face. His left leg was chained to the decoratively carved oak pulpit that rose up from the center of the altar.

“I love the cape,” Duncan said. “But the rest of him looks terrible.”

“He looks even more mopey than when we first met him,” Gustav added.

In truth, Liam was in worse shape than any of them even realized. In the four days since he’d spoken to Cremins and Knoblock, he hadn’t eaten so much as a crumb and had no sleep whatsoever. He was in such a stupor that a pair of attendants had to literally drag him down the aisle and prop him up at the altar.

Ella refused to dwell on Liam’s sad state. “Gustav, do you think you could rip that pulpit out of the ground?” she asked.

“Without breaking a sweat,” Gustav said.

“Then that’s how we free him,” Ella said.

“What about all those frowning men with long, pointy things?” Duncan asked. Soldiers armed with tall poleaxes were positioned throughout the garden, with several standing guard around Liam on the altar.

“There are too many. We can’t take on all of them,” Ella said.

“Aw, now I’m starting to like you less,” Gustav muttered.

“We need a distraction,” Ella said.

“My specialty!” Duncan beamed. He hiked up his pantaloons and crawled off toward the rear of the crowd.

“Wait!” Frederic said. “What if you get caught?”

“You guys are about to rescue Liam,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing on Earth. “Once he’s free, he’ll just rescue me.” He scuttled off on his hands and knees.

Just then a collective gasp rose from the crowd of wedding guests. A giant hot-air balloon had floated into view and was hovering over the altar. From the basket of that craft emerged the Archcleric of Avondell, the kingdom’s highest-ranking clergyman. The red-robed, white-haired cleric stepped to the edge of the craft’s basket, blew kisses down to the audience, and—to the sound of even louder gasps—stepped out into thin air. Or so it seemed. The holy man was wearing a harness, and two burly circus workers in the balloon were lowering him down by rope. The Archcleric descended to his spot behind the pulpit with his arms spread to the sides, like an eagle soaring down to roost on a tree branch. After landing, he adjusted his pointy, gold-flecked hat while another servant dashed up to disconnect his harness. Nearly everyone burst into applause, including Frederic.

“I know Briar Rose is the enemy here,” he said, nodding appreciatively. “But she knows how to put on a show.”

The Archcleric took a bow and gestured toward the far end of the aisle, where the bride was about to make her entrance. The guests turned to watch.

As the sound of thundering drums filled the courtyard, Briar Rose rode out of the palace on a unicorn. She wore a sparkling, diamond-studded bridal gown with a train so long that she was halfway down the aisle before the end of it finally emerged from the palace. An elaborate headdress—which included several live, tweeting tropical birds—was entwined around her swaying pillar of hair. Her fingers were covered with so many jeweled rings that it was impossible to bend a knuckle. The unicorn also wore a gown.

As Briar slowly made her way toward the altar, waving and blowing kisses to the audience, she allowed herself a moment to glare triumphantly at Liam. “I told you so,” she mouthed silently at him, and she smiled as she saw him slump halfway to the floor. But when Briar was about two-thirds of the way down the aisle, Duncan burst out from under the chair of a monocle-wearing baron, pointing and shouting, “Jenny von Hornhorse!”

The unicorn stopped and reared, its dress billowing. The orchestra froze mid-note. Everyone stared, dumbfounded, at the strangely dressed little man who now stood in the center of the aisle like a roadblock.

“Isn’t Jenny von Hornhorse the perfect name for her?” Duncan said, smiling.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” Briar hissed between her teeth. “Get back to your seat or I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon with a sack full of rats.”

Duncan didn’t move. Briar tried to steer her mount around him, but each time she got the animal to take a step left or right, Duncan countered by leaping in front of it again. “It’s like we’re dancing,” he said.

Several guards started to rush toward her, but Briar raised her hands to stop them. “Stay back!” she commanded. “No violence near the dress!”

She leaned down to snarl at Duncan. “Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”

“I love unicorns!” Duncan cried, throwing his arms around the creature’s neck.

While everyone’s eyes were glued to the spectacle in the center aisle, Ella, Frederic, and Gustav crept to the back of the altar platform.

“Psst!” Frederic whispered.

Liam looked down and wondered if he was hallucinating. Ella held a finger to her lips. The guards at Liam’s sides were still staring at Duncan—who was now running his fingers through the unicorn’s mane and singing to it—but they and the Archcleric were blocking Gustav’s path to the pulpit. The big prince had no idea how to get to it without causing a commotion.

Fig. 8 BRIAR, regal

Briar couldn’t wait another second for Duncan to clear her path. “Forget this,” she muttered, and slid down off the unicorn. Engrossed in serenading the animal, Duncan did nothing to stop her. The orchestra kicked back into music mode, tooting and drumming as Briar marched to the altar.

Lila, who had an aisle seat, casually stuck her leg out and tripped the bride, who fell into a forward roll and got tangled in her gown’s ludicrously long train. The birds in her hair squawked and flapped their wings frantically. Again, guards began to run to Briar’s aid. But she poked her head out from under layers of twisted, sparkling fabric and barked at them, “No one touches the dress!”

“Are you all right, Your Highness?” the Archcleric asked from up on the altar.

“Never better,” Briar snarled as she picked herself up. “Just start the stupid ceremony.”

“It’s now or never,” Ella whispered to the princes. “I’ll take the guard on the left; Frederic, you take the one on the right. Gustav, you get Liam.” She stood up and clubbed one of the guards over the head with the hilt of her sword. The man collapsed.

Frederic attempted to do the same to the other guard. Only the man didn’t fall. He didn’t even react. So Frederic hit him harder. This time the guard flinched a bit. And turned around angrily.

“Sorry,” Frederic said. “My, uh, hand slipped.”

The guard reached for Frederic but was stopped in mid-motion by Ella’s fist slamming into his jaw. Frederic let out a long breath as the guard staggered dizzily off the edge of the platform.

“This is why I’ve been telling you to exercise, Frederic,” Ella chided.

“I do ten neck rolls every morning!” Frederic sputtered.

As shrieks rose from the crowd, Gustav leapt up onto the altar and hoisted the Archcleric over his head. He glanced left and right, not sure of what to do with the holy man.

“Unhand me,” the Archcleric cried.

“Sorry, Church Guy, nothing personal,” Gustav said, before hurling the old man into the front row. The Archcleric landed across the laps of Liam’s parents, who toppled backward in their chairs.

“What is going on?” Briar howled.

As dozens of armed guards charged toward the dais, Gustav grabbed hold of the wooden pulpit and, with a grunt, ripped it from its foundation.

“Yes!” Ella cheered. A guard swung his poleax at her, but she was faster—a quick slice of her sword and the guard’s weapon was in two pieces. She followed up by knocking the man from the dais with a powerful leg sweep—which wasn’t easy to pull off, considering Frederic was crouched behind her, clinging to her waist.

In a daze of exhaustion, hunger, and melancholy, Liam blankly watched the chaos around him. “Is this real life?” he muttered to no one in particular.

Briar, assuming Liam had somehow arranged all this chaos, climbed up onto the platform and confronted him. “This is a rescue attempt?” she scoffed. “What a joke. You’re not going anywhere!”

A contingent of five soldiers reached the end of the aisle, their spears aimed at Gustav.

“Look out!” Frederic cried.

Gustav chucked the pulpit at the guards, bowling them over. Liam was still chained to the pulpit, however, and was whipped off his feet as it flew. He landed on the pile of very unhappy soldiers.

“Oh, starf it all,” Gustav groaned, and smacked himself on the forehead.

Lila sank in her seat, shaking her head.

Duncan, finally noticing the predicament his friends were in, scrambled up onto the unicorn’s back (taking note of how much easier it was to mount an animal that was wearing a dress) and charged up the aisle, shouting, “Tally-ho! Hero coming!”

The soldiers scrambled out of the animal’s way, but Liam was unable to get very far. He was stuck at the end of the aisle, directly in the path of the charging unicorn.

“Whoa!” Duncan yelled. The unicorn skidded to a halt, narrowly avoiding Liam, but the force of the stop catapulted Duncan up in the air. He slammed into Ella just as she was about to finish off the guard she’d been dueling.

Out in the crowd, the monocle-wearing baron turned to his wife and whispered, “This is a very good wedding.”

Seconds later, swarms of guards were on top of the wedding crashers. Duncan, Ella, Frederic, and Gustav were tackled and shackled.

“Well, this has been an interesting turn of events,” Briar said. She stood, smiling down at Liam, who looked in every way like he’d just been chewed up and spat out by a dragon. “You know, I still hadn’t been completely sure how I’d get you to say ‘I do.’ But now I don’t think it will be a problem at all.”

After the bedraggled Archcleric had been retrieved from the audience, the tattered bride and groom took their places once again on either side of the uprooted, overturned pulpit.

The old holy man cleared his throat, adjusted his hat, and began: “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the joining in holy matrimony of Prince Liam of Erinthia and the fair, gentle, wise, generous, sweet-hearted, caring, artistically talented, pleasant-voiced, graceful, punctual, acrobatic—”

“Seriously?” Liam interrupted.

“—and lovely Princess Briar Rose of Avondell. This marriage shall forever unite their two kingdoms. What belongs to Avondell shall now belong to Erinthia; what belongs to Erinthia shall now belong to Avondell.”

Liam’s parents were dancing in their seats.

The Archcleric continued: “Do you, Briar Rose, take Prince Liam to be your husband?”

“I do,” Briar said with a wide, wicked grin.

“And do you, Liam, take Briar Rose to be your wife?”

Liam looked past the cleric to Ella, Frederic, Duncan, and Gustav. They were on their knees in chains, with guards holding sharpened axes over their heads. His eyes lingered on Ella’s the longest.

“I’m a madwoman, right?” Briar whispered. “What do you think I might do to your friends if you say no? Let your imagination run wild.”

Liam eyed her with contempt. He took a deep breath.

“I do,” he said.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the Archcleric said cheerfully.

Ella felt as if her heart had fallen out of her chest.

It is the villains who covet treasure, not the heroes. Unless the treasure in question is a really snazzy belt buckle, in which case, who can resist?

—THE HERO’S GUIDE TO BEING A HERO

“ake way, people of Erinthia! Step aside for your new princess.” Briar Rose was jubilant as she strutted through the bronze-plated front doors of her new husband’s royal palace, while servants and noblemen alike scurried from her path. She rubbed her hands together hungrily as she surveyed the kneeling footmen, priceless urns, and jeweled chandeliers that surrounded her in the palace’s grand entry hall. “My new home away from home,” she said. The first of many, she added to herself.

King Gareth and Queen Gertrude, the rulers of Erinthia, hurried down a wide marble staircase to greet their new daughter-in-law.

“Greetings! Greetings!” Gareth bellowed. “Welcome to the family!”

“We’ve been waiting for this day since our Liam was three years old,” Gertrude said. Just like most of the people in Erinthia, Gareth and Gertrude were interested in the Liam-Briar marriage solely because of Avondell’s enormous wealth—a fact Briar was very much aware of. And she was willing to bet the royal couple would do just about anything to please her.

“Oh, I couldn’t be happier,” Briar said, dripping with false sweetness. “But, Papa— May I call you Papa?”

“Of course, my dear,” said Gareth.

“Papa, I believe your inexcusably unclean entryway got my emerald slippers all dusty,” Briar said. “Could you be a dear and do something about it?” She lifted her foot slightly to show off an elegant shoe that seemed perfectly clean.

“Oh, well, um, we can’t have that, can we? I do apologize,” Gareth said, flustered. He raised his arm and motioned to a servant. “Footman, come here and—”

“Oh, Papa,” Briar said. “I don’t think I need to tell you how unique and valuable these slippers are. I couldn’t trust their cleaning to a mere footman.”

Gareth gulped. He looked over to Gertrude, who nodded vigorously. Gareth cleared his throat and bent down at Briar’s feet. He blew gently on her shoe. “There we go,” the king said. “All better.”

When he began to stand, Briar put her hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “Not quite, Papa,” she said. “They’re still covered in dust.”

King Gareth blew harder and harder at Briar’s emerald slippers; his cheeks inflating like a puffer fish and his thick mustache flapping like a flag in the wind. Queen Gertrude, feeling panicky, crouched down next to her husband and began working on the other shoe, scrubbing at it with the lace cuffs of her gown. Briar grinned.

Liam, who’d been sulking far behind Briar on their journey from Avondell, finally entered the palace hall and saw his parents on their knees, polishing the princess’s shoes.

“You two are pathetic,” he said.

The king and queen quickly stood and smoothed out their clothing as Liam approached them.

“Son, it’s so lovely to see you back home again,” Gareth said.

“We’re so happy you finally came to the right decision regarding this marriage,” Gertrude added. She touched her hand to Liam’s cheek, but he brushed it away.

He leaned over and whispered into his father’s ear, “I know what you did, Father. All those years ago. With the actors whom you left rotting in prison.”

“Humph,” Gareth grunted and whispered back, “I don’t see those two walking around free, so I guess you were smart enough to keep it to yourself.”

“You’re despicable,” Liam hissed.

“I guess it’s hereditary,” the king spat back. And he returned his attention to Briar Rose. “Come, my dear,” he said. “There is so much to show you. This vase back here, for instance, was imported from the treasury in Kom-Pai. It’s over two thousand years old and—”

“Yeah, whatever, I don’t care about that,” Briar said. She walked away from the king. “Where’s your treasure room?”

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