By Ruth A. Acheson

In her pink dress, with her golden hair, the girl looked like a rose—if the flower was human.

I stepped behind a pillar edging the palace portico as she approached. Dashed inconvenient, but I don’t want to shock her when I turn green and slimy.

She paused on the other side of the pillar.

Oh, blast. My valet’s niece. I shuddered, my mind blanked for a moment, and the world spun away from me. When I regained my mental faculties, I crouched on all fours, staring bulbously at the carved pillar—towering above me now. I croaked in annoyance.

Footsteps approached, and the hem of the girl’s pink dress floated into my line of sight. “A frog?” Her voice sounded like a songbird’s melody.

A toad, actually, milady. I stifled the urge to hop away. See how polite I am to the ladies, sorceress? Will you un-toad me now?

The flower-like girl stooped closer to me. “Oh, you’re a toad. I apologize for calling you a frog.”

Apology accepted. I croaked and widened my eyes attempting to look pitiful. Perhaps you could kiss me and I could explain myself?

“You look scared.” The girl extended her hand to me. “What if I took you home to my garden? You’d be more comfortable there than in the palace.”

I hopped backwards, away from her slim fingers. And I’d remain a toad, with no chance to explain myself or get uncursed.

She smiled. “You don’t prefer garden parties? A shame, but I’ll let you alone so you can continue living your best amphibious life here.”

I’ll be hiding because I get turned into a toad whenever a woman is nearby. Not really my best life. I loosed another half-hearted croak.

The girl stood, brushed dirt off her skirts, and walked away, taking her smile and her flowery scent with her. Once she’d disappeared around the corner, my body unfolded.

Having only been cursed for a week, I wasn’t yet used to shapeshifting. I sighed, shook off the dizziness, and strode into the palace, calling for my valet. His brilliance combined with his discretion would be required if his niece would help me break the curse.

Jensen met me halfway up the main staircase. “You hollered, sir?”

“Library,” I commanded. “I’m calling a war council.”

Jensen fell in step with me. “War? Against whom? Is the kingdom in danger, sir?”

“Yes. Sorceresses. No.” At the top of the stairs, I pivoted to my right and burst into the library—a quiet, dim sanctuary where books stood in straight rows, like learned soldiers.

I yanked off my green coat and flopped onto a sofa. “Jensen, I’ll go crazy if I shape-shift once more. Being a daft prince is embarrassing enough, but being a toad… I’m a disgrace.”

“Yes, sir.” Jensen’s forehead wrinkled.

“You aren’t supposed to agree!” I sat up and stared at him. “I saw your niece today. She’s rather pretty, with her golden hair. She smells like flowers, and she talked to me.”

Jensen raised his eyebrows. “To a toad, sir?”

“Yes. To me, as a toad.” I ran a hand through my hair. “She has to kiss me and break the curse.”

“Sir—”

“It’s the only way, Jensen. I’ve learned my lesson—and I wish that sorceress knew it. I’ll never be rude to a woman again.”

“Yes, sir.” Jensen cleared his throat. “How will you convince her to kiss you?”

I groaned. “I’m an idiot for even trying this. If I break her heart, I’ll have an angry valet to contend with.”

Jensen smirked. “Perhaps, sir.”

“I’ll write a note, explaining myself, tell her that I was enchanted by her beauty and ask if she’ll kiss me to break the curse.” I hopped off the sofa and went to the writing desk.

“Any reward, sir?”

“Marriage?” I shrugged. “Help me think, Jensen. That’s your job, after all!”

“I’ll write to Moriah, sir.” Jensen picked up a sheet of paper. “I… will sound less desperate.”

“Very well.” I waved a hand. “Let me know when she replies.”

***

“She said ‘yes?’” I stared at my valet. “Your niece will voluntarily kiss a toad? What sort of girl does that?”

Jensen’s lips twitched. “A kind and courageous one, sir.”

“Where is she?” I brushed my hands down my green coat.

“Moriah is waiting in the rose garden,” Jensen said.

I drew a deep breath. “Very well. Here I go.”

“Sir, I’d wait to propose until Moriah’s better acquainted with you. One kiss doth not a marriage make.”

“Thank you, Jensen.”

He bowed. “I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir.”

I strode out of the palace and into the rose garden. Just as I caught sight of Moriah, whose yellow dress was the same hue as the daylilies, my transformation began. When I regained my senses, I found myself at eye level with the hem of her dress.

“There you are.” She knelt and lifted me from the ground.

Being raised far above the grass, combined with her flowery scent, made me dizzy. I croaked a greeting and did my best to look kissable.

“You’d probably like to be a man again.” Moriah raised her eyebrows. “Here we go.” To her credit, Moriah didn’t close her eyes, shudder, or yank away when we made contact. Her kiss was soft like flower petals and sweet like honey.

My transformation began. I hopped off Moriah’s hand and flopped onto the grassy lawn. My vision blurred; my head swam. I opened my eyes and saw my own hands, no longer green and webby.

“Did it work?” Moriah stood over me, smiling.

I stumbled to my feet, shaking away my dizziness and glad my clothing remained intact during transformation. “Yes!”

“Wonderful.” Her smirk resembled Jensen’s. “Why were you cursed? My uncle didn’t explain that part.”

I smiled and offered her my arm. Take that, sorceress. I’m the picture of politeness now. “I once met a snarky old woman. I was snarky in return…”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ruth A. Acheson is an author, farmer’s daughter, and dreamer from the PNW. She enjoys classic literature, long walks, and creating stories which glorify her Savior and amuse her readers. Although she doesn’t spend her days with Laurie Lawrence, she—like Jo March—clutters her room with apple cores, poetry, and pencils. When she’s not investigating wardrobe worlds, playing the piano, or studying, you can find her website.

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