Hunched over her desk, Snowfall shielded the fairy with her hands. The fairy perused the math problem on the sheet of paper then tapped a tiny hand against Snowfall’s palm.
Tap-tap-tap.
Snowfall wrote the number three.
Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.
Snowfall added the number six.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
The kingdom shimmered in anticipation of the king’s birthday, and Blackguard grimaced at the iced cupcakes, foil balloons, and dragon bobble-heads in shop windows. Beneath his stealthy feet, the cobblestones glistened from a recent scrubbing; around the castle’s main courtyard, the lampposts with
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“I’m going to the tail, Papa!” I rush out the door, pole in hand. “I’m sure I’ll catch a star this time!”
“Wait a tick, young lady,” Papa calls after me, hustling to the porch. “Don’t go too far! Oh, Csilla, you forgot your shoes again. Te
“Oh, ho! What have we here? Off to war, squirrel?” King Oswain chuckled. The monarch, clad in a purple velvet tunic, elaborately embroidered breeches, and boots of the finest leather, slowed his stallion to a walk on the sunlight-dappled forest path. As he circled
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Queen Majorie’s coronation ball had been meticulously planned, down to the minute. Except for the kidnapping.
Marjorie was sprawled in the middle of the ballroom floor, her sapphire blue coronation gown puddled around her. The rest of her guests sat around the perimeter, held in place by the threat of circling black-cloaked figures.
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Scarlet slammed her textbook down in front of the Head T.A. of Color-Based Synesthetics. “Teach me color transfer.”
The tired-looking elf didn’t look up from his book. “Hello to you, too, Scarlet. And no. You can’t learn color transfer for two more years.”
“It’s important, Aeris!”
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I land in the field behind the castle, and the impact sends a jolt of pain through my joints. I yelp, then grimace.
Pathetic. I may be over a thousand years old, but I have a reputation to uphold!
Spreading my carmine wings wide, I roar.
Everyone knows how the stories go.
The princess imprisoned by a dragon. Then the knight comes and fights the dragon with his mighty lance and rescues the lady.
It’s a good story to tell around the hearth on a winter’s night.
There’s only one trouble with it, and I see that now:
The Dark Lord Vangir snapped his newspaper into crisp submission.
All around him, the summery sounds of mountain life hummed. A pleasant breeze brushed through the weave of his reclining lawn chair, working with the goblet of chilled red lemonade in his calloused hand
Someone shrieked. Everyone’s heads, including mine, swung toward the east side of the village. A riderless broom raced westward, skimming almost close enough overhead to part my hair. Something red dripped from its straws.
Some folks in the market square yelped with panic. Others raced for cover. A few flung themselves over their wares.
It is day 1,826 of my captivity. As usual, I stand silent in the treasure room, dusting cloth in hand, ankles in chains. But since it’s also Supremacy Day, I’ve seen an unusually high number of visitors. Dozens of blue people stopping by to
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“Evie! Wake up!” I shake my sister, careful not to touch her skin, and grimace at the new color engulfing her favorite fluffy blanket.
“Tiff?” Evie yawns. I back away. She opens her eyes, takes one look at me, and shrieks.
“Shhh!” I wave my hands, eyes wide.
“What happened to you?” she hisses,
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