There was a prince in Jasmine’s bedroom. He was wearing a white tunic with gold trim that matched his yellowy blond hair, hair that was barely visible underneath his fedora. The fedora was blue and a large white feather wafted out from its rim. He had a stallion that ducked to avoid hitting its head on the ceiling and neighed a nervous greeting.

“What are you doing in my bedroom?” Jasmine asked the prince. She sounded both shocked and aggressive. Jasmine was an average looking teenager with brunette hair and the body of someone who used to be athletic. She was developing a slight pudge to her belly that made her feel uncomfortable sometimes if she wore her favorite tight, fitted T-shirts. Her bedroom was actually the attic. She had always liked climbing as a child so, when she was about seven, she had demanded her room be the highest place in the house. She wondered if that was such a good idea now that a stallion was ducking to avoid the slanted ceiling. The poor horse looked so claustrophobic. It was understandable; there was only one window, one of those small circular windows that looked out into the yard.

“Princess,” said the prince, “I have found a way to jump the rift. Finally, we can be together again! Bless Fragmaroginog! Bless him with good health and riches until the end of time!” The prince held his hand out to Jasmine, who was in her pajamas. These particular pajamas had a repetitious design of sledding penguins that jumped over the same snowdrift over and over again. “Come princess, let us go back together and celebrate your return to the kingdom!” The prince didn’t know why Jasmine was giving him that look. “What ails you?” He asked her sincerely, apparently totally oblivious to the fact that Jasmine was playing host to a fairytale prince at three in the morning on a school night.

“I’m dreaming,” whispered Jasmine, “I’m sleeping downstairs on the couch and this is a dream and I never even got up to climb up to my room and this is a dream and you know what I’m going back to bed now.” With that she pulled the trapdoor closed and climbed back down the ladder that lead up to her room. The prince and his stallion were left to their own devices up in the attic, and you know what, Jasmine didn’t care. They were just figments of her imagination anyway. That must be it.

In the morning, she woke up on the couch. It was a ratty old thing, stained with the remnants of food that, no matter how hard Jasmine’s mother tried to scrub off, just wouldn’t remove themselves. Jasmine remembered getting scolded for eating on it as a child. Speaking of getting scolded, she heard her mother’s heavy steps coming downstairs.

“Jasmine! Time to get up,” said her mother, who was a plump brunette woman that had recently been dying her hair to get rid of all the whitish gray strands, which had begun poking out from her roots. “Don’t want to be late! Bus fare is on the counter!”

Jasmine tiptoed into the hall and climbed halfway up the ladder before her mother descended the last stair. She feigned a yawn, “Morning ma.”

“Good morning sleepyhead,” said her mother, “I’ve got a few things to take care of at the shop today, so I’ll be home late again. There’s extra money on the counter with your bus fare. You could get Chinese or something with it later. Just get my usual and stick it in the fridge for when I get home. Okay?”

“Yeah ma,” Jasmine said, “Sure thing.”

“Oh, and Jasmine?”

“Hm?”

“You do realize you’re still in your pajamas.”

“Oh uh. Right,” Jasmine let out a nervous giggle, “I should probably change, huh? I forgot.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just all absentminded. You know me in the morning.” With that, Jasmine climbed up the ladder and pushed open the trapdoor. She heard her mother yell something from below, a reminder about something, Jasmine guessed, but she couldn’t make out the words. Then she heard the door close and the clinking of the lock, followed by the sound of the car driving off. She let out her breath, shut the trapdoor, and climbed down the ladder.

The ladder was actually fairly decorative. Jasmine thought of that day so long ago when her mother had convinced her father to paint it the same color as the accents in the hallway. To this day, it was a reddish burgundy, matching the frame of the square mirror that always hung on the section of the hall that was closest to the stairs, suspended on a nail over the shelf that Jasmine always walked into when she needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

Jasmine stretched out her back and shuffled into the kitchen. This room was smaller than any other in the house, even smaller than the bathroom. Nonetheless, there was a refrigerator and that’s all Jasmine cared about. She sifted through the leftover takeout and decided on some cheese pizza. Instead of microwaving it, she just plucked it out of the box and ate it cold. It was nice getting something in her stomach. She let out a contented moan and walked back to her ladder after she shoved the pizza box into the trash.

He was still there. Jasmine had only opened the trapdoor an inch or so when her mother had left; she hadn’t paid enough attention to notice him before. But there he was: the prince and his stallion. He sat on her bed, fiddling with the feather on his fedora, which he was holding instead of wearing. His yellowy blond hair was cut nicely in the back, Jasmine noticed. She pushed the trapdoor fully open. It creaked.

The prince did not raise his head to say hello. He mumbled his greeting under his breath so that Jasmine had to ask him to repeat himself.

“Hello,” said the prince, “I trust you slept well?” The stallion was sleeping on its feet. Jasmine saw it up close now. It was a beautiful creature, pure white mane and tail and everything in between. It had the most peaceful sleepy expression when it opened its eyes. When it saw Jasmine, it neighed excitedly and shook its head. When Jasmine didn’t answer the prince, he told her, “Swift has missed you, you know.”

“Swift?”

“The horse.”

“Is that your name?” Jasmine asked the horse. Swift nodded with its neck and pointed its ears at her. The prince stood and put on his fedora, ducking to avoid the sloping ceiling. Jasmine’s bed was under the shortest part of the ceiling, far to one side, and the prince was fairly tall.

“So it’s true then,” said the prince, “Fragmaroginog said this might happen. I just never thought it would. I always thought you’d remember our time together, always.” Jasmine gave him an utterly confused look and he plopped back down on her bed, looking defeated.

“Okay wait,” Jasmine said as she realized in the back of her mind she had just missed her bus, “Wait, wait, wait.” The prince looked up at her. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but what are you talking about? I wake up in the middle of the night, climb up here to see a… a fairytale prince in my bedroom, so I assume I’m dreaming and go back to bed, and now he’s still here. All right, that’s it. I’ve finally gone mad.”

“You haven’t gone mad,” said the prince, “It’s just a side effect. He did this to you, that dragon.”

“Excuse me?”

Swift tried to stand up straight but couldn’t because of the low ceiling. He couldn’t even turn around to get more comfortable so he swished his tail like he was batting a fly. Jasmine knew from her riding years that was a sign of annoyance in horses. She couldn’t blame him, though. Horses need to run free; they need space. Being shoved into her tiny attic-room was an unacceptable position to put one in. “Easy Swift,” the prince said and stroked his stallion’s mane, “Easy. We’ll be out of here soon, okay?” Swift stopped his tail-swishing for now. The prince ducked under a support beam to look Jasmine in the eyes, “About two years ago, a dragon descended on my father’s kingdom and destroyed everything it could. The vile creature left everything in ruin except the royal palace, which we all assume it only left in one piece because of our grand wizard’s protection spell. Some time later, my father thought it best to wed me because his rogue brother had started marching troops into our territory. Those in the royal guard believe he wants my father’s throne; they think we may have an assassination attempt on our hands. What my uncle, well what I mean is, what my father’s brother is doing, is using the damage the dragon left to his advantage. With half of the stone wall gone, it’s pretty easy to get into the kingdom itself, even if he can’t manage to get into the royal palace.”

“Wait,” said Jasmine, “You’re saying all this stuff and I understand the words, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

The prince sighed, his head lowered. Jasmine found herself feeling sorry for him.

“Look,” Jasmine said, “How about we start with something a little less complicated. What’s your name?”

“My name is Albert,” said the prince, “Most call me Prince Al, but I really prefer my full name.”

“Okay, Prince Albert, my name is Jasmine. And I’m not a princess. I’m just Jasmine, that’s all.”

The prince stepped back into the roomiest part of Jasmine’s bedroom, where the ceiling was the highest. “I see,” he said, “Then you have adopted a different name in this world.” He patted Swift’s muzzle apologetically.

“Huh?”

“Our grand wizard, Fragmaroginog, warned me this might happen. You’ve lost your memories in the rift.” Jasmine gave him an even more befuddled look, so Prince Albert continued, “You remember the part about the dragon?” Jasmine nodded. “Well, dragons aren’t the only things we have to worry about. An enemy sorcerer banished you from the world just as we were to be wed. I have gone through many trials to get here, princess. In my world, you were known as Princess Salina.”

“I don’t like that name,” Jasmine told him, “Call me Jasmine. And wait, what am I saying? You better go back to where you came from. I have my own life here, in the real world.”

“Is that what you call this place?” Prince Albert asked.

“Of course. What else would it be,” Jasmine said, “And anyway, you better leave before my mom gets back. I’m in enough trouble as it is.” Swift walked closer, the floorboards squealing beneath his weight. He nibbled on Jasmine’s arm. It was an affectionate nibble and Jasmine found herself feeling guilty. She looked at Prince Albert.

He looked so depressed. Curse her good nature.

She sighed, “Well, mom doesn’t get back for a long time anyway. I guess you can stay until then.” Prince Albert’s face lit up so Jasmine jutted her index finger at him, scolding, “And only until then.” The light dimmed in his eyes. Jasmine paid it no mind and hopped through the trapdoor onto her ladder, “You coming? It’s too cramped up there to have a conversation.”

Swift neighed and padded the floor with his hoof. “I’m sorry Jasmine, but I can’t leave Swift here and he has no way of getting down,” said Prince Albert.

“Oh, right.” Jasmine climbed back inside and, this time, she shut the trapdoor behind her, “Actually that horse needs air. It needs to run.”

“He does, but I only have enough ink left for one trip. I need it to get back to our-I mean, my world.” Prince Albert cleared his throat.

“Ink? You got here by ink?” Jasmine’s jaw hung slack in disbelief.

“Not just any ink,” said Prince Albert, “Fragmaroginog’s ink. It’s blessed ink that can take someone anywhere they wish to go. All you have to do is write your destination.”

Jasmine regained her composure and said, quite sardonically, “If that’s true, then how did you manage to get into my bedroom? What did you write to get here?”

“Simple,” Prince Albert said, not missing a beat, “I wrote ‘to my true love’ on the ground. Now here I am.”

Jasmine slumped, “Your true love? Is that supposed to be me?” She looked the prince up and down. Well, he wasn’t bad looking. Wait, what was she thinking?

“Of course it took me to you,” said Prince Albert, “Where else would it take me?” Jasmine didn’t know what to say, but the prince didn’t seem to care. He went on, talking in a cautious tone, “You know. It was my intention to bring you back with me.” He took off his fedora and stroked the feather on the rim nervously. He looked ashamed for asking. At the very least, Jasmine knew Prince Albert wasn’t totally socially inept. He had figured out Jasmine wouldn’t want to return with him. But it made him look so sad.

“I am such a sap,” Jasmine said. She scratched her hair, still messy and matted from sleep, “All right, just give me a half-an-hour or so.” She brushed past Prince Albert on the way to her dresser and dug out her favorite tattered jeans and a fitted black T-shirt, “Wait here. I’m going to take a shower. After that, you can show me your world.” Prince Albert shone with happiness and relief, but Jasmine didn’t give him time to say anything; she was already down the ladder and across the hall, heading into the bathroom. The prince and his horse heard the bathroom door shut.

“Swift, we’ve done it!” Prince Albert exclaimed and even gave a little hop in glee. Swift neighed and nodded and they both waited until Jasmine returned. She did so about fifteen minutes later, dressed in her T-shirt and jeans. She tossed her penguin pajamas in the purple laundry basket behind Swift. The horse moved its backend out of her way, politely.

“Okay,” Jasmine said as she plucked a pair of old, but nonetheless durable, riding boots from behind her laundry basket and pulled them on, “So what’s the weather like where you’re from?”

The prince put his fedora back on and said proudly, “My future kingdom is full of every kind of terrain. There are mountains to the north, plains to the south, where the castle lies, and a forest bordering our neighboring kingdom to the west. The eastern border is a wetland where all manner of beasts await unsuspecting travellers.” He sounded like he was reciting from rote memorization up until the point he added, “But don’t worry, we won’t go anywhere near there. There’s nothing special beyond the eastern border, as far as we know. No one ever comes back from venturing out that way.” Jasmine gave him a look. “We assume it’s the entrance to Hell,” the prince said nonchalantly, as if that answered any questions she might’ve had. In a way, it did.

Jasmine decided she would take her light leather jacket. It was fall in her world so it might also be fall in his. “I’m ready. How does this ink thing work?” She asked.

Prince Albert took Swift by the reigns and pulled the feather out of his fedora. It was actually a quill. In one pocket of his tunic was a small vile of deep blue ink. He dipped the quill and told Jasmine to take Swift’s reigns as well. She did. “Close your eyes,” said the prince as he wrote to Castle Albreton in perfect calligraphy on Jasmine’s hardwood floor.

When Jasmine opened her eyes, the world was different.