As in any story, the narrator chooses where to part the curtain. What to allow you to see, what to hide. In essence, the narrator has a lot of responsibility not to bore you with a bunch of drivel about characters using the chamber pot or picking food out of their teeth, but to give you enough information, so you're not confused.

For example, if in one scene the heroine is plotting sexual revenge in the Jacuzzi room, and the next she's creeping into an all-male entourage of heavily-armed, snoring, farting courtiers, guards, cooks, squires, and a one-eyed magician, the narrator has some pretty big holes to fill in.

You might say to yourself, "how did the heroine find herself there? (Keep reading.) Did The Vault give her a better masculine disguise, which perhaps included a jaunty Vandyke beard, mustache, and a codpiece the size of a teapot? (Yes.) Did she have to climb out the window once again? (Of course.) Did she remember to take some sustenance? (Yes, bannocks and a wineskin of whisky.) How did Louis react to the unicorn-napping of his mate, Louisa? (When Ashley showed him the bottle of Wane & Tale, he quieted immediately.) Did Ashley and Gerald finally kiss? (No, sorry. Way too soon.)

Once Ashley took to the skies, more questions might occur to you, dear reader:

Was the unicorn flight uneventful? (No.) Did she argue with Louisa along the way? (Yes.) Did she nearly fly into seven church spires and fourteen trees? (Yes.) Were there at least twenty-one times she thought she was insane? (YES!) Was she able to locate the entourage from the sky? (Yes. They were in a clearing, surrounding an evil campfire.) Did she run into any orcs, dragons, trolls, cantankerous parsnips, or apple-throwing trees in said forest? (Thank goodness, no.)

All of these questions are entirely valid.

Trust me. Your narrator cares about you deeply. She wants you to be informed and keep you on the edge of your seat. For this reason, she's decided to start with our heroine, Ashley, landing in the Forbidden Forest on her jittery stead and beginning her stealthy trek through untold horrors to reach the royal entourage—a swarm of unwashed male bodies in the middle of a clearing.

I hope that's okay with you.

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The first thing Ashley did when Louisa touched-down a quarter-mile from Charming's encampment was breathe a sigh of relief so profound every bird for a two-mile radius fell asleep due to the precipitous barometric drop in anxiety. The second thing she did was pick bugs out of her teeth. (No one anticipates this unfortunate dental side-effect of unicorn flight.)

By the dim light of the low-lying moon, which strained to be visible through the thick blackness of the Forbidden Forest, Ashley stumbled off Louisa's back and promptly fell into an aggressive patch of blackberry brambles.* In no mood for another setback, Ashley retaliated by relieving her full bladder on said brambles, at which point they whimpered like scolded puppies. She did feel a little bad about distressing them, but quickly got over the guilt when she got a good look at her scratched and bleeding fingers. How many passersby had suffered their thorny wrath? Blackberry vines lured the hungry with the promise of sweet fruit but tortured them for trying to partake.

Ashley stumbled out of the brambles back toward Louisa, whose ears and wings were pinned back as her sides rose and fell as vigorously as a bellows. "That was ..." Louisa neighed, breathlessly.

"I know! We made it alive."

"No, it was ..."

" ... great that we didn't get shot?" Ashley supplied.

Louisa shuddered. "No ..."

"Then what? Tell me. I have a prince to poison."

"Never mind."

"Well, time to get to work." Ashley unbuckled the leather saddle bag and extracted the purple potion, which glowed in the eerie forest light like a bride marching toward the altar.

"Thanks, Louisa," Ashley neighed, sliding the potion into her pocket before closing up the pouch. She patted Louisa's shoulder. "I mean it. I know I'm a terrible rider."

"I got your back," Louisa said. "I guess in truth, it's you who has my back, but what I mean is, we mares have to stick together." Louisa nuzzled Ashley's neck, then took a step back and fertilized the blackberry brambles with a steaming pile of unicorn manure. The vines retreated into the darkness, grumbling about the unfair treatment of plants.

Having vanquished the blackberries with Louisa's help, Ashley crept, wended, darted, and at times crawled through the forest toward the encampment, branches crunching beneath her boots like snapping bones.

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Finding the royal entourage through the trees wasn't a huge problem. She merely followed the acrid, sinister stink of the campfire, which, given the smell, must've been fueled by the remains of the cursed trees of the Forbidden Forest. Her muscles, already sore from the ride, tensed up as tight as lute strings. To distract herself from intermittent glimpses of creatures slithering beside the path, with their eerie screams and terrifying clawing shadows, Ashley plotted her next course of action.

Her plan was simple: First, she'd tiptoe around the encampment to suss out the location of the mead barrels. Then she'd locate a place near the barrels, lie down inconspicuously amongst the others, and feign sleep. Once reveille was sounded, Ashley would rise and make her way toward the barrels, wait for the prince's chalice to be delivered, then tell the Keeper of the Mead that the prince expected her to deliver his breakfast beverage today instead of him. If he gave her any trouble, she would slip him a silver-piece.

Most importantly, she would accomplish all this whilst avoiding the mean guards with their pointy swords and the evil magician with his snide personality, creepy orb, and creepier magic. Ashley tiptoed toward the camp, fetid smoke burning her eyes. No matter her position, it seemed the wind was determined to blow it straight at her.

Besides the smoke, the air was full of gaseous emissions from the men who'd most likely gorged themselves that night on wild turkey and deep-fried parsnips. Why did the prince enjoy these sojourns? Was it to prove his manliness? Maybe hanging out with unwashed, gassy men was a guy thing that women could never quite comprehend.

In the distance stood a lone, ornate golden tent, Charming's flag whipping in the wind. So much for sleeping on the hard, cold ground. Charming probably slumbered on silks and feathers.

Ashley walked the perimeter of the encampment until she located the cluster of mead barrels. Holding her breath, she crept toward the campfire where the men slept to keep warm. The best place to hide would be the area closest to the horses, tied to a stand of nearby trees. Their grunts of displeasure from the smoke-filled breeze rattling the bare branches might obscure any noise she stirred up. She laid down on the rocky soil between two snoring grooms.

"Would you like to explain?" said a deep, musical voice.

Ashley snapped to a seated position, fast as a mousetrap. A line of sweat dripped down the nape of her neck. She reviewed her plan. In no scenario had she anticipated someone waking up. Obviously, Ashley hadn't devised many covert schemes in her life.**

"Explain?" Ashley said. The groom sat, his dark eyes boring into hers. "Gerald!" she whispered. "How ...?"

"Shhhh!" He grabbed her elbow, pulled her up, and guided her into the thatch of cursed trees, closer to the horses. A branch slapped Ashley's derriere in a most unseemly fashion.

"Ouch," she cried. Gerald covered her mouth with his large, warm, calloused hand.

"Stop that!" she batted his hand away. "What are you doing here? You're going to ruin everything," Ashley growled, the sound low in her throat.

"I am protecting you from a beheading if you must know." He tweaked her chin. "It would be such a shame to see such a pretty head parted from its body. Which, may I add, is also not bad."

"Gerald. Why. Are. You. Here?"

He wrinkled his brow. "Is there something wrong with your hearing? I just told you. To prevent your beheading," he said, enunciating each word as if speaking to a child or a fool.

The horses pawed and grunted. If they got any louder, they might wake the men. "Quiet," she neighed.

"Silence, scoundrels," Gerald added. At least they agreed on something.

The horses quieted.

Ashley looked for a unicorn. "How did you get here so fast?"

"You're like a septuagenarian riding a unicorn blindfolded. Nice job, stealing Louisa in the middle of the night."

"I didn't steal her. She was a gift, remember?"

"Technicality. You snuck into the barn, remember? Anyway, once I saw your trajectory, I flew at twice your speed and height on Louis." Ashley peeked around Gerald, looking for Louis. "Don't worry; he's safe nearby."

"That's a relief, but I don't get why you'd come after me? Were you worried about Louisa? She's fine, by the way."

"I came because I care about you, you numbskull."

"I am not a numbskull. I'm a princess," she said haughtily.

"From what I can see, you look more like a goateed servant. Probably a lazy servant with those soft hands of yours."

"Enough. You need to go. Now. Before you spoil everything."

The horses started neighing again. And stomping. "Shhhhh!" Gerald reprimanded. "Look, Ashley, I know you stole my Wane & Tail. That cost me a month's wages. If you want me to leave, simply return it." He held out an expectant hand.

Ashley's eyes flashed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Let me lay it out for you. You plan to poison Charming's morning mead with the potion to punish him for cheating on you."

"Wait, you can't possibly know that."

"I wasn't sure until now. Your reaction has verified my theory."

"Zooterkins! I'm an idiot."

"Well?" he held out his hand again.

"Okay, fine. You're right, but I will NOT return it. I will reimburse you for the cost of the potion. Now leave before I cry out, claiming you're trying to have your wicked way with me."

He pulled her body tightly against his—their rapidly beating hearts in syncopated rhythm. "Are you hiding the potion in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?"

"What are you talking about?"

Holding her hands, he pulled away and glanced down at the apex of her thighs.

"It's part of my disguise," Ashley hissed. "It's a ..."

"Codpiece. I know. And something else I know? You want me to have my wicked way with you," he breathed in her ear.

"I do not. I warn you. I'll scream, and then the big scary guards will probably behead you for taking advantage of a princess."

"Princess? You don't look like a princess."

"Thanks," Ashley said, happy her disguise was an improvement over the last. "Look, I need to do this. Can you please leave? If I end up beheaded, it will be my fault."

"No can do," he said, his breath on her neck. Goosebumps erupted on her arms. She wanted more than anything to disappear into the cursed woods and show real-Gerald what happened when she hooked up with dream-Gerald. But that was ridiculous. Especially with the prince's tent mere yards away. She'd be playing with fire.

His hands slid down her sides, and she forgot why she shouldn't make out with him. She lifted her lips toward his. "Gerald ..."

"Ah, there it is. Got it." He backed away, the bottle of Wane & Tail clutched in his fist. "It was in your pocket. Not your pants."

Ashley grabbed for the bottle, catching only air. "You swine!"

"Shhh! We don't want to alert the guards. Though my guess is they're all too drunk to wake up."

"Give it back."

"No."

"If you don't give it back this second, I will ..."

Gerald cocked his head and grinned. That stupid adorable black curl did its "I'm so sexy" tumble across his forehead. "What? What will you do, Princess?"

What would she do? She could threaten. Bribe. Use her feminine wiles (assuming she possessed any). But Ashley didn't want to do any of those things with Gerald, especially after stealing his property.

Which left her with only one choice—the truth. And she needed to explain in terms the too-hot groom would understand.

"Look, Gerald, I must have that potion. Not because I want to destroy Charming's life, although that would be a happy side effect. Not because I am a vindictive wife. Unlike unicorn stallions, who are victims of biological lust, Charming chooses to be a serial cheater. At least I'm not planning to bite off his man parts like an angry mare. Although others have suggested this would be the best course of action."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you. I made a promise. You're going to have to trust me. If I don't do this temporary fix, Charming will probably find himself permanently ... fixed."

"So, you're saying this is an act of mercy?" Gerald said.

"I suppose it is. But that doesn't mean I won't enjoy it."

He handed her the bottle. "If you get caught, I won't be able to save you."

"I understand," Ashley said.

"Would you two please listen?" a sorrel horse neighed.

"What is it?" Gerald neighed back.

"We've been trying to tell you. Someone's been spying on you this whole time. Behind yon tree." The horse nodded toward a monstrous black craggy tree with tufts of gauzy moss spilling down its branches. A wedge of dragon-skin cloak jutted out from behind the trunk.

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