Ashley's stomach whirred like a spinning wheel. Bile shot up, searing her throat. Marveloni? Of all people to overhear her dastardly plan.

How much had he heard?

She had no chance against him and his dark magic. The man, (if he even was a man), had a vast array of tricks he could pull from his ruffled sleeves.

Even worse than the fact that Marveloni could turn her into a teapot or a candlestick, the magician might decide Gerald would make an attractive lawn ornament or funerary urn.

Gerald—who had followed her here with the ridiculous idea that he ought to save her life. Gerald—who could speak to animals. Gerald—who at this moment stood between her and the magician's hiding place, spreading his long arms like a guardian albatross. He hunched forward, one knee bent, like a sprinter at the Interkingdom Games waiting for the cannon. Only a twitch of his left hand indicated that her favorite groom hadn't already been turned to stone by her least favorite magician.

All this boiled down to one fact—the magician had to go. But how?

Think, think, think. There had to be a way to neutralize the all-powerful Marvy and save Gerald. Wait, that was it! Save Gerald. She bent toward him and whispered in his ear, "go back to Louis, get out of here, and I'll deal with ... this," she gestured toward the tree.

Gerald cocked his head like a bird, looking at her side-eyed like she was one feather short of a wing. He shook his head vigorously, the devilish curl bouncing on his forehead. He jabbed his thumb behind him, indicating she should be the one to go.

She shook her head back.

The silent argument continued for another 30 seconds to the point where Ashley's brains felt like overcooked noodles from all the head-shaking. She should've known Gerald wouldn't let her save him. Stupid chivalrous man.

"He's still there," the sorrel neighed a reminder. "Just in case you'd forgotten."

"I haven't!" Ashley neighed back, clutching her fists. Why hadn't Marveloni shown himself yet? Probably trying to get more information before he came in for the kill.

Since Gerald was stubborn, she had to concoct another way to save him.

Information! That was the key. Take what Marveloni had already heard about the potion and turn it into something innocent. "Well, sir, I am happy to report you passed," Ashley said with as much authority as she could muster.

Gerald gave her another of his prized, "how did you escape the asylum?" stares. "I passed?"

"You did. With flying colors, I may add."

His eyes flicked toward the tree, then back at her. "Can you please tell me what exactly I passed? If it was gas, I apologize. Had a lot of fried parsnips for dinner."

"No. You passed the loyalty test. Our glorious prince was concerned that some members of his administration might be disloyal and hired me to find out who. All that stuff about poisoning the prince was part of the test." Ashley thought adding the word "glorious" was a nice touch.

The dragon-skin cloak whipped in a sudden gust of wind. "Enough," Gerald said, lunging at the tree, grabbing the hem of the cloak, and flinging the man as if he weighed no more than a bedsheet. He landed with a thud to the forest floor, branches (and hopefully bones) crunching. Shards of blackened leaves flew into the air. Gerald threw himself on top of the magician.

Squeals and grunts emanated from beneath the groom's brawny form. "Stop, stop. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to take it."

Ashley had imagined Marveloni would say something more like, "Unhand me, you swine, or I'll turn you into a swine." Or dispense with the preliminary threats and just turn him into a pig.

"I only took the cloak because I was cold," came the strangled voice. "It was just hanging there on a line, begging to be taken."

That was definitely not something Marveloni would say. No way could this person be Marveloni. "Gerald, let him go."

"What? No way."

"It's not him."

"Not who?"

"Marveloni."

"Who is Marveloni?" the man said.

"An ill-tempered, creepy magician who you don't want to steal from unless you want to live out the rest of your days as a carpet or table lamp," Ashley said. "Please, Gerald?"

Gerald jumped to standing, dragging the bone-thin man up by his collar. He looked like a skeleton, with sunken cheeks and eyes circled in blue-black skin. His wrists were thin as ropes, and the clothes beneath the cloak were more tatter than fabric. She stared into his eyes to see if there was a hint of evil magician lurking beneath a glamour, but all she found was sorrow.

A lump formed in Ashley's throat. The poor man. "Are you all right?" Ashley said, leading him further from the camp to rest on a moss-covered stump. She wrapped the cloak more tightly around him, though she despised the sandy-spiny feel of the weathered dragon skin under her fingers.

"I'm the opposite of all right," he rasped. As if it took all his energy to speak.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you," Gerald said, crouching beside the man. "Who are you?"

"I'm nobody," the man replied. "A poor traveler in need of a little comfort."

"What are you doing out here? Why didn't you run when you saw us?" Ashley asked.

"I didn't run because I thought you'd hear my footsteps and punish me for stealing the cloak. And I can't get caught. I'm searching for my Hilda Mae."

"What is a Hilda Mae?" Gerald said.

"My daughter. She has been taken, and I will not stop 'til she's once again in my arms. I wasn't always like this." He waved his hand over his bedraggled body. "I was a shopkeeper. Esteemed in my village. But one day, those demons came for my Hilda Mae."

"Demons?" Ashley knew of the other potential kidnappers—trolls, dragons, witches, town fool, etc. But "demons" was a new one, and the idea of it froze her blood.

"That's what I call 'em. Whoever takes a child from its parent's arms is a demon."

"I agree," Ashley said, releasing a gigantic breath.

The man's stomach growled. "Sorry," he said.

Ashley withdrew a bannock from her pocket and gave it to the man who devoured the hard biscuit, like a starving orc. She spun toward Gerald. "We have to help him."

"What? In the middle of a covert operation?"

"Yes. It's perfect. I don't want you involved anyway. Help this poor man find his daughter. The search will go a much faster on unicorn-back. And you'll be helping me out by solving the mystery in our village about the disappearances there. They could be related to Hilda Mae's abduction. It's a win-win."

Gerald folded his arms over his chest, which she totally didn't notice was muscly and firm. "No way."

"Yes, way. I command you. As your princess." The haggard man echoed Gerald's "you must be insane" expression. "I'm a woman. This outfit is a disguise."

His face dropped to her codpiece. "I think I've been traveling too long."

"Never mind. Get this man—"

"Mercer," the man supplied.

"—get Mercer a good meal, and help him. We'll rendezvous back at the castle."

"Did you understand the part where I said 'no, Your Highness?'" Gerald drawled.

"Perfectly. But remember, I do have an all-access pass to the torture chamber in the dungeon."

"I don't believe there is a torture chamber."

"Well, I suppose there's only one way for you to find out for sure."

"Now, I'm just curious."

Mercer's head bobbed back and forth as Ashley and Gerald lobbed threats and objections at one another "No need to fight about me. I will continue my quest alone."

"No, you won't," Ashley said. "This kind knight will take you."

Gerald rolled his eyes. "I'm no knight."

"Hmmm." Ashley searched the forest floor until she found the perfect branch. Long, straight, and black, like all the trees. She picked it up, testing its weight. It felt oily beneath her grip. "Kneel before me."

Gerald grinned. "At least this is interesting." He knelt, wiggling his dark eyebrows.

Ashley tapped the branch to each of his shoulders. "I dub thee Sir Gerald, loyal Knight of Ever After."

"That's it? How disappointing. Besides, you can't dub people."

"I totally can. Just dubbed you. You're IT!"

"Am I really a knight?"

"As I said."

"Then, as a chivalrous member of the nobility, I refuse to leave your side, my Princess."

Ashley stomped her foot. "Ugh. You loiter sack!"

"I am not a loiter sack."

"She doesn't talk like a princess," Mercer said.

"Tell me about it."

There was only one more tool Ashley possessed that might break Gerald's resolve. Time to test those feminine wiles. She grabbed him and pressed her lips to his, in an epic, deep, luxurious kiss. Bards would speak of this kiss for years to come. It is said that Shakespeare got the idea for Romeo and Juliet based on this exact smooch.

"Get a room," Mercer mumbled under his breath.

The two parted, panting. "What was it you wanted?" Gerald said his pupils mere pinpricks.

Ashley smiled, taking a moment to enjoy her victory. "Take this gentleman, find his daughter, stay safe, meet me back at the castle."

"All right," Gerald droned as if in a dream. He returned the potion.

If Ashley had realized it was that easy to get him to cooperate, she'd have kissed him right away and gotten him out of harm's way sooner.

Off in the distance, the bugle notes of reveille pierced the smoke-filled air.

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The sun attempted to do its duty and make an appearance but found it difficult to take the spotlight from the rank darkness of the Forbidden Forest. However, it did its best, warming a spot here and there, casting long shadows from the cursed trees. If nothing else, it reminded the residents of the forest that the sun still existed.

Ashley thanked the sorrel for warning her earlier, even though it turned out the alleged spy was a harmless, heartbroken father. She made her way from the thatch of forest where she and Gerald had shared that Kiss. As she approached the camp, the hairs beneath her man-wig buzzed and didn't feel quite attached to her scalp. Like someone was pulling them out, one by one. What if she ran into the real magician? The last thing Ashley needed was to be interrogated by "Marvy." He'd draw the truth out of her. Not to mention, he'd see through her disguise instantly.

Time to dose, deliver, and disappear. She clutched the Wane & Tail inside her pocket. It was time.

Barrels of mead were stacked like cheerleaders at a jousting match, in decreasing rows from bottom to top. The mead area was popular. Ashley elbowed past some men, still rubbing the sleep from their eyes till she found herself standing before the hulking figure of the Keeper of the Mead. "Ho there, good sir," Ashley said, lowering her voice an octave. "The prince has requested I deliver his morning mead."

The Keeper of the Mead looked her up and down, stopping at her codpiece. He grinned, and her cheeks heated beneath her fake beard. "I see. Ye are a pretty one, aren't ya?" He slapped her back. Hard. She coughed, fantasizing about pouring a little Wane & Tail in his mead as well. "Pretty but weak. Can't account for taste. I like 'em with a little more meat on the bones."

Ashley stared at the dirt, wet with runoff from the keg. "Yes, sir."

He laughed. "I ain't no 'sir.' But here ye go," he handed her Charming's goblet brimming with mead.

Ashley wended through clutches of scruffy men, many of whom were making for the trees to relieve themselves. She glared at the overfull goblet as if this alone might keep it from spilling. But the task became harder and harder as a wave of panic rose amongst the entourage like a storm-tossed ship.

Averting her attention for a moment, she asked someone what was going on. "It's the magician's cloak," the man said. "It's gone. And they're going to question every single person here until they find it. I never seen old Marvy so angry."

Uh, oh. Not good. "Where is the magician?" The man pointed to the sky. A hawk circled the camp. She prayed Gerald and Mercer were far away by now. Keeping her eyes cast downward, Ashley increased her speed, not even bothering to apologize for cutting people off. There were several hollow-eyed women in the mix, sizzling bacon in cast iron skillets over campfires, stirring porridge, and some rearranging their skirts after a night doing who knows what.

"Holy pumpkin coach," Ashley swore, tripping over a stone, barely keeping her balance enough not to fall. Mead sloshed over the edge of the goblet. Luckily, at least three-quarters of the liquid remained.

"That for me?" said a gruff voice. Inside the portable pillory—standard issue for armies and apparently entourages—was an older man, his long grey beard practically touching the ground. Mud stained his torn clothing and pooled at his feet. He smelled like a dirty chicken coop. Several other pillories were lined up beside his: some occupied, some waiting for future wrongdoers. At the end of the row, near the laundry-area, sat a table piled with rotted fruit.

"I'm sorry," Ashley said, "it's for the prince. How long have you been here?"

"Long enough that my throat is aflame from thirst."

There was still plenty of mead, and she hadn't dosed it yet. It was probably against some law to allow a beggar to drink from the prince's goblet, but when Ashley asked herself if she cared, the answer came back a resounding 'no.' "One sip?"

"Thank you." The man tipped his head back as far as the pillory would allow and drank deeply, forcing Ashley to pull it back before it was all gone.

"I'm sorry, but I must leave some for His Highness."

"Understood. You are a kind young man. No other person would grant me the tiniest of draughts."

"Probably 'cause the penalty is death," cackled a female as she flipped crackling rashers of bacon.

"I'd better get moving," Ashley said.

"Thank you. Truly. May God bless you."

As quick as her feet would take her, Ashley made her way toward the prince's tent. A pair of stone-faced guards stood before the entrance like twin gargoyles. She hid behind a nearby stand of trees and removed the stopper from the potion. A sickly-sweet odor, like grape wine and maple syrup wafted up, making her gag. When she poured it into the goblet, it bubbled and hissed, then settled and disappeared into the liquid. She sniffed. It smelled like regular mead.

Ashley smoothed her hair and clothes and took a deep breath. Could she do this? Was she a vengeful punisher? Her head spun with contradictions. Perhaps the prince had reasons for being a serial cheater. His parents may not have hugged him as a child. Or he always had the highest of expectations weighing on his shoulders.

She took one step, then another. Slowing each time. The hand holding the goblet shook. If she was right, and the prince had suffered, maybe she was the monster. Ashley retreated four paces, staring at the slit of silk at the entrance to the tent. "I can't," she whispered.

Then the silks parted, and out walked one of the hollow-eyed women, adjusting her bodice, followed by Charming's familiar voice. "Thanks, beautiful."

"Never mind," Ashley muttered as she marched onward.

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"I have the prince's morning mead," Ashley announced to the guards.

"Charming may be a little tired from bein' so charming last night," the guard laughed and elbowed her.

Ashley barely managed to keep the remaining mead in the chalice. She grunted. "Too tired to drink?" she said, wrinkling her brow.

"That's what you think he wants?" he chuckled.

"What else?"

"You're new, aren't you?"

The other guard gave her a suspicious look. "You know anything about that missin' cloak?"

Ashley stared at her feet. "No, sir," she squeaked.

"Ah, he's too much of a sissy to steal from a magician. Let him in." The guard parted the entrance to the tent.

Ashley's stomach did a flip. Would Charming recognize her through the disguise? That would ruin everything. And how would it feel to see him again?

Inside, the tent was dimly lit. Most of the candles had long since extinguished, collapsing in on themselves like ruined soufflés. Charming's lair smelled candy sweet as if to cover a wicked stench. The prince, wearing only a nightshirt, lounged amongst a pile of silk and velvet pillows at the back. He had his "I've-been-on-a-lengthy-quest-with-the-boys-and-had-no-need-to-manscape" beard beneath lips curved in a frown. A pair of handcuffs hung from a hook behind his head. Ashley's face heated to the point she wondered how she hadn't turned into the sun itself. "Finally!" he grumbled. I am simply dying of thirst." He winked.

Gross. Must keep anger under control. Thank goodness for the beard. "Sorry, Your Highness. It will not happen again." All she felt upon reuniting with her prince was anger.

"I should hope not. Well?" The prince held out his hand expectantly—no problem with him recognizing her. The only person he truly noticed was himself.

Ashley surrendered the goblet. She watched with a combination of horror and fascination as he downed it in one gulp.

"Now," he cooed, patting the pillows. "Come apologize for your tardiness."

Ashley's whole world spun around her. Did he want to have sex with her? Not. Happening. For so many reasons, not the least of which was that she didn't have the "parts" that corresponded to her male disguise. "I'm sorry, Highness, but I cannot."

"What did you say?"

"I ... uh ... have many chores to attend to."

"I am your prince. I am the only chore that matters. Wait, that didn't come out correctly. I am not a chore. It is a great honor I am offering you. That wench earlier didn't slake my needs. I am a virile prince. I promise you'll enjoy it."

Ick. What should she do? "I'm sure I would. But duty calls." She shuffled backward toward the slit in the tent.

"Are you refusing me?" the prince said, blue veins popping out on his neck.

"Postponing?" Ashley said, hoping this would let him down easy enough to prevent him from ordering her impaled by a sharp object and thrown into a handy nearby moat.

"Guards!" The two gargoyles entered. "Throw this one in the pillory until he reconsiders."

"Pleasure, Highness," said one of the guards.

Ashley couldn't breathe. She was drowning in a sea of candy-coated despair. If they held her for days like that bearded man, people at the castle were bound to notice their hostess wasn't very hostessy. What if they thought she'd disappeared like Blanche? Not to mention what would happen to her after Marveloni's inquisition. And then there was Gerald. Stupid Gerald. Who would certainly come back for her. "But ..." she pleaded. No one listened.

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Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I've written you a poem:

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