Ashley's bladder threatened to burst—rather like the morning Charming had left her handcuffed to the bed. But this time was even worse. She'd reached a new low in terms of bladder discomfort.

There was a silver lining, however. She focused most of her attention on the frantic need to pee rather than being questioned and turned into a chamber pot by a sadistic magician, worrying about Gerald pulling some stupid hero stunt, wondering if the potion had worked, realizing her chances of escape had wildly declined, not to mention her aching back, neck, and wrists.*

Still in her itchy wig, praying the mustache held, Ashley occupied the pillory next to the bearded man. Her head and arms protruded through holes while the rest of her body hung out on the other side, bent over like a housemaid scrubbing kitchen floors. Fortunately, Ashley's years of doing just that had strengthened her back. Even so, her body creaked and growled and howled with the injustice.

"If it's any help, eventually you'll lose all feeling in your limbs," the old man, whose name turned out to be Manfred, informed her. Whereupon, he sneezed so loud, a flock of vultures charged out of a nearby half-dead sycamore amongst a flurry of wings, utterances of indignant complaint on their beaks.

A trio of tooth-deprived laundresses watched the vultures, then set down their washing bats** and selected rotten tomatoes from the pile of rotted fruit someone had artfully arranged near the pillory section.

"Really?" Ashley said, one eye on the laundresses as they cackled with glee. You know when people cackle with glee, and you're not one of the cacklers, something terrible is about to happen to you.

"No. I just wanted to make you feel better. You don't look good, mate."

"I need to relieve myself," Ashley confided as a tomato splatted against the top wooden board of the pillory. "Stop that!" Ashley cried as a little bit of pee escaped.

"You draggle-draggles," *** Manfred mocked. The rest of the rotting ammunition spewed in his direction.

"Thank you," Ashley said, trying (unsuccessfully) to cross her legs.

"Don't mention it. You're a whole lot cleaner than I am. And the truth is, I was feeling a little peckish. Why don't you pee?" Manfred kicked the wet dirt on the backside of the pillory. That explained the mud and the chicken coop odor.

She shivered. "Uh, I don't think I can."

"Course you can."

"Not yet, I mean. I'm going to escape."

Manfred laughed. "Not a chance. Don't you think I've tried?"

Ashley yanked back her left arm. The pillory had been designed for burly males, not delicate fairy princesses. Her hand nearly made it through. If she deliberately broke a finger or two, she might get her hands out. But her head was another story. One couldn't risk a skull fracture in the name of freedom. At least not without significant consequences. If she could free a hand, maybe she could pick the lock with a broken fragment of wood from the pillory. Or, she could summon some snails to lubricate the armholes. "Ugh!"

"Look at the bright side," Manfred said.

Ashley looked up; the sky was the dull color of dried blood on a rusty blade. The flock of vultures circled over the pillory section of the camp. Black leaves and ash caught by the wind swarmed like an infestation of locusts. Then she checked in front of her, to the left and right. Behind wasn't an option for obvious reasons. "Sorry, I can't see anything bright."

"Huh? Oh, that was a figure of speech."

"Right. Of course," Ashley said. "Tell me, what is the bright side of being bent over in an impossible position with our necks and wrists stuck inside a splintered chunk of wood with no water, food, or toilet facilities? Not to mention the smell." She wrinkled her nose.

"You don't smell that bad. Shoulda smelled the guy who was there before you," Manfred said. "And there's always a bright side. For example, we aren't dead. As long as we're breathing, there's hope. Even if what we're breathing smells bad."

"What happened to the guy before me?"

He nodded toward a wooden platform in the middle of the camp. It sent a chill up Ashley's spine. A pole mounted on the back had a rope hanging from the end.

"Dead?"

"Naw. Just a brutal game of tetherball."

"Great."

Ashley yanked again. Her wrist caught on a splinter and bled.

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A scream rented through the camp. It came from the direction of Charming's tent. All activity paused as a hundred pairs of eyes turned toward the commotion. The screaming continued as a woman in her chemise burst through the tent entrance, bringing down the tent as she shoved past the guards and ran into camp.

"Seize her," the prince commanded as he emerged from the folds of silk of the fallen tent. He wore no shirt, and his breeches were undone. People closest to him gasped and not in a good way. They averted their eyes. The prince looked down, noticed his state of undress, turned to close the front of his breeches.

"Where is my magician?" he yelled. Someone said something too quiet to hear. "Don't tell me he's still looking for that damned cloak. That thing should be in a bin at Goode-will! Find him!"

Courtiers surrounded the prince cutting off the visual, but Ashley had a good idea what caused the woman to run and the others to gasp. Apparently, the Wane & Tail had worked. Despite her discomfort, Ashley managed a small smile.

A fleet of pigeons took off in all directions, probably searching for the missing magician. Ashley almost felt sorry for him. Here he was, off looking for a gross dragonskin cloak when the prince needed him most. He would be in huge trouble. With any luck, the prince might handcuff Marveloni to a dragon who didn't appreciate people who wore dragon-skin cloaks.

Gossip spread through camp like a pot of ink spilled on your favorite gown. The poor woman who had run from Charming's tent managed to evade the guards. People said she told the most outlandish rumors: The prince had been cursed. His man parts were as purple as an eggplant. Shrunken like a sample at a headhunters' convention. Only Ashley knew they weren't outlandish at all.

The surge of power she felt at this moment was both exhilarating and disquieting. A tiny part of her worried. What if this was a slippery slope, and she was sliding down too fast to stop? What if she was becoming the villain?****

Ashley pushed the thought away to contemplate later. Right now, she deserved to celebrate the success of her revenge and return to her royal compatriots with the good news. They could tick the sex box on the "List of Charming's Favorite Things."

A short time later, the bugle trilled a few notes, after which a portly man in a jolly red velvet suit climbed the short ladder to the makeshift gallows. Despite the morning chill, the wind, and the relatively modest number of rungs, the man mopped his brow with a handkerchief. He seemed to be ascending the ladder of his own free will, so it didn't appear to be an execution.

"Who's that?" Ashley said, nodding at the man.

"He's the crier. Probably means we'll be moving out." For the second time today, motion stilled. Even the camp rats stopped their scurrying. The only movement was from the horses as their tails flicked black flies and the ever-present, ever-patient vultures circling and circling again.

The man cleared his throat and unrolled a parchment. "Hear ye, hear ye, one and all. By order of the Prince, we shall break camp immediately. Departure will occur in three hours, at which point we will head north."

"North?" called someone in the crowd that had gathered beneath the platform. "Why north? The Interkingdom games are south."

The crier looked down, scowling. "Am I to take it you are questioning our Benevolent Genius Handsome Prince's judgment?"

"It's cold up there," griped another man.

"I didn't bring my woolens," a skinny groom hollered.

"What about the ice elves? They're horrible this time of year."

The volume of grumbling intensified. If Ashley could've covered her ears with her hands, she would've. But one of the disadvantages of pillory life was the inability to use one's hands for tasks such as this.

"Enough!" the crier bellowed. "Three hours."

Ashley turned her head to the left as far as possible. "Do you think they'll leave us here?"

"No. There's a jail cart. We'll go in there."

"But why lug around prisoners?"

"You never know when one might come in handy."

"In handy?"

"Yeah. Like when you accidentally cross a giant's property line, you'll have to toss him a spare human to use the bones for baking his bread. Giants are very particular about trespassing. Then there's the old witch who lives in the candy-coated house. She'll require an offering to bake in her oven if as much as a single Skittle or candy-corn, worst candy ever, is taken from her roof. Or we could come across the wolf—that guy's always hungry. Just toss a prisoner his way, and the rest are safe."

Ashley's veins turned to ice. How could Manfred speak so flippantly about this? "So, you're saying that prisoners are bribes for hungry villains?"

He pursed his lips and looked up. "More like bait."

"Doesn't that contradict the Geneva Convention?"

"What's that?"

"Not sure. I read about it once. Something about not torturing prisoners."

"That makes no sense. If you don't torture prisoners, who do you torture?"

"Uh, no one?"

"But then what would happen to all the sadists in the land? How would they cope?"

"Honestly, I don't care. But tell me, why aren't you worried about being eaten?"

"Worry doesn't accomplish anything."

"Worry leads to planning, which does accomplish things."

"Knock yourself out. Or try. It's hard to knock yourself out without full use of your arms."

He had a point. "Why do you think we're going north?"

"There can only be one reason," Manfred said. He lowered his voice, "we must be going to the Cloister of the Cloistered Witches."

"What's that?"

"Let's just say, the prince must require some major magical healing."

Oh, yes, he does, Ashley did not say. And luckily, Wane & Tail had no antidote.

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Ashley reviewed her options:

Option 1 – Stay in the pillory; possibly become villain fodder.

Option 2 – Summon snails to slime the holes and try to escape, which may result in decapitation if caught.

Option 3 – Attempt to escape when prisoners are transferred to mobile jail, which, if not successful, could result in becoming villain fodder sooner.

Option 4 – Give Charming what he desires.

Since only one of those options didn't involve probable death, Option 4 seemed the most viable. Plus, Charming's "desire" apparatus wasn't in working order.

"Guard! Guard," Ashley shouted to the nearest guard. A straw-haired young man with an unfortunate nose. He rested his palm on the hilt of his sheathed sword and glared at her as if she were a clump of fly-infested horse excrement on the road. "Hey, no need to look at me like that."

"Don't worry about ol' Hal," Manfred said. "The guards have to do that. Part of the Royal Guard Guild contract."

"Right-o," the guard nodded at Manfred.

"OK. I guess I can't argue then. Guard, yes, me. Yoohoo! Over here." This time the guard regarded her like she was fly-infested excrement atop a mountain of rotting kitchen scraps. "Impressive," Ashley said.

"Thanks, I've been in training," the guard said.

"I'd say you have it nailed."

"What is it you desire, slime?" He threw a rotten tomato at her. Hit her square on the nose. Luckily it didn't hit her fake man-hair.

"Ouch! But, hey, nice throwing arm," Ashley said, blowing out bits of tomato from her nose.

"You're such a nice prisoner; it's almost sad to punish you." He tossed a zucchini. At least it was soft from being more decayed mush than a vegetable.*****

"Uh, thanks," she said. "Look, I totally give up. I will give the prince whatever he desires."

The guard furrowed his brow. "You sure?"

"Beats being produce target practice," Ashley said.

"True. But did you see that lass that was with the prince earlier? She left his tent, screaming."

"I'm willing to risk it."

"All right." The guard pulled a round of keys from his pocket and unlocked the pillory. He unhinged the upper board.

Ashley attempted to stand, but her body felt this wasn't wise. Better to stay bent-over for the rest of her days. And nights. But as this just wasn't a feasible life-choice, she decided to attempt straightening. It took a full minute to articulate each vertebra in her spine, each movement accompanied by a massive intake of breath. Finally, she stood. "All right," she exhaled.

The guard stepped back, sweeping his arm as an invitation for her to walk. "Ready, mate?"

"Right after I have a quick visit to a tree," Ashley said. "Alone."

"Shy one, ain't ya? Don't try escapin'. You don't look like a speedy thing."

"You try running in heels," Ashley said under her breath.

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Prince Charming sat in his golden carriage, frowning at the entourage as they packed-up for departure. It was evident that he thought that by merely showing his displeasure, the pace would pick up. Princes, kings, bosses, and presidents are often like this. They imagine they can bend reality to their will. Move people with their minds. The sad thing is, a lot of times, it works. But it hardly affected the people who had a thousand tasks to perform—tacking horses, packing and loading boxes, breaking down tents, hooking up carts, polishing, cleaning, and for the noblemen, a strenuous game of cards.

When Charming caught sight of Ashley (whom, if you'll remember, looked more like a tomato sauce-speckled Asher or an Ashton than an Ashley) through the carriage window, the edges of his frown sunk lower, his brows knitted together; his perfect cheeks shone red as overripe tomatoes. "What is the meaning of this?" he spat as her guard escort bowed. Ashley remembered she ought to show respect as well. She accidentally began to curtsey, which she quickly turned into an awkward bow.

"He surrendered," the guard said. "Like you asked, Highness."

"Leave us!" Charming commanded. The guard backed away. Once he was far enough from the carriage, he ran. "So, you've changed your mind?"

"Yes, Sire," Ashley said. "I apologize profusely for my misconduct and am ready to serve you in any way you like." The words tasted bitter as poison, but the edge was taken off by knowing that Charming was in no position to cash in.

"Excellent. Get in."

Her stomach, like a trapeze artist without a net, performed several leaps, twisted, and dropped. Hard. Being invited into Charming's carriage was not what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to take a rain check. Whereupon, she would sneak out of camp, find Louisa, and head back to the castle to report on her success. "Uh ..."

"Are you reneging? Do you want to return to the pillory?"

"Of course not. I ... I'm not sure how to work a carriage door. I've never opened one. Plus, I'm filthy. I'd hate to soil your velvet cushions."

"Well, which is it? You're so knowledgeable about carriages that you're aware the cushions are upholstered in velvet, or you've never even opened a carriage door?"

"Uh ... both?"

"Oh, for heaven's sakes." Charming bent over, and the door swung open. "Get in, man."

Ashley ascended the carriage in the manner one does when climbing a ladder to the gallows—slowly and with a lot of whimpering. Even worse than the fact she'd be alone with Charming making it all the more possible that he would recognize her, was that this was their carriage. The one they'd taken after their wedding. She sat on the bench across from Charming rather than her usual spot beside him.

Once Charming shut the door, the cavity inside the carriage felt cramped. As if the walls were caving in. Charming loomed over her like a cobra waiting to strike. She needed air. Her hands shook, and her heart raced. If she didn't get out, she would vomit.

Charming patted beside him on the velvet bench. As if a veil had been lifted from her eyes, for the first time, Ashley noticed thin spots in the fabric. "I'm good here," Ashley said.

"Are you defying me again?"

"I'd call it more of an act of kindness," Ashley replied.

"You do amuse me," Charming said, charmingly. How could he be in such high spirits after his man parts had ... purplized? Shrunk to a very small size? Stopped working? He narrowed his eyes at her. "There's something about you. Have I met you before?"

Ashley held her stomach, trying to keep the meager contents where they belonged. When had she eaten last? "I brought you your mead this morning," she said.

He raised a royal eyebrow. "Right. And soon after, I became ill."

Ashley promptly threw up in Charming's lap.

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* In case you didn't know, pillories were not made with the prisoner's comfort in mind, probably because ergonomics hadn't been invented yet.

**Medieval washboards. If you don't know what a washboard is, Google it. It's important to know where the term "washboard abs" came from.

***Medieval term for "an untidy woman."

****Honestly, would it be that bad to be the villain? They get all the best lines. They don't worry about what anyone thinks of them. A good villain ignites the story, then sits back and watches while the hero rushes around like a frantic fireman trying to squelch the embers.

*****Turns out the zucchini is actually the ovary of a plant. I decided to use vegetable because it was less confusing in the sentence. But honestly! The things you learn researching a book!

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