Gerald grabbed Ashley's hand, and they ran, the noble knight practically pulling his princess's delicate arm out of its socket. "Ouch!" Ashley cried, stumbling over the whipped cream peaks of newborn snow, furthering the near shoulder dislocation. "That hurt."

"Not as much as being stomped on by a troll," Gerald pointed out, somewhat rationally. "Oh, forget it," he said, lifting her into his arms and galloping like a hormonal unicorn. Her arm was no longer at risk of dislocation, but the up and down motion caused her brain matter to pound against her skull like a mallet tenderizing meat.

The medieval-feminist part of her wanted to pummel his chest and insist he put her down. But honestly, it was nice being carried against his warm chest, making it possible to ignore the ever-increasing barrage of snowflakes. And her sore calves had a moment's rest, so Ashley wrapped her arms around Gerald's neck and settled in.

"Consarn it all!" Gerald said through his wheezing.

"Language, my knight," Ashley said.

"I shall curse when I like, Princess," Gerald huffed. "And right now, we have a lot on our plate. More than worrying about offending your delicate senses."

"I'm not that delicate," Ashley snapped, tired of the princess stereotype. "And is there something on our plate I don't know about?"

"All this new snow."

"Why is that a problem other than because it's wet and slushy and freezing and gets everywhere?"

"I'm not sure, but I think a lot of new snow can cause instability. Avalanches." He leaped over a "no trespassing" sign like a horse in a steeplechase, gasping for breath, and stuck a landing so hard, Ashley bit down on her tongue, tasting the metallic tinge of blood. But before she could holler in pain (as close to his ear as possible), or ask more about the avalanche thing, they'd almost reached the entrance to the bridge, and it didn't seem right to rupture his eardrum when he'd been so chivalrous.

Suddenly, a dark shadow passed over. Ashley looked up to discover the two-thousand-pound troll hurtling toward the bridge, club arm outstretched like a soldier racing into battle. Ashley barely had time to absorb the fact that apparently, trolls could fly, when it touched down with an explosion of snow, toppling most of the nearby bloody no-trespassing warnings. Bones splintered in the air, and a femur landed with a thud at Gerald's feet.

Everyone screeched (well, not screeched, more like whimpered and gasped) to a halt.

"Put me down!" Ashley beat against Gerald's very firm chest. Gerald obeyed. Once separated from him, she realized he had made an excellent windscreen from the blustering snow.

Why did he have to listen to her now?

Wait, she wanted to be put down.

To stand on her own frostbitten feet.

Right?

The troll crouched at the bridge entrance, clapping her club into an open palm, while a small lake of drool began to pool at its grizzled feet. She sized up each human as one might a plump headless turkey, hanging at the butcher's stall on market day.

Ashley's knees quivered; her stomach filled with acid; images of her friends hanging upside-down in a butcher's stall danced in her head. The weight of responsibility on her shoulders was unyielding and oppressive as an ox's yoke.

Right now, in a quest, the heroine would have a flash of inspiration, and a solution presented itself fully-formed and perfect. There would have a moment of "why didn't I think of this sooner?" and then she'd manage to save the day. Her friends would be impressed by her out-of-the-box problem-solving. There would be a great deal of cheering, possibly a shoulder-carry, champagne spraying, followed by everyone returning to their home and hearth to relax in front of the fire with a good book.

Ashley closed her eyes, arms outstretched, and prayed for guidance. How can I convince this hungry troll not to eat us and to let us pass so that we might rescue innocent children from imprisonment? She waited for the answer to descend from the heavens.

Instead of an answer, all that descended was a wet snowball, which slapped atop her head. Bits of slush slid down her ears, under her clothing, with fat blobs clinging to her eyelashes. The troll stopped midway between a follow-up snowball toss. "Hey!" Ashley jumped up and down, brushing snow off the cape, heart beating like a war drum. "Why'd you do that?"

"You seemed distracted," the Guardian said. "I like my meals to pay attention to me. The smell of fear in my prey aids the digestion, I always say."

So much for divine inspiration. It was a dumb idea, anyway. Her brain must've been suffering from altitude sickness. Or the cold. Or from too much knight-jiggling.

All right, it was up to Ashley to hatch a plan whereby she and her friends didn't end up troll stew.

Think, think, think.

Even if Ashley hadn't heard about their aeronautical abilities, she did have some ogre experience.

Not direct ogre experience, but stepmonster experience. As everyone knows, the primary difference between an ogre and a stepmonster is its nail care regimen.

When her Stepmonster was in one of her "moods" (which was just about all the time except when the check for Ashley's care came from the Ever After Social Security office each month), Ashley learned to appease the woman, giving her that which she most desired.

So all Ashley had to do was give the troll what she most desired.

Which was supper.

But the only food they had were a few day-old ham sandwiches, which Ashley assumed didn't come close to matching the caloric value of 12 humans.

Okay, so without a spare herd of grazing animals to offer, Ashley had very little with which to negotiate. But perhaps the troll would be amenable to a future payoff. "Guardian," Ashley exhaled, a cloud of frozen breath lingering in the air. "I appreciate your position as Guardian of the bridge and the fact that you are hungry, but I see you're a reasonable troll. I am a princess of a nearby realm. As such, if you let us go, I will see to it that you are bequeathed with a herd of heavy-set sheep as soon as I safely return to Ever After. That's a lot better than a few scrawny humans, right?"

"Bird in the hand," the Guardian said. Don't need your sheep right now, but good to know where to find some when my supply of wandering humans dwindles."

Great, now Ashley had endangered Ever After. "Does anyone have any ideas of what to offer the Guardian in exchange for our lives?"

Sadira's shoulders slumped. "I wish more than anything that I could help. I feel like the worst loser on this quest. Haven't helped at all."

Ashley patted her back. "You have helped. You've come on this dangerous journey of your own free will. And your voice of calm is most heartening."

"Look, I can handle this," Derek said, adjusting his perfectly clean and dry jacket and striding toward the troll. "I am ready."

"For what?" the troll said.

"My riddle."

"Riddle?"

"Yes. You know the drill. I've been telling my compadres that this is how it works. You ask me a riddle about what creature has four legs at birth, two at middle age, three in its twilight, or something about unladen swallows or how many elves it takes to screw in a sconce. I answer, then you allow us to cross your bridge."

"Stereotyping! You're confusing us with lowland trolls. Mountain trolls don't give a fig about quiz shows."

Derek raised a green eyebrow. "Well, if you don't want to do the riddle thing, how about I give you something that will truly help your kind?"

"What can you possibly give me, human?" the troll said, eyeing him sideways.

"Technically, I'm part frog, if that helps. But I am a well-studied frog/human. I have fourteen advanced degrees in architecture and fast-food restaurant design. I don't like to brag, but you know those golden arches? Mine."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"I shall bestow upon you some truly fabulous interior design advice. I've visited the witch's cloister, and it's an architectural travesty. Stairs leading to nowhere. Dust traps. Non-right-angled corners, just to name a few of the crimes against design. If you agree to let us pass, you'll no longer need to worry about winning the Worst Building of the Year Award."

Ashley wrinkled her brow. "Is that a thing?"

"Don't you get the news in Ever After?" Derek said.

"I'm only allowed to read fashion and gossip magazines, which, come to think of it, is how this whole thing started. I never would've met you guys if not for that article in Princess Monthly."

The troll slammed her club onto the ground. A disconcerting whoomph sound howled in the distance. "I'm HUNGRY! Enough small talk. I don't need your knowledge, green human. It is the male of our species that dabbles in building design. Which is why we females reside in caves—cleaner, brighter, and less drafty."

Derek's face fell. "So, I can offer you nothing." He sniffled and rummaged around in his pocket, most likely for a handkerchief. "Wait! How about a haircut?" Derek extracted his trusty scissors."

"What's wrong with my hair?" the troll growled. "I just had it done." She yanked at a clump of hair to demonstrate and pulled it straight out of her head. She tossed it aside.

Derek gulped. "Uh, nothing. Your hair is ... captivating. What about a pedicure?"

"What's wrong with my toes?" she roared, wriggling her unsightly digits.

Derek backed away. "Nothing. They're perfectly ... uh ... gnarled?" His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard. "Sorry, folks. I've failed. I've failed you all. I am useless."

"I have a use for you," the troll smiled encouragingly. Her mood improved measurably.

"Great," Derek rolled his eyes, given the previous references to being her dinner.

The troll swung the club over her shoulder. "At last. Time for supper. Time to get my pot aboilin'! But ... you are a squirmy bunch? Can't have you running off while I make preparations." She surveyed the area, her eyes alighting on the hair ropes scattered over the mountaintop like the floor at a barber surgeon's convention. "Hold still a minute," the Guardian said.

They didn't have another option. If they ran for the bridge, the troll would do one of her flying leaps and catch up quickly, and in the process, she might slip and knock someone over the bridge's rickety-looking rail. There had to be another way. In the time between breaths, the Guardian had gathered the hair and leaped back.

"Oh, you haven't moved. Excellent."

In less than a minute, everyone's arms and legs were tied in a tight wrap of princess hair, sitting back to back in a circle, Gerald sandwiched between Ashley and Derek, who kept stealing glances at the knight's backside. The Guardian marched around, examining her handiwork and smiling. "Well done, Betty. Well done."

"Betty?" Derek said.

"Yes, my given name."

"That was my poor sick mother's name," Derek sighed.

"Was it?"

"No, I just thought maybe you'd take pity on us if you thought so."

"Pity honestly isn't in the troll lexicon. Sorry."

"Desperate times," Derek said.

"I understand," Betty said. "Now, for the cooking part. I'm going to get some wood for the fire. Don't go anywhere!" She waggled her forefinger at them.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Derek said.

Faster than you could say, "double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble," Betty had built a fire, dragged a cauldron out from behind a tree, filled it with snow, and had it merrily bubbling on top of a pile of flaming logs. Smoke filled the air.

"Why are there always cauldrons?" Kai whined. "Weren't the ones at the fortress enough for one adventure?"

"Those were fun," Layyin said. "Too bad this time, there won't be any sparkly bolts of magic to add to the challenge."

"At least it'll finally be warm," Sadira offered.

"You mean once we're swimming around inside the cauldron of boiling water?" Derek said.

"My fingers are blue," Sadira said. "I'm half frozen."

"I'll tell you something else that's warm—the sun, but that doesn't mean I want to fly up there and defrost my fingers," Derek grumbled.

"Wait," Layyin said. "Do you think that's possible? To visit the sun? Sounds awesome!"

Derek snorted.

"I'm trying to find a bright side," Sadira countered.

"Ha, bright. I get it. Why don't you find a solution to get us out of here instead?" Derek said.

"That's just cruel," Sadira said. "You know I wish I could do something helpful more than anything."

"Arguing won't help," Ashley said. "If we're going to find a solution, we must put our heads together."

"If you hadn't noticed, our heads are together. Like literally," Derek said.

"As I see it," Ashley went on, "we have to give Betty something of value. Something that improves her life. Everyone wants something."

"A hair transplant?" Tressa offered.

"A bath?" Kai said.

"Maybe we ought to think outside the grooming arena," Ashley said.

"A battle to the death," Gerald suggested.

"Aye," Terrowin said. "With weapons and bloodshed. Is there anything as grand as rivulets of blood on fresh snow?"

"Ooooh," Layyin said. "Terry-poo. You're such a poet! Can I borrow your longsword?"

"Any time, My Princess," Terrowin said.

Ashley tsked, fed up with sophomoric innuendo. But perhaps, in the off chance one or more of them could get loose, it would be good to know the exact location of their weapons. "Gerald, where is your sword?"

Gerald bent his head down, looking toward his crotch.

"Not that sword!" Ashley said. "Why are men so obsessed with that ...." She glanced in the general direction of Gerald's "sword." "I mean the sword that slices into flesh."

Gerald wrinkled his brow.

"You are insufferable! The metal sword."

"Oh," Gerald said. "In my basket. The one I abandoned when rescuing you earlier."

"That will do us a lot of good," Derek scoffed. "We're tied up, and your weapons are yards away."

"Pot's ready," Betty said. "Who's first?"

Tressa sniffled. "I think the fairest approach would be if one of the chivalrous men volunteered."

"You ladies can't have it both ways," Derek said. "It's not fair for you, as moderately independent medieval women, to ask for special treatment when it comes to who becomes dinner first."

"I can't?" Tressa said. "Watch me. Yoohoo, Betty? I've heard green vegetables are good for you. Lots of vitamins. Whatever those are. All I can say is the green one is probably extra nourishing."

"Hey," Derek said. "Why me? There are men here a lot more chivalrous than I am! Like the actual knight, for example."

"Maybe she doesn't go for spicy food," Gerald said.

Betty cocked her head at Derek. "He's kinda green and scrawny, and I don't usually go for vegetables, but—"

"I am not a vegetable," the prince's cheeks flushed bright green.

"I'm not color blind. You are green," the Guardian countered.

Derek shook his head. "It's not my fault. One day I was minding my own business when an evil witch—"

"Ahem," Tressa cleared her throat loudly.

"Silence! I am telling a story," Derek said.

"I know but—"

"But nothing. Wait your turn."

The troll snapped her fingers. "Oh, my! I've forgotten my carving knife in the cave. Be right back. Don't go anywhere," she laughed.

"But—" Tressa said, quite insistent.

"What is it, Tressa?" Ashley said.

"I'm ba-ack!" Betty called.

"The ropes. They've grown. We can escape."

"You're right, you wonderful magic-haired creature you," Ashley said, relief washing over her. The rope had grown, and they could easily slip out of their bindings. "Okay, we have a chance. All at once, we shall leap from our bindings. Anyone with weapons, retrieve them quickly. The rest of us will distract her. Now!"

The moment they managed to untangle themselves and stand, Betty took a flying leap toward them, waving her six-foot-long carving knife. They froze, trying to judge her landing trajectory.

"I preferred the club," Derek called. "Don't just stand there. Get your arms." The guards, Gerald and Derek, scissors held high, zigzagged across the snow.

Betty landed with a boom. The mountain shook. The spiders, who had been hiding out in Tressa's braids, scurried across the snow, scuttling down the mountain. Ashley and her friends zigzagged apart, trying not to step on the arachnids. "Where are you going?" Ashley shouted at them as she encircled the troll.

"Run for your life!" a spider said.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Ashley said.

Now that the humans were separated, Betty spun in circles, wagging her knife, as if unsure who to go for first. She decided to go for the ones running straight at her at full non-glass-slippered princess speed. "What are you doing?" Betty shrieked. "You're ruining everything."

Ashley careened into Betty.

"Oooof!" the troll wheezed but didn't fall. Instead, she tossed the princesses toward the cauldron as if she weighed no more than a paper doll.

"We got 'em," Gerald shouted.

The troll grabbed Ashley by the ankle, dangling her over the pot, steam thawing her freezing body. Her life flashed before her eyes. At least the good parts. Which all began when she met this group of annoying, vain, kind, funny, attractive, well-groomed royals. And Gerald, of course. Her hair dipped into the water. "Hurry," Ashley said.

"Put her down," Gerald shouted, brandishing his weapon. His sword looked like a tiny fish knife in comparison to the troll's carving knife.

"What she said," Derek added, brandishing his scissors.

"But don't put "her" down in the cauldron," Ashley added. "Could you make that part clear?"

Betty, still holding on to Ashley's ankle, sunk to her knees, bellowing in pain. Ashley kicked her foot out of the troll's grasp and scooted away, trying not to look at the boiled ends of her blonde curls. One didn't think about the condition of one's hair at a time like this.

Great fat tears streamed down the troll's lump of a face.

"What's wrong with her?" Sadira said. The troll lay on her side, writhing in the snow.

"No idea," Derek said. "But now that she's incapacitated, I suggest we head on over that bridge and be on our way. Those children won't wait forever."

A lump formed in Ashley's throat. Even though the troll wanted to eat them, the princess's soft heart ached for the creature's pain. She knelt beside her and wiped away a tear. "What is wrong, Betty?"

"I am plagued with a curse," the troll sobbed.

"What kind?" Ashley asked.

"An evil magician cursed me with a worm in my ear."

Ashley shuddered, imagining a fat pink worm burrowing into the troll's auditory system. "How horrible."

"It is," the troll said. "Horrendous. I cannot get rid of this stupid tune."

"Huh?" Ashley said.

The troll sang: "I'm in love with your body, oh, I oh I oh, oh ... why?" she cried. Everyone covered his or her ears. Ashley could feel the catchy beat wrapping itself around her brain.

"Stop," Ashley shouted. "I think we can fix you."

"Really," the troll sobbed.

"Sadira?"

"Yes?"

"Your' voice control over annoying magical spells' spell. Will it work?"

Sadira smiled. "It just might."

Betty's eyes filled with hope.

"But if we help you, you're going to have to agree not to eat my companions or me. And permit us to cross the bridge."

"Anything," the troll said. "Just do it."