LITMIR.BIZ

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snorted. “Every good king ends up dead.”

      “You have to trust me,” Rhian pressed. “The same way I trust you.”

      “I do trust you, brother,” said Japeth, softening. “It’s that devious little minx I don’t trust. Suppose you start listening to her instead of me?”

      Rhian snorted. “As likely as me growing horns. Speaking of the minx.” He laid down his fork on his plate of rare, freckled deer meat and looked up coldly from the decadent table, his crown reflecting his blue-and-gold suit.

      “I heard guards pounding on the Map Room door, Sophie. If you can’t make it to dinner on time, then your friends in the dungeon won’t get dinner at all—” He stopped.

      Sophie stood beneath the new Lion-head chandelier, wearing the dress they’d left for her. Only she’d slashed the prim white frock in half, ruffled the bottom into three layers (short, shorter, shortest), hiked them high over her knees, and lined the seams of the dress with wet, globby beads, each filled with different colored ink. Crystal raindrops dangled from her ears; silver shadow burnished her eyelids; her lips were coated sparkly red; and she’d crowned her hair with origami stars, made from the parchment she’d ripped out of the wedding books. All in all, instead of the chastened princess the king might have expected after their encounter in the Map Room, Sophie had emerged looking both like a birthday cake and a girl jumping out of one.

      The pirates with Sophie looked just as stunned as the king.

      “Leave us,” Rhian ordered them.

      The moment they did, Japeth launched to his feet, his pale cheeks searing red. “That was our mother’s dress.”

      “It still is,” Sophie said. “And I doubt she would have appreciated you gussying up girls you’ve kidnapped in her old clothes. The real question is why you asked me to wear this dress at all. Is it to make me feel like you own me? Is it because I remind you of your dear departed mum? Or is it something else? Hmm . . . In any case, you told me what to wear. Not how to wear it.” She gave a little shimmy, the light catching the colorful gobs on the dress like drops of a rainbow.

      The Snake glared at her, scims sliding faster on his body. “You dirty shrew.”

      Sophie took a step towards him. “Snakeskin is a specialty. Imagine what I could make out of your suit.”

      Japeth lunged towards her, but Sophie thrust out her palm—

      “Ever wonder what map ink is made out of?” she asked calmly.

      Japeth stopped midstride.

      “Iron gall,” said Sophie, green eyes shifting from the Snake to Rhian, who was still seated, watching her between tall candles in the Lion-themed centerpiece. “It’s the only substance that can be dyed multiple colors and last for years without fading. Most maps are inked with iron gall, including yours in the Map Room. The ones you enchanted to track me and my friends. Do you know what else iron gall is used for?”

      Neither twin answered.

      “Oh, silly me, I learned about it in my Curses class at school and you boys didn’t get into my school,” said Sophie. “Iron gall is a blood poison. Ingest it and it brings instant death. But let’s say I dab a touch on my skin. It would sap the nutrients from my blood, while keeping me alive, just barely, meaning any vampiric freak who might suddenly need my blood . . . well, they would get poisoned too. And it happens this entire dress—your mother’s dress, as you point out—is now dotted in pearls of iron gall I extracted from your maps, using the most basic of first-year spells. Which means the slightest wrong move and—poof!—it’ll smear onto my skin in just the right dose. And then my blood won’t be very useful to you at all, will it? The perils of haute couture, I suppose.” She fluffed the tail of her dress. “Now, darlings. What’s for dinner?”

      “Your tongue,” said Japeth. Scims shot off his chest, turning knife-sharp, as they speared towards Sophie’s face. Her eyes widened—

      A whipcrack of gold light snapped over the eels, sending them whimpering back into the Snake’s body.

      Stunned, Japeth swung to his brother sitting next to him, whose gold fingerglow dimmed. Rhian didn’t look at him, his lips twisted, as if suppressing a smile.

      “She needs to be punished!” Japeth demanded.

      Rhian tilted his head, taking in Sophie from a different angle. “You have to admit . . . the dress does look better.”

      Japeth was startled. Then his cheekbones hardened. “Careful, brother. Your horns are growing.” Scims coated Japeth’s face, re-forming his mask. He kicked over his chair, its pattern of Lions skidding across the floor. “Enjoy dinner with your queen,” he seethed, striding out of the room. A scim shot off him and hissed at Sophie, before flying after its master.

      Sophie’s heart throttled as she listened to Japeth’s footsteps fade.

      He’ll have his revenge, she thought. But for now, she had Rhian’s undivided attention.

      “A queen in the castle will take him some getting used to,” said the king. “My brother isn’t fond of—”

      “Strong females?” said Sophie.

      “All females,” said Rhian. “Our mother left that dress for the bride of whichever of us married first. Japeth has no interest in a bride. But he is very attached to that dress.” Rhian paused. “It isn’t poisoned at all, is it?”

      “Touch me and find out,” Sophie replied.

      “No need. I know a liar when I see one.”

      “Mirrors must be especially challenging, then.”

      “Maybe Japeth is right,” said Rhian. “Maybe I should relieve you of that tongue.”

      “That would make us even,” said Sophie.

      “How’s that?” said Rhian.

      “With you missing your soul and all,” said Sophie.

      Silence spread over the hall, cold and thick. Through the wide bay windows, thunderclouds gathered over Camelot village in the valley.

      “Are you going to sit down for dinner or would you like to eat from the horse trough?” the king asked.

      “I’d like to make a deal,” said Sophie.

      Rhian laughed.

      “I’m serious,” Sophie said.

      “You just threatened to poison my brother’s blood and skin him of his suit and then brazenly insulted your king,” said Rhian. “And now you want . . . a deal.”

      Sophie stepped fully into the light. “Let’s be honest. We despise each other. Maybe we didn’t before, when we were eating truffles at enchanted restaurants and kissing in the backs of carriages, but we do now. And yet, we need each other. You need me to be your queen. I need you to spare my friends. Would I rather watch you hacked into dog food? Yes. But in every cloud there’s a silver lining. Because I’ll admit it: I was bored as Dean of Evil. I know I’m an ogre for saying it, but I don’t care if little Drago is homesick or constipated or cheating in Forest Groups. I don’t care if abominable Agnieszka’s warts are contagious, roguish Rowan is kissing girls in the meat locker, or dirty Mali snuck into the Groom Room pool and peed in it. My fairy tale made me more beloved than Sleeping Beauty or Snow White or any of those other snoozy girls. And what diva icon goddess uses her newfound fame to go . . . teach? In theory the idea of devoting myself to a new generation sounded noble, but none of these students are nearly as clever as I am and I was left feeling like a chanteuse playing miles away from the main stage. I’m too young, too alluring, too adored to be out of the spotlight. And now, through a series of rather unfortunate events, voilà, I find myself poised to be queen of the most powerful kingdom in the land. I know it’s not right for me to wear the crown. In fact,

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