LAUREL DECHER

Copyright © 2018 Laurel Decher

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review. Thank you for respecting this author’s hard work.

ISBN 978-3-9820075-0-2 (Paperback Edition)

ISBN 978-3-9820075-1-9 (Hardcover Edition)

ISBN 978-3-9820075-2-6 (ebook Edition)

ISBN 979-8-3314084-1-1 (Barnes & Noble Paperback Edition)

Library of Congress Control Number:  2018907982

CONTENTS

1. A Delayed Party 1

2. Too Late for Parsnips 16

3. The Fairy Godmother Takes Her Time 31

4. Out of the Dishwater and Into the Storm 46

5. A Rocky Situation 60

6. A Princely Rescue 72

7. Charming Complications 85

8. Speaking Clearly with Tact Is an Art 97

9. The Rook Egg 112

10. Brooding in the Dungeon 128

11. The Peppermint Tea House 145

12. Early for a Change 160

13. Dungeon Hospitality 171

14. The Second-Best Croquet Mallets 183

15. Speech or Die 192

16. The Queen’s Wager 205

17. The Entry Basket 224

18. A Library Crisis 234

19. The InterKingdom Tournament 250

20. The Pepper Pot Duel 260

21. Making a Name 272

22. Epilogue 288

CHAPTER ONE

A Delayed Party

INSIDE COCHEM CASTLE, the nameless princess ducked underneath the head table to her self-appointed station. Her place of honor at the table was too far away. She’d waited ten years for this party and couldn’t risk it going off the rails. Sitting on the rushes, with King Oliver’s feet on one side and Queen Sibyl’s on the other, the princess could hear everything.

Above her head, the shiny Golden Parsnip—the badge of his kingly power—hung from her father’s belt.

The princess patted the hidden pocket of her gown. The drawing of her secret weapon, the Cloud of Defense, crinkled reassuringly. Along the back wall, the Cochem archers stood ready for King Oliver’s command.

King Oliver “whispered” in Queen Sibyl’s ear, and the princess smiled. Neither of her parents was any good at whispering. She made out the words with no trouble. King Oliver had to shout to be heard over the courtiers and guests.

“You’re sure about which one needs a name?” King Oliver’s best dancing shoes pivoted towards Queen Sibyl.

Wary of getting pinched, the princess kept an eye on the King’s shoes and reminded herself that parents forgot things. Especially parents with fifteen children and a kingdom to govern. It wasn’t personal. Besides, people without names were hard to remember.

Queen Sibyl stamped her small foot, and her silk skirts rustled. “Yes, of course. She’s the one that put all those goldfish in the moat.”

Mamma had noticed! Training five hundred brilliant-orange goldfish to spell out “NAME ME” had been worth it.

Confident that her parents were on board, the princess slipped under the dessert sluice to check a leaking seam. Keeping things dry was a full-time job with an artificial creek running through the hall. She didn’t mind. As soon as she’d seen a diagram for a gold-panning sluice in a library book, she’d wanted to build one. Gold wasn’t a big deal in Cochem, so they used it for dessert instead.

No one would notice if the guest of honor slipped away for a moment. Her parents had enough to do. The Kingdom’s business took most of their attention, and educating the older Cochem children—the ones who might actually rule one day—took the rest. No one kept track of the youngest child in the family. A long time ago, the princess had decided to make the most of it. Sometimes, it made up for being called “Fifteenth.”

“—a moment ago.”

Even with the Seven Kingdoms partying it up, the end of Queen Sibyl’s sentence carried down to the princess, whose head was now under the other end of the dessert sluice.

“She knows how to take care of herself,” King Oliver’s voice rumbled on. “Handy around the castle too.”

The princess, fishing a wrench out of her hall toolbox, wondered who they were talking about. King Oliver’s sister, Queen Ash? “Handy” didn’t seem right, but the Blackfly Queen definitely took care of herself. The princess frowned. Her favorite wrench for this job was in her workshop in Cochem’s unused dungeon. She’d have to make do with this one.

“I thought the boy with the hair did the goldfish thing.” King Oliver always made a swishing motion over his head to show the boy’s pompadour hairstyle. “You know, Harold number three. But wait—goldfish are quite slippery for a baby, aren’t they? Did the others do such things before they were christened?”

The princess didn’t interrupt. She wanted to know what else they knew about her. Listening was always more useful than talking.

The king and queen tried to sort out their offspring. They got muddled after the seventh and came to a complete stop at number fourteen.

“Let’s start again. We’ve got seven girls,” King Oliver said.

Eight, thought the princess, but she tightened a bolt on the dessert sluice and gave her parents a moment more.

“And seven Harolds,” Queen Sibyl said. “So she must be the fourteenth. But that doesn’t seem right. Oh, how silly! The girl without a name is why we’re here. So what number child does that make her?”

Speaking into the pipe, the nameless princess prompted, “The Fifteenth Child of our house.”

King Oliver said, “What did you say?”

“I didn’t say anything—” Queen Sibyl dropped her voice to a confidential tone, no quieter than King Oliver’s “—you see, the problem is, we forgot about christening this one. Things kept coming up, and now she’s ten.”

“Is that so?” King Oliver got to his feet, and the thump he gave the table made it tremble. He’d never called the hall to order for her before. The nameless princess smiled down at her christening gown. Queen Sibyl knew she was ten years old. This was going better than she’d hoped.

A tiny piece of paper on the rushes caught the princess’s attention. She picked it up and read, “Twyla.”

The other side was blank. She didn’t know anyone called Twyla, but she pocketed the paper for her name collection. Writing “Fifteenth” at the top of school papers got old in a hurry.

“Rose, Marigold, Magenta, Saffron, Indigo . . .” King Oliver ran through the kingdoms present in the hall and sat down again. “The Blackflies aren’t here.” He exhaled in a way that made the princess worry he was finished. “Having the feast before the christening is a good idea. It should give them, maybe five extra hours. That should be enough, even for them, don’t you think?”

At Sibyl number seven’s christening, the Blackfly Kingdom was seven hours late. When the nameless princess heard that story, she adjusted the schedule for her own. She had a lot of practice adjusting things. Taking a better grip on her wrench, she tightened the next bolt.

“If we wait too long, the other guests will leave, and we still won’t have a christening.” Queen Sibyl coughed. “If Cook would at least send up the peppermint tea. My throat is a little dry. And you sound like you might be getting a cold. Are you feeling well enough for a bit of croquet after dinner?”

Croquet? The nameless princess froze, wrench in mid-air. It couldn’t be croquet fever. This year, the whole family had gotten their shots.

“Now there’s an idea.” King Oliver’s heel bounced on the rushes covering the hall’s stone floor. “I’m always well enough for that. We could try the vineyard behind the castle. If the archers stand at the bottom of the rows, they can bowl the balls back up again. While I’m thinking about it, we’re still missing black mallets and croquet balls. We have all the other kingdoms’ colors.”

Not today. The nameless princess set down her wrench and whipped through the crowd towards her royal parents. This couldn’t happen. If the royal guests started knocking balls through wickets, they’d be scattered throughout the Seven Kingdoms before you knew it. It would be the end of the christening.

Her royal parents were losing focus. The princess dove back under the head table to keep tabs on things.

King Oliver called the steward over and ordered some mallets and balls painted black.

“Good idea! The Blackfly family got so annoyed last time when we didn’t have their color.” The hem of Queen Sibyl’s dress went up and down in agreement. She was a vigorous nodder. The feather on top of her dozen-eggs hairstyle must be making a breeze. “Queen Ash is always so quick to feel slighted.”

“It’s their plague-y blackflies, you know. She can’t stand’em.” King Oliver always made excuses for his sister. “I mean—what if blackflies followed you everywhere you went?”

Queen Sibyl shuddered all the way down to her silvery hem. “Dreadful. I’d much rather talk about croquet. How about a quick game with the appetizers?”

Oh no. If only the Blackfly family would show up, blackflies and all. A royal christening couldn’t start until all Seven Kingdoms had arrived.

The princess had to do something. But what?

At that moment, the headwaiter brought the banquet menu for final approval. Queen Sibyl wasn’t wearing her glasses for the party, so King Oliver had to put on his reading glasses. Once they were on his nose, he winced. “With these darn things, I can’t see past the end of my … croquet mallet.”

Considering one desperate plan after another, the princess made her way down the head table to the door. As she passed Harold number one, he bumped her fist with his. “Don’t forget—if you run into your fairy godmother, be cool.”

Sibyl number one called from the middle of the table, “Whatever you do, don’t tell her what to give you.”

“Yeah, just look at Queen Ash,” Harold number three said in the princess’s ear. “We don’t need blackflies in Cochem.”

“No matter what else you have to do, don’t walk away.” Sibyl number six had been caught by her fairy godmother on the way to the royal privy and knew what she was talking about.

Fourteen siblings meant you knew what to expect. The princess was glad she wasn’t an only child, like the Blackfly Prince.

Reaching the hall door, she went out to the stables. The party could start if people thought the Blackfly Kingdom had arrived. She couldn’t pretend to be Queen Ash or King Schwartz, so she’d have to pretend to be Prince Nero. He was about her age. She’d put on black clothes, and no one would know the difference. By now, the guests were too hungry to ask questions.

Once all Seven Kingdoms were present—or appeared to be present—food would be served, and everyone would be happy. The princess couldn’t risk an impromptu croquet tournament. Even if this wasn’t the fever.

She wasn’t much bigger than Harold number seven, the brother closest in age to the princess. No Blackfly horses had arrived in the stables, so the princess tucked up her brocade skirt, put on an old pair of Harold number seven’s black riding pants, and blacked her white Icelandic pony, Númi, with a pot of shoe-polish.

Wrapping herself in black saddle blankets, she tied a black knitted scarf over her light brown hair. She tiptoed barefoot up the spiral stairs to the gallery over the hall, to see if she really had to go through with this.

The silver Cochem banners on the walls gleamed in the torchlight. At her family’s table on the dais, the princess’s fourteen siblings played table hockey with the salt cellar. King Oliver had pushed his chair back as if the feast were over. His reading glasses still rested on his nose. Queen Sibyl swept up salt from the silver-linen tablecloth with her tiny, silver-handled brush and dustpan.

On the main floor of the hall, the seven remaining tables were arranged around the hearth fire like the slanted spokes of a wheel. The christening guests wore the showy colors of their kingdoms so that the hall looked like a silver-striped lollipop. Raspberry-scented Roses, perfumed Daffodils, spicy Marigolds, fluffy Fuchsia, Siberian Iris, and rare black Tulips made a gorgeous, fragrant pinwheel.

Only the dimly lit black Tulips table had no guests. The Blackfly royal family still hadn’t arrived. The princess straightened. If she wanted a name, it was time for action.

On the way down to the hall and the door out to the stables, she tried a new name aloud at each step: