CHAPTER 2

You Are Cordially Invited

Jacques pulls me through the clearing, and I let him because I’m numb, numb, numb. I’ve been dreading this day for a long time. I thought wishing it away would make it not happen, but I should have known better than that. My heart pumps harder as we near the grounds of the cottage.

Okay, it’s not really a cottage. I just call it that. It’s a castle. The word castle just sounds so obnoxious though. Like, “Sorry I’m late. It’s a long coach ride from my castle.” I hate when some of the kids I know say things like that. I hear the village kids talking about us sometimes. Fancy schmancys they call our type. If only they could see what I’m wearing right now.

Mother is already pacing at the garden gate as we approach, and that’s when I realize I have a bigger problem than the invitation to end all invitations. Like the fact that my clothes are torn and I’m covered in dirt and leaves when I said I was going out to have tea with Lady Sasha. I dig in my heels on the grass, and Jacques falters.

“Princess!” He strains to keep me moving. “We must…go… Wow, you’re strong.”

Hanging from tree branches all day is great for upper body strength.

“I can’t go in there, Jacques.” I pull back. “I’m sorry.”

“Your mother is waiting!”

“I can’t let her see me like this!”

He pulls.

I yank his arm back. We could tug of war all day.

“Devin?”

We both turn to the garden gate, where Mother is peering through the ivy that clings to the fence. Her hair is styled in an elaborate updo even though it’s just a regular Tuesday afternoon, and I spot her tiara nestled among her curls. As the gate opens slowly, I see she’s wearing her favorite slate-blue gown. She holds up the hem so it doesn’t get a smidge of dirt on it. Seeing her makes my stomach start doing cartwheels.

I wave. “Hello, Mother.”

“You? You! You!” She’s pointing and stuttering as she takes in my frizzy, sweaty hair and dirty hands and clothes. She touches my torn skirt and cries out in horror. Jacques lets go of my arm and slowly steps away from me. He can sense a teakettle about to whistle when he sees one.

“You look lovely today, Mother! How was your luncheon with the royal court?” I ask. I curtsy clumsily.

“I left early when I heard what was happening. Get in the house this instant!” she says in a panic, grabbing my arm. “If we’re lucky, we can clean your face and hands before they get here. They’re already one chateau away!”

“How do you know they’re coming here?” I ask as Mother pulls me through the garden gate where my lady-in-waiting, Anastasia, is…well…waiting, unsurprisingly. Her eyes widen when she sees me.

“Maybe the messenger is just on our block to give an invitation to Gretchen,” I say hopefully.

Please, please, please, let Royal Academy just be coming for Gretchen!

“Gretchen’s only eleven. You know she doesn’t go until next year! And besides, the dove already delivered the preliminary invitation to our doorstep so you could be ready.” Mother pulls a scroll out of her pocket and hands it to me. “And you’re clearly not ready.”

As I skim the scroll, I get a sinking feeling in my chest. Yep. There’s my name right there. I keep reading. “They need me there next week?” Now my voice is shrill. “That’s not enough time! I…I…have nothing to wear.” There’s no greater travesty in Mother’s life than not having the right gown to wear, even for something as informal as a trip to the village.

Mother waves her hand around. “Of course you have things to wear! Darling, I’ve been packing your trunk for Royal Academy all year!”

Of course she has. “But my hair and my nails—they’re a mess!” I falter.

“Done and done!” Mother ticks off each concern with a joyous laugh. “Devin, appointments for those things are made years in advance. We all know what month invites come. The RA Insider even gives us hints on the week invites will go out. So, of course, I have that all taken care of.” She pulls a twig out of my hair with a frown. “I’m sure they can do something with this bird’s nest of yours.”

My heart is pounding faster. It feels like the garden walls are closing in. I pull away. “I don’t want to go to Royal Academy.”

Mother’s jaw begins to quiver. “That’s nonsense! We’ve talked about this path for you since you were a toddler. This is your chance to move up the royal ladder! There hasn’t been a widespread plague or dragon outbreak in years, so we both know being twelfth in line for the throne will get you nowhere. Hopefully you’ll meet a prince at Royal Academy so you can rule a small province or kingdom.”

“Mother!” I sputter. I can see some of my forest friends now, peeking through the garden gate. “You’d want a whole village to be wiped out just so I could be queen?”

My voice is louder than I intended, and now I realize all the servants are looking at us. Mother’s face is crimson. She smiles at them all brightly, then turns back to me. “Don’t be silly, Devin. I was just pointing out how there is little or no chance of that happening. I’m not wishing it on anyone! What I’m trying to say is that going to RA will give you the best chance of becoming a queen.”

“Who says I even want to be a queen?” I counter. “Maybe I’m meant to do something else with my life. Look at all the good work I’ve been able to do for the creatures of Cobblestone Creek.” I motion to the fence. “I know you don’t want to admit it, but I’ve got a way with animals. I can understand them and help them.”

Mother turns me away from the servants. “Would you stop saying that?” she whispers. “You sound deranged! You cannot talk to animals!”

“I think she can,” Father says, walking up behind us. He’s dressed in his finest threads, a sash across his chest showcasing the many gold medals he’s earned as a commander in Enchantasia’s Royal Infantry. He kisses my cheek, even though it’s sweaty. “Belinda, you can’t deny she has a gift.” Mother starts to protest, but Father continues. “When we had that mice infestation in the castle last winter, Devin was able to convince them to leave by offering them shelter in one of our barns!”

“That wasn’t Devin. It was the traps we set out. They scared the mice away,” Mother says, but her voice doesn’t sound convincing. She looks at the two of us as if we’re conspiring against her. “I’ve put up with this animal nonsense long enough. It’s a lovely little hobby, Devin, but it’s not your future. Royal Academy is! Just look at your cousin, Penelope Claudine. She went to Royal Academy, and now she’s married to a king with three castles!

Mother takes my hand in her free one. She is smiling so earnestly that for a moment I feel bad about how hard I’m fighting her.

“Oh, Devin, you’re going to love it. Having a royal tailor on hand to make you any ballgown you want for class or parties is the best part!”

Never mind. I pull my hand away and fold my arms across my chest, ready to state my case again. Mother knows she’s lost me again. I hear horses galloping now in the distance. The trumpet sound is growing nearer too. I don’t have much time.

“Fight me all you like,” Mother finally says. “Let your official royalty profile portrait be one of you looking like this! The truth is, you don’t have a choice concerning whether you attend or not.” She points to the fine print on the bottom of the scroll. “All royals of your age who are in line to rule a kingdom must attend RA. It says so right here.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood. The trumpets are growing louder. Suddenly, the servants open the back doors, and I see men in white with trims of gold wearing wigs and carrying official decrees marching into our garden.

“Her royal portrait!” Mother cries.

I can feel her wiping my face and trying to tame my hair, but my eyes are only on one person: my father. If anyone understands me, it’s him. He’s my one hope for avoiding a future that involves Royal Academy. “Father?” I say questioningly. “Please.”

I watch his expression closely. It wavers between sadness and an emotion I can’t identify. He places his hands on my shoulders as Mother tries to fluff my skirt. I watch her pull the ribbon out of her own hair and try to tie it around mine.

“Devin, I tried. I really did,” Father says. “But she wouldn’t budge on the matter. Even after I explained your extraordinary gift. If anything, it only made her want you more.”

She? “You mean Mother?” I question.

Father shakes his head as the men arrive. Two carry a box, two have trumpets, and one of the men behind the pack is already drawing my portrait. If they’re surprised by my appearance, they don’t say.

“Olivina,” Father explains in a whisper. “Royal Academy’s headmistress.” His eyes search mine. “She says she can see the future, and you, my child, are destined for great things.”