Chanceux Chateau was even more beautiful than Ariane expected. The grounds teemed with flowers and buds arranged in painstakingly-cared-for beds, bushes, and pots, and the air was fragrant with their scent. Ariane had never seen so much color, even in the royal gardens!

Inside there were meticulously polished suits of armor and vases upon vases of flowers. The flooring was marble tediously cut and arranged in diamond patterns; it was all very tasteful and pleasantly clean. (There were also quite a few paintings of black cats, which Ariane thought was a little odd, but assumed it had something to do with Prince Severin’s stint as a beast.)

Ariane eyed a cobweb in a high corner of the hallway as she and the other temporary maids followed a Chanceux footman down a hallway. They soon entered a splendid dining room with an immense fireplace Ariane just itched to clean.

A tall, stork-like woman stood next to the gigantic wooden table that claimed most of the floorspace. She had papers and charts spread across its smooth surface, and she looked up from them only when the other maids fell silent.

“Welcome to Chanceux Chateau,” she said in a wry voice. “I am the housekeeper, Heloise, and for the duration of the Summit, you are all members of my staff. You will abide by Chanceux rules—though they are not dissimilar to the conduct expected by all palace staff. However, allow me to be clear. This is not a holiday. You will work hard to make this event as smooth and pleasant as possible. Much rides on this Summit and the alliances that will be created here, so it is your job to make it so the visiting nobility and representatives can focus solely on their work.” Heloise glanced down at her papers.

Madame Heloise seems to be more informed on the particulars of the Summit…I wonder if that means the rest of the household does as well? Perhaps I’ll learn more about the state of things while I work. Ariane kept her hands folded in front of her as she listened.

“Your main duties,” Heloise continued, “will be to clean a set of rooms we will assign to you momentarily. After you finish cleaning those rooms each day, you are to report to Chanceux staff for additional duties—which may vary from serving food to straightening salons and other meeting rooms. Now, for your assignments…” She motioned for Ariane—who stood at the front of the flock of maids—to step forward.

“Your name?” Heloise asked.

“Ariane.”

“Ariane, you’ll oversee Crown Prince Lucien’s and Princess Sylvie’s rooms. Good luck—you’ll need it. One of the other maids will show you to the rooms.”

Ariane took her assignment with a curtsey, though she wanted to make a face. Princess Sylvie—the youngest child of the King and Queen of Loire—was fine. On the other hand… Prince Lucien—of course I would get the slob. Ariane loved cleaning. What she did not love was cleaning the same thing over and over again because some stupid sod kept messing it up. Unfortunately, Lucien was infamous for his disorder.

A Chanceux Chateau maid who lingered behind Heloise smiled widely at Ariane and motioned for her to step aside so Heloise could speak to the next girl. “Hello, Ariane, was it? I’m Marcelle. Heloise said you’re to see to Prince Lucien’s and Princess Sylvie’s rooms, yes? This way!” Marcelle was older than Ariane—who had just turned nineteen that winter—but she moved quickly and kept up a steady flow of chatter and smiles as she led Ariane out of the dining room and into the main entrance hall.

“I’m so glad you and the other maids have come.” Marcelle started up a set of stairs. “We are already up to our eyebrows in work, and the representatives haven’t even arrived! But of course Prince Severin and Princess Elle would be aware of that and arrange for additional help.”

“You enjoy working for the prince and princess?” Ariane asked.

“Oh, yes,” Marcelle said. “All of us here in Chanceux adore them. This way.”

As Marcelle led Ariane up a hallway, Ariane was split between trying to record a mental map of the chateau and glancing discreetly at Marcelle.

When Prince Severin had been cursed a number of years ago—the curse Princess Elle broke—rumor had it that his staff had been cursed as well. Supposedly they had all been forced to wear masks, and their voices were stolen from them for the duration of the curse.

Was Marcelle on staff when this happened?

“Your assignment is a little trickier, I’m afraid,” Marcelle said, “for Prince Lucien and Princess Sylvie are both staying in the family wing where Prince Severin and Princess Elle live. All other nobles are being housed in guest rooms.”

“In that case, is there anything I need to be aware of? Any special precautions I should take?” Ariane asked.

Marcelle shook her head. “The main hitch is that Princess Sylvie won’t be attending the summit—she’s too young, but she pleaded with Prince Severin and Princess Elle until they let her come. You will need to be cautious about timing your cleaning around her lessons. The princess’s schedule aside, the chateau regular staff will keep this wing in order. Though you will have to walk farther than your coworkers, and you’ll be the only palace maid in the wing.”

Dealing with her unusual schedule shouldn’t be too bad. I’ll make certain I clean her room first, when everyone has gone down to break their fast.

“I must admit I’m surprised,” Marcelle said, jarring Ariane from her thoughts. “Originally we Chanceux maids were assigned to clean Prince Lucien’s and Princess Sylvie’s rooms. Something must have come up.”

Ariane, thinking of Princess Elle’s personal visit and request, raised an eyebrow. “Yes…something.”

“This door leads into Prince Lucien’s rooms—it’s the same room he stays in whenever he visits—and these are Princess Sylvie’s rooms.” Marcelle pointed to two large doors that were positioned across the hall from each other. “Prince Lucien’s room has already been cleaned for the day, but Princess Sylvie’s still needs to be seen to. Normally, you’ll have to carry the linens and cleaning supplies yourself, but I took the liberty and left everything in Sylvie’s room. When you’re done, return to the dining room. Heloise has some last-minute projects we must tackle. Can you find your way back?”

Ariane mentally retraced their route and nodded. “I believe so.”

“Good. If you get lost, don’t hesitate to ask a Chanceux staff member.” Marcelle opened the door to the young princess’s rooms. “That is all. Welcome to Chanceux Chateau, Ariane.” She smiled, then turned on her heels and hurried back the way she had come, the black and white of her uniform a stark marker against the colorful carpet and elaborate decorations.

Ariane ducked into the room that was to be Princess Sylvie’s and rolled up her sleeves as she glanced around. “I’ll have to air the place out, put fresh linens on the bed, and shake out the drapes for certain.” She pulled the curtains aside, letting sunlight stream into the room—which was not nearly as dust-covered as she had originally estimated. “I should wait to make the bed until I get all of the dust out…” she murmured as she opened the windows.

Soon, she was immersed in her task, happy and completely unaware of the chaos that was about to rain down upon her.

* * *

Ariane bit her lower lip and squinted as she rubbed at the gold framework that encased a sparkling mirror.

Polishing the mirror was the last task she needed to complete before she could confidently declare the room cleaned. She buffed out the fingerprints she had left when holding the gold frame, then stepped back and grinned in satisfaction.

“It's done.” Ariane turned in a circle, her eyes flicking from the newly polished mirror to the freshened drapes, plumped pillows, and the wooden armoire and end tables that gleamed in the sunlight. She nodded as she completed her inspection and returned her gaze to the mirror. “Just as it should be,” she told her reflection. She took a moment to critically eye herself, searching for imperfections in her uniform or hair that had pulled loose from the tight braid she had wrestled it into for the day.

She had always liked her hair, which at times was a little too messy but could easily be tamed by a braid. (She forgave the messiness because it was the same shade as a stained oak table directly after it had been polished.)

Gazing into the mirror, she saw her apron was a little skewed, and she had unfortunately collected a few smudges of ash from ruthlessly attacking the fireplace. But she was still presentable, though the smudges would bother her for the rest of the day.

Once her white apron was straightened, Ariane nodded, then gathered up the cleaning cloths, her wooden bucket of soapy water, and the block of beeswax she had applied to a few nicked corners of the armoire.

Marcelle said to return to the dining room for my next task, she thought as she hurried to the door. I wonder what Heloise will have us do. Perhaps there are some additional rooms that must be cleaned.... Ariane paused when she ducked into the hallway and blinked in surprise at the sight of Prince Lucien speaking to a gorgeous woman and strolling down the hallway.

She had to be a mage, for her dress seemed to bleed from one beautiful shade of color to the next, and her eye color changed based on the lighting and the way she tilted her head. However, mage or not, she was absolutely stunning.

Her beauty seemed to have a profound effect on Lucien, for the prince wore the smarmy smile Ariane had seen him use on the most beautiful daughters of Loire nobility at the handful of state events at which she had served. Though she was tempted to shake her head, Ariane kept her face blank as she turned to wipe down the door to Lucien’s room.

“Will you not spend the afternoon with me, Lady Enchantress?” Lucien asked.

If Ariane hadn't been trained to be discreet, she would have dropped her cleaning materials. An enchantress? Soap suds and rags, is he being bold. Usually magic users as powerful as enchanters and enchantresses only married other high-ranking mages, if they married at all—though it was not unheard of for powerful magic users to marry nobility as well. Still, Prince Lucien's words were rather daring considering his companion looked as charmed as a cat that had fallen into a washtub.

“I'm afraid I will have to refuse,” the Lady Enchantress said in a voice that possessed the smooth singsong quality of an alto singer.

The prince woefully shook his head, making a handsome picture of disappointment. “How could you be so cruel? My day shall be ruined if you do not agree to a stroll through my brother's gardens.” Prince Lucien spoke in a winning voice that made Ariane want to roll her eyes. Amusingly enough, it seemed have the same effect on the Lady Enchantress, for she stopped walking.

“I'm afraid your day will be ruined then, for you will not be going for a stroll regardless of whether or not I accompany you.”

Prince Lucien meticulously fixed a pleat in his puffed petticoat breeches. “Whatever do you mean?”

The Lady Enchantress smiled. Though the expression made her eyes sparkle and added to her beauty so much so it was hard to breathe while looking at her, Ariane could detect the faintest trace of glee in the setting of her lips. “Due to the recent attempts on your life, both your brother and your father officially requested that I intervene and do whatever is necessary to see that you are properly protected during this insecure time.”

Lucien abruptly grew several inches taller as he straightened up and pulled back from the enchantress. He laughed. “You can't mean to...” His words died as he shook his head.

Lady Enchantress's smile grew sweet. “Oh, but I do. Please allow me to assure you that I take great pleasure in this act. Prince Lucien, I curse you to take the form of what you really are, a frog.” Silver magic that glittered like stardust swirled around the Lady Enchantress. Lucien turned and tried to run away, but the magic snapped down around him like a bear trap, completely encasing him.

His howls of anger were still audible through the cocoon of magic, and there was a new spring in the Lady Enchantress's steps as she moved closer to him. “Until I break your curse, or until a girl who finds you as distasteful as I do comes to love you and gives you true love’s kiss, you shall remain a frog.”

Something fell with a splat inside the cocoon. When the cloud of magic dispersed, it left behind a frog the size of a dessert plate.

The enchantress smiled down at the frog, and the frog stared up at the enchantress.

Finally, a voice—Prince Lucien’s—erupted from the frog. “What did you do to me?!”

“Exactly as I said: I turned you into a frog,” the enchantress said.

Ariane had to hold her breath to keep from bursting into great bellows of laughter as she finished with the door. Finally! Someone has finally given Prince Lucien what he deserves—though it would have been even more appropriate if he were a pig!

“A frog?” Prince Lucien’s words were nearly lost in a froggy croak. “Why?!”

“You needed to be small.”

“Then you should have turned me into a kitten!”

“I could have,” the Lady Enchantress acknowledged. “But I just didn’t want to. Now hold still—there are a few more spells I have to place on you.”

Ariane judged she could not, as a proper palace servant, remain much longer. (Both because it would be obvious she was listening in on them and because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hold in her cackles.) She shifted her hold on her things, then hurried down the hallway, pausing to curtsey to both the enchantress and the frog prince.

Neither of them seemed to give her any notice, and Ariane happily scurried down the hallway.

No matter how dirty Prince Lucien gets his room during this Summit, it will all be worth it! Prince Lucien—a frog! This is too splendid!

Ariane chortled to herself as she hurried down a staircase, carefully retracing the path Marcelle had led her down.

She made it all the way to the grand entrance hall before she forced herself to temper her snorts of glee. The room swirled black and white as a flock of Chanceux maids scrubbed fiercely at any metal work, straightened paintings and portraits, and fussed over the plush carpets.

Ariane paused a moment to orient herself and turn in the direction of the dining hall. Before she could take a step towards it, a footman opened the front door and slipped inside.

He leaned back against the door with wide eyes. “The first set of guests have arrived!”

“What?” A maid shrieked. “No one is scheduled to arrive today!”

“I know, but they’ve come,” the footman said.

Another maid pushed her way through the throng of her coworkers. “Who is it?”

The footman pushed his hair out of his face. “Arcainia.”

A maid near Ariane grunted. “It would be Arcainia—those bluestockings.”

Arcainia was Loire’s eastern neighbor. It was a small but powerful country due to its booming economy and extremely well-organized government. The royal family could boast responsibility for both of those feats, given that every single one of King Henrik’s royal children played a role in the government. Why, King Henrik’s foster daughter was said to run the treasury, and one of the princes was the head of the agricultural department.

Personally, I think it’s admirable, Ariane mused as she adjusted her grip on her block of beeswax—the heat from her hands was starting to make the stuff malleable. But I’m just a maid. (Most of Loire thought Arcainian royalty had to be half mad to be willing to work.)

Ariane started towards the dining hall, when a fellow maid grabbed ahold of her arm. “Quick! We must be presentable.”

“I was just going to the dining hall,” Ariane said.

The maid paid her objection no mind and instead dragged Ariane to a wall. The rest of the flock hurried to do the same—hiding cleaning rags and swiftly replacing the few items that had been moved to make cleaning easier.

By the time a set of footmen swung the massive double doors open, every staff member had his or her back pressed against a wall and hands serenely folded in front of them with downcast eyes.

Ariane—standing at the back of the room—rebelled against her training as a maid and peeked up, catching sight of the first royal to swirl into the room.

A gorgeous woman with hair of honey-crème and eyes an unusual shade of amber stepped into the hall. Her dress was a beautiful sky blue with gold embroidery that set off her gorgeous smile, and she carried a large black and white cat that sported bronze eyes and a half mustache.

Whoever the woman was, she was probably one of the most beautiful in the world. The Lady Enchantress who had spelled Prince Lucien was even more stunning, yes, but her beauty was other-worldly, like the stars or magic itself. This Arcainian noble, however, felt closer, and her beauty was more similar to a flower.

A footman cleared his throat. “Her Majesty Princess Gabrielle—Crown Princess of Arcainia and Marquise of Carabas—and her royal feline, Master…Puss.”

“It’s Roland,” the cat yowled.

Ariane blinked. …The cat talks?

Crown Princess Gabrielle laughed. “Give it a rest, Puss. Our official invitation named you Puss.”

“Yes, that’s because you wrote to the organizers and called me Puss in your letter. You impudent harpy!” the cat complained.

Ariane exchanged glances with the maids on either side of her to assure herself she wasn’t hearing things. Judging by their eyes, which were so widened they were almost popping out of their skulls, she wasn’t.

Crown Princess Gabrielle patted the head of her cat—or quite possibly her captured pet wizard, because animals did not talk—and ventured deeper into the hall, then unexpectedly approached one of the maids positioned at the wall. “I beg your pardon, but are we supposed to go somewhere?”

Ariane was shocked on behalf of the maid—with the exception of Princess Elle, Loire nobility didn’t just speak to servants—but the maid fared better and executed a pretty curtsey, and replied in a lowered voice that Princess Elle was on her way.

“I am famished,” a young male declared as he swaggered into the entrance hall, another woman at his side.

“Prince Gerhart and Fürstin Elise of Arcainia,” the footman shouted.

“I offered you candied nuts at the last rest stop,” Fürstin Elise said gently. She was the opposite of Crown Princess Gabrielle with dark eyes and long curly brown hair that was pulled back with a red ribbon. Her dress was simpler—almost uniform-like—as the gown was black with white sleeves, gold trim, and a red sash.

Prince Gerhart wore more fashionable clothes—though his were elegantly understated—and while Crown Princess Gabrielle’s gaze was friendly and Fürstin Elise’s focused, Prince Gerhart’s seemed more…observational.

“Don’t spare him any sorry feelings, Sister. He’s old enough to see to himself,” a handsome man called as he glided into the room with two giants at his back.

“His Majesty Crown Prince Steffen, Prince Mikkael, and Prince Nickolas,” the footman said.

Ariane stared at the small crowd of Arcainian royalty. How many representatives did they send?

The man who spoke last had to be Crown Prince Steffen, for he approached Crown Princess Gabrielle and kissed her square on the lips—squashing the black cat between them who yowled in objection. “Where do their highnesses want us?” he asked.

“This lovely young lady said Princess Elle will arrive shortly and tell us herself.” Crown Princess Gabrielle cast another beautiful smile at the maid.

“That is very good of the princess,” Prince Gerhart said as he inspected the room with an evil eye.

The cat snorted. “This Summit is nothing more than an attempt at sweet-talking the continent into playing nice. You can rest assured that Loire will be on their best behavior.”

Crown Princess Gabrielle jostled her arms. “Just as we will be, Puss. So sheathe those claws of yours.”

“You dare to tell me to play nice? I taught you everything you know!” the cat objected.

Crown Prince Steffen slipped an arm around his wife’s waist and frowned down at the cat. “I miss the days you had to pretend to be mute.”

‘Puss’ sniffed. “And I long for the day you have something of intelligence to say, bumpkin-head.”

Prince Mikkael and Prince Nickolas—the two remaining men who appeared to be twins, though one of them wore an expression of curiosity and cheer and the other was as expressive as a wall—slowly approached their siblings.

The expressive one folded his arms behind his head as he strolled along. “Gerhie—did you really need so many trunks? I feel bad for the footmen who have to drag them up to your room.”

Prince Gerhart glared at him. “Perhaps it is because I choose to wear different clothes every night and day as opposed to wearing the same uncreative uniform until it smells.”

“That can’t be it,” the twin said. “You had more trunks than Elise and Gabi—and they had to stuff dresses in there.”

Before the siblings could argue any further, Princess Elle glided down the stairs with a bright smile. “Welcome, Your Highnesses, to Chanceux Chateau. I am Princess Elle—wife of Prince Severin.”

All the siblings bowed their heads—except for Crown Prince Steffen and Crown Princess Gabrielle, who outranked the Loire Princess.

“Thank you for the invitation.” Crown Princess Gabrielle gave Princess Elle a small but friendly smile. “We are honored to be here.”

Prince Gerhart moved to stand with his sister-in-law. “We are also grateful that you undertook this massive task, and we hope to work together for the good of the continent.”

“Of course,” Princess Elle said. “I imagine you would like to see your rooms? If you would come this way, I will show them to you.”

Ariane and every servant in the room tried to discreetly watch the Arcainian representatives sweep after their Loire mistress.

“A strange brand of royals, indeed,” murmured a maid at Ariane’s side.

Ariane juggled her bucket and the beeswax. “Oh?”

“Princess Gabrielle is a commoner, you know,” the maid said.

“Really? I thought she was a marquise.”

“She became a marquise after killing an ogre.” The maid clasped a hand to her heart.

Ariane eyed her, wondering why a Chanceux Chateau servant—who served Princess Elle the ex-Ranger—would find that disconcerting. She was equally surprised when another maid peeled off the wall and planted her hands on her hips.

“What would you know?” the new maid asked. “You are a Loire palace maid.”

Ahhh, that explains it. Sensing a budding argument, Ariane dipped a curtsey, then swerved around the pair. Ariane didn’t have much of an opinion about royalty and their duties. She only cared that they ruled well. Still, the subject of royalty was a complex topic in Loire, given that Prince Severin and Princess Elle were widely admired, and though Prince Lucien was the darling of the courts, he was known to be an idiot.

In fact, the only reason why the country very likely had not been divided into camps of various ideologies was because Prince Lucien made it plain he expected Prince Severin to be his primary advisor, and Prince Severin made it clear he would never rule.

Politics, Ariane shook her head. It’s best not to get involved. Cleaning, on the other hand, that is far more productive! Ariane pushed the notion of princesses and princes out of her mind and hurried for the dining room, anxious to get started on her next task.

* * *

Lucien peered up at Severin and Elle from a red pillow that had been positioned on Severin’s desk. “How could you do this to me?!”

Severin rubbed his eyes. “Two assassination attempts are two too many, Lucien. We had to take severe measures to protect you.”

“Assign guards to me and get me a food taster! Either of those plans are far more logical than turning me into a frog!” He tried to slap his front left foot on the velvet cushion for emphasis, but only succeeded in throwing off his balance and almost falling on his now-horizontal face.

Adjusting to his new—temporary—frog body was proving to be quite difficult. His senses were different—in particular his sight—and now he could barely move faster than a waddle. (He was a very fat frog. And while he could have bursts of speed, hopping down the hallway at anything more than a brisk walk was impossible.)

“I apologize, but I don’t regret your temporary form,” Severin said. “Lady Enchantress Angelique assured me you could withstand a drop from a third-story window, and your skin should be all but impossible to pierce now.”

“I don’t care if being a frog makes me immortal—you didn’t have to do this!”

“The King gave the command,” Severin said.

“Because you gave him the idea?” Lucien guessed.

Severin blinked. “Yes.”

“Why?” Lucien fidgeted on his cushion. “Why would you do this when there are a million less horrible things we could have done?”

“You are right, Lucien,” Elle said. “There are other precautions we could have taken. But, to be blunt, this time it’s too critical.”

“What do you mean?” Lucien asked.

“The Summit is important,” Severin said. “We have to unite what countries we can, or the continent might be lost. You know this.”

“Yes,” Lucien said in a sulking tone. “So?”

“We cannot focus on your safety at this time,” Severin said. “The Summit must be foremost.”

“Getting Angelique to turn you into a frog was the best way to keep you safe while expending the least amount of force,” Elle leaned against Severin’s chair and draped an arm across her husband’s shoulders. “Since we cannot give your situation the attention required for keeping you alive—at this time—this was the best alternative.”

Lucien wanted to storm and shout, but there was truth to their words. Though many brushed it off, saying the sudden increase in monsters and attacks against royalty was part of a pattern, Lucien knew better. The moment Severin had been cursed for no apparent reason, Lucien had been on his guard against magic. He didn’t particularly care what happened in the rest of the world, but Severin had been attacked. That was unforgiveable.

“You will only remain as a frog for the duration of the Summit,” Severin said. “Once it is over, we will be able to reevaluate the threat against you.”

Lucien briefly puffed up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Elle snorted. “If we had, you would have run off.”

“I would not have!”

Severin and Elle exchanged glances. Lucien would have grimaced at the exchange—if he could have. Elle has done a lot of good for Severin…but she’s also given Severin a scheming partner he wouldn’t have had previously! Lucien ignored the nagging thought that he was jealous of their closeness, and instead croaked—which sounded like a sheep with indigestion problems. “I need wine.”

“If you were less prone to drinking and more prone to paying attention in those classes the King still makes you take, we would have told you,” Elle said sourly.

“Elle,” Severin said in a warning tone.

“You may enable him, Severin, but I’m not going to.” Elle lifted her chin and braced herself against the desk. “I know you’re smarter than you pretend to be, Lucien. Your whole family knows—you couldn’t run the Rangers so efficiently otherwise. But unless you wise up and start acting like a real crown prince, we’ll be forced to treat you like the idiot you pretend to be. That is why you were left out of the decision.”

Lucien croaked angrily. “You have no right to judge me! I do what I can—but we can’t all be brilliant like you and Severin. Some of us aren’t as clever, and that’s all there is to it!”

Elle snorted. “You can’t possibly claim you are unintelligent. You knew I was Ranger Seventy-Eight when Severin couldn’t even recall that I was a woman!”

“Elle, that’s enough,” Severin said in a gentle tone. He picked up Elle’s right hand and tugged her backwards. The ex-Ranger sighed and nodded to Severin.

Lucien, however, was not so easily appeased. He was angry enough to throw a wine glass, but at the moment he couldn’t even slam a door shut. “I don’t have to listen to your preaching. I’m leaving.” He made a show of turning around so his back was to them.

“I’ll call for Henry,” Severin said. “He’ll escort you around.”

Lucien had to swallow a croak—which burned in his heart instead.

Elle walked around Severin’s desk so she once again faced Lucien. “I can take you to your room. You’re a well-built frog, but I can handle it.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere right now,” Lucien said.

“Will you attend the Summit, still?” Severin asked as he joined his wife.

“Of course,” Lucien grumbled, though he was tempted to refuse. Severin so rarely asks me for anything, I had better do this. Even if it’s going to be the most humiliating experience ever.

Severin nodded. A moment passed before a rare teasing light entered his eyes. “If you’re so against being a frog, you could always break the spell.”

Lucien released a wheezing hiss. “Blackguard.”

Severin outright smiled—another rare expression. “I can recall the many times you reminded me I could break my curse.”

Lucien tried to roll his eyes, but his frog eyeballs didn’t work the same way as his human ones. “I regret ever pushing you towards anyone—and I have apologized for that numerous times! Besides, it would be very hard to break my spell thanks to the specifications the Lady Enchantress put on me.”

Elle laughed. “Indeed.”

“It would be rather hard to find someone who dislikes you,” Severin said.

“Agreed,” Lucien said.

Elle paused. “Wait, what?”

“Lady Enchantress Angelique said I had to find someone who found me distasteful and get them to fall in love with me,” Lucien said. “Finding a girl who dislikes me that much would be quite hard.”

Elle looked back and forth between Lucien and Severin. “You both truly believe that?”

“Yes,” Lucien said.

“I am not so blinded to believe that Lucien is beloved by all, but he is universally liked,” Severin said. “He is quite popular among nobles and the ladies of the court.”

Elle scrunched her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sometimes you two are so disconnected from the regular populace, it’s offensive.”

“What do you mean?” Lucien asked.

“I mean there are plenty of working-class girls who would love to knee you in the gut,” Elle said. “They’re in the royal palace, even. I met many of them while working as a Ranger.”

Severin nodded. “I would expect as much; however, we are in Chanceux. The only eligible women here are members of royalty or nobility, and my staff—towards whom Lucien will not make improper advances.”

Lucien gulped. There was a slight warning of thunder in Severin’s voice. I forgot how he dotes on his servants.

“There are palace servants here, as well,” Elle pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter,” Severin said. “This is only for two or three weeks at most. He wouldn’t be able to romance a girl so quickly.”

“I beg your pardon!” Lucien croaked. “I could too!”

Elle—goaded on by her husband’s observation—grinned slyly. “Three weeks is not so bad, Lucien. Severin was cursed for roughly three years—mind you, he was a cat, which is far more likeable. Oh, yes! Severin! Did you know Crown Princess Gabrielle brought her talking cat? I was going to see if he would like to meet Esses.”

Lucien tilted his froggy head—which meant his whole body moved. “What is Esses?”

She grinned. “My forest cat from Queen Cinderella!”

Disgruntled, Lucien settled down into his cushion again. “You are obsessed with cats,” he decreed. “You may return me to my room.”

Severin picked up the cushion with such care, Lucien didn’t even fumble. “I’m sorry we had to do this, Lucien. But our choices were limited.”

“Yes, yes,” Lucien grumbled. “You just better make sure this ruddy Summit is worth it.”

“It will be,” Severin promised. “We will have to make arrangements for you to be carried around now. I would normally assign a guard escort, but I would prefer to keep the number of people aware of your situation limited. Perhaps they could dress as servants.”

Elle snorted. “No soldier of yours could ever pass off as a footman. Henry is as close as we can get.”

As Severin carried Lucien from his study, Lucien mulled over their conversation. He doesn’t think I can win over some shrewish girl set against me, does he? Hmm….

* * *

Summit representatives continued to arrive all afternoon and evening, but the majority of them arrived promptly in the morning. This was something of a shock as they hadn’t been expected for another day or so.

Perhaps it shows that Severin is right; things may really be worse than we estimate. Everyone seems eager enough to discuss the matter at any rate. Lucien peered out of an open window from the comfort of his cushion as he heard trumpets announce the arrival of yet another guest.

His window overlooked the vast chateau gardens. A number of the representatives—mostly of the female persuasion—were touring the gardens whilst Severin and Elle greeted their early guests. Lucien could even see gold-haired Sylvie—his little sister—weaving in and out of the throng of representatives, holding her gold-colored ball as she smiled at everyone.

In addition to the foreign lords and ladies, a number of servants edged through the gardens as well—carrying trays of drinks and pastries.

As he watched everyone chatter and laugh, Elle’s words echoed through Lucien’s mind. “…there are plenty of working-class girls who would love to knee you in the gut.”

Lucien tried to sniff, but it came out as more of a croak. “What does she know? I don’t care what some commoner thinks of me!”

“Time to be wettened, Your Highness,” Henry announced.

Lucien grumbled and waddled off his cushion to sit on the moist towel Henry had placed on the window frame. “This is stupid.”

“The Lady Enchantress made it very clear that if your frog skin is not appropriately moist, you will experience discomfort.” Henry squeezed water from a handkerchief over Lucien.

The water felt good—though Lucien would never admit it. “The Lady Enchantress is secretly a hag.”

Henry stared down at Lucien dispassionately.

“I know, I know, she was just following Severin’s orders. But I didn’t have to be a frog,” Lucien complained.

“I suppose not,” Henry said.

“For once we agree,” Lucien said.

Henry continued. “She could have made you a snail.”

Lucien shivered in horror at the idea. Would I even be able to speak if I were a snail? He glanced up at Henry as he thumped back onto his cushion. “You are too infuriatingly thoughtful.”

Henry bowed slightly. “As you say, Your Highness.” He walked away, unbothered and as steady as always.

Henry was not the sort of man Lucien would normally want as a valet. Indeed, before Henry, Lucien carefully selected fashionable men who said yes to his every whim. However, when Severin had finally grown gentrified enough—in other words, when he became Loire’s commanding general—he had announced his intension to take Henry on as his valet as Henry was an ex-soldier who had been injured on duty and could no longer fight.

With Henry selecting Severin’s clothes, it was unlikely Lucien would ever see his brother out of a military uniform, which called for drastic measures. Lucien had agreed to take Henry on as his personal servant as long as Lucien was allowed to pick Severin’s valet. (He had selected Burke, who was still fighting an uphill battle to get Severin to wear anything besides dark colors to this day.)

As a result, Lucien was doomed to retain Henry until one of them died of old age—for the moment he dismissed him, it was certain Severin would hire him on as a second valet. Burke’s job was already difficult enough; he didn’t need two broody soldiers trying to militarize Severin’s wardrobe, so Henry stayed with Lucien.

Lucien croaked. I am so self-sacrificing. He watched the two Arcainian Princesses who had come stroll around a large pond arm-in-arm. Arcainia certainly has no lost love for me. Perhaps the younger princess could break this spell.

For a moment, Lucien wanted to growl in anger.

None of this was fair.

His father insisted on treating him like a child; Severin—though well meaning—thought he couldn’t be trusted with his own welfare; Elle implied he could do better and now he was a frog? Even the thought that he required Henry to dump water on him was maddening.

How dare they decide my intelligence level? He silently stewed. I am a dunce compared to them. I wish they would all realize that and leave me alone!

He moodily waddled towards the edge of the cushion. The only thing I’m good for is socializing. I should be down there, flattering and winking. But instead I’m a frog!

Lucien angrily slapped the cushion with his moist front legs. This unfortunately made the cushion tilt alarmingly forward and tumble straight out of the window.

Lucien slid off the pillow as they were both airborne. He tried to yell, but all he could do was release a massive croak. Curse this wretched frog form! He thought as he continued to fall, hurtling towards the unforgiving ground.

* * *

Ariane paused, perking her ears when she thought she heard a tremendous splat. A glance around the gardens seemed to show that no one else had noticed or heard it, for the representatives’ chatter continued, and none of the other servants paused or turned in the direction of the sound.

I must have imagined it. Ariane squared her shoulders and carried a platter layered with delicious pastries through the fragrant gardens. The air smelled sweet with flowers, and the sun was quite warm—making Ariane extra glad her hair was firmly tucked up in a braid—as she marched for the gazebo perched against the pond’s side. She was surprised when one of the representatives—a tall, bronze-skinned beauty who had unusually beautiful blue and green swirled eyes—perked at the sight of her.

“More food!” the representative declared. “Come, Cagney. We need pastries.” The tall woman grabbed a much shorter, stricter-looking woman who wore her hair in a severe bun and followed Ariane with enthusiasm.

Ariane carefully placed her burden on the table one of the footmen had set up in the gazebo. The representative pounced on the tray and held a pastry in each hand as she leaned over the side of the gazebo and eyed the pond. “This looks deep. I wonder if I could bring my kelpie here to swim.”

“No,” her companion said firmly.

“You are right—it has lily pads and other decorative flowers. I should ask permission first,” the representative said as she snagged two more pastries from the tray.

“I do not think bringing your ornery—and possibly dangerous—pet into a garden filled with people is a safe idea.”

Ariane curtsied to the women and slipped from the gazebo—intending to hurry off and get another tray. Based on that representative’s healthy appetite, perhaps I should warn the kitchens we’ll need more…

“Oh—my ball!”

Ariane swiveled in time to see the golden ball Princess Sylvie had been holding bounce into the pond. The young princess looked aghast. As she had recently entered her teenage years, she had abandoned most of her toys, but Ariane knew from her time in the palace that Princess Sylvie was still fond of her ball.

“That’s too bad,” a pretty, golden-haired young woman said as she joined the younger princess on the shore of the pond. “But fret not. We can ask a gardener for a rake—or better yet, if I could just borrow a guard’s polearm…”

Ariane rushed forward at the offer. “I will retrieve it, Your Highness,” she said, guessing the foreign woman’s title.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble,” the foreign lady said—a slightly thick accent colored her words. “I briefly trained in polearms with the Verglas army before coming here. I should be able to handle the weight.”

“Please, allow me.”

Ariane turned around just as a giant frog hopped out of a hedge. Is that…?

The foreign lady frowned down at the frog. “There appear to be more talking animals in the world than I would have estimated.”

Princess Sylvie smiled. “Oh, he’s not a talking animal—that’s my brother, Prince Lucien.”

It’s close enough, Ariane thought traitorously.

“Prince Lucien,” the golden-haired woman repeated. Her open expression was replaced with a more serene and controlled look.

Prince Lucien attempted to bow, and instead nearly flopped over. “At your service, Queen Linnea of Verglas.”

She’s a queen? Darn it—I should have called her Your Majesty. Ariane started to edge backwards. But now for the kitchens.

“Fear not, darling sister, I shall fetch your ball!” Lucien continued.

“Thank you, Lucien,” Princess Sylvie clapped.

“Forgive my curiosity, Prince, but why are you in the form of a frog?” Queen Linnea asked.

“It is a long story,” the frog prince said. “But please allow me to ask—Princess Astra of Baris is not yet spoken for, yes?”

Ariane rolled her eyes and would have stepped away and completely disengaged from the scene, but she caught sight of Princess Sylvie leaning over the pond, straining to reach the ball.

“Please, Princess. Allow me.” Ariane hurriedly slipped out of her shoes and stepped into the surprisingly cold pond before the princess could fall in.

“Oh, thank you!” Princess Sylvie awkwardly folded her hands together and smiled.

This isn’t so bad, Ariane thought as she waded in nearly up to her shins. The bottom of the pond was pebbled, so only sand and bits of rock squelched between her toes. Furthermore, though the water was cold enough to make Ariane break out in goosebumps, it was quite clear. Another example of Chanceux Chateau’s superior gardens. I wonder why that is—is Princess Elle a great lover of flowers?

She swiped up the ball—which floated on top of the water—and shook it off. She meticulously wiped it down with the top part of her apron as she waded back to shore, and pulled off a soggy weed that clung to the golden surface.

Princess Sylvie waited as Ariane cleaned the ball, though she glanced around the grotto with a somewhat awed expression.

Ariane smiled fondly at the princess’ joy, but almost snorted when she heard Prince Lucien’s arrogant tones.

“Of course, I’m not afraid of a few rogue mages. But I did not want to worry my brother, so here I am, a frog.”

“I see,” Queen Linnea said, utterly lacking enthusiasm.

Perhaps the Lady Enchantress was right. A frog does suit him.

“Personally, I think this whole scheme is a bit silly,” Prince Lucien continued. “Yes, there has been an increase in rogue magic and monsters, but it’s hardly a continent-wide threat. Moreover, each country should be responsible for themselves.”

Ariane bit her tongue to keep her face blank. Though she admittedly did not know how bad things were outside of Loire, she knew his words were stupid and selfish. He cannot mean that. He cannot be so thoughtless when his brother—whom he depends on—was cursed!

Lucien continued, “Instead, we should celebrate the more important things in life—like love!”

…No, he can’t be searching for a girl to break his spell. Not now.

“Which brings me to an important point! Besides Princess Astra, which of the ladies present do you know are single and unattached?”

Something in Ariane broke, and before she could think, she threw Princess Sylvie’s golden ball at Prince Lucien with all her might, squashing his frog body into the ground. “I am so sorry, Your Highness!” She said with a false gasp. “It slipped from my hands—how clumsy of me!”

Lucien croaked into the ground, and his back leg twitched.

Princess Sylvie swiped her ball, then returned to her brother and laid a hand on the lump that was most likely his head. “Lucien, are you all right?”

Lucien finally peeled himself off the ground. “Yes, I’m fine. That was just a silly ball—it couldn’t possibly hurt me.”

Queen Linnea raised an eyebrow. “It completely flattened you.”

“Maybe the barber-surgeon should inspect you,” Princess Sylvie said.

I have to get out of here! Hit by a bolt of inspiration, Ariane executed a quick curtsy. “I shall fetch Henry.” Before anyone could protest, she turned on her heels and hurried away from the scene of her crime. That was stupid of me. I can’t believe I allowed myself to lose my temper over his ridiculous words. I could lose my position for this!

Unease bubbled in Ariane’s stomach as she slipped out of the gardens and into the castle. My only solace is that Lucien’s self-centered vanity means he is incapable of telling one palace maid from the next. As such, I might be safe.

How wrong she was.

* * *

Lucien lay in the dirt in Severin’s garden, still stunned. The ball hadn’t really hurt—nor had the three-story fall from his window. It seemed the Lady Enchantress’ belief in her “indestructible small animal” spell was not misplaced. But that wasn’t what stunned him.

It was the nerve of the feisty maid who had smacked him with Sylvie’s ball. I may pretend to be an idiot, but even I am not so simple-minded as to truly believe she hit me by accident.

He glanced at the representatives—Queen Linnea had left with Sylvie shortly after the maid had fled—and then hopped to the side of the path, resting beneath the branches of a shrubbery.

He had recognized the maid—it was the same spider-terrorizer who had taken out the male rogue mage, Ariane. If she doesn’t hesitate to attack a mage, I can’t say it’s surprising she would take a whack at me.

A thoughtful croak escaped from his throat. She is one of those palace maids Elle alluded to…. But even I’m not confident enough in my skills of wooing to believe I can con a harpy like her into loving me. Some ladies pretend to dislike me because they are secretly offended I do not pay them particular attention. But this maid, Ariane…I get the distinct impression she would be perfectly happy to see me disappear. Lucien blinked, then shuddered in horror when a transparent eyelid flicked across his eyes. Yes. It would be far too much work to woo her. But that doesn’t mean I can’t make her miserable in retribution for her little ball trick. I will not be the only one to suffer!

Lucien crawled out of the bush and made a beeline for a footman standing nearby.

It was time to pay his brother and sister-in-law a visit.