“Fiona...” Queen Marion stepped thoughtfully back into the room, her head cocked to one side.

    Fiona glanced up guiltily from her scrying glass. She'd been just about to call Jack.

    The Queen smiled slightly. “Jack, my dear? Even distance can't keep the two of you apart. Darling, you have to realize you were meant for each other. I'm so glad you've decided to speak with him about your betrothal. According to Queen Annelise, he's so excited. Try to at least pretend you're happy, dear. It will mean a lot to your best friend. I won't interrupt you any longer. Please do your father and I the honor of joining us for lunch for once, hm?” She glided back out of the room, heels clicking firmly on the stone floor.

    “Crap, crap, crap, crap, crap,” Fiona hissed, setting the glass down with shaking hands. Jack was happy about this? It couldn't be real. Had she missed the signs? Oh, ye gods. Was he going to kneel down and propose to her? Fiona fanned herself. In part, to dry her hair faster, or at least that was what she told herself.

    This was crazy. Jack wasn't in love with her. That was just a lie her mother had told her so Fiona would go quietly along with the relationship. Fiona would call Jack and ask him for the truth, and he would tell her that he had no such feelings.

    But what if he did?

    Fiona stomped into the adjoining bedroom, yanking off her dye-stained nightgown as she went. “This is ridiculous,” she growled.

    She threw open the dresser drawers and started pulling out clothes. “I am behaving like such a stupid princess. He loves me, he loves me not. There is no question about it. He sees me as nothing more than a friend and I do not need to scry him to confirm that.”

    Fiona yanked on trousers and a vermillion blouse. “Ye gods, he wants to marry me. That has little to nothing to do with love. Ye gods. I can't call him. I'm a coward. Why am I a coward? You know what, it's fine, he was supposed to visit next week anyway. I'll wait. Mother can think she has properly terrified me now, but next week I will be face-to-face with him, and there is no way he can lie to me when I've got my glare on. There!”

    She spun on her heel and stormed out of the room so she could go torment the local gentry for a few hours to soothe her frayed nerves. Nothing was more calming than leading a nobleman on.

    Nothing was less calming than leading a nobleman on.

    Somehow, Fiona didn't know how, probably because her mother's maids had loose lips, news of the betrothal must have leaked. No man, whether count, duke, or lord, would look her in the eye now. They blushed at her advances and backed off muttering things about business elsewhere and easy kitchen wenches. That wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was all the countesses, duchesses, and ladies rushing to congratulate Fiona on her betrothal, gushing about how handsome Prince Jack was and how jealous they were (neglecting to mention how relieved they were that they were no longer competing for their men's attention with Fiona). Fiona nearly called Jack a million times, but every time a nobleman ducked into a room to avoid her or a fair lady scurried over to giggle at Fiona's luck, she became more afraid that her mother was right and Jack was going to ask for her hand.

    By the time the first herald announced the first carriage pulling through the first gates surrounding the city, Fiona's nails were ragged, her eyes were bloodshot, and she couldn't sit down for longer than a second without looking like she was constipated.

    She was the first person out to meet the carriages when they pulled into the castle courtyard. She even beat the herald.

    “Hey, Fi!”

    Fiona spun to face the right carriage as Jack leaped out, dapper as ever even after a ten-hour carriage ride. He bounded over to her and mussed her hair.

    “Gods, Jack,” Fiona yelped. She tried frantically to rearrange her hair into something that didn't look like she'd just taken a roll in the hay. Just because anything you did to Jack's shaggy brown hair couldn't affect its perfection didn't mean that he had a free pass to mess up hers all the time. Not that he'd ever taken the hint.

    Jack grinned crookedly, green eyes scrunching up, and adjusted his pinstripe suit. “So? What do you think?”

    “Not a crease,” Fiona said. “And when I find out how you manage that, I'm going to kill you for the secret.”

    “Same old Fi.”

    “Same old Jack.” Fiona swallowed hard around the nervous lump in her throat.

    “Princess Fiona.” King Johnson and Queen Annelise came gracefully down the steps of the carriage, extending their arms to Fiona. She gingerly accepted their hugs, cringing all the while. They always smelled like lavender, and lavender gave her the willies.

    “King Johnson and Queen Annelise Highmere of Peoria,” the herald announced, “and their son, Prince Jackson Highmere.”

    Fiona willingly stepped back and let the kings and queens do their usual dance of greetings and pleasantries, uncomfortably aware of Jack standing next to her.

    “So,” he whispered. “Sword fight in the stable loft in five?”

    “I have to wash my hair,” Fiona said. Then she fled.

Chapter 1: Fiona the Fuchsia

    Princess Fiona was in the bath dyeing her hair when her mother came briskly in with the news.

    “Fiona,” her mother said, “I have news.”

    Fiona, who was twisted upside down with the rim of the tub supporting her back so she could rinse the dye out of her hair under the ornate faucet without getting any in her eyes, choked out, wobbling as she did, “Okay.”

    The queen froze in the doorway, appalled. “Princess Bellerophon Fiona Montbriand, what are you doing?”

    “Hello to you too, Mother.” Fiona glanced at her hands. The water was still running pale pink. She sighed heavily. Why did it always feel like she had put too much dye in her hair when it finally came time to rinse it all out? At least it wasn't purple this time. The maids had complained for weeks about the stains in the tub.

    “That is undignified behavior for a young lady of your status—for any young lady! What are you doing to your hair this time?”

    “Fuchsia, Mother,” Fiona said.

    Queen Marion moaned. “Your entire wardrobe will have to be remade. Again.”

    “My wardrobe is fine.”

    “Clothing suitable for that atrocious green hair you had will in no way agree with your latest image alteration, Fiona. You have no idea the strain this puts on—“

    “So, Mother,” Fiona said. “You had news.” She shifted slightly; the edge of the tub had been digging into her spine.

    “Oh, yes, of course.” The queen threw her hands in the air. “I don't know why I let you distract me. Your father and I have signed an agreement with Peoria. My dearest, you are to be betrothed to Prince Jackson Highmere.”

    Fiona suffered what could only be called a spasm of alarm. She flinched and cracked her forehead against the faucet, then lost her balance and slid backward into the tub. Warm water cascaded over her throbbing head, running rivulets of pink dye into her eyes. “I'm what?”

    “Fiona, are you injured?” Queen Marion asked nervously, staying a cautious five feet away from the tub and Fiona's hair dye.

    “Never mind that,” Fiona snapped. “Jack? You want me to marry Jack? You can't be serious.”

    “We're perfectly serious,” the Queen said, confused. “It's a far better match than most girls of your station can hope for. There's already a strong attraction between the two of you—“

    “Because we're best friends. I can't marry my best friend. That's just ridiculous.”

    “It's not ridiculous,” her mother said, pursing her lips and clenching her fists the way she did whenever she ran up against her bull-headed daughter. “It's a strong foundation for lasting love and companionship later in life.”

    “I don't want to marry Jack,” Fiona said.

    “As I hope you will one day realize,” her mother said heavily, “when you rule a kingdom, want and duty rarely have anything to do with each other.”

    “Actually, Mother,” Fiona said, laboriously levering herself out of the tub, “I've already figured that out. And I have no duty to marry Jack.”

    “For your information,” Queen Marion said haughtily, “you and Prince Jackson have been groomed for each other since childhood.”

    “We've what?” Fiona squawked, falling back into the tub.

    “Both families had rather hoped that your feelings for each other would be farther along at this point, but that can only be remedied with time, of course. You got along quite well the first time you met, after all.”

    “I spent half the time beating Jack over the head with a sword,” Fiona said dryly. This time, she managed to clamber out of the tub, wringing water from her hair. So much for her frilly white nightgown. Good riddance, really. If only all her nightgowns weren't the same as this one.

    Her mother frowned. “You keep bringing up things which do not pertain to the subject at hand. Regardless of your inclinations, your past or current behavior, consider yourself betrothed, Fiona. And count your blessings.”

    Spitefully, Fiona grabbed a white towel and dried her dripping pink hair on it, scowling fiercely until her mother couldn't stand the sight of such unladylike behavior any longer and departed. Then Fiona drop-kicked the stained towel at the door. Just wait until Jack heard about this.