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.