“Why?” Jack asked, drawing a glance from the King.

   “Now,” Fiona demanded, teeth clenched so hard she thought her jaw might fuse together.

   “It is my pleasure to announce the engagement--”

   The candle-lit view of the dining hall was replaced by a dark and hayfever-enducing stable loft.

Fiona released Jack's hand and swore in relief.

   “Ye gods, Fi,” Jack said. “Did you have to break my hand?”

   “We're getting betrothed,” Fiona screeched. “Do you really think I wanted to stick around for that? Demons and deities, Jack!”

   “We're betrothed?”

   “Did I stutter? My father was about to announce it before everybody. Do you know what that would have meant?”

   “When did we get betrothed?” Jack asked in a particularly stultifying fashion.

   “Does it matter? I have been on edge for weeks now, worrying about it. I can only imagine they left you out of the loop so that you'd have no choice but to do the noble thing and agree to marry me in front of everybody.” Fiona paced the loft in the dark, kicking at the hay.

   “Who says I wouldn't want to marry you anyway?”

   “What does that matter?” Fiona barked. “There will be no marriage. No way. Not happening.”

   “Why not?” Jack's expressions were invisible in the dark, but he sounded amused.

   “Because do I look like the wifey type? And furthermore, you're my best friend, Jack. And I just can't picture you like that. No way.” Fiona paused, thought some, and then asked, slightly timidly, “Are you the marrying type? The marrying-me type?”

    “I wasn't even thinking about it until you brought the subject up,” Jack vowed.

    Fiona blew out a long breath. “Good. That's a relief. We need to tell them that.”

   “From the sound of it, they're a little past listening,” Jack said. “If their plan was to trick me into marrying you, then I don't think they'll change their minds easily.”

   “We could just say no in the ceremony.”

   “They might find a way around that.”

   Fiona cussed and punched the side of the loft. “Ow. Stupid splinter.”

   “Would you feel better if you beat me in a duel?” Jack asked.

   “No,” Fiona said sourly. “It's dark in here. You'd just use the shadows to jump all over and win.”

   “I might let you beat me.”

   “I hate when you do that. Would a dragon do that? Would a giant do that? No. I don't know why more princesses don't study swordplay. It would save a lot of kidnappings. I really don't see any benefits to being locked in a tower waiting for prince charming to come along. What a waste of time.” Fiona kicked at the straw.

   Then she froze, eyes alight. “I've got it!”

   “Oh, no,” Jack said.

   “No, really, this is brilliant.”

   “I've heard that before.”

   “Hear me out, Jack.” Fiona turned to face him, even though she could barely see him. “We're in an arranged marriage. How do we get out? We rescue you a princess, that's how! I mean, you're practically expected to marry the princess you rescue, so we'll just go find one you like, wave our swords around, and come home triumphant and no longer engaged to each other.”

   “I'm not sure I want to get married at all,” Jack said.

   “You can put it off,” Fiona argued. “I'm sure our parents won't be too happy at first. They'll probably dig their heels in for a while. You're a prince. You're expected to continue the family line.”

   “You're expected to continue the family line too,” Jack pointed out crossly.

   “I'm also expected to fall under an evil witch's spell, and that sure isn't going to happen,” Fiona said. “Tell me this isn't a great idea. The longer we stay on the quest, the more they'll have to search for us, and even if we don't find someone else for you to marry, maybe by the time we get home our families will be so fed up they'll call the wedding off. Haven't you ever wanted to travel outside our borders? Test your skills alone and unencumbered by servants and bodyguards and stuffy people?”

   Jack chuckled. “I think that's more your dream.”

   Fiona rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then haven't you always wanted to see lots of taverns and play lots of cards where your parents can't send someone to drag you home right before you're about to win big?”

   “You got me there.”

   “Then let's do that. Let's get out of here while we still have a chance. What do you think ruling a kingdom's going to be like, Jack? Dead boring. I want to kill a few dragons before I'm too old to swing a sword. I want to be the kind of hero people sing about.”

   “Your goals are a lot bigger than mine,” Jack said.

   “If we can find you a better bride-to-be than me, that's a pretty big goal,” Fiona said.

   Below them, someone shoved the stable door open and said, “Search everywhere.”

   “Also,” Fiona said, “if we're leaving, we need to go now.”

    She regretted her choice almost as soon as she entered the dining hall, when she remembered with a flush of embarrassment that flattered her hair color that Jack, being a man, made a habit of staring at women's chests, and he made a particular habit of staring at hers whenever she wore a low neckline, purely to annoy her. In the past, Fiona had always brushed it off as teasing, but now with a marriage looming in deadly Damocles fashion above her head, she couldn't help gnawing on her lip as she wondered what such behavior would look like to the rest of the court, who'd surely notice.

    “Fiona,” Jack said suddenly from her side, and Fiona jumped a mile. He laughed. He took even more pleasure from appearing at her side from the shadows and scaring the wits out of her. Normally, Fiona only pretended to be frightened (most of the time), but tonight, well.

    She needed something to cover her cleavage with. Blue velvet curtains hung from the windows that flanked the royal table. Fiona lunged, tore one down, and threw it over her shoulders before Jack could give more than a passing glance to her chest.

    “Brr, isn't it cold in here?” she said, rubbing her arms.

    “It's summer,” Jack said, nonplussed.

    “It's also evening,” Fiona said, and hurried to sit in her seat before Jack could say anything more or, even worse, act gallant and pull out her chair for her. She tucked the velvet drape in as best as she could, ignoring the stares from the court and from her bewildered parents on her left. It was a little too warm in the curtain, but all the above was easier to deal with than juicy rumors that only fed the gossipy fire of a kingdom-uniting wedding.

    “Are you getting sick?” Jack asked as he took his seat on her right. “You're kind of acting weird, Fi.”

    “I'm fine,” Fiona said, a little too breezily. Hastily, she amended, “Well, I don't know, maybe I am getting sick? Or maybe it's the fumes from the hair dye?”

    “They are a little stronger than usual,” Jack said. “I wasn't going to mention it, but...”

    “Oh, quit complaining,” Fiona said. “It smells better than your alcohol breath after a night of cards.”

    “Which is better than your morning breath any day,” Jack retorted.

    Fiona stiffened as she realized her mother was staring at them and smiling fondly. “Which you only smelled once,” she added desperately, “when you caught me--”

    She clammed up. She couldn't finish that sentence, not in front of her mother, and especially not when it involved the baron's gorgeous son, a garden gnome, and some precarious balancing high in the tallest tree in the ornamental gardens. When Jack had heard the full story, he hadn't been able to stop laughing, but he had helped Fiona sneak back into her room as the sun was rising. The corners of Fiona's mouth twitched. There was the mark of a true friend.

    How could her parents expect her to marry him?

    “All right,” Jack said. “I'm dying here. Why were you avoiding me earlier?”

    “I had to dye my hair,” Fiona said automatically.

    “Your hair was already dyed when I arrived,” Jack said, amused.

    “I mean I had to finish,” Fiona said. “You know, wash out the excess dye so it doesn't stain my pillowcases at night, and it's not very proper for a man to see a lady in such a state.”

    “Like I haven't,” Jack said, “you contortionist fool. Don't you remember that first time when you couldn't figure out--”

    “I was just fourteen,” Fiona interrupted when she noticed her mother beaming. “That awkward girl stage, you know. Now I'm a lady, and I have certain, um...” She paused. She couldn't remember what it was a proper lady was supposed to have. Standards? Images? Too much makeup? Normal hair? Correct posture? Her mother had lectured her on all of them at one time or another, to Fiona's eternal dismay.

    “In any case,” Jack said, “we need to have our inaugural sword fight. The summer hasn't properly started until you've beaten me and are looking smug again. Although this time I swear--”

    King Frederick Montbriand stood, lifting his hands for silence from the court. “My friends, tonight is a special night. For years now, our kingdoms have been uniting in harmony every summer. Well, from this night hence, our kingdoms will be joined for more than one season out of the year.”

    Fiona seized Jack's hand. “Jack, get us out of here,” she hissed.

Chapter 2: Once Upon a Bad Dinner Party

    Once upon a time, there were two neighboring kingdoms who couldn't agree on the division of a beautiful lake that sat on the exact border between them. Luckily, they were both peaceful, and rather than waste time and resources fighting a puerile war, they built a cozy summer palace on the edge of the lake, and it was there that their courts adjourned each summer, to bask in the sunshine and the clear water. It was there that Queen Annelise of Highmere arrived one summer with a bulging belly, and the next year, Queen Marion followed suit. Jack and Fiona met for the first time when they were too young to remember each other. In fact, the first summer either of them recollected spending together was the summer Fiona spent beating Jack over the head with a sword, even though Jack did have a concussion by the end of it and shouldn't have remembered a thing. But he insisted he did and Fiona had long since given up arguing with him.

    Once upon a time, there was a girl and a boy. And the girl was not a proper princess, and the boy was the only living Shadowcatcher, after the death of his grandfather. And the girl played with swords, and the boy played at cards, and they each managed to make each other miserable in the endearing way that all best friends do.

    Once upon a time, there was a prince and a princess.

    Once upon a time, there was a girl and a prince.

    Once upon a time, there was a tower, or a pumpkin, or a nest of giants in the nearest mountain range.

    Once upon a time, there was a glove that didn't fit. Or a shoe. Or a bed.

    Once upon a time, there was an evil stepmother.

    Once upon a time, once upon a time, once upon a time.

    They were married, and they all lived happily ever after.

    “Dammit,” Fiona cried and flung another book at the wall.

    The maid tiptoeing timidly into the room shrieked and cowered with her arms over her head.

    “I was throwing it the opposite direction,” Fiona complained. “Grow a spine.”

    The maid squeaked, but lowered her arms. “It's time to dress for dinner,” she whispered.

    “I am perfectly capable of dressing myself,” Fiona said. Then she bellowed and leapt across the room, hands outstretched for the maid. “Don't blow out that candle!”

    The maid screamed and dropped to the parquet floor.

    Fiona rocked to a halt against an overstuffed armchair. “Why were you blowing out that candle?” she cried.

    “Because the sun hasn't even set yet,” the maid wailed, her voice muffled by the arms that were once more over her head. “It's a waste of candle wax. Your mother--”

    “My mother,” Fiona said darkly, “would probably prefer to discover Jack in my private chambers with me.”

    “Your mother, milady? Jack, milady?”

    “Please, stand up,” Fiona said, exasperated. “I'm not going to hurt you. I just didn't want you to blow that out. It's keeping the shadows back. All of them are.”

    The maid cringed to her feet, eyes darting at the candles that covered every surface in the room, above and below, in every nook and cranny. The room glowed like the interior of a storm lantern. There was barely a shadow to be found.

    “Is this because of the Shadowcatcher?” she asked Fiona.

    “I'm kind of avoiding him, yeah,” Fiona said. “And he's never going to let me hear the end of it at dinner. But the last thing I want right now is for Jack to walk out of a shadow, because gods only know what he might have to say to me, and minimum contact with the enemy has always been my favorite strategy.”

    “I thought you and Prince Jack were friends, milady.”

    “You are slow,” Fiona said. “Look, it's none of your gossipy business, anyway. I want to wear my green dress tonight.”

    “It won't match your hair,” the maid said.

    “Did it sound like that was a suggestion? Fine, I'll wear the yellow.”

    “The yellow has such a low neckline,” the maid whispered, properly scandalized like any good woman in the kingdom ought to be.

    “All the better to be seen in,” Fiona said smugly. “Yellow it is.”

    “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.