“Fairies did this,” Jason said flatly. “That’s your explanation.”
“Yes.”
He stared at me for another moment, then smiled with dawning realization. “This is a prank, isn’t it?” He glanced around, nodding his head as though he had the whole thing figured out. “Did my manager okay this? Cause I’m going to kill him if he did.”
Jason put his hands on his hips and forced out a laugh that sounded more relieved than happy. “When he told me I should dive into reality shows, I didn’t expect him to take things this far.”
“It’s not a prank.”
Jason scanned the shoreline. “Where are the cameras?”
“Look,” I said, trying to recapture his attention. An idea had suddenly occurred to me. “We might be able to get out of here on a technicality. You don’t love me, right?”
He reached out and patted my shoulder patronizingly. “I love all of my fans. They’re the best.” He said this too loudly. “No hard feelings.” He glanced around again, still searching for cameras. “You got me good.”
I inwardly groaned. He didn’t love me, but now that he’d said he did, Chrissy would consider it proof she’d fulfilled her part of the contract.
“I can be a good sport about this.” Jason gave a thumbs up to the prince at the boat next to ours. “Hey, guys, we’re cool now.”
Finally Jason turned back to me. He lowered his voice a whisper. “You tell your people they have to cut any footage of me yelling. In fact, I want editorial approval of the whole thing, or you’ll be dealing with my lawyers.”
I would take lawyers over fairies any day.
“It’s not . . .” I started, then didn’t finish. Maybe it was for the best Jason thought tonight was part of a reality show prank. It would keep him on his best behavior, and I didn’t feel like listening to him yell again. I stepped toward the boat. “Do you know the story The Twelve Dancing Princesses?”
“Sounds familiar.” He snapped his fingers. “They’re an indie rock band, right?”
Really? Was I the only one who ever read fairy tales as a child? I couldn’t tell Jason the story, not with Donovan nearby listening. I took the last few steps to the land’s edge. “We’d better go, or we’ll be late for the dance.”
Jason seemed to remember a boat sat behind him. “Right. The other guys mentioned the midnight ball. We’re supposed to dance for some queen chick.”
The land was damp here, and I lifted my skirt to avoid getting it wet. “Right.”
“Here’s the deal,” Jason said, voice still hushed. “I don’t care what my manager agreed to. I’m not staying the entire night. I’ll do two numbers. Maybe three if I like the band. That’s it. And I’m not signing autographs for anyone.”
“I wasn’t planning on asking.” It would have been nice if Jason offered to help me climb into the boat since my skirt weighed about twenty pounds. He didn’t offer, so I climbed in as carefully as I could and made my way to an intricately carved wooden bench at the back of the boat. I half expected to bump into Donovan. Where was he sitting? I knew the answer as soon as I thought of the question. He was in the only place where Jason and I wouldn’t run into him—sitting on the top of the back edge of the boat.
I saw nothing that indicated his presence. No taletell glimmer from the moonlight hitting his cloak. I could have ordered him to get off the boat, but even if he listened—and that was highly doubtful—he would just climb into one of the other boats. They were still lined up on the shore.
Besides, I didn’t think it would improve Jason’s confidence in me if I suddenly yelled at the empty space behind the bench. I had to think of something else—something that would prevent Donovan from getting to the island. If he came, he would get the goblet and Jason and I would be trapped here. The thought made me feel prickly with panic.
I couldn’t stay here. And I couldn’t let Jason be stuck here either.
The other princes gave their boats a powerful shove, sliding them into the lake. Then the princes took a few strides and leaped inside, barely getting the bottoms of their boots wet.
Jason pushed our boat. It only moved an inch. He pushed again with little better results. He probably wasn’t as strong as the other princes, and Donovan’s added weight wasn’t helping matters. Jason turned and pressed his back against the prow, using his legs to push. “The boat . . . must be . . . caught on something.”
The prince closest to us let out a mocking chortle as his boat glided away from shore. “This is what becomes of those who grow lax in their training. Next, you’ll be unable to lift your sword.”
Another nearby prince dug his oars into the water. “Did Jason lift his sword today? I only saw it knocked from his hand. Repeatedly.”
“Last in swordplay,” a third prince called, “and he’ll be last in rowing too!”
Jason put his shoulder to the boat and grunted with effort. “I’ll beat both of you losers across the lake!”
The princes had more to say, but by then they were too far away for us to hear. Finally, Jason managed to scrape the boat across the shore and into the lake. Huffing, he sloshed through the water and flung himself inside.
To Donovan’s credit, he didn’t laugh at this performance, at least not that I could hear.
Breathing hard, Jason picked up the ends of the oars, and paddled them into the water. “They couldn’t give us a motor? What’s the deal—are they turning this into some sort of triathlon?”
I figured it was a rhetorical question and didn’t answer. I looked out at the lake. Small waves lapped against the boat, as dark and shiny as black oil. The moonlight made a trail across the water like a path leading to the island. This place was probably beautiful in the daytime. It was a shame we only got to see it at night.
I didn’t know what to say to Jason. His fame still awed me. I was sitting in a boat with Jason Prescott—the real him, not the posters that lined my room. I felt stiff and awkward and completely ordinary.
I expected him to make small talk—maybe ask me why I wanted to be a singer, or why I currently had eleven sisters. He didn’t. He kept his gaze on the other boats, trying to catch up with them. “I’m only behind,” he panted, “because I got a late start.”
After a few more moments of watching Jason strain at the oars, I said, “So where are the princes from?”
The fairy tale never said anything about them beyond the fact that they danced with the princesses every night. As a child, I’d always wondered why twelve princes happened to be hanging around a secret ball, why their parents were never concerned about the state of their footwear, and why one of them didn’t ever show up at the castle and tell the king he could solve the riddle. If one of the princes wanted to marry his princess, hey, problem solved.
Even though I was now living the fairy tale, thus far I only knew the answer to one of my childhood questions. The princes didn’t have to worry about their footwear because they wore leather shoes. Leather was sturdier. This, I supposed, is why nobody wore silk slippers in the twenty-first century. Say what you wanted about the discomfort of high heels, at least they lasted more than one night.
“Where are you staying?” I added.
Jason strained against the oars. “I’m staying with four other guys in a castle in Briardrake. Don’t ask me where that is because I’ve never heard of it. They keep saying I’m their brother. Must be part of the show. We met up with the other guys when we got here. They all know each other.”
“Briardrake?” I repeated. And another part of the fairy tale made sense. “Capenzia went to war with Briardrake. Along with Devanter and Salania.”
“Devanter and Salania,” Jason said. “That’s where the other princes are from.”
And that explained why the princesses didn’t tell their father about their suitors. The king wouldn’t be happy to learn his daughters were in love with the enemy. I gazed across the water at the other couples. “I wonder how the princes and princesses met?”