The king let out a low grumble of disapproval and turned his attention to Madam Saxton. “And you? What did you see last night? How often did you check upon my daughters?”
Madam Saxton’s hand-wringing went into overdrive. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I too, fell asleep.”
The king let out another grumble, this time louder. “So says everyone who passes the night in this room. I almost believe the sandman has taken up residence and holds nightly revelries with my daughters’ shoes.”
Without another word, King Rothschild turned and stormed toward the door. He shot us one last exasperated look and flung the door open. “I shall disown all of you and turn you out onto the streets!”
The queen let out a sigh and pressed her hands together patiently. “Of course we won’t disown you, my darlings. We’re just worried about your welfare. I shall bid the cobbler to make you new slippers, forthwith.” Peering at my hair more closely, she lifted a tendril, then dropped it as though it was too distasteful to touch. “And I shall tell your maid to draw a bath.”
She looked as though she wanted to wipe her hand on something to clean it, but finding nothing, let it drop back at her side. “Very well.” Her tone implied the inspection was officially over. “Take what rest you need, and then see to your duties.”
She gave us one last encouraging smile, and sailed out of the room, her gown trailing along the floor. The housekeeper went with her, apologizing the entire time.
The princesses headed back to their beds. A few cast glances at me like they wanted to ask what had happened—or criticize me for coming home so bedraggled—but their gazes went to Donovan, and they didn’t speak.
I wanted to join them, to skip the bath and curl up in bed for a long time. Donovan walked over to me and took hold of my hand to keep me from going. “You need to go talk to the goldsmith,” he whispered.
I gestured to my soiled chemise and sooty arms. “I can’t go anywhere like this.”
He placed his picture of the goblet in my hand. “You’re the one with the royal power. A goldsmith isn’t going to listen to me.”
“I can’t just pull on some clothes and go,” I said. “In the Renaissance, I need an entire committee to make me presentable.” I went to my dressing table took my drawing of the goblet from a drawer, and handed both pictures to Donovan. “Show these to the goldsmith, and tell him I want the goblet finished as soon as possible. Say I’ll come later to discuss the project.”
Donovan took the pictures, satisfied, and left.
I went to the back room and collapsed on my bed, barely noticing that the sheets were dirty from where I’d laid on them before. They could get dirtier.
It seemed like only moments later that my lady’s maid shook me awake, insisting that my bath was almost ready. I followed her to a small room where a procession of maids were pouring buckets of steaming water into a metal tub. A dressing table stood nearby, holding bottles of perfume, lotions, combs, ribbons, and other bits of finery.
While I waited for the maids to finish filling the tub, I pulled pins, bedraggled ribbons, and bits of seaweed from my hair. Once the tub was full, a maid unlaced my corset and peeled it off of me. She handed it to another servant, holding it between her thumb and forefinger like it was something that had recently died.
The maids were prepared to stay, wash my hair, and scrub me off. I told them I would take care of that myself and dismissed them. A girl from the twenty-first century needed her privacy.
As I took hold of the ties of my chemise, a cheerful voice behind me said, “So how did the ball go? Did Jason kiss you goodnight?”
I turned and saw Chrissy perched on the dressing table, her wings flowing over the back. She wore a jean miniskirt, thigh-high black boots and a T-shirt that read “Team Sadie.” Clover ambled across the table beside her, kicking through some scattered pins. His Team Sadie T-shirt was pulled over his other clothes, making it look like a rumpled afterthought.
“More importantly,” Chrissy added, “Do you have the goblet?”
That was the thing that really mattered to her, the reason she’d come. I walked slowly toward her. “No, I don’t.”
A spark of worry flitted through her eyes. “Donovan didn’t get it, did he?”
“No. We both went for it at the same time and tipped it over. Queen Orlaith immediately locked it up.”
Chrissy relaxed. “Well, there’s always tonight. You’ll have to find a way to get to it before he does.”
I folded my arms. “Look, we need to talk about my wishes.”
Clover sat down on the table and sighed with an air of martyr. “Ah, she has that tone mortals always use when they’re about to complain. You made me come here for this?”
Chrissy waved her hand at him dismissively. “We’re being supportive, remember?”
“Right.” He lifted his hand like he was giving me a high-five. “Go Team Sadie.”
I ignored him. “I wished for Jason to love me. He doesn’t.” I held up a hand to stop Chrissy from speaking before I finished. “I’m not complaining about that. In fact, I would rather use that wish to take us all home.”
Clover leaned back, resting against a jar of ribbons with marked resignation. “Do you know why we call you mortals? It’s because you always want something more.”
I shot him a dark look. “I’m just asking you to fulfill your part of the contract.”
Chrissy picked up a perfume bottle and absentmindedly sniffed the scent. “Jason does love you. He said so himself.”
I gave her a dark look as well. “Yeah. He said so, but he doesn’t love me. Last night he talked non-stop about himself, except when he yelled at me for not getting the goblet. He was patronizing, rude, and left me stranded in a lake because he wanted to catch up with the other princes’ boats.”
Chrissy set the bottle down and lifted another to her nose, testing its scent. “You didn’t wish for Jason to have a great personality; you just wished for him to love you.”
I gritted my teeth in frustration. “I almost drowned.”
Chrissy picked up the last perfume bottle, one made of blue glass. “Jason loves you. He just loves himself more.” Chrissy sniffed the contents and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Some guys are like that. It can’t be helped.”
“Then it’s not real love.”
Chrissy let out a tinkling laugh, one that said I was being ridiculous. “Real love, like real magic, is open to interpretation.” She put down the blue bottle and draped her hands across her knees. “So I guess this means Jason didn’t kiss you? Bummer.”
“Let’s talk about wish number three: my dancing ability.”
Clover let out a groan and pulled his hat over his eyes. I suspected he was attempting to sleep.
“I wished to be a good dancer. I’m not. Even Kailen said so.”
“Kailen?” Chrissy’s expression brightened. “Prince Kailen was there?” She sent me a knowing look, one that verged on sympathetic. “No wonder you weren’t impressed with Jason. Other guys fade in comparison to Kailen Emberwater. Was he dressed in black?”
“Yeah.”
“Did he have that wicked cool sword?”
“The one with the hilt that looks like a twisted tree branch?”
“That’s the one.” She smiled dreamily and spread her hands out on either side of her. “He’s such an irresistible bad boy. At my high school, he was voted hottest enemy combatant. I voted for him twice.”
Clover pulled his hat down further.
“Back to my wish about dancing,” I said, taking control of the conversation again. “Clearly I should have a magical refund coming. I’m supposed to be a great dancer, but I’m not.”
Chrissy shrugged, sending her hair—pink again—sliding off her shoulder. “Technically, you wished to dance so well you’d be famous for it in your century. Your wish didn’t ask for quality, just fame.” Another shrug, this one apologetic. “As it turns out, a lot of people are famous on very little talent. I suppose that says something a bit unflattering about your society.”