Donovan sent me a quelling look, then stood up and faced the king. “Your Majesty?”

The conversation at the tables halted as every jeweled head turned to see what Donovan had to say. “King Rothschild, you told me if I succeed in my task, I can have the princess of my choosing.” He made a sweeping motion toward me. “I’ve picked Princess Sadie.”

I let out a startled gasp. What was he doing? What could he possibly hope to achieve by choosing me? Besides, the soldier was supposed to end up with the oldest sister, not the youngest.

Several of the princesses giggled. A few of them sent me reproachful looks. I wasn’t sure whether they thought I’d been fraternizing with the enemy or whether they thought it was cruel of me to encourage a suitor who wouldn’t live longer than three nights.

The king dipped his bread into the gravy on his plate. “You decided the matter so quickly—you must be either decisive or foolish. Let’s hope for the kingdom’s sake it’s decisiveness. We’ve enough fools around here already.”

The queen smiled at Donovan, giving him her blessing with glowing contentment. “He’s neither. True love doesn’t always need days or weeks. It can call to people in an instant.” She put her hand over the king’s, caressing it affectionately. “I felt the same way when I first saw you. And years later, we’re still as much in love as the day we wed.”

The king grunted and took a bite of bread.

Donovan cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t wish anyone to say anything improper happened before I marry Princess Sadie, so I ask that Madam Saxton chaperone us while I stay in the princesses’ chambers.”

That’s why he’d chosen me—so he could enlist an ally and make sure I couldn’t accuse him of anything that would banish him from the castle.

This wasn’t part of the fairy tale, but Donovan didn’t know how the story went and probably wouldn’t have cared about changing it. We both wanted out of this place. If that meant rearranging the story, so be it.

The queen nodded approvingly. “Your concern does you credit. I shall bid Madam Saxton to accompany you each night.”

Donovan sat down, smugly, and everyone resumed eating. The mandolin player began another song, and the clanking of silverware and the hum of voices filled the room again.

Donovan returned to his food. “Do you have any other strategies you’d like to share? It’s much easier to counteract them when you tell me about them beforehand.”

I didn’t answer. He was right. It was stupid to say anything that might help him.

He took a bite of his peas. “Perhaps you could tell me why I’m not supposed to accept any food or drink from the princesses? Do you poison your suitors?”

I chewed my bread silently.

He shook his head, thinking. “No, that can’t be it. Fairy tales aren’t that dark.”

Now it was my turn to laugh. “You obviously don’t know where the word grim comes from.”

“I bet you’ll tell me.”

I ignored the jibe. He ought to know things weren’t always happily-ever-after. “Grim comes from the Grimm brothers who first collected the fairy tales and published them.”

A serving girl came around with a pitcher to refill glasses. I stood and took the pitcher before she could refill Donovan’s. “Here,” I said sweetly, “let me do that. After all, I’m practically his fiancé.” I poured cider into his glass with a flourish, then returned the pitcher, and sat back down.

The serving girl moved down the table, attending to the princesses’ goblets.

Donovan eyed his glass warily. I knew he wouldn’t drink it now. Good, let him worry. I was tired of watching his self-satisfied expression.

He leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. “Why do you want to go back to the twenty-first century anyway? You got what you wished for—you’re a famous dancer.”

“This is not what I wished for.”

It was the truth, at least in the ways that mattered. I hadn’t wanted to be separated from my family or time period. I’d never wanted to live in a fairy tale. But apparently my words weren’t technically the truth. A strange sensation bloomed on the tip of my nose, a tingling pushing feeling. I let out a gasp and covered my nose with my hand. Had my nose just grown?

Donovan tipped his head to the side, a pose of vague curiosity. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” That was definitely a lie and my nose tingled again, pinching as it pushed outward. This couldn’t happen. Not in front of Donovan. He would know I was lying. How bad was it? I dumped the remaining bread from my plate and held it up, checking my reflection.

The silver surface distorted my image, making it impossible to tell how long my nose was. Would people notice? Did I look like Pinocchio?

I waited for Donovan to make the connection and accuse me of lying. Instead, he peered at me suspiciously. “Are you all right?”

I couldn’t say yes, and I didn’t want to say no. I kept holding the plate up, hiding my nose behind it. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you dumped your food on the table and now you’ve got a plate in front of your face. It’s just not something you see very often at formal dinner parties.”

Did he not know about the lying clause in the contract? I kept gripping the plate. How had Chrissy said I could get my nose back to normal? Oh yeah—by telling the truth. “I did wish to be a famous dancer, but I didn’t want to end up here.” My nose tingled again, shrinking this time. “And yes, something was wrong a few seconds ago.” I touched the tip of my nose. “But it’s okay now.” Slowly, I lowered the plate and put it onto the table.

Donovan was still watching me. “Do you have meds back home someone should know about?”

“No.”

“Uh huh,” he said, unbelieving.

He should know I was telling the truth, but clearly didn’t . . . which meant he must not know about the clause. I put the biggest pieces of bread back on my plate, and wiped smaller crumbs onto my napkin. “Did you read your fairy’s contract before you signed it?”

“What contract?”

“The fairy contract. Didn’t Jade Blossom make you sign something before she gave you your wishes?”

“Nope.”

He hadn’t signed a contract? “How did you get a fairy godmother?”

He picked up his goblet and almost drank from it, then eyed it suspiciously and set it firmly back down. “How did you get yours?”

I wasn’t about to relate the story of my viral video. Not when Donovan was already acting superior. “I asked you first.”

Donovan picked up a piece of cheese from his plate and popped it into his mouth. When he finished chewing, he said, “If you want to know my secrets, you’ll have to give me information in return.”

“Sorry. I won’t tell you why the princesses’ slippers are ruined each night.”

“All right. Tell me what you wished for besides being a famous dancer.”

“Why do you want to know that?”

Another piece of cheese went into his mouth. “I’m curious.”

That wasn’t it. He was gathering information about me, getting to know his enemy’s weaknesses.

“What person asks to be a famous dancer,” he went on, “if she values freedom? Doesn’t fame take away your freedom? Celebrities have to worry about hiding from rabid fans and even more rabid paparazzi. If you want freedom, obscurity is the way to go.”

I hadn’t thought much about the downside to being a rock star. I didn’t linger on it, didn’t want to admit Donovan had a point. “When I wrote the word freedom, I meant I wanted freedom from my problems.”

He let out a short laugh. “It’s a good thing you didn’t wish for that from your fairy godmother. You’re only free from problems when you’re dead.”

He was right, of course. I’m not sure which felt worse, that I’d said I wanted something so impossible or that I still wasn’t sure what I wanted most from life. I didn’t comment about it. I wasn’t going to discuss my personal life with him.

Instead, I studied him with the same scrutiny he’d given me. If he was figuring me out, I needed to figure him out too. It would give me a better chance at stopping him. He was handsome, confident, and a professional thief. Why did a teenage guy need to steal things? Did he do it for kicks? Did he have a drug habit? Had he fallen in with the wrong crowd?