“I wasn’t trying to hit you,” I said, offended.

Kayla turned and looked over her shoulder. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one—ow!” My nose had grown. Not a little bit like last time. It felt like the cartilage had pushed outward an inch. Perhaps the bigger the lies, the more it grew. I put my hand to my face, as if I could push it back into place.

Kayla squinted at me in concern. “Are you okay?”

Donovan’s voice was at my ear. “Whoa—did your nose just grow?”

“What I meant,” I said to Kayla, hand still covering my face, “Is that Prince Donovan concerns me, and I spoke to him as though he was here.”

All true. He was here, so technically I’d spoken to him that way.

Dealing with magic was all about finding the right technicalities.

My nose shrank down to its normal size. I dropped my hand and forced a smile at Kayla. “I’m fine. Really.”

Kayla turned back around, her dress swishing around her feet. “Hurry. The boats are probably already waiting.”

I picked up my pace. Apparently so did Donovan. His voice came near my ear again. “You wished to be Pinocchio? That was your other wish?”

“Of course not. Who in their right mind wants to be a wooden puppet?”

“Do you have a singing, dancing cricket for your conscience?”

“No. I have no conscience, so you should watch your step on the stairs. Ouch!” You wouldn’t think sarcastic comments would count as lies, but apparently they did. My nose grew again. I raised a hand in disbelief. “It was a joke. I have a conscience.”

I put my fingers to the tip of nose to make sure it shrunk again. It did. “Sheesh, whatever power is in charge of magic really should get a sense of humor.”

“So, every time you lie your nose grows?” Donovan stepped beside me. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“And you can lie without any visible consequence. I’ll remember that too.”

The front of the princess line had reached the end of the stairs, and Rosamund walked out into a meadow. The light from her lantern flickered over grass and scattered onto patches of clover. It was an odd thing to find at the bottom of a staircase, sort of like stepping off an elevator and finding a beach. Yet everything about this place seemed real, the stars overhead, the breeze meandering past, the sound of crickets. The night air was tinged with a scent of flowers. Jasmine, maybe.

A couple minutes later I reached the bottom of the stairs. I held my lantern high so I could see as much of the scenery as possible A dirt path stretched out before us, leading through the grass toward a nearby pine forest. We headed down the path in our line of oldest to youngest, which made me feel like the caboose on a princess train.

Chrissy had said that once I went past the first tree, I would be in Queen Orlaith’s domain. Other fairies couldn’t go there, which meant if I got into trouble, Chrissy wouldn’t be able to help me.

I’m not sure why the thought sent shivers up my back. It wasn’t like Chrissy had done much to help me in the first place. But Queen Orlaith was a more powerful fairy, one who commanded plants to grab people and hold them until she decided their fate.

As we walked into the forest, I couldn’t help searching the passing trees for random creatures they’d grasped in their branches. The trees all looked like normal enough. Tall pines, growing so closely together their branches had never filled out. Sort of like a bunch of anorexic Christmas trees.

Fireflies blinked around us, making the whole forest appear to be strung with twinkle lights. Ten minutes later I noticed the other trees. They looked like deciduous trees at the end of fall when just a few leaves stubbornly held on. Only these trees weren’t wood. The moonlight gleamed silver on their branches and the fireflies hovering around them made them glitter. The trees were beautiful, and yet there was a starkness to them—something that spoke of night.

I knew from the fairy tale that the soldier took branches from the trees to use as proof when he reported to the king. Of course, Donovan wasn’t a soldier, he was a thief. He probably wouldn’t be able to resist taking more than a branch. Perhaps if he kept busy stuffing his pockets, he’d miss the boats waiting to take us to the queen’s island.

From beside me, I heard his sharp intake of breath. He’d noticed the silver trees. “Hey, Little Black Riding Hood, what’s the deal with the trees?”

“They’re real silver,” I told him. “It’s in the book.”

He didn’t speak again. I assumed he was entranced by all the wealth sitting out in the open. The branches of a couple of the pine trees on the path up ahead swayed as he pushed them aside to reach the silver ones.

Not long afterward, I heard the crack of a branch breaking. Several large gray owls took flight from hidden boughs, letting out hoots of protest and circling the trees as they hunted for the offender.

I didn’t see whether they gave up the search. The path took me away.

Not long after, we reached the golden trees. They had a glow of their own, as though they were too proud too fine not to show off a little. What few leaves they had, shifted in the breeze, making the moonlight wink off of them. One grew so close to the path, I stepped into the forest to touch it. The trunk felt smooth and cold, like touching glass. As I examined the delicate leaves, a large brown owl swooped from the sky, screeching angrily. It dived at me, pecking my hand with its beak.

“Ouch!” I jerked away from the branch and jumped back on the path before the owl could strike again.

It glared at me with angry yellow eyes, shot back up into the forest, and disappeared into the darkness of the branches.

Stupid bird. I’d never realized owls were so touchy. I rubbed the back of my hand. A small bloody welt had formed between my knuckles.

Apparently people weren’t allowed to touch the trees. I envied Donovan again for his invisibility cloak. Judging by the owls’ behavior at the silver tree, they suspected someone was skulking around but didn’t know how to find the culprit.

Next we passed the diamond trees. Mixed in among the pines, they seemed like normal trees—rough brown bark, spindly branches, patches of heart-shaped green leaves. But nestled among the leaves at the end of the branches, were cherry-sized diamonds.

I wasn’t a greedy person, but if I hadn’t known I’d be swarmed by angry owls, I’d have filled my pockets. After all, the pearl bracelet I’d put on as a mermaid had traveled with me to this world. Wouldn’t the diamonds come home with me too?

For the next minute I had a heated conversation with myself. The sensible part of me insisted that trying to grab a diamond wasn’t worth the risk. I’d come for the goblet. I shouldn’t do anything that might jeopardize that—like being pecked to death by owls.

The un-sensible part of me persisted though. I had to tell myself firmly: Angry magical creatures are dangerous. Have you learned nothing from fairy tales? Has Walt Disney’s life’s work been in vain?

When I saw a small, stunted diamond that must have fallen from a tree and rolled near the path, I couldn’t help myself. I reached down and picked it up. No owls sprang from the air or dived toward me.

I hadn’t touched the trees or gone off the path, so the owls hadn’t been alerted.

The diamond was only pea sized instead of cherry sized. Still, it was a diamond. I slipped it into my pocket, suppressing a smile.

How could my parents ever hope for me to become a sensible person, when being un-sensible had just totally paid off? As I walked, I worried the diamond might clink into the goblet once I’d stolen it, and I took the diamond from my pocket and slipped it into my stocking instead.

A few minutes later, the forest opened up, and a dark lake spread out before us. An island was barely visible in the night. It was perhaps a mile from the shore, and would have blended into the sky and water if it hadn’t been for a lit pavilion that stood there, partially obscured by trees.