My mom thought sports were a waste of time and nagged my dad if the ESPN was on too long. Dad thought Mom spent money on things she didn’t need, and sometimes he acted like a martyr when he paid the credit card bills. But wasn’t every couple like that?

How could I judge other people’s feelings when I wasn’t sure what real love was myself? I rested the book on my lap and watched Jason. He was perched on the top of Kayla’s chair, saying something that made her laugh.

“What is true love?” I asked out loud. “Does it take years? Or can it develop in an instant?”

Catherine casually turned a page. “It doesn’t take years. I had known my darling Leopold for only one night when I came to love him.”

Beatrix, who sat in a chair on my other side, added, “I knew I loved Frederick the moment he asked me to dance. When he took my hand, I could think of nothing but him.”

Mathilda and Philippa nodded in agreement. Rosamund put down one book and picked up another. “I tread more carefully in matters of the heart. Geoffrey wooed me for an entire month before he won me.”

All of my sisters were smiling, lit up with happiness by the thought of their princes.

“But how do you know it’s true love?” I pressed.

Beatrix sniffed, offended, and turned a page with extra force. “Of course what we feel is true love.”

Rosamund straightened. “Would we risk our father’s wrath every night otherwise?”

Maybe. It didn’t take much to invoke the king’s wrath. Having any sort of fun probably invoked his wrath. “I wasn’t implying your feelings aren’t real,” I explained. “I’m just wondering about love in general.”

Beatrix’s expression softened. “You know it’s true love because his name on your lips tastes like honey.”

“You know,” Elizabeth said, “because your soul soars at the sight of him.”

Darby let out a low whistle. “You know because he looks hot even when he’s wearing dorky half-pants and stockings.”

Hmm. Couldn’t I have said all those things about Jason before I got to know him? I didn’t feel that way now. “The Queen’s goblet said love was a choice. What does that mean?”

Catherine held her book down. “If the goblet said such a thing, it knows little of love. One doesn’t choose love. It chooses you—like cupid’s arrow striking your heart.”

“I didn’t want to fall in love with Prince Edgar,” Isolde put in. “I thought to be an obedient daughter and marry whomever father picked.” She smiled dreamily. “But when Edgar murmured my name in the moonlight, I was lost.”

Everyone chimed in, agreeing they too had meant to be the most dutiful of daughters until struck down by the forces of love. And I was left unsure about any of it. I didn’t feel lost when I was with Donovan. I felt . . . found. Like he had found a part of me I’d forgotten long ago.

Was I just responding to the first guy who’d ever really taken an interest in me? Was I rushing into things? Would either of us feel the same when we got home?

I dwelt on these questions while I skimmed restoratives for coughs, warts toothaches, fevers, and something called apoplexy. Not long afterward, Donovan came in the room. For a moment my soul soared at the sight of him. Which meant maybe my sisters knew what they were talking about after all. When had the goblet ever fallen in love? It wasn’t a choice.

He sat beside me on the couch. While pretending to look at my book, he told me about his meeting with the goldsmith. The man had assured him the work on the cup was progressing and would be ready after supper. Right on time.

Donovan grabbed a few books and opened one. “Find anything useful?”

“Not unless Jason develops heartburn. Then I’ll know to feed him curds and whey.”

Donovan nodded. “I guess he won’t have to worry about any spiders that sit down beside him. They’ll just be appetizers.”

“I heard that,” Jason said. He hopped further away from our couch, affronted.

I finished two more medical books, then read one on fairy origins. One theory claimed the fae folk had been angels who long ago fought on Earth in a holy war, but when God called them to come back, they delayed and were locked out of heaven. I doubted that theory was right. Queen Orlaith wasn’t at all angelic.

After a couple hours, I abandoned being ladylike and lay on the floor. It was how I always studied. Donovan joined me, and before long, everyone was sprawled in front of the fireplace.

Most of the servants couldn’t read, so we hadn’t asked anyone else to help us. Besides, it would have been hard to explain the presence of a reading frog— or one who kept sidling up to princesses and asking for a kiss.

As he hopped past me for the twentieth time, I said, “For future reference and your next girlfriend’s sake, girls don’t like it when you hit on their sisters.”

Jason paused in front of my book. “I’m not hitting on your sisters. I’m trying to break the curse.”

“I believed that the first time you kissed them, and even the second. Now it’s just a pathetic ploy for attention.”

Jason humphed and leaped over to Darby, hopping onto the pages of her book. “Come on, sweetheart, give me a kiss. I think your love could change me.”

“Just watch,” Donovan whispered. “Those will be the lyrics of his next song.”

“Actually, those were the lyrics of his last song.”

Darby made a shooing motion at Jason. “I already kissed you. Anyone who wants more time with my lips has got to spring for a meal and a night on the town.”

Donovan shut his book, finished with it. Our stacks were dwindling, most books now lying in discarded heaps. He stood up, brushed off his pants, and held out his hand to help me up.

“Your sisters can search through the rest. You have other things to do.”

I didn’t have to ask what. I had to practice being stealthy, graceful, and quick—something I’d never accomplished before. It seemed pointless to think I could pick up those skills in a few hours, but I had to at least try. I followed Donovan out of the room.

* * *

We took two goblets, a pitcher of water, and several napkins from the kitchen. I led Donovan to an empty sitting room, knowing where it was even though I hadn’t been there before. More proof, if I needed it, that my princess life was beginning to erase my modern one. Donovan set one goblet on a table and, with more optimism than he should have possessed, gave me the other goblet to keep in my pocket. “Make the switch,” he said. “You need to do it soundlessly, fast, and without spilling anything.”

For a half an hour I tried to live up to his optimism. I could manage two of his requirements, but not all three. If I was fast and soundless, I ended up spilling water. If I was soundless and steady, I wasn’t fast.

Finally I sat down in a chair, devoid of optimism or anything resembling it. Donovan mopped up the water from my latest spill and showed me how to do it again. He made it look easy. “When you over-think it, you’re too slow. The movement has to be natural. Automatic. Like riding a bike.”

“I crashed a lot on my bike. Broke my arm, in fact.”

“That was the old you. The new you is graceful.”

He motioned for me to stand up, then made me do the exercise again and again.

After two dozen failed attempts, I managed the switch once, then twice. In my overconfidence, the next time I attempted to switch the goblet, I tipped it over. The cup rolled to the floor with a loud clank, splashing water everywhere.

Donovan picked it up and set it back on the table. “Try again.”

I refilled the goblet and did. This time when I grabbed it, I was fast and soundless but a few drops of water fell out.

“Nearly perfect,” I said.

Donovan shook his head, unsatisfied. “A few drops of liquid will leave spots on Queen Orlaith’s table. If she notices those, then poof! You’re the latest amphibious addition in the household.”