I opened and closed my hands, stretching my fingers. I could do this. I had done this perfectly twice. Okay, granted, I’d done it wrong the other times, but I was getting better. Hopefully. Or maybe I was just getting lucky. Maybe anyone would be able to manage it right a couple times if they tried enough.

I reached for the goblet, silently lifting it from the table. I held the cups below the table line to hide them, poured the water from one into the other, and set the second goblet where the first had been. Not a drop spilled.

“Too slow,” Donovan said. “Do it again.”

I wanted to stamp my foot in frustration. Instead I pulled the goblet from my pocket the way he’d taught me: a subtle sweep of my hand that didn’t draw attention. “You know, some guys know how to compliment a girl. Didn’t you hear what my sisters when they came in? Frederick said Beatrix’s eyes shone like two stars.”

“That’s a compliment? Stars are burning piles of gas.”

While tilting my head conversationally, I picked up the goblet from the table. “And Hubert said the glow of Mathilda’s skin puts the moon to shame.”

Donovan smirked, refusing to be impressed. “The moon is pocked with gaping craters.”

I poured the water from the queen’s goblet into the other. Still keeping my gaze on Donovan, I replaced the second goblet, sliding it onto the table without a clink. I slipped the first goblet into my pocket. “You’re not much of a romantic, are you?”

His smirk spread into a full blown grin. “Okay, here’s a compliment. With moves like that, you’d make a decent pick-pocket.”

“Ah, thanks. My parents would be so proud.”

He took my hand and pulled me to him, interrupting my practice schedule to show me that, yes, he was a romantic after all.

When it was time to dress for supper, I could make the switch right about seventy percent of the time. Of course, being able to make the switch smoothly wasn’t going to do a lot of good if we didn’t have a distraction. We’d counted on Jason singing to the queen. Donovan didn’t seem too worried about this glitch.

“If Jason is still a frog,” Donovan said as we left the room, “he can sit on the table and beg Queen Orlaith for mercy. That should cause a distraction.”

“Yes, but it won’t solve Jason’s problem. We’ve got to find a way to change him before we go to the twenty-first century.”

“I think being a frog suits him.”

“He’s a star. Don’t you think fans will notice if he’s a frog?”

Donovan shrugged. “He can do lots of radio interviews.”

I hoped when I went up to my room to change my sisters would tell me they’d discovered a cure for Jason.

No such luck.

My sisters sat at their dressing tables, silently getting their hair done, an air of disappointment hanging around them as thick as their perfume.

My lady’s maid helped me into a dark green skirt and bodice, then wove matching ribbons into my hair. When she finished, Rosamund excused the servants. I knew she wanted to talk to me about Jason.

I turned in my chair to face her. “Where is he?”

In answer to my question, Elizabeth took a goblet from the fireplace mantel and tipped it onto my dressing table. A frog waddled across the top and slumped in front of the mirror.

“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, worried.

“Nothing.” Rosamund said, straightening the lace on her sleeves. “He’s just being dramatic.”

“We gave him a curing potion we thought might help,” Beatrix clarified.

Jason glared at her, his lips pursed. “They made me drink something with crushed newt.”

“Sadly, it proved an ineffective remedy,” Rosamund said.

Darby checked her reflection and adjusted her necklace. “He’s been carrying on about it ever since.”

“Crushed newt,” Jason repeated.

“Frogs eat worse,” Beatrix said and flounced back to her table. “It won’t hurt you.”

My sisters finished the last of their pre-dinner preparations and headed toward the door, lining up from oldest to youngest. I still sat at the dressing table watching Jason. He lay limply by my hair brush, head down, eyes closed. I assumed he’d fallen asleep and wondered if it was healthy for a frog to sleep out of the water. Would he dry out?

As I pondered whether it would be unforgivably rude to pick him up and plop him into a pitcher, he opened his eyes and stared mournfully at me.

“I’ll bring you something back from dinner,” I said.

He didn’t answer, didn’t move.

The last of my sisters was nearly out the door. I should go too. I stood, hesitant to leave him. He looked so miserable.

“Well, besides the crushed newt potion, are you doing okay?”

His head sagged. “I’m small, warty, and hideous.”

“I don’t think those bumps on your back are actually warts.”

Jason turned and put a hand to the mirror, touching his reflection. “Over a million posters of my face sold last year. I was on covers of teen magazines around the world.” He let out a sad croaking sound, probably a sob. “Now look at me.” He hung his head and continued to make pitiful squeaking sounds.

My guilt flared up again. If I hadn’t wished him here, he’d still be back in the twenty-first century mocking other hopeful singers and putting his butt through its usual strenuous work routine.

I patted his back gently. “You need to stop staring in the mirror. Look at something else. And look on the bright side. When we go home, you’ll have an easy time hiding from your fans.”

He made more croaking sounds.

I remembered the locket Chrissy had given me, and I pulled it from around my neck. “Here. Pretend this is a mirror.” I opened it up and propped it on the table in front of him. “See, that’s who you are on the inside.”

Jason gripped the sides of the locket, holding his portrait. “Look at me. Look at how awesome I was.”

“Again, it’s what’s on the inside that counts. That’s the moral of those frog prince fairy tales, right?”

He stroked the locket with a green finger. “I had the greatest smile. I miss me.” He let out a wistful sigh, blinked at the portrait with liquid eyes, and kissed it.

The table creaked, shivering and groaning as Jason’s weight shifted. One moment he was a forlorn green frog awkwardly kissing his portrait, the next he was a teen idol in Renaissance clothing crouched on my table.

I should have known all along he would end up breaking the spell that way. After all, Jason loved himself the most.

He gawked at his hands, turning them in front of his face in wonder. Like a shot, he jumped off the table and turned toward the mirror. “I’m me again!”

I shushed him, hoping no servants were passing by in the hallway. The last thing I needed was for the king to find a strange man in our bed chamber.

Penny and Darby must have heard him. They peered back into to the room to see what had caused the commotion. When they saw Jason, they sighed happily. “Oh, that’s so adorable,” Penny cooed. “It’s true love, after all,”

“Sweet,” Darby said. “Now get him out of here before someone sees him, ‘cause I ain’t answering questions about why there’s a Brairdrakian prince hanging out in our room.”

“We’ve totally never seen him.” Penny agreed. She took Darby’s arm, and the two of them disappeared down the hallway.

I strode to the tapestry and took out the key hidden there. “They’re right. You need to leave.”

I went to the fireplace and inserted the key into the notch, just as Rosamund had done the last two nights. With only a nudge on my part, it slid open, revealing the landing.

Jason didn’t move. “Where am I supposed to go? I don’t know the way back to the lake. I rode in your pocket all the way here.”

He had a point. “Wait for us on the stairs. We’ll leave for the lake at bedtime.”

He took slow steps toward the opening. “Bring me a lot for dinner. I’m starving.”

I gestured toward the door. “Okay. Go.”