Saturday August 25th 2024 Harvestmoon 25th 501 NMR

Dear Diary,

Frederick and Aoibheann insisted that I begin keeping a diary during my time here in Sliberberg, to better remember and organize my thoughts. Frederick swears by the method and shows me the 500 years’ worth of journals he has kept since becoming king. He swears he has never forgotten a single thing, much to Aoibheann’s amusement. 

At any rate, I figure I might recount the events of my first full day as a guest here in Castle Sliberberg and the highly unusual circumstances in which I met Aoibheann’s husband and children.

It began with a dream

Charlotte walked through a field of wildflowers, her gold hair blowing with the wind, her porcelain skin glowing white in the summer sun. She was dressed in a simple white cotton dress and a matching bonnet in a style popular when she was a girl.
Beside her, Ben. Ben was smartly dressed in his uniform as the captain of the Silver Dragoons, with his black pants and crisp red jacket with shoulder tassels. His handlebar mustache made a sharp and dashing curl against his lip, and his hair was immaculate.  His stark white hand was wrapped gently around hers. He was smiling, she was smiling.

Charlotte knew it had to be a dream. Real life had never behaved like a cheap romance novel. She did not care, though. Ben was far away in Mainspring, and she missed him so much. She longed to be near him once again.

They came upon a vantage point over the ocean and paused for a long while. Ben took her in his arms in a gentle embrace and began whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

“Mein Liebling, ich werde dir immer nahe sein,” tumbled from Ben’s lips, and Charlotte’s immersion in the dream world shattered. Ben did not know German, not one single word. Then the sun began pressing hotly against the side of her face. She raised her hand to shield herself from the rays, but they would not stop, and Ben continued to spout sweet-sounding words in German.
Then the dream ended.

Charlotte awoke to the first light of dawn peeking through the windows and right into her eye.
Her head pounded like a blacksmith’s hammer against an anvil. The gears in her chest ground unpleasantly. Her mind swam.

Her backside ached from this lumpy, oddly shaped bed she was sleeping in.
And there was a massive weight on top of her.

Something was breathing on her face.

Her hands immediately went to her golden curls. In 148 years of life, she had never felt this way before. Not once. She groaned, trying to piece together what had happened. She had only snippets of memories from the last night to go on. They painted the picture of a sleepover that had gotten out of hand rather quickly, with Aoibheann and Kaida dressed in scandalously daring pajamas, stories, games, and copious amounts of wine. She might be experiencing a hangover for the first time in her life, but she would not trade last night for all the gold and silver in the world.

Suddenly, the heavy weight upon her shifted. It wrapped its arms around her and rubbed a long, furry lupine face against her cheek. “Aoibheann, meine Liebste, du bist mein Licht und meine Morgenröte; lass uns nie mehr getrennt sein,” said the unknown figure, “Lass mich diese perfekten Lippen mit einem Kuss verzieren.” His lips connected to her cheek, and he started kissing. 

Charlotte froze.

She knew immediately who it must be. Only Fredrick would talk to Aoibheann like that in his sleep, and what little she could see of him matched the Fairy Godmother’s description perfectly.

Another line of nonsense she could not understand tumbled from his lips, and he stroked her hair lovingly.

This was insane. Why was Fredrick in her room? And why, of all possible places, was he sleeping on top of her?

 She had to get away. She struggled and wiggled, trying to get out from under Fredrick. Alas, after a good minute of wiggling, she only managed to get her right arm free.

Another bit of German love talk, and Charlotte froze; there was one word in that she did not like at all, Küsse, if it meant what she thought it meant, that was a terrible thing; she was saving her lips for Ben and Ben alone. 

Fredrick’s head rolled over to deliver the foretold kisses. Something in Charlotte snapped. Perhaps it was the hangover. Perhaps it was the thought of shame. Whatever the cause, she let loose a slap across Fredrick’s face that rang through the room like a church bell on Sunday morning.

Fredrick’s sparkling blue eyes shot open. “Mein Geliebter, warum hast du…” That was all he had time to say before his eyes caught her golden hair and skin as white as a hen’s egg. 

He screamed and recoiled backward a few steps before tripping over something. He flailed for a moment like a thin tree in a strong wind, shouting appropriately, before landing flat on his backside. For several moments, he neither moved nor spoke. Charlotte assumed he had knocked himself out.

As if on cue, Aoibheann’s sweet and gentle voice cut through the silence, “Was ist los?” Charlotte heard a brief flutter of wings in the gloom and could just make out a shadow flitting across the room toward Fredrick’s unmoving body.

The bed heaved under Charlotte, and she took that as a sign that she should really get out of bed. She bolted upright and immediately felt pain in every joint of her body. It must have been the bed; she had never slept in a bed so uncomfortable. 

Then a terrifying thought occurred to her that drowned out the hangover and the aching joints. Did she and Fredrick—? No. It was impossible even to think such a thing! Her hands flew to inspect her dress. Good. She was still wearing the long nightgown with embroidered buttercups that the Fairy Godmother had given her. She trotted over to Aoibheann’s side, her feet scattering wine glasses and bottles.

“Ón Tiarna agus ón mBanríon Charlotte, what happened?” she said as she gently tapped Fredrick’s face, trying to awaken her fallen husband

Charlotte relaxed when she saw cotton pajamas draped over Fredrick’s limp slabs of muscle so thick they could be used as an anchor cable. “He fell asleep on top of me, thinking I was you,” she said sheepishly. “He tried to kiss me, so I gave him a slap,” she sheepishly said, “he kind of panicked and fell over backward over something and knocked himself out.”

Aoibheann tried desperately to suppress a few stray giggles. “That sounds like something Fredrick would do; he’s brave, true, and strong enough to wrestle a dragon, but he can be a little dense sometimes.”

“So what are you doing in my room?” asked Charlotte now that the atmosphere in the room had turned from panic to slight humor at Fredrick’s blunder.

“What are you talking about? This is mine and Fredrick’s room,” said Aoibheann between random probing pokes at her husband.

Charlotte blinked and looked around the room. It did look familiar, even in the fading gloom of dawn. The chandelier, the heart-shaped vanity, the tattered paintings on the walls, Kaida’s dragon form sleeping on the splintered ruins of the royal bed, and the copious amounts of dishes and wine bottles.

It took a moment for the second-to-last item to pierce the morning-after haze in Charlotte’s mind. Her eyes shot back to the sleeping hulk of a silver dragon curled amid the wreckage of Aoibheann’s canopy bed.

“Uh, think we have a little problem,” said Charlotte as though she had just noticed a crack in the teacup

“More than scrapping my hubby off the floor?” asked Aoibheann sardonically. She tried to shake his massive frame awake.

“I think so,” said Charlotte gingerly

Aoibheann turned to look at the wreckage and froze for an uncomfortably long moment.

It was Charlotte who finally broke the silence, “I think we went a little overboard last night.”

“You think?” Aoibheann said dryly, shaking her head. “You wake Kaida up while I get my ‘darling’ but dense husband off the floor.”

Charlotte blinked and asked, “How am I supposed to do that? She has slept through everything else.”

Aoibheann did not notice her question. She was back on the floor, her head bowing low to Fredrick’s ear. Charlotte heard something whispered into Fredrick’s ear. His eyes shot open and, in a single motion, he bolted to his feet. He started shouting frantically and angrily in Mountainheartian, with aggressive arm gestures, as if he were looking for someone to fight. Then Aoibheann gave him a peck on the cheek, and the fight drained right out of him 

“What did you say to him?” asked Charlotte, bemused.

“I whispered something like ‘Fredrick, help! Murtagh is carrying me away,” Aoibheann whispered with a playful smile. “It’s a long story.”

Frederick glanced at Charlotte in confusion and asked Aoibheann something in Mountainheartian. She answered quickly in the same tongue. Frederick went straight and as rigid as a board for a second, and then furiously started straightening his hair, his fur, and his pajamas. He cleared his throat and said,” Lady Charlotte, it bringeth me great joy to meet thee in truth. I most humbly beg thy pardon for falling asleep upon thee, and for any unseemly liberties mine dreaming self may have taken.”

Charlotte smiled, “You are forgiven.”

Aoibheann, with mock frustration, said, “I thought I told you to wake up Kaida.”

“You did not tell me how,” Charlotte retorted with a pout.

Aoibheann sighed, “I will do it.”

She flitted lightly across the minefield of plates, cutlery, and wine bottles towards the sleeping form of Kaida. With every gliding step, Fredrick became more and more dismayed about the state of the room. Aoibheann pried open one of Kaida’s eyelids and flicked the exposed corner of her eye.

“OWWWIE!” Kaida shouted, thrashing so violently that Aoibheann had to dart backward. Charlotte’s gears spun like mad as she jumped behind Fredrick for cover. 

After a few moments, Kaida’s head snapped toward them. She pouted and said grumpily, “Why did you do that, Bea? You know that’s one of the few places my scales don’t cover.”

“I did not have any other choice. You sleep like a drunken boulder when you have too much to drink,” said Aoibheann, mildly annoyed. “Besides, this is an emergency.” Kaida tilted her long head to the side, obviously confused and more than a little annoyed. Aoibheann gestured to look around the room. Kaida did so, and understanding dawned, followed by worry, then embarrassment.

“Did I do all this?” she asked.

“We all did,” said Aoibheann, “Change back to your girl form and let’s clean this place before the servants get any funny ideas about what we were doing last night, or worse, start spreading them. At least we don’t have to worry about my darlings giving us our daily wakeup call.”

No sooner had the words left her lips than Frederick’s big wolf ears shot straight up. “Uh… ladies,” said Frederick slowly, his ears pricking upright, “methinks little Marigold hath begun to stir. ’Twill not be long ere she and Whimsy come thundering up the stairs.”

Aoibheann paled, “Ón Tiarna agus ón mBanríon,” she said, “I should have known Aoife would find some way to bring the girls back home from Slanach before bedtime. Quick—let’s clean this room before my little ones announce to the entire court that the king, the queen, and her two best friends spent the night sleeping together.”

And for a few tense minutes, they did exactly that. Frederick produced a leather satchel bag from the wardrobe with ornate patterns that look like spiraling writing around the opening and the handle. Charlotte held the bag open, dumbfounded, while Kaida and Frederick began shoving plates, glasses, and silverware into the opening. To Charlotte’s surprise, the little bag held everything they stuffed inside without issue. When she peered into it did not even seem to have a bottom, which greatly confused her. 

While they gathered loose forks and wine glasses, Aoibheann worked a spell. It was the first time she had ever seen a spell worked in person, and it was hauntingly beautiful, like a poem spoken in an ancient and foreign tongue. When the last words left Aoibheann’s lips, the broken bits of furniture started to twitch. It took only a blink of an eye, but the broken bed and paintings began to fuse back together, where they had been split and shattered, until they were whole again.

They were almost done when Fredrick’s ears shot vertical once more, “I hear the pitter-patter of little wolf-padded feet upon the floor below,” he said in a tone of defeat.

“Ón Tiarna agus ón mBanríon,” said Aoibheann, growing pale, “Quick, Kaida—get Charlotte through that painting.”
Before Charlotte could even wrap her head around what Aoibheann just said, she felt Fredrick grab her and, with one swift movement, thrust her through the frame of a large painting. She landed bottom-first on a patch of grass. Before her hung the painting frame like a window in the air, through which she could still see the royal bedchamber. She could see Fredrick and Aoibheann slip back into their bed as Kaida, in dragon girl form, climbed through the frame and helped Charlotte to her feet. Kaida made a motion to go, but Charlotte was stuck, her mind still trying to process what was happening. 

Through the frame, she saw the von Mountainhearts settling into what was clearly their usual morning routine. Two little girls in nightgowns, one with brown hair in a pink nightgown, the other with black hair in a purple one, dove into Fredrick and Aoibheann’s bed, waking their mother and father. There was much snuggling and happiness as the two little girls dragged Fredrick and Aoibheann out of bed. Once again, she felt the same vague longing she had experienced the day before, when she witnessed the tender moment between the locomotive dragon Victoria and her young daughter Belfast at the station.
Her reverie ended abruptly when Kaida grabbed her arm and dragged her deeper into the painting

A few moments later, they arrived at a signpost made of thick oil-paint strokes, standing in the middle of a meadow of dappled grass and painted flowers. Wooden signboards pointed in various directions, each labeled in Mountainheartian. Charlotte finally recovered enough from the shock of being thrown into a painting to wonder how it was even possible that they were now wandering through one.

“Kaida, how is it even possible that we are walking through a landscape within a painting?” she asked.

“Magic. How else?” said Kaida coyly. 

Charlotte gave Kaida the sort of stare that clearly said, “Yes, I know it’s magic.” But how?

“Did you know Freddy’s an artist?” Kaida asked playfully, skipping ahead of Charlotte, “When Bea spent five hundred years playing hide-and-seek as the Valley of New Mountainheart, Freddy dealt with missing her by painting and writing poetry. All those pieces of art in the castle are his handiwork. Some of them were painted using a magical technique he supposedly learned from a wizard. It turns the painting into a place you can walk straight into. Bea and Freddy use them as extra rooms, secret passages, and hidden gardens. Like this one.

Kaida spread her arms at the painted meadow.

“And here we are.”

Ahead of them hung another door in the air, leading out into what looked like a hallway. Kaida boldly jumped down from the door onto the hallway floor. She gestured for Charlotte to follow and helped her down from the frame and into a hallway overlooking the great hall.
“Alright, here we are on the second floor,” said Kaida in her usual breezy tone. “I think the servants put your bags in the suite in the south tower.”

“What makes you say that?” asked Charlotte with a quizzical stare.

“Because my stuff is in the west tower,” said Kaida with an implied you silly goose, “The guest suites in the south and west tower are best in the castle, and the one in the south tower is the best—spacious drawing room, bath, and bedroom with a king-sized bed.. If I know Aoibheann and trust me, I know Aoibheann; she is going to make sure you have the best.”

Kaida started to saunter down the hall in the opposite direction, “I’m going to treat myself to a good long bath before they serve breakfast in the dining salon, Bu Bye” she said with a shark-toothed smile and a wave

Charlotte tiptoed down the opposite hallway, trying doors until she found a drawing room with her trunk and suitcases sitting in the middle. She felt the weight that had been hovering in her clockwork finally release, and she took a long, deep breath. She softly stepped over to the bedroom door and threw herself on the massive, comfortable king-sized bed and buried herself in the sheets. She was going to sleep off her hangover and the pain in her joints from sleeping on Kaida’s flank. She was a queen and a guest here; she had the right.

No sooner than she got comfortable and buried herself in the sheets, came a knock at the chamber door. Curious to see who would disturb her at this early hour, she tentatively said, “Come in.”

In stepped three young pooka ladies dressed in the Von Mountainheart livery of blue and silver. As one, they gave a polite curtsy and a “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

“I’m Dorris, your grace,” said the first with another curtsie; she looked like a mouse.

“I’m Effie, your grace,” said the second, whose features reminded Charlotte of a chipmunk

“I’m Stella, your grace,” the third and youngest, she had rabbit ears and a rabbit’s nose.

“Hello,” Charlotte squeaked

With one voice, the girls stated, “Her grace sent us to see to your bath and wardrobe.”

“That’s really not necessary,” said Charlotte weakly, “I plan to….”

“That will not do one bit, her majesty insists that you join her and the king and princesses for breakfast,” said Dorris.

Charlotte could only give meek words of resistance as the three descended upon her and dragged her out of bed and into a day she was very much not ready to face yet…

Despite their unwanted ministrations, I must say that Dorris, Effie, and Stella were admirably competent in the way they bathed me and sorted my things, from the luggage to the wardrobe. I do not appreciate how they dressed me in one of those horrible outfits with layers of lace and ruffles and those dreadful embroidered buttercups that the Fairy Godmother filled my luggage with. They never even gave me a chance to choose which of the horrible dresses to wear. Nor did I appreciate how the three of them promptly herded me down the stairs to the private dining salon.

There I was, formally introduced to Fredrick and Aoibheann’s three daughters: 4-year-old Whimsy, 3-year-old Marigold, and 1-year-old Lillabella. Lillabella is sweeter than any infant ought to be and is an adorable wolf cub pooka with downy chestnut fur to boot. Her older sisters, I soon discovered, are rather less angelic than their youngest sibling, and they cast the sort of glances and remarks in Mountainheartian that the Fairy Godmother’s own daughters once directed at me—the sort that made me feel very much like a doll set upon a shelf for their amusement.

Aside from that, breakfast was quite pleasant. The von Mountainhearts and Kaida are agreeable company at the table. However, I believe I committed a small mistake when I raised the matter of my wardrobe and my need for school supplies…

Charlotte could scarcely feel her arms any longer; her poor bottom was thoroughly tenderized, and her face, she suspected, was as white as a sheet. She clung to Fredrick for dear life, as tightly as a drowning sailor to flotsam, as she bounced with every step Bronzewing the Griffon took. Charlotte always considered herself a city mouse, and the closest she ever got to a saddle on old earth was riding in a hansom cab.

Now she was riding sidesaddle behind Fredrick, wearing one of the hideously frilly day outfits the Fairy Godmother had packed into her luggage. They were bound for a shopping outing with a good portion of her hosts’ family and household. What a perfectly dreadful way to spend a Saturday Morning.

Mere feet away from her, Aoibheann was riding sidesaddle on the graceful and pure white unicorn Lúthien with such grace and practiced ease that she spun around in the saddle to face Charlotte. She giggled demurely and asked, “First time in the saddle?”

Charlotte dared not answer. The image of herself falling under Bronzewing’s massive feet as she trotted along was flashing before her eyes with every step.

“It looks like Dolly Charly was too pampered ever to learn proper riding,” said Whimsy to Marigold in a whisper loud enough for Charlotte to hear. The princesses and their unicorn ponies laughed at Whimsy’s cruel little joke.

 The girls and their mounts were trotting a few paces behind  Bronzewing’s and Lúthien, which put them in the dead center of a ring of heavily armed lancers and meant that Charlotte could hear every remark they made about her. The other occupants of the ring were assorted footmen and functionaries, including the princesses’ governess, Miss Popán. Miss Popán was riding just behind the princesses on a cream colored mare with Lillabella at her hip.

 Lúthien slowed her trot until she was right next to the princesses’ mounts, and the unicorn said in sweet and very proper tones, “Now, darlings, it is not right to laugh at the expense of others.”

“Yes, Mama,” said the two little unicorns who bowed heads in reproach

“Any first-time rider would be frightened half to death if they had to endure little Bronzewing’s dreadful bouncing,” said Lúthien with sneering superiority.

Brozewing lurched under Charlotte. “What did you say about me, you stuck-up prancer?” Bronzewing retorted with a growl in her voice. 

The verbal sparring between unicorn and griffon faded into the background as Charlotte clung hard to Fredrick. She found it disconcerting that she could understand both unicorn and griffon, but everything that had happened since leaving the castle could be described by the same word.

Before they left the castle, Aoibheann had painted a spell of understanding languages upon her back between her shoulder blades with golden paint and a brush. The flowing circular pattern still tingled in a manner that was not entirely pleasant.

Worse were the effects. Words in foreign tongues from passers-by in the street reached her ears as perfect Mainspringian English, and the constant translation left a sense of vertigo in her brain as the movement of people’s mouths did not line up with the words that spilled from their lips. 

What disturbed her even more was that now she could understand the animals as if they were her fellow people. When Lúthien and Bronzewing came trotting out of the stables, they had been mid-argument over something Lúthien’s youngest foal had done earlier that morning. That alone nearly made Charlotte jump out of her skin, much to Aoibheann’s amusement. Now, every bird and beast the little cavalcade passed on the street was talking like people, too, and the thought that the animals talked like that behind her back was even more worrying to Charlotte. 

Yet many of the creatures they passed were wearing bits of human clothing or carrying shopping baskets like ordinary townsfolk, which made her wonder whether “beast” was even the proper term—or whether the enchantment was playing tricks upon her senses

As the group rode the long way down the mountain, the canopy overhead grew steadily thicker. The scattered pastel pines around Castle Sliberberg’s lofty perch soon gave way to the rainbow twilight Charlotte had first seen when she stepped from Queen’s Heart Station. The traffic was getting thicker too; drovers with their giant snails were now constantly giving way to the group, and the sidewalks were a solid palisade of colorful characters of all species and genders.

There was a slight shift in Bronzewings direction, followed by a step up that Charlotte felt in her bottom. Then everyone stopped.

“We are here,” said Aoibheann in her sing-song voice.

Around her, those who could dismount were dismounting. Aoibheann gracefully slipped off Lúthien’s side and helped Whimsy and Marigold off their ponies. The guardsmen dismounted in a clatter of bronze and brass plates. Bronzewing lay down, and Fredrick stepped down over his saddle.

Charlotte was the last to dismount. She tentatively slipped the three inches down from the saddle to the pavement and almost immediately lost her balance and was caught by Fredrick. She buried her head in his jacket for a few moments as the unwanted excitement of the ride drained out of her.

Aoibheann giggled seemingly at nothing. “Well, now that we are here, it is time to shop,” she said, much to the excitement of the princesses.

Curious as to what she meant, Charlotte raised her head from Fredrick’s shoulder, and her jaw almost dropped. Before her was a tangle of roots and branches as broad as a street stretching between four massive trees. Everything was lit up with strings of the ubiquitous yellow crystal lanterns she had seen elsewhere in the city. Around the roots and hanging from the trunks on platforms were a rainbow of merchants’ stalls, festooned with signs and bunting. They stood like islands in a cacophanous sea of shoppers. The air was thick with the smell of spices, coffee, and perfume.

Charlotte knew exactly where they were. She had heard stories of Sliberberg’s fabled Market Grove Bazaar, but seeing it with her own eyes was another matter entirely.

Her reveries were interrupted as Aoibheann thrust a long paper scroll into Charlotte’s hands. “I took the liberty of preparing a list of everything you will need for your classes at the Windmore Women’s Magical University.”
Charlotte scanned the list and gasped. She counted over 300 items. With a look of befuddlement, she asked in a low voice, “Are you sure we can find everything here?”
Except that Aoibheann was not there. She looked around and saw that she had wandered back to where Miss Popán and the children were standing. Where did they get the pram that Lillabella was now sitting in? Charlotte had to mentally shake herself. Right, a magical city, a magical royal family, likely a magical governess, too.

She turned to where she had last seen Fredrick wander off to. He was by the mounts talking to some hostlers about stable rentals. The horses, unicorns, and griffons were talking among themselves.

For a few brief moments, Charlotte felt alone in an impenetrable sea of people with only a cordon of armed men preventing her from drowning in it. 

Then Aoibheann swooped over and took her by the hand. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she said, beaming, “We are here to shop and so shop we shall.” Aoibheann flourished her parasol and half-guided, half-dragged Charlotte in the general direction of Miss Popán and the children.

Aoibheann led the way, and the crowd parted around her and the group like a ship cutting through the sea. Deeper and deeper into the grove they went, and Charlotte soon began to see that it was not as chaotic as she had first thought. The crowds were not the impenetrable walls she saw from the sidewalk. The merchants’ stalls and small shops, while appearing to be scattered pell-mell about the roots, catwalks, and platforms on the trunks, were in fact arranged in a somewhat logical fashion by the goods sold. There were ramps leading up to the platforms above and rope bridges and catwalks spanning the trees.

“First things first, we need to get you a bottomless bag,” said Aoibheann, in the high spirits of a predator on the hunt, “else we would need the aid of at least 10 footmen to carry your supplies back to Castle Sliberberg.” She began to pull Charlotte along with vigor in the direction of the far end of the Marketplace, and the rest of the group followed behind. Charlotte struggled to keep up and avoid the many roots, tails, loose cobblestones, and smaller shoppers. 

Aoibheann’s head was pivoting this way and that, looking for something, until her eyes suddenly locked upon a particular stall. At once, she seized Charlotte and began dragging her along even faster than before.

The stall was small, little more than a hand cart with a fold-out table piled high with leather bags, attended by a gnome. Well, Charlotte thought it was a gnome; he was short, with a pointed red cap and a bulbous nose protruding from a face that seemed to consist almost entirely of beard and pipe. She was quite certain he was a man, for she could not conceive of any lady possessing a white beard that dragged upon the floor

“Ah, ladies—fancy a bottomless bag?” said the gnome in a slightly gummy tone.

Aoibheann gave Charlotte a playful shove forward, nearly sending her into the counter. “It’s your choice, Charly,” said Aoibheann with a mischievous smile, “Pick whatever bag you like.”

Charlotte scanned the bags. There were bags in every color and pattern. She selected a red leather bag with a stitched floral pattern.

“Good choice, my lady,” said the gnome, “2 guldenmarks and 50 marks.”
“Let me see that for a moment,” said Aoibheann. Charlotte handed her the bag, and Aoibheann inspected the rim. Aoibheann started softly speaking to herself. Charlotte was not sure, but it sounded as if she were reciting poetry in a foreign tongue, poetry that flowed pleasantly and effortlessly from her lips. 

After a few moments, Aoibheann’s face scrunched up like she had smelled something rotten. “My good sir, one of the runes on the rim is wrong,” said Aoibheann with an air of authority

“Nonsense, I stitched that bag myself, and I stand by my work,” said the gnome indignantly.

“But it is true,” said Aoibheann, annoyed, “The final runes of the spell should be ____. The last three runes stitched into this bag are .” 

The gnome snatched the bag out of Aoibheann’s hands, whipped out an oversized magnifying glass, and started reading the inscription himself. Charlotte looked at Aoibheann in awe at spotting such a small detail. Aoibheann apparently noticed and, preening, said, “It’s really not that difficult once you know the trick to magic, Charly.”
“Trick?” asked Charlotte.

Aoibheann smiled, “Yes, a trick of sorts. All spells in this world and Faerie are poems created long ago by the very first wizard, Faolan, High King of Faerie.”

“You don’t mean,” asked Charlotte 

“Yes, that Faolan,” said Aoibheann, “My mother claimed when she was Whimsy’s age, Faolan made all of Faerie dance to his rhymes and verse. Now, with him locked beneath our feet and madder than a hatter, we have to sing his songs to get his power to dance the way we want it.”
The impromptu lesson was interrupted by the gnome making a loud, “Pardon me, Madame, I do apologize for my outburst.’ He cleared his throat and said, “I checked the inscription, and you are right, the final rune is wrong.” Turning to Charlotte, he proffered another bag, red with embroidered daffodils, and said, “Good Miss, I have checked the spell on this bag, and it is as good as gold. It is also close enough to what you picked. For the trouble I cause and your friend, it is your for two guldenmarks.”

Charlotte was speechless. Aoibheann gave her a good prod, and she said, “Yes, I will take it, good sir.” One of the guardsmen stepped forward and, from the massive and heavy purse that the Fairy Godmother had given her, paid out two gold coins. 

The group walked away from the bag seller. Charlotte was reverently holding her purchase with a mix of awe and wonder. “Bea,” she said as they trotted.

“Yes, Charly?” said Aoibheann sweetly

“What would have happened if I put something in the bag with the bad rune?” asked Charlotte.

“Little cubes of that thing would come out,” said Aoibheann mischievously, “including your hand.”

The next hour or so was a repeat of the encounter with the bottomless bag seller. Aoibheann sought out a merchant who had one or more of the items on Charlotte’s list. She would gently prod her into making a choice. Aoibheann would inspect the goods to ensure their quality and then give Charlotte a little lesson on how magic worked. The guard carrying Charlotte’s massive purse would pay for the item, and it would promptly vanish into her bottomless bag.

Into the bag went her textbooks, an elderwood wand, a tabletop cauldron, basic alchemy glassware, a few common reagents, pens, ink, and notebooks, and a hundred other things.

All the while, Miss Popán herded Whimsy and Marigold behind them. The girls were mostly well behaved, but it was plain as a pikestaff that they were bored. Their mischievous eyes occasionally wandered to Chalotte. They took every opportunity to demonstrate that they knew three more spells than the complete beginner Charlotte did. They conjured balls of light, crafted tiny illusions, and performed little tricks—all for the purpose of humiliating Charlotte. 

It was only the lightning-fast reflexes of Miss Popán that prevented them from causing Charlotte any lasting embarrassment. She had an uncanny knack for stepping in at just the right moment with some distracting trick that left the princesses laughing, and Charlotte spared. Miss Popán was nothing like the governesses she knew from her own girlhood in London; she was jolly and friendly and seemed to enjoy playing with Lillabella.

One by one, the last few items on the list were stuffed into the bottomless bag with a few other items that Charlotte bought because they seemed to be useful: a pair of glasses enchanted with the comprehend languages spells, a stationery kit, and a dictionary of the runes of the runic tongue of Faerie.

Charlotte was contemplating blank spell books when out of the crowd came a voice so shrill and piercing that it seemed to cut the air itself.

“Bea darling, what a coincidence to see you here, of all places.”

Charlotte turned and spotted a woman, a girl really, about Bea’s age. Her skin was teal blue scales. She had the reddest hair that Charlotte had ever seen and the prettiest face, too. She had fish-like fins where her ears ought to be. She was dressed in a gown that combined the frilliness of Charlotte’s forced wardrobe and the scandalously short skirt of Kaida’s dress, but made of golden thread. She was pushing a nautical-themed pram with a redheaded, blue-scaled baby girl inside, surrounded by several bodyguards.

The moment the princesses saw the newcomer, they shot towards her like a pair of rockets. “Aunty Muirín,” they said in unison as they hugged her legs.

The woman smiled and knelt down to give the princesses head pats and the sort of kind words a very specific type of aunt uses with her nieces, the aunt who spends all day wearing a mink fur stole, it’s never without a glass of champagne, and uses words like ‘fabulous’ and ‘darling’ unironically. Charlotte’s mother had associated with women who acted like Muirín, those who were ever so slightly better off than her family but went to great lengths to make themselves seem richer than they are. She endured many a dreadful tea party where those women talked about how plain she was compared to their own daughters.

After having her fill commenting on the virtues of her “favorite nieces,” she and her pram glided over to Aoibheann and Charlotte. “Oh, my favorite pod mate, Bea,” she said in tones dripping with glamor, “Who is this creature you associate with?”

Charlotte was speechless. Aoibheann had to begrudgingly make the introduction, “This is Queen Charlotte Evermore, sovereign of the Clockfolk and ruler of Mainspring.. Charlotte, this is my sister-in-law, Countess Muirín Uisceanna Von Mountainheart. She is also a mermaid.”

“Merwoman,” said Muirín in mock offense.

“Merwoman,” Aoibheann sighed.

Muirín gave Charlotte a long, uncomfortable inspection. The intensity of Muirín’s glare made Charlotte retreat inside herself.

“No, not a queen,” said Muirín dismissively. Aoibheann looked shocked, and Charlotte turned white. Before either of them could say another word, Muirín continued, “Darling, you have the face and the body to be a dolphin like Bea or me, although I would fire whoever made you wear those dreadful clothes. But you have the air of a minnow about you. You’re the sort who shrinks into the background and lets others make decisions for you. I bet that none of the things in that bottomless bag were chosen for their merits or their appeal; you chose at random and at the behest of others.”

“By the Lord and Lady, Muirín!” Aoibheann said angrily, “I know you think being the prettiest girl in the kingdom and my in-law allows you to say whatever you please, but even for you, that was blunt.”

“It is the truth,” Muirín said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “The sooner she accepts it, the sooner she takes charge of her life and becomes a dolphin.” 

In the distance, a clock tolled the eleventh hour of the day. “I must be off, I promised Aeliana a new toy if she behaved, and she is such a good little girl,” said Muirín as she sauntered away. “Oh, little minnow, my sister-in-law is the sort to coddle the little fish, try to make your own decisions from time to time.”

Aoibheann stuck her tongue out at Muirín’s backside as she walked away. Charlotte was frozen in place. The words stung because they were true—far too many of them were true.

She was no queen. Not yet.

She needed to find the right mentor to lead her through all her trials. Then perhaps she might become a queen worthy of the title—like Victoria herself.

Charlotte did not speak as Aoibheann dragged her through the rest of the shopping trip. With every item on Charlotte’s list crossed off, Aoibheann decided it was time for the princesses to indulge themselves. Charlotte was dragged along as the princesses led the way through stalls selling sweets. They spent far too long staring longingly at the window displays at Gleanspark Toys. To Charlotte’s horror, the displays featured porcelain princess dolls that looked just like her. There were also the street performers with their puppets and trick-performing animals. 

By the time the clock tower at town hall was striking noon, Charlotte was all tuckered out, and the princesses were struggling to move with arms laden with their spoils.

“Oh my darlings, we’d better find your papa,” said Aoibheann in her sweet motherly voice to the princesses. The girls were visibly dismayed that their mother was cutting their spree short. Aoibheann, smiling sly said, “He is waiting for us at Meebbesh’s Table.”

At that moment, the girl’s whining evaporated, replaced with eagerness.

“You will love Meebbesh’s Charlotte,” said Aoibheann with bright enthusiasm, “He is a genie with a flair for the culinary, he can make anything you ask for, and it will be the best food you ever tasted.” Charlotte was hungry and desperate for a chance to sit down, so she followed them.

Aoibheann led the group to the center of the grove, where food stalls surrounded a whimsical fountain and a large deck stretched between three trees above. Around the fountain was a large crowd and violin music, very familiar violin music. It took a moment, but Charlotte recognized the tune as The Bluebells of Scotland, which she had not heard since she was back on Earth.

The crowd parted as the violinist came through. It was Fredrick! He seemed to be having a ball playing for his subjects. He drew out the last few bars and bowed. Everyone, including Charlotte, cheered.

“Wow, that was amazing,” said Charlotte. She knew it was a bit cliché, but she could not think of anything else to say: “I did not know Fredrick could play like that.”

“He is an old-fashioned romantic,” said Aoibheann coyly, “so of course he can play violin, piano, guitar, and a dozen other instruments.” To her husband with a wry smile, “Could not help but show off.”
“Well, you were late for lunch,” said Fredrick with equal coyness as he put the violin back into its case, “I wanted to try out my new violin and some garlands of sheet music I bought while at Mr. Stratus’ shop. Does your presence imply that you are ready for lunch?”
Aoibheann swooped over and hooked her husband’s arm and placed her head on his shoulder, “Yes, darling, let’s make our way up to Meebbesh’s.” 

They led the way to the spiral staircase up to the deck. Charlotte cursed herself for not asking Aoibheann for a spell to relieve sore feet. When she reached the top, panting like a dog, she was struck by a sight that almost made her faint with shock and exhaustion: amid an excessive display of fireworks and flashing lights, a purple-skinned man with no legs appeared from an old-fashioned oil lamp on a desk.

“Welcome to Meebbesh’s Table, where your dish is my command, so relax, be seated…” Charlotte tuned out the spiel as she started to wobble and collapsed onto Fredrick’s back…

When I came too, I was sitting on a table with my feet in a cold bath and a magic hand fan fluttering by my face. The others had already ordered. Frederick had a massive plate of what looked like sausages with mustard and fried onions. Aoibheann had asked for a delicate garden salad with Faerie fruit berries. The princesses naturally had ordered massive plates of sweets and ice cream, styled to look like fairy-tale castles. 

I was the only one left who had not ordered anything, and Meebbesh hovered around me like a courtier awaiting a royal decree. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, I ordered a bowl of chicken soup and fresh bread, which appeared before me in a puff of smoke and a blinding flash of light. It was the best soup I had ever tasted.

Nothing else interesting happened today. 

No, that’s not right. 

I talked to Ben today.

Charlotte watched from the big, comfortable armchair by the window as Effie sorted through her purchases and luggage and arranged her possessions around her drawing room in the castle. She was exhausted from her trip to the market, but the pooka girl seemingly had no end of energy. Charlotte wondered whether the chipmunk’s cheeks and tail were not for show after all.

As Effie turned the writing desk into an improvised arcanist’s desk, Charlotte sighed and turned towards the open window. She had no more energy for excitement, but she was also bored stiff. Her mind started to run through a list of things to do. She could explore the castle grounds. No too much walking up and down stairs. Maybe she could find the castle library and find a book to read, that sounds nice, but she did not know where the library was, and she was too tired to go look for it. Play with the princesses? No, absolutely not, she screamed in her head. Lillabella was sweet, but Whismy and Marigold would be the ones playing with her. Seek out the music room that must exist in the castle? Same problem as seeking out the library.

She wished she had stopped at the bookstores when they were out shopping.

In the end, she curled up into a ball and started thinking about Ben. She missed Ben so much. He was her rock and her shield, the only friend in the decades trapped in the Golden Palace. The man who sat rather inconveniently at the top of her very short list of eligible part—

Charlotte immediately scolded herself for the thought.

Ben was a friend, and that was it. So what if he had a crush on her? She did not feel the same way about him, right?

Still, she missed him. She missed him so badly that, for a moment, she almost thought she heard him calling her name.
“Charlotte,” he said from someplace far away over and over again. 

She was about to think how sweet he is, worrying for her when Effie walked over with a small box and said, “My grace, someone seeks to speak with you.”
From the box came Ben’s Voice, “Charlotte?”

She took the box from Effie’s hand and gingerly opened it. Inside, a hand mirror sat on black velvet. The frame was silver, worked into the shape of two sidhe—a king and queen deep in confidential conversation. There was a faint glow coming from the downward-facing glass side.

She gently took up the mirror, flipped it over, and saw Ben’s face looking out from the glass.

“My beloved queen,” Ben said, clearly relieved to see her, “How it gladdens my heart to see you again, even though it’s through a piece of glass.”
Charlotte nearly dropped the mirror in surprise, both at seeing Ben and at the way he was talking.

“Ben—but you’re back in Mainspring. How can you talk to me through the mirror?” said Charlotte as her gears raced.

“A courier sent by the Fairy Godmother arrived in Mainspring this morning with a package for me,” he said, regaining some of the rock-hard stoicism that she relied on, “It was a wall mirror for my, I mean your study. The lass explained to me how to make the mirror work before flying off on her broomstick.”
Curious Charlotte asked, “So how do these mirrors work?” She suspected that the Fairy Godmother explained it to her, and she simply did not remember.

“You touch the mirror and say the name of whoever you want to talk to, but it only works if that person has a mirror,” said Ben. 

The professionalism suddenly drained out of him, and the sheepish, slightly dorky side of him returned, “So Charlotte,” he said timidly, “How are you settling in to Sliberberg?”

“Fine, I suppose,” said Charlotte, “My hostess Aoibheann is a delightful and playful. Her husband, Fredrick, is a little dense, but he is sweet and noble; they are honestly the perfect couple and madly in love with each other.”

For a split second, Ben looked jealous of the description of the king and queen of New Mountainheart’s relationship.

“The princesses, however, are a mixed bag,” Charlotte said in a much less pleased tone, “Baby Lillabella is adorable and sweet as sugar. Her older sisters are too much like the Fairy Godmother’s own daughters for comfort.” She let herself hang for a moment as the unpleasant interactions with the two from earlier replayed in her mind. 

Charlotte’s face then brightened, and she asked, “What about you? How are things back in Mainspring?”
Ben straightened himself up and put his serious prime minister face back on, “Excellent, my queen, things are going well in the city. The expansion of the foundries is on schedule. We are starting the remodel of the golden palace you asked for, and …” 

Suddenly, the illusion of seriousness in Ben’s face was shattered and was replaced with the sopping, lovestruck dork she had danced with in the Fairy Godmother’s ballroom. “Please come, Charlotte, I cannot take this much longer, the complaining, the endless meetings, the horse trading, it’s too much for a simple soldier like me to handle.”
“My word, Lord Wood,” said Charlotte, trying her best to sound like Queen Victoria… she did not succeed. “Pull yourself together, it is unseemly for you, a man of your rank, to be having a… breakdown.” 

She wanted to sound dignified and poised. The words came out like a girl asking her security blanket to stop crying because it was making her cry too.

“I know my queen, but it is the truth,” said Ben, who was struggling to pull himself together, “I am overwhelmed with work. Please release me from these duties, so I might join you in Sliberberg as your shield, or better yet, come home and rule with me.”

Either offer was incredibly tempting to Charlotte, but she had sent Ben away for a reason. He was the only man she could trust to keep a lid on her kingdom while she learned how to rule it. But to see him like this made her gears in her chest grind funny.

“Lord Wood, when I elevated you to the rank of Prime Minster I did not expect you to do everything by yourself,” said Charlotte once more, trying to channel Queen Victoria, “I have invested you with the power to hire competent and able-bodied administrators and ministers to help you with your duties, I suggest you exercise that power with all due haste—for the sake of your sanity.” She paused to let the words sink into Ben’s head. “As for your other request, give it another month, and if you can find an able replacement, you can join me in Sliberberg,” said Charlotte in a false pose. “In meanwhile consider this training for your role as Prince Consort.”

Her hand immediately fled to her mouth, and her gears started spinning faster. She did not mean to say the last two words in that sentence. She prayed Ben did not hear them. 

He did, and his face immediately brightened, and his manners turned wistful.

She knew she had made a mistake and immediately stuffed the mirror back in the box and closed the lid. She could hear him call his name through the glass.

She curled up into a ball. She did not mean to call him her prince consort. It just kind of slipped out. She was not in love with Ben, no, not one bit, right? 

Her mind conjured up a scene from earlier today, Frederick and Aoibheann, arms linked, Aoibheann playfully resting her head on his shoulder, except it was her and Ben being the playful couple.

That was when she knew.

She was in love with Ben.

And she had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

I did not tell a soul in the castle about my conversation with Ben. I knew Aoibheann would tease me about finally confessing my love to my beau, and I dread to think that the princesses would act out Ben and me romancing each other with their dolls if they knew.

But it is eating me up inside. I confirmed Ben’s hopes that I was in love with him, even though it slipped out before I understood it myself. And then shoved him back in a box so that I could cry to myself over this. I imagine I must have been quite a pathetic sight for a few minutes. I don’t believe there was anything else I could have done.

I do not know how to process these feelings I have towards Ben, my dashing, handsome, charming, my … beloved.

I probably should ask Aoibheann about this in the morning. She would know how to romance properly.

Charlotte