Her Royal Slyness Page 2

  The king stopped, too. “Yes, of course. That’s why your mother and I wanted to speak with you. Rescuing damsels in distress is the princeliest thing a prince can ever do. Now, let’s keep moving, son. It’s not a walk-and-talk if we’re talking but not walking.”

  Carlos stayed frozen in place. “But … the Tallest Tower? The Tallest Tower is located on Witch Island.”

  “Yes,” the king said.

  “And Witch Island has witches,” Carlos said.

  “Not anymore, I don’t think,” the king said. “Maybe one witch.”

  “And Witch Island is surrounded by Witch Lake!” Carlos’s voice grew louder.

  “Yes,” the king said.

  “Which might have more witches!” Carlos’s voice grew even louder.

  “Witches don’t live in lakes, son,” the king said.

  “But witches might live near lakes! Especially if the name of the lake is Witch Lake!” Carlos was really loud now.

  “Take the dragon,” the king said. “Dragons can easily defeat witches.”

  “Oh, come on!” Carlos dialed his voice up to eleven. “Have you ever seen Smudge in action? All he does all day is sleep and eat ice cream!”

  The king sighed. The king often sighed, but he sighed more often than usual when discussing Smudge. “Take him with you anyway. A walk will do him good. All that ice cream has made him too heavy to fly. He hasn’t been able to reach the chandeliers for days now.”

  “But Daaaad!” Carlos’s voice slipped into a whine that even he found annoying.

  The king’s eyebrows knitted together. “No, sir. No whining,” the king said slowly. “You may whine when I ask you to clean your room. You may whine when your mother makes us eat Brussels sprouts. But you may not whine when a young woman’s life is in danger. Your problems do not begin to compare to Princess Pinky’s problems. Do you understand me?”

  Carlos did understand. He stared down at his shoes. He felt his face get red.

  The king put a gentle hand on Carlos’s shoulder. His tone softened. “You can do this, son. I know you can. I wouldn’t ask you if I had the slightest doubt in my mind. Your last adventure showed me how brave and resourceful you are.”

  “But why me?” Carlos’s voice trembled a little. “Why not Gilbert the Gallant?”

  It was a good question. Gilbert the Gallant was the prince of Ever-After Land. Princess Pinky was his younger sister. Gilbert was older, stronger, braver, and princelier than Carlos could ever be. He had even been profiled in a recent issue of Better Castles & Hedge Mazes magazine.

  “Prince Gilbert would do it if he could,” the king explained, “but he’s overseas attending college. He’s a new freshman at Princeton University.”

  Then the king did something that Carlos absolutely hated.

  “Please,” the king said. He said it so sweetly, so kindly, and so Charmingly that Carlos could only say one thing in reply:

  “Okay.”

  CHAPTER 3

  “Could be worse,” Smudge volunteered.

  “How?” Carlos asked. On his trudge to the royal barn, Carlos spotted a pinecone resting on the ground. He aimed a swift, frustrated kick at it but missed it completely. This made Carlos even more frustrated than before. “Now I probably won’t be able to go to the Zimmerman bar mitzvah.”

  Carlos noticed an acorn by his feet and kicked at it even harder than the pinecone. He hit it, but just barely. It only bounced a few times before skittering off the trail. It was still very unsatisfying. “So instead of doing something I love, I have to save some princess I don’t even know from a tower a million miles high on an island a million miles away because her stupid older brother decided to go to college in New Jersey.” Carlos kicked another acorn, but his aim was bad, and it rolled no more than five or six feet away. “So how can it be worse?”

  “You could have to walk there,” Smudge said.

  The dragon had a point. Their destination was miles away. It was much too far to walk. To get to Witch Lake, Carlos planned to ride Cornelius, the royal horse. Smudge planned to be pulled by Cornelius in the royal horse cart.

  Carlos had a long history of getting on Cornelius’s nerves, but he had worked hard to get on the horse’s good side. Every morning, Carlos got up early to feed Cornelius the finest oats and carrots he could find. The horse, in turn, had recently stopped giving Carlos the stink eye.

  That was real progress.

  Cornelius was the fastest and strongest horse in all of Faraway Kingdom. He would be able to get Carlos and Smudge to Witch Lake in no time at all.

  Carlos did the math in his head. With Cornelius’s speed and a bit of luck, Carlos and Smudge might be able to reach the lake, get to the island, avoid the witch, rescue the princess, and get back home just in time to maybe catch the Zimmerman bar mitzvah.

  It was possible, but it was a long shot.

  A long long shot.

  As he shoved open the barn door, Carlos felt frustrated all over again. Spotting a rock by the entrance, he gave it a ferocious kick. Unlike the pinecone and acorns, Carlos’s foot hit its target right on the money, and the rock flew as if it were shot from a cannon. It ricocheted off one of the barn’s support beams. It launched itself toward Cornelius’s stall.

  And it smacked Cornelius on the butt.

  Suddenly the barn was alive with enraged whinnies, snorts, and thunderous kicks. Cornelius, his ears flattened and mouth foaming with fury, lurched toward the stall door. He came nose-to-nose with Carlos.

  “Sorry! I-I’m really sorry!” Carlos stammered as he fell backward into a bale of hay. “It w-was an accident.”

  Cornelius’s stink eye had never been stinkier.

  * * *

  “It’s a nice, nice day for a long, long walk!” Smudge sang as he and Carlos walked toward the distant horizon. “It’s not so loooong when it’s so niiiice. With a frieeeeeend!”

  “Mm,” Carlos grumbled.

  “Cheer up,” Smudge chirped. “I’ll turn your frown upside down!”

  “Hold on,” Carlos protested. “I’m the jester. I’m the one who is supposed to turn frowns upside down.”

  “Then do it! I’ll frown, and you turn it!” Smudge frowned, but his wagging tail didn’t make the frown very convincing.

  “Want me to juggle?” Carlos reached for the three knives on his belt.

  “No! Tell a joke!” Smudge beamed. (He forgot that he was supposed to stay frowny.) “A joke about dragons!”

  “Okay.” Carlos thought for a moment. “Knock-knock.”

  “Who’s there?” Smudge asked.

  “Dragon.”

  “Dragon who?”

  “Quit dragon your feet; we have a ten-mile hike ahead of us,” Carlos said.

  Smudge giggled. “That’s funny! You de-frowned me!” Then Smudge pondered the punch line. “Is it really ten miles to Witch Lake?” he asked.

  Carlos nodded. And the two of them plodded on.

  * * *

  “I’m tired, CC. Can you carry me?” Smudge asked.

  Carlos raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding? You’re too big to carry.”

  The dragon harrumphed at this news. “It’s the ice cream. It makes my belly big.”

  “You’d be too big to carry even if you didn’t eat ice cream.”

  “I need to eat ice cream, CC. I need ice cream to cool my hot bref.”

  “You could always cool your breath with ice.”

  “I do cool my bref with ice,” Smudge explained. “Creamy ice.”

  * * *

  “What do you see in the clouds, CC?” Smudge wondered dreamily as they stretched in the grass.

  Carlos squirmed a little. A rock was poking between his shoulder blades. “I don’t see anything. There are no clouds today.”

  The dragon burped a few puffs of gray smoke up in the air. “Now what do you see?”

  Carlos studied Smudge’s work for a moment. “I see a rubber chicken,” he decided.

  “I see ice cream,” Smudge replied.

  * * *

  Carlos and Smudge scrambled over a ridge of boulders.

  “When you rescue the princess, are you going to kiss her?” Smudge asked.

  “Ew, no,” Carlos said. “Why would I kiss her?”

  Smudge shrugged. “I thought princes were kissy.”

  “Well, jesters are not kissy,” Carlos grumbled. “Not kissy at all.”

  * * *

  “Are we there yet?” Smudge asked. It felt as if the two of them had been walking for hours, because they had been.

  “Do you need another break?” Carlos asked. Carlos sure needed one.

  “Maybe a little one.” Smudge plopped down on his big, scaly bottom. “Hey, CC?”

  Carlos sat down, too. “Hm?”

  “Why do you think a witch kidnapped Princess Pinky?”

  “We don’t know if a witch kidnapped her,” Carlos said.

  “But the princess is on Witch Island,” Smudge reasoned. “So it’s probably a witch who did it, right?”

  The idea made Carlos’s chest feel tight.

  “Do you think the princess will be an ingredient in a witch’s potion?” Smudge asked.

  “Ingredient?!” Carlos gulped. “In a potion?”

  “You know, like the way witches use newt eyes or rabbit ears? Do you think a witch might use the princess’s eyes or ears in a witch potion?”

  Instead of answering, Carlos sprang to his feet. “Okay! Break’s over. Let’s keep moving.”

  * * *

  Carlos never would have imagined that a place called Witch Lake could be such a welcome sight. Upon arriving, he was unable to walk another step. He dropped to his knees at the lapping shoreline, cupped his hands, and slurped up water until the front of his shirt was soaked through.

  He squinted across the water’s surface and found the island, which was partly hidden by mist. The tower upon it reached into the sky.

  “That’s where we’re going,” he said. “Now all we have to do is figure out how to get there.”

  “We could swim,” Smudge suggested.

  “Can you swim?” Carlos asked.

  “No,” Smudge admitted. “But I could take lessons!”

  Carlos sighed. “I think we need another way, Smudge.”

  “How about a PINK BOAT?” Smudge asked.

  Carlos sighed again. “Where are we going to find—?”

  Carlos turned his head and found the answer to his question. Peacefully bobbing off to one side was a pink paddleboat shaped to resemble a flamingo. A long neck sprouted from the bow and arched over the water. A smile was painted on a black beak. The eyes twinkled invitingly.

  It was a beautiful and cheerful sight, but it made Carlos uneasy. The sign stuck into the ground beside the boat made Carlos even more uneasy. It read:

  Free Transportation to Witch Island

  Is this a trap? Carlos wondered. Is this boat an evil witch trick?

  Carlos was having a difficult time thinking it over. It’s difficult to think things over when a skipping dragon is shouting things like “Wowie!” and “Look at the bird boat!” and “Pink is my favorite color!”

  “It is a nice boat,” Carlos said, “but I don’t know if we should…”

  Carlos trailed off when he realized he was talking to nobody.

  “WHEEEE!” Smudge had run to the flamingo and was tumbling into one of the seats. The boat bobbed under Smudge’s weight, making the flamingo’s head nod in approval.

  “I’m the captain!” Smudge announced. “I call the captain’s chair! C’mon, CC! What’cha waiting for? Let’s go go go!”

  CHAPTER 4

  “Do you think there are sea monsters in here?” Smudge squinted into the water, forgetting for about the fiftieth time that he was supposed to be doing half of the pedaling.

  “No,” Carlos replied, but the more honest answer was “I hope not.” For all Carlos knew, a witch could have created a sea monster for this lake. A witch could have also trained the sea monster to attack pink flamingo boats.

  Carlos focused on the rhythmic ga-splush of the waves. He tried to push the idea of sea monsters out of his mind.

  “Do you know any sea monster jokes?” Smudge asked.

  Carlos did. “What does a sea monster eat for dinner?”

  “What?” Smudge asked.

  “Fish and ships.” The punch line made Carlos’s gut twist into a knot.

  Smudge frowned. “I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s not a very good joke.” Carlos made a point of not looking into the water, but that left him no choice but to look at Witch Island, which double-knotted his gut. The Tallest Tower triple-knotted it.

  As the island grew near, however, Carlos was surprised by how un-witchy it looked. In fact, the island was inviting. It was thick with lush greenery. Its shores were gently sloped and free from hull-damaging rocks. Songbirds chirped in its treetops. The place even smelled nice—fresh and breezy, like clothesline laundry.

  But Carlos knew looks (and sounds and smells) could be deceiving.

  Don’t let your guard down, Carlos thought. This is Witch Island. A witch lives here. And that witch has kidnapped a princess.

  The bottom of the flamingo boat crunched against the island’s sandy shore.

  “Okay,” Carlos said. “Smudge, before we get started, we need a game plan.”

  “Cool!” Smudge exclaimed.

  “First part of the game plan is that we need to keep really quiet,” Carlos said.

  “Cool,” Smudge whispered.

  “That’s all I have so far,” Carlos admitted.

  “It’s good.” Smudge nodded. “I like it.”

  Carlos and Smudge tiptoed across the beach and squeezed between the trees. Most of them were pines, so there were no crunchy leaves underfoot to announce their arrival. A few minutes later, the two of them reached a flat, sandy clearing. In the middle of the clearing stood a cylindrical tower made from black stone that was polished to a high shine. At the very top, barely visible from where they stood, was a large window.

  Carlos leaned toward Smudge’s ear. “Look for a door.”

  Still on tippy-toes, the two circled the tower. There was no door. They circled it another three times just to make sure.

  Nope. Still no door.

  “Any more game plan?” Smudge asked.

  “Maybe there’s a tunnel?” Carlos wished he sounded more confident, but his tone matched how he felt. “Let’s spread out and look for a secret entrance.”

  Moving in slow circles, Carlos kept his eyes to the ground, sweeping the sand with his feet in case it was hiding a hole or a hatch.

  Nothing.

  Smudge did the same, sweeping and poking at the ground with his snout and tail. He wasn’t having any luck, either. As Carlos eyed a tree stump with suspicion, Smudge searched behind the tower, out of Carlos’s line of sight.

  “Oh, hai!” Smudge shouted. (This was a clear violation of the game plan.)

  Carlos nearly leapt out of his skin. “Shh! Did you find something?”

  Then he heard Smudge scream.

  CHAPTER 5

  Carlos fumbled for the juggling knives in his belt.

  “I’m coming, Smudge!” he shouted, and immediately he wished he hadn’t. He’d just announced his actions to whatever horrible thing was concealed behind the tower. His mistake made his fingers tremble. One of his knives plunked into the dirt.

  He managed to hold on to the other two. Clutching one knife in each hand, he raced around the tower in a tight counterclockwise circle, practically brushing up against the curved wall with his left shoulder.

  He was terrified of what he might find. A witch, certainly. Smudge might be under a spell! Or in great pain! Or dying! Or being used as an ingredient in a potion!

  Carlos could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

  He skidded around the bend and saw Smudge racing right toward him, smiling, skipping, and dancing around the tower in a tight clockwise circle, practically brushing up against the curved wall with his right shoulder.

  “CC!” Smudge called.

  “GAAAH!” Carlos cried.

  Carlos pushed off from the wall to avoid a collision. At once he lost his footing and face-planted into the sand. Both knives flew from his hands and skidded into the weeds.

  “CC!” Smudge shouted. “CC! You okay?”

  Smudge’s eyes were wide with alarm. His skipping-and-dancing engine, however, was still running. It’s difficult to be alarmed and joyful at the same time, but Smudge pulled it off.

  Carlos spat some sand out of his mouth before answering. “Pthpthpthpth! I’m okay. Ptoo! Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah! I’m good! I’m really good!” Now that Smudge knew Carlos was unhurt, his smile returned. His skipping and dancing shifted into a higher gear.

  “Why on earth did you scream?” Carlos asked.

  “Because I found something awesome!” The dragon held up his hand to show off a gray something about the size of a dinner roll. “Can I have this, CC? Can I?”

  Carlos fixed his gaze on the object. “Is that a rock?”

  “Yeah!”

  “A rock with eyes glued on it,” Carlos said.

  “Uh-huh! And the eyes move! Look!” Smudge shook it. The eyes jiggled, as if the rock didn’t know whether it was coming or going. “Can I keep it? Can I?”

  Carlos tried to mimic Smudge’s enthusiasm, but his heart wasn’t in it. “That’s cute,” he muttered as he pulled himself into a standing position. Both of his knees cracked. “Where did you get that thing?”

  “From her!” Smudge pointed.

  Carlos’s eyes followed the direction of Smudge’s hand to find a plump, elderly woman, her gray hair tied into a loose bun. She straddled a large tricycle with fat tires. Almost elfin in size, she was barely able to see above the wire basket attached to her handlebars. The basket spilled over with rocks, driftwood, and leafy branches.

  Tied to the basket was a hand-lettered sign. It read: witch craft

  “The witch!” Carlos slapped the rock out of Smudge’s hand.