The Fairy's Return and Other Princess Tales Read Free Page B

These were as big as her big toe.
    Enough ants. Myrtle opened her mouth wide and sang, “La, la, la, la. Tra lee tra la tra loo.” Moths, fireflies, and ladybugs flew out.
    She hummed again. This time worms and caterpillars wriggled out. Hmmm. So she didn’t always get ants by humming.
    She tried speaking. “Nasty. Mean. Smelly. Rotten. Stupid. Loathsome.” She giggled. “Vile. Putrid. Scabby. Mangy . . .”

    â€œT HEY WERE CROWDING OUT—CRAWLING, FLITTING, SLITHERING .”
    They were crowding out—crawling, flitting, slithering, darting, wriggling, whizzing, oozing, flying, marching—escaping from Myrtle’s mouth every way they could.
    There were aphids, butterflies, mambas, lacewings, lynx spiders, midges, wolf snakes, gnats, mayflies, rhinoceros vipers, audacious jumping spiders, bandy-bandy snakes, wasps, locusts, fleas, thrips, ticks, and every other bug and spider and snake you could think of.
    Myrtle kept experimenting. She had a wonderful time, but she didn’t figure out how to make a particular snake or insect come out. All she learned was that the louder she got, the bigger the creature that came out.
    After about an hour, she had worked up quite an appetite. So she and her mother went to the village to have dinner at the inn. Dinner was free, because the innkeeper wanted to keep Myrtle from saying one single solitary word.
    The fairy Ethelinda was scandalized.
    During the betrothal banquet Harold noticed that Rosella’s voice was fading. He noticed because all he got were tiny gems, hardly more than shavings. So he didn’t make her say much. But he did make her drink wild-boar broth.
    â€œIt’s the best thing for you, tootsie,” he said when she made a face.
    She gulped it down and hoped it would stay there. She picked at her string beans. “Why are your subjects so poor?” she whispered. A tiny sapphire and bits of amber fell onto the tablecloth.
    Harold brushed the jewels into his hand. His betrothed was sweet, but she didn’t know much. Subjects were always poor. “I wish they were richer too, cutie pie. Then I could tax them more.”
    â€œMaybe we can help them.” A pearl fell into Rosella’s mashed potatoes.
    Harold dug it out with his fork and rinsed it off in his mulled wine. “Honey, you’ll wear yourself out worrying about them. Take it easy. Relax a little.”
    She fell asleep over dessert. Royal Servants carried her to her bedchamber. But she woke up when the three Royal Guards took their places around her bed. Then she couldn’t fall back to sleep.

Eight
    M yrtle and the widow Pickering slept late the next morning. When they woke up, they strolled to the village. They stopped at the toymaker’s shop for favors for the party guests. From the potter they ordered serving platters. The butcher promised them sausages and meat pies. By noon they had picked out everything for the party. Then they linked arms and sauntered home.
    The fairy Ethelinda gnashed her teeth.
    By morning Rosella’s throat hurt worse than ever. She thought she had a fever, too. But her voice was stronger.
    Breakfast was wild-boar steak and eggs. Before her Royal Ladies-in-Waiting had taken ten bites, Harold sent for her.
    He was waiting in the library. As soon as she went in, she became very scared. There were thousands of books, but they weren’t what scared her. She liked books. There were four desks. That was fine, too. There were a dozen upholstered leather chairs, and they looked comfortable enough. A Royal Manservant and a Royal Maid were dusting. They were all right.
    The terrifying sight was the fifteen empty chests lined up in front of one of the leather chairs.
    â€œSweetie pie,” Harold said. “Am I glad to see you.” He led her to the chair behind the empty chests. “Wait till I tell you my idea.”
    Rosella sat down.
    â€œDid you have a good breakfast, cuddle