Briar Rose said she wanted to ride an elephant, for instance, members of her staff trekked across mountainous miles of wilderness to seek one out. And when they failed to locate an elephant, one poor butler was forced to paint himself gray, overeat for a month, glue a long stocking to his nose, and let the girl climb on his back. Briar wasn’t stupid; she knew the man wasn’t an elephant. But the notion that she could make people do such humiliating things was far more entertaining to her than riding a real elephant would have been.
Since people generally tripped over themselves to please her, you can imagine Briar’s shock and consternation when Liam became the first person to ever say no to her. She was infuriated by her fiancé’s abrupt cancellation of their wedding and decided to get revenge by informing her people of how the “rude and ruthless” Prince Liam had heartlessly dumped her.
With Avondell’s bard—Reynaldo, Duke of Rhyme—missing in action for weeks, the kingdom’s minstrels were restless and eager for new material. So Briar Rose called them all together and gave them a juicy new story to spread. According to Briar’s version of events, Liam had stormed into her palace ranting like a lunatic about the horrible taste he’d had on his lips ever since he’d kissed her. He informed her that he could never live in Avondell, since all Avondellians smelled of old potatoes. Then he spit in her milk glass, tore her portrait off the wall, and stomped on her servants’ toes on his way out.
“That’s great stuff, Your Highness,” said one minstrel. “But not exactly a song. More like just a rant.”
“So don’t sing it, rant it,” Briar said. “The people want news; this is what you’re going to give them.”
And that’s just what happened. Once that story was out, the citizens of Avondell had no intention of giving Liam a chance to explain himself. Instead they just hurled insults—and food—as he rode by.
“You’d all still be asleep if it weren’t for me,” Liam griped as a handful of grapes bounced off his face.
“You’re despicable,” a woman yelled at him.
“Villain,” hissed another.
“If you people had any idea what your princess was really like . . . ,” Liam mumbled under his breath.
“You monster!” a disgruntled schoolteacher joined in. “Get out of our kingdom!”
“Believe me, I’m trying,” Liam said. He spurred his horse to move on faster but didn’t get past the mob quickly enough to avoid a hail of couscous that was flung in his direction. This was not going to blow over quickly, he realized. Liam had never felt more alone in his life. And to be completely honest, he was bummed about Briar Rose. It was an arranged marriage, so he’d never had any illusions that she would be the perfect girl for him. But he’d at least hoped he’d be able to tolerate her presence.
Liam had a bit of a romantic streak. He’d always envisioned himself sweeping some lovely maiden off her feet someday. But in his dreams, his future bride was someone, well, more like himself—a bold and breathtaking woman who would join him in his thrilling exploits. She was smart and resourceful, like that Rapunzel he’d heard about, or bold and daring, like Cinderella. She sure as heck wasn’t Briar Rose. But those fantasies appeared to be just as dead and gone as his days of being hero-worshipped. Liam didn’t know what to do with himself. So he trotted on, hoping to get as far from “his” people as he could.
Once he reached Sylvaria, he breathed a sigh of relief—not just because he was away from hecklers, but also because the place was just so darn cute. Raccoons and chipmunks scampered among the bright and lively greenery; vibrant wildflowers sprouted up everywhere; blue jays and mockingbirds twittered from the limbs of friendly looking oaks and elms. Sylvaria was the kind of place that made you feel comfy and safe. But looks can be deceiving.
Liam hadn’t gotten far into Sylvaria when he came across a trio of dwarfs cutting wood by the side of the road. They wore heavy beards and even heavier backpacks. They paid no attention to Liam as he rode up to them; they simply continued hacking at logs with their miniature hatchets.
Now, I’m going to assume you’ve never actually met any Sylvarian dwarfs. They’re not like other dwarfs. The dwarfs of Sylvaria are notoriously cranky. If you think about your own grouchiest moment—like, say, the angry reaction you have after stubbing your toe, shouting out in pain, and having somebody tell you, “Oh, be quiet; that didn’t hurt”—that’s how Sylvarian dwarfs behave when they’re happy.
They’re also quite persnickety. It doesn’t take much to get them riled up. For example, they insist on the spelling “dwarves” instead of “dwarfs.” If “wolf” becomes “wolves” and “half” becomes “halves,” they argue, why doesn’t “dwarf” become “dwarves”? The Sylvarian dwarfs once started a war with the Avondellian elves simply because the elves were bragging about the fact that they got to pluralize with a V.
Prince Liam had never met any Sylvarian dwarfs either, nor was he familiar with their reputation, which is why he decided to ask this trio for directions.
“Excuse me, sirs. Could you tell me if there’s an inn nearby?”
“Are you talking to us?” the first dwarf asked, barely glancing up at Liam from under his jaunty, ear-flapped cap.
“Yes,” said Liam. “I’m unfamiliar with the area, and I need to find a place to rest.”
“Oh, and I suppose you mistook us for a bunch of maps with legs,” said the first dwarf.
“Can’t you see we’re busy here?” barked the second.
“Yes,” said Liam. “I was just hoping you could tell me if there was an inn nearby.”
“There must be an echo around here,” said one of the dwarfs, and the three continued their woodwork.
“I repeated the question because I didn’t get an answer,” Liam snipped. He’d been in a rather foul mood to begin with, and dealing with these grouches only frustrated him further.
“You’ve got goop on your head,” the second dwarf said.
“It’s cantaloupe,” Liam replied.
“Thought so,” said the third dwarf. “I hate melon.”
“I’m not a fan myself,” Liam said. “Now, about that inn . . .”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the first dwarf sneered sarcastically, as he and the others stopped chopping. “I forgot that we’re all supposed to drop what we’re doing whenever a smug stranger comes up to us with a question. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?”
“For your information, I happen to be Prince—” Liam stopped himself. His anger with the dwarfs had peaked, and he was about to give them a royal shouting-down when he remembered his sister’s advice about keeping a low profile. If Briar Rose’s lies about him had spread into Sylvaria, the worst thing Liam could do was to tell these dwarfs his real name.
“Charming,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m Prince Charming.” It pained him to say those words.
The
