Spelled

2: When Statues Attack

"The Rule of Apology: Being royal means never having to say you're sorry."

—Thomason's Tips to Ruthless Ruling
2

When Statues Attack

Sterling dropped his sword and shrieked like a milkmaid, running behind me. "It's alive! Why is it alive?"
I tried to yank the prince forward. "Quit being a puss in boots. There's your beast. Hurry and get it."
Sterling steadfastly refused to move from his cover while the dragon hopped off his pedestal and started advancing. I was about to grab Sterling's sword for myself when the creature stopped, rolled to the side, and started wailing.
"I've been wounded!" Its cries echoed throughout the grand foyer. "All these years of faithful protection and I am betrayed, stabbed in the back."
The poor thing thrashed around as if in death throes, its hollering pitiful and loud. And if it didn't shut its snout, it was going to get me in trouble.
I crouched down beside it, retrieving the missing chunk in the process. "Shh, shh. It's no big deal. I can fix it. No need to be upset." I spoke in soothing tones and tried putting the piece back in, hoping the magic that brought it to life would put it back to sleep once it was whole.
The chunk clattered to the floor the moment I let go.
"Farewell these mortal coils!" The dragon gave one last exhale and lay still.
"Oh, Mortimer, don't get your scales in a bunch. It's just a chip."
Between the wailing and shushing, I hadn't heard anyone approach. The Emerald Sorceress's gnarled green finger, complete with razor-sharp red-tipped nails, poked me under my chin, forcing me up until I stared at her warty nose. The single, wiry hair sticking out of the wart twitched, a signal I've come to interpret as meaning You're pixed.
Verte was the kingdom's head sorceress, oracle, palace grump, and the only reason I hadn't died of sheer boredom. We were often partners in mischief, unless I was messing with her stuff, and then I was on my own. One time, I blew up her cauldron trying to make soup. In retaliation, she sent me a billy goat that ate my entire closet's contents.
Mortimer, the carved emerald dragon, shook his scales and sprang up to his claws, scurrying into Verte's arms. While she was cooing and stroking him like a cat, I took the opportunity to try and sneak away. Just beyond the still-cowering Sterling, the entrance to the palace stood slightly ajar, even though I was less than three feet away.
It had worked...sort of. As I inched closer, the door remained frozen, but I could almost feel it wanting to shut, like it too was alive. The opening was small, but maybe if I sucked in and shimmied sidewa—
"Dorthea Gayle Emerald! Do not take a single step outside that door."
Mortimer's caterwauling had drawn more than just Verte; the commotion had also caught the attention of my mother. She stood tall, proud, and stone-faced at the archway between the ballroom and the foyer. Every inch of her looked regal, from her sweeping velvet dress to her brown hair, braided back into a severe bun. My father stood behind her, and the servants she'd been directing poked their heads around the archway wall.
At a noticeably safe distance.
Caught red-handed, with a large audience no less, there was no use pretending it didn't look like exactly what it was. Time to use the skills that every proper princess was born with—begging, pleading, and whining until I got my way.
"Please please please please. I'll do anything you want if you let me outside for just a little while."
My mother's eyes narrowed and her chin squared into an even harder line. "And what of the curse? Have you forgotten? Or perhaps you think we stay inside to avoid grass allergies."
I folded my arms, refusing to budge. "Seriously, has anyone ever thought about the shelf life of this thing? That spell is as ancient as Verte and probably past its expiration date. The elemental hags are probably dead, so maybe their magic died with them." No one said anything for a few beats, so I continued, determined to win my cause. "I promise I'll be really careful and not play with matches and only go into stores that use glow crystals."
My father, ever compassionate, stepped in to help plead my case. "Em, perhaps just a few minutes with an escort wouldn't—"
Mother cut him off with a withering glare. "Henry, I believe you have other things to attend to."
In my head, I imagined the crack of a whip as my father's shoulders slumped and he went back to catching will-o'-the-wisps in the courtyard.
Mother's eyes softened a little as she walked toward me. "I'm not purposely being cruel. This is the story the Makers have given us. Were it just the possibility of an endless sleep, I might consider breaking the rules. But it's more. Girl of Emerald, no man can tame. Burn down the world, consumed by flames." She placed a gentle hand on my cheek. "Can you really risk the lives of our people on a few maybes?" Anger and sadness filled her voice. After all, she was bound by the curse too.
And that's exactly why she should understand how I felt.
"But can't you see I won't be risking anyone?" I started to explain my brilliant backup safety plan, which included half a dozen servants with water buckets. My words withered and died in my throat as her eyes turned steely again.
"You have already put us all at risk by breaking the dragon and thus the protection spell cast over this entire palace!" Before she turned away, I saw her unmistakable and familiar look of disappointment.
Oops didn't quite seem sufficient, but how was I supposed to know the dumb carving actually did something useful besides looking sparkly? "Sterling," my mother snapped sharply. The prince immediately stopped cowering and stood at attention. "As a favor to the throne, would you please stand guard at the door? With the barrier broken, now we must watch both what comes in and what goes out."
Sterling bowed, going on and on about his guarding pedigree as my mother walked away without giving me another look.
I gave Sterling a thorough evaluation—yeah, I could take him, but then he'd scream and the guards would have my nose in the dirt before I made it past the carriageway. But now I knew it was possible; I would just have to wait for my chance.
Almost as if the little dragon could hear me plotting against him, he stirred again and pulled his shortened foreclaw to his head in a melodramatic gesture. "I feel myself slipping away. Is that a light I see?"
Verte bopped him on the snout and ambled away. "Be quiet, you ninny, or I'll turn you into a pair of earrings." Her voice faded down the hall.
Most of the crowd had dispersed. The final few stragglers looked at me with the all-too-common look of fear mixed with trepidation. Pix 'em. They were just servants. It wasn't like their opinion mattered.
Only one remained, watching me with open curiosity. He looked to be in his late teens or was magically enhanced to appear so. He could have been a hundred for all I knew. I'd never seen him before in my life. He was handsome enough, for a commoner, even in his worn leather pants and cracked work boots. A foreigner, his hair was unruly and dark auburn, which complemented his tanned but dirt-smudged complexion, though the tall, dark stranger vibe was ruined by his piercing pale blue eyes.
Well, I'd had enough of being a sideshow for the day. "If you're the new gardener, the hedges are overgrown and in need of a trim." I pointed in the direction of my father. "While you're there, you can help the king with the wisps."
The young man's expression clouded over, but he didn't move.
I stamped my foot and pointed more forcefully. "Off with you. Courtyard's that way. Be sure to clean those awful boots before coming back in."
"Someone told me I'd find a princess of great worth here. One with the strength to be the hero this realm needs." He stared at me with those unsettling blue eyes. They were cold, like ice water—made me shiver from head to toe. Then his gaze seemed to search even deeper. Finally, he looked through me, like I was nothing.
In brisk steps, he strode across the marble to the courtyard. But before crossing the threshold, he turned back to glare at me with his lip curled ever so slightly. "It seems she was mistaken."
Just like that, I had been sifted, weighed, and found wanting.
I felt my own lip curl in response. How rude! Who the Grimm was this peasant to judge me? I was wearing a Glenda original. Original! Not some fairy-godmother knockoff worn by those servant girls turned royal. I was a crown princess, for the love of fairy, and no one dismissed me.
Before I could put the boy in his place—down in the dirt, where he belonged—a clatter came from behind, making me nearly jump out of my shoes. I checked and was relieved that Sterling had simply dropped his sword. By the time I looked back, the gardener was gone.
After stowing his blade, Sterling held up his shield, not in defense of the entrance but so he could look at his reflection. "Clearly he's blind and doesn't know what he's talking about."
I didn't ask for Sterling's opinion, but it made me feel better.
Until he opened his mouth again.
"Worth, pffft. I mean, look around at all the jewels. Your palace has everything you could ever want. Honestly, I don't know what you're fussing about. Why would anyone want to leave?"
Because a cage is still a cage, no matter how big or glittering the bars are.
And I would find a way free, no matter the cost.