Page 41 of Pippa of Lauramore
Well, Icansing, but it most certainly won’t be enchanting.
Galinor gives me an encouraging smile, assuming, I’m sure, that all princesses sing like my mother or Leonora.
I have no choice but to try. I take a deep breath and decide on a piece Master Draeger assured me was coming along nicely. I start a little sharp, and I wince.
Now I’m too flat, so I adjust again. I close my eyes and concentrate on the song. When I finish, I feel a little out of breath from nerves. I open my eyes, hesitant to see how I’ve been received. Awestruck faces stare at me. It might not have gone too badly after all.
Then the laughter begins. For such small people, they can make quite a ruckus. Even Archer is holding back a smile. He snorts but controls himself when I glare at him. Galinor—well, he simply looks gobsmacked, the poor prince.
“I sang for you. Give me the resin,” I snap, holding out my hand.
More laughter.
“We had a deal!” I demand.
The king sobers, crossing his arms again.
“I asked for a beautiful song in exchange for a piece ofbeautiful resin. The resin is beautiful, yes. But the song…” He shrugs as if the matter is out of his hands.
I sweep down from Willowisp and place my hands on my hips. “Now you listen, you little insect—” I start and then suddenly stop when the forest begins to grow around me. I gasp, looking for something to grasp.
The king flashes me a wicked smile as he grows larger and larger until he is the same size as I am. I look to Archer and Galinor for help, but they have grown as well. They are huge, and they’re staring at me with twin helpless expressions.
The world hasn’t grown. That idiot fairy king shrunk me.
“What are you doing?” I demand. “Do you know who I am?”
“You are the fair Princess Philippa of Lauramore,” he says, his eyes full of humor. Now that we’re the same size, his voice no longer sounds high pitched. “And I’m afraid you were not gifted with a beautiful singing voice.”
“Turn me back.”
“I don’t think so.” He smiles and drifts a few inches off the ground. “The man wants the Eldentimber resin. Would you like me to give it to him?”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes…”
“Become my bride, and I will give him whatever he wants.”
“No!” Archer and Galinor both say, their voices deep and booming.
“I will not marry you! You’re a fairy!”
He grabs me by the waist and pulls me close as I struggle. “I assure you,” he whispers in my ear, his voice playful. “It works the same way.”
Fairies.
“Let me go.” I push against him.
Archer, who now seems gigantic, swings down from his horse. Just as he’s ready to snatch us from the ground, the fairy king whisks me into the branches.
“Please let me go,” I beg, feeling lightheaded from the flight.
He grins and straightens the golden circlet on his head. “No, I don’t think so. You’re feisty, and I like that.”
I squirm away from him, repulsed. Just as I’m about to grasp hold of one of his ethereal wings and give it a good hard tug, I remember my new knife. I sag in the fairy’s arms as if defeated, and Brugpondam smiles. He grasps the back of my head, ready to force a kiss on me. “That’s better.”
It only takes a moment to pull the knife from my boot and less than that to circle behind him and hold the blade to his throat. He tenses, shocked.
The fairies around us gasp, and several look like they’re ready to shoot spells.
