CHAPTER 1
Prince Carlos Charles Charming raced down the twisty corridors of Fancy Castle. He’d been told to get to the throne room “on the double.”
“On the double” didn’t mean “in a minute.” “On the double” meant “now.”
Carlos’s dad, King Carmine, didn’t say “on the double” very often. When he did, it usually meant bad news. Carlos quickened his pace. His jingle-toed shoes slapped against the castle floors. His stomach knotted up with worry.
Carlos wasn’t only worried; he was crabby, too. His dad’s “on the double” had arrived in the middle of Carlos’s jester lesson.
What could possibly be more important than jestering? Carlos’s brain grouched as he skidded around another corner. Why don’t I get an “on the double” when I’m doing something princely?
And why, he wondered as he gasped for breath, is this castle so dang huge?
Carlos stumbled through the throne room’s arched doorway. King Carmine and Queen Cora were waiting for him.
Carlos’s parents were a study in opposites: His dad was tall and thin. His mom was short and plump. His dad was a serious man of few words. His mom was a giggly chatterbox.
At least, his mom was usually a giggly chatterbox. As Carlos staggered toward the thrones, he noticed that she was not her usual self. For the first time in forever, she shared her husband’s frown. Also for the first time in forever, she allowed her husband to do most of the talking.
“Ah, there you are, son,” the king said. “Thank you for coming so quickly. We have a visitor.”
It was then that Carlos noticed the stranger. He was large and round and sickly pale. (He looked especially sickly standing beside the tan-skinned king and queen.) The stranger’s head seemed to ooze into his torso like a dollop of whipped yolk sitting in a deviled egg. His uniform was black silk trimmed with gold. His most prominent feature, however, was his nose. It was as long and sharp as a toucan’s beak. It pointed straight up, showing off what Carlos imagined were the hairiest nostrils on earth.
Ew, Carlos thought.
“This man is a special messenger from Dire Dominion,” the king said.
Carlos knew of Dire Dominion. It was a vast land, seven or eight kingdoms to the west of Faraway Kingdom. The dominion was famous for its huge and powerful army that always seemed to be waging war on somebody.
The messenger looked down his nose at Carlos. His nasal hair flapped with disapproval. “This,” he sneered, “is a prince?”
Carlos peered down at his clothes. He was wearing a lime-green jester suit, complete with hat and curly-toed shoes. It was a snappy outfit but not a very princely one.
“Yes,” the king replied, clenching his jaw. “He is the prince. A very excellent prince, I might add. So give us your message and go.”
Carlos noticed that his dad wasn’t quite himself. King Carmine was usually calm and patient with everyone, but now anger lurked behind his every word. It was unsettling. A twinge of anxiety caught in Carlos’s throat.
“The message is not to be given,” the messenger intoned. “It is to be announced. It is to be read aloud by me.”
“Of course it is.” The king’s eyes narrowed. “I would expect nothing less from Queen Cayenne. Read your message and get out.”
The messenger reached into the large, black leather satchel draped over his shoulder.
He pulled out a trumpet.
He took a deep breath, puckered, and blew.
Triumphant fanfare echoed off the walls and ceiling of the throne room.
The king let out a sharp, impatient sigh.
The messenger returned the trumpet to the satchel.
He then pulled out a drum.
Thunderous booms echoed off the walls and ceiling of the throne room.
The king let out a second sharp, impatient sigh.
The messenger returned the drum to his satchel.
He then pulled out a—
“If you pull another instrument out of that bag,” the king said, “I will have you stabbed.”
“Queen Cayenne ordered me to play five instruments,” the messenger replied.
“Five instruments?” The king turned to Carlos. “Son? Will you fetch my sword?”
“All right! All right!” the messenger shouted. “I’ll read the message!”
The messenger reached back into his bag. He nudged past an accordion, banjo, and tambourine and pulled out a scroll tied with a ribbon.
The messenger unrolled the crinkly document. He cleared his throat. Then he read:
“‘The brave, noble, and super-duper kingdom of Dire Dominion, wisely ruled by the courageous, compassionate, and super gorgeous Queen Cayenne, is proud, honored, and super-stoked to announce the 10 and ¾th birthday of the scholarly, athletic, and super-popular Prince Hortense.
“‘To celebrate this awesome-sauce occasion, one prince or princess from every kingdom on the continent will attend Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, to be held in Dominion Palace on the first of June at three o’clock.
“‘If your prince or princess does not attend Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, Dire Dominion will see this insult as an act of war.’”
A jolt of fear zipped up Carlos’s spine.
“‘If your prince or princess is late to Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, Dire Dominion will see this insult as an act of war.’”
Carlos’s head began to pound.
“‘If your prince or princess is not dressed in his or her finest clothing for Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, Dire Dominion will see this insult as an act of war.’”
Carlos’s legs got wobbly.
“‘If your prince or princess does not arrive with an expensive and thoughtful gift for Prince Hortense’s 10 and ¾th birthday party, Dire Dominion will see this insult as an act of war.’”
Carlos felt like he was about to throw up.
“‘In short, if your prince or princess does anything—and we mean anything—that we don’t like, Dire Dominion is gonna wipe your piddly kingdom off the face of the earth.
“‘Can’t wait to see you there!
“‘Signed Queen Cayenne, Absolute Ruler of Dire Dominion, the Catapult Capital of the World.’”
The messenger rolled up the scroll and strode from the room.
“This is going to be a fart stink of a party,” Carlos said.
“Don’t say ‘fart stink.’ It’s unprincely,” the king replied. “But yes. It will be.”
“Oh, how I hate that Queen Cayenne!” Queen Cora snapped. “She is so very, very…”
“Fart stinky?” Carlos suggested.
“Yes! Fart stinky! Very fart stinky!” She turned to the king. “That sister of yours is always looking for a way to make your life difficult.”
Carlos’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Wait, what? Dad has a sister?!”
The king nodded. “Queen Cayenne is my younger sister.”
“Really? How come I’ve never heard of her?” Carlos asked. “How come she doesn’t show up on holidays? Or come to family gatherings? Or send me birthday cards with money inside?”
“We, um, prefer not to speak about her too much,” the king said.
Queen Cora put it a little more bluntly. “Because Queen Cayenne is the most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad person on the continent. And I get along with everybody! But whenever I hear from that fart-stinky sister of your father’s, I just want to … I just want to … I … I…” she sputtered. “Oh! I don’t even know what I want!”
The king rose from his chair. “That’s all right, dear. I know what you want.” He called to a nearby servant. “Fetch the dragon, please. Her Majesty needs something to cuddle.”
“Ooh! Yes!” A smile stretched across Queen Cora’s face. “That is exactly what I want! A good dragon cuddle!”
“I know, dear,” the king replied.
“You always look out for me,” she continued.
“That’s my job.” The king kissed her forehead. “And don’t worry about Cayenne. She likes to cause trouble sometimes, but I know my sister. Everything is going to turn out just fine.”
The king’s words sounded reassuring, but Carlos saw something the queen did not. Carlos saw a flicker of worry in his father’s eyes. Carlos had never seen his father worried before.
Never.
Carlos felt himself go numb. This is bad, he thought. This is very, very bad.
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