Free Unicorns? Get Real! by Kathryn Lasky

highest sailing award given in the junior division of the annual summer Realm of Rolm Regatta. She was also the junior division champion for the winter iceboat regatta, and for this she had been awarded an emerald-studded whale’s tooth. But she only wore it for brief ceremonial occasions, as it was quite heavy.
    The four princesses of the South Turret stood on small boxes in their salon while four seamstresses and their assistants fitted the various outfits, pinning up hems, taking a tuck here, snipping a sleeve, tacking a collar.
    “I really need this to be more off the shoulder,” Alicia was saying to the seamstress.
    “Off the shoulder—I must gently protest, Your Highness,” the seamstress said. She had a beaked nose, and her spectacles perched halfway down the beak made her look like a curious bird. “Whyever would you need this to be off the shoulder?”
    “Off the shoulder!” Lady Merry exclaimed. “It’s a falconry outfit, Alicia. For mercy sakes.”
    “That’s just the point, Lady Merry. This is my lofting arm.”
    “What are you speaking of, my dear?”
    “Gryffie perches on my right arm. I must hold it up like this.” Alicia raised her right arm so that her elbow was level with her nose. “And I must fling him off. I need the garment to be very flexible.”
    “Hmmm.” Lady Merry made a soft vibrating sound that caused her nostrils to flare slightly. Suspicion was engraved on her face.
    “It’s the truth, Lady Merry. I must have the flexibility.”
    “Flexibility! I don’t like the word. It seems to me that only one arm needs to be flexible, and the shoulder need not be exposed. Seamstress, put an inset in the armpit, some extra material. That’s all the flexibility you need.”
    “Lady Merry,” Alicia pleaded.
    “Don’t ‘Lady Merry’ me, child. You want to end up like this.” She thwacked an issue of The Royal We that she had been reading against the arm of her chair.
    “What?” all four princesses asked.
    “By the lights of Saint Freddy, I have never heard of a naughtier princess than this one,” Lady Merry exclaimed.
    The princesses had jumped from their boxes, scattering pins and tangles of basting thread, and rushed to Lady Merry’s side. Saint Freddy was the patron saint of wayward royalty.
    “What naughty princess is it?” Kristen asked.
    “Princess Griselda,” Lady Merry replied. “She was here a year or so ago. And she has run off with a horse groom!” She slapped the magazine down on her lap. “A horse groom, of all things! And look how she’s dressed. You see where bare shoulders in the daytime get you, Princess Alicia?”
    In the drawing Princess Griselda was wearing a tightly fitted gown of the latest design.
    “What’s wrong with it?” Alicia asked.
    “The bare shoulders, first of all. That front does not come up high enough. You can see her collarbones.”
    “It’s so this year, Lady Merry. So absolutely now!” Myrella said.
    Gortle had just entered the salon and come over to see what they were all looking at. “Very Renaissance, Lady Merry. Get used to it!”
    “Fie on this Renaissance. Such nonsense if you ask me—except for a few good plays and paintings. It’s just a bunch of hooey. Hooey and hanky-panky with a horse groom! What’s the world coming to?”
    “Well,” Gortle said. “I’m here to fetch Princess Gundersnap. Time to go to the archery field, my dear. The archery master is awaiting you. He says Burning Shield offers some stiff competition, in particular a certain Prince Haraldsvar of Svarlandia.”
     
    “May I suggest, Milady, a traditional bow.” The archery master, Hawkins, held out a bow toward Gundersnap. “This one should be just the right size and shape for you. You say you’ve had experience with this one in contests before.”
    “Yes, sir,” she replied, and reached for the bow. Princess Gundersnap wore a rather ancient-looking armguard to protect the inside of her forearm from the slap of the bowstring when it