Free The Princess Curse by Merrie Haskell Page A

and fled straight to the Princess Consort.
    I had to wait a long time in the hallway next to the dragon-kidnaps-a-maiden tapestry while a servant explained to the Princess Consort that the troublesome herbalist’s apprentice was begging for an audience. I noticed that the snag on the maiden’s cheek was gone, repaired by expert fingers. Now there was nothing to distract the viewer from the menacing zmeu looming over the maiden, his long red fingers reaching out to caress her, his spiny cheeks glistening with ichor.
    I wondered how she hadn’t figured out he was a zmeu before, maybe at their wedding ceremony. In the stories, you always know who the zmeu is; the storytellers always say he’s charming and friendly and looks like an ordinary man, but they also drop hints so broad that you can’t help but think the girl is stupid for not knowing.
    The servant came out, looking frazzled. “Go on, then,” she snapped. “Princess Daciana has little time, so make good use of it!”
    The Princess Consort was pacing anxiously before I even told her what I’d seen the night before. And once I’d finished, she looked ready to scream.
    “A hole in the floor!” Princess Daciana said, hitting fist to palm. “We’re so near! We knew they were leaving the tower at night, but they weren’t flying out on broomsticks or transforming themselves into birds or bats . . . so it had to be underground. It had to be a tunnel. That’s why we hired your father, to break into the princesses’ tunnel. Only our tunnels keep collapsing.”
    “Most Noble and Ser—”
    “Call me ‘Your Highness,’ or simply ‘ Doamnă. ’”
    “Your Highness,” I said, uncomfortable with doamnă , since it just meant “lady” and the Princess Consort was more than a lady. “My father has forbidden me to meddle with the curse, on account of what has happened to the others who have tried.”
    “Understandable,” Princess Daciana said. “Of course, it is not meddling with the curse proper to try yew or santolina on the sleepers. . . .”
    My eyes might have bugged out of my head with surprise at that—very attractive, I’m sure—but I couldn’t help it. “Who—how—why do you know this?” I asked.
    “This is my castle, is it not? I have the running of it. A proper chatelaine knows everything that goes on in her domain.”
    “Then—you know that Didina’s mother, she’s slipping away? She’ll die in a matter of weeks if—”
    The Princess interrupted. “Yes, of course, and the Duke of Styria, too.”
    “Pardon?”
    “Princess Maricara was once betrothed to the Duke of Styria. He succumbed to the sleep the night before their wedding. My spies tell me he is slipping away as well.”
    The Princess had spies? I was impressed. I wanted spies.
    She went on: “Should he round the corner alone . . .” She shook her head. “We will be at war. The Hungarians arranged that marriage between Maricara and the Duke, and they take it as a personal affront that it hasn’t worked out. The Hungarians have been looking for an excuse to roll over us, the better to harry Moldavia’s borders, I suppose.”
    To “roll over us”? Wouldn’t Pa’s defenses hold them up even a day? My stomach flopped.
    I’d lived in a country that had been “rolled over” before. The Turks had raided into Transylvania several times a year for my whole life. I dreaded war. Pa would take up soldiering again, probably, and then, in addition to the threat of bloody battles, there’d be the fear and the famine. . . .
    I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to answer the Princess, but I thought signaling comprehension was a good idea. “Oh. I hadn’t heard.”
    “No. You shouldn’t have. Don’t spread it around. We do not need to worry people unduly, and . . .” She darted an uneasy look at the solar door, like she was expecting someone unwelcome to come through it. “The Duke of Styria hasn’t died yet , so carry on, Reveka,” she said, sitting down