Prologue
“No fair! I want to be the princess!” Safara lunged forward to swipe the doll from my hands, but I leaned back far enough that the doll was just out of reach for her short little arms.
I pressed the prized doll to my chest, still combing my fingers through her soft yarn hair despite my sister’s squealing. As the older sibling, it was my job to lead playtime with dignity and fairness.
“I’m afraid that I’m using her right now,” I said as properly as possible, trying to sound like Mother when she was speaking to the tall courtiers with the nice beards. “She needs to have a big wedding. With a puffy white dress and a long veil and a cake! Here, you can be the goose.”
I nudged the stuffed goose over to her with my slipper, right up against her crossed legs. Safara glowered at the toy, her pouting lip far from ladylike for a princess at the bright age of five and three quarters.
“But I’m always the goose, Emaline. I want to be the princess this time!” Safara huffed.
“You can be a goose princess,” I offered.
“That’s dumb!”
“Goosie isn’t dumb!”
“Then you be the goose princess!” Safara lunged forward, snatching the doll’s arm.
“Let go!” I tried to rescue the princess, pulling her back a bit harder than I should have.
A terrible ripping sound tore through the air, causing us both to drop the doll with a petrified gasp.
A pit immediately formed in my stomach just like it did whenever mother said I had to eat my collard greens before I could have dessert.
Safara cupped her hands over her lips, her eyes already watering as she stared down at the wounded doll.
I crawled forward an inch, my own strength failing me as my eyes misted with tears. Right along the top of the precious doll’s shoulder was a terrible rip with a gory display of cotton stuffing spilling out of it.
“P-Perdita!” I wailed, my cries harmonizing with Safara’s as the bass notes of our nursemaid’s running footsteps joined our orchestra.
Perdita burst into the playroom, her soft brown curls loose around her panicked face as she quickly took in the scene of the two crying princesses and the mauled one in my arms.
“My goodness, girls. Whatever is the matter?” Perdita asked.
“W-we ripped the princess,” I sniffled, handing her my damaged treasure. She took it tenderly, letting out a long sigh as she seemingly was preparing to mourn with us. “C-can you fix her?”
“Well, I can try,” she said, her voice taking on that stern tone of hers that was hardly appropriate for the scenario. “But what good will it do if you two fight over the poor thing again?”
Safara met my eyes, her thick tears still rolling down her cheeks as she tried to control her sniffling.
“I-I’m sorry, Emaline,” she said. “I won’t try to grab the doll from you again.”
“I’m…sorry, too,” I said. “I can take a turn playing with Goosie next time.”
Safara wiped her nose on her silk sleeve, then crawled over to me to wrap me in a suffocating hug. She was only a year younger than me, but sometimes she could be such a baby about things. Still, I hugged her back until her crying stopped.
“There, that’s much better.” Perdita smiled, tucking the doll safely in her apron. “I’ll see what magic I can whip up to get the princess back on her feet.”
“Really?” Safara clasped her hands together.
“So long as you promise to treat her kindly next time.” Perdita glanced over at me, giving me another one of those stern looks that made me listen extra close. “You have to look after those around you, because one day, you’ll need someone to look after you.”
“But you look after us, Perdita,” I said.
“For now, yes,” she said. “But one day you’ll have to go off and have adventures of your own.”
“Do you have adventures, Perdita?” Safara asked.
“Helping your mother raise you two is my greatest adventure yet.” She beamed, stepping toward the door with a subtle wave of her hand. “Now, why don’t you two adventurers come help me in the kitchen? I’ve got a blueberry pie that needs to be made.”
Pie was the only word we needed to hear to start racing behind her. Why would I ever need to have an adventure when I already had the greatest treasure—Perdita’s pies!