The Hero’s Guide to Saving Your Kingdom. Christopher Healy

      Liam had a bit of a romantic streak. He’d always envisioned himself sweeping some lovely maiden off her feet someday. But in his dreams, his future bride was someone, well, more like himself—a bold and breathtaking woman who would join him in his thrilling exploits. She was smart and resourceful, like that Rapunzel he’d heard about, or bold and daring, like Cinderella. She sure as heck wasn’t Briar Rose. But those fantasies appeared to be just as dead and gone as his days of being hero-worshipped. Liam didn’t know what to do with himself. So he trotted on, hoping to get as far from “his” people as he could.

      Once he reached Sylvaria, he breathed a sigh of relief—not just because he was away from hecklers, but also because the place was just so darn cute. Raccoons and chipmunks scampered among the bright and lively greenery; vibrant wildflowers sprouted up everywhere; blue jays and mockingbirds twittered from the limbs of friendly looking oaks and elms. Sylvaria was the kind of place that made you feel comfy and safe. But looks can be deceiving.

      Liam hadn’t gotten far into Sylvaria when he came across a trio of dwarfs cutting wood by the side of the road. They wore heavy beards and even heavier backpacks. They paid no attention to Liam as he rode up to them; they simply continued hacking at logs with their miniature hatchets.

      Now, I’m going to assume you’ve never actually met any Sylvarian dwarfs. They’re not like other dwarfs. The dwarfs of Sylvaria are notoriously cranky. If you think about your own grouchiest moment—like, say, the angry reaction you have after stubbing your toe, shouting out in pain, and having somebody tell you, “Oh, be quiet; that didn’t hurt”—that’s how Sylvarian dwarfs behave when they’re happy.

      They’re also quite persnickety. It doesn’t take much to get them riled up. For example, they insist on the spelling “dwarves” instead of “dwarfs.” If “wolf” becomes “wolves” and “half” becomes “halves,” they argue, why doesn’t “dwarf” become “dwarves”? The Sylvarian dwarfs once started a war with the Avondellian elves simply because the elves were bragging about the fact that they got to pluralize with a V.

      Prince Liam had never met any Sylvarian dwarfs either, nor was he familiar with their reputation, which is why he decided to ask this trio for directions.

      “Excuse me, sirs. Could you tell me if there’s an inn nearby?”

      “Are you talking to us?” the first dwarf asked, barely glancing up at Liam from under his jaunty, ear-flapped cap.

      “Yes,” said Liam. “I’m unfamiliar with the area, and I need to find a place to rest.”

      “Oh, and I suppose you mistook us for a bunch of maps with legs,” said the first dwarf.

      “Can’t you see we’re busy here?” barked the second.

      “Yes,” said Liam. “I was just hoping you could tell me if there was an inn nearby.”

      “There must be an echo around here,” said one of the dwarfs, and the three continued their woodwork.

      “I repeated the question because I didn’t get an answer,” Liam snipped. He’d been in a rather foul mood to begin with, and dealing with these grouches only frustrated him further.

      “You’ve got goop on your head,” the second dwarf said.

      “It’s cantaloupe,” Liam replied.

      “Thought so,” said the third dwarf. “I hate melon.”

      “I’m not a fan myself,” Liam said. “Now, about that inn . . .”

      “Oh, I’m sorry,” the first dwarf sneered sarcastically, as he and the others stopped chopping. “I forgot that we’re all supposed to drop what we’re doing whenever a smug stranger comes up to us with a question. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?”

      “For your information, I happen to be Prince—” Liam stopped himself. His anger with the dwarfs had peaked, and he was about to give them a royal shouting-down when he remembered his sister’s advice about keeping a low profile. If Briar Rose’s lies about him had spread into Sylvaria, the worst thing Liam could do was to tell these dwarfs his real name.

      “Charming,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m Prince Charming.” It pained him to say those words.

      The dwarfs looked at one another, then back to Liam. “No, you’re not,” they said in unison.

      “Honestly, I am. Maybe you’ve heard the story. . . .”

      “Oh, we know the story,” said the first dwarf. “And you’re not the guy from the story.”