Quests for Glory. Soman Chainani

with the wedding florist at seven in the Blue Tower Dining Room; then meetings with tailor candidates in twenty-minute intervals to decide who should stitch the wedding linens; then an interview with the Camelot Courier for their Wedding Preview Edition. At nine, you’ll visit the Camelot Zoo to pick the official wedding doves; they have several species, each a varying shade of white. …”

      Agatha could barely listen, because Peach and Pistachio had hoisted her out of bed and were already scrubbing her with scalding towels, while Grapefruit shoved a toothbrush in her mouth and Rose smeared her face with an array of potions, like Sophie used to do, only without Sophie’s charisma or humor.

      “Then a signing of The Tale of Sophie and Agatha at Books & Crannies to raise funds for the castle’s plumbing renovation,” the lavender woman continued in a crisp, posh accent, “followed by a lunch fundraiser at the Spansel Club, where you’ll read a storybook to children of rich patrons whose donations will repair the drawbridge …”

      “Um, Lady Gremlaine? Is there time for me to see Tedros today?” muffled Agatha beneath a blue gown the women were tugging over her. “We haven’t had a meal alone in ages—”

      “After lunch, you’ll begin waltz lessons to prepare for your wedding dance, then etiquette training so you don’t make a mess of yourself at the wedding feast, and finally, history class about the triumphs and disasters of royal weddings past so that yours might end in the annals of the first rather than the last,” Lady Gremlaine finished.

      Agatha gritted her teeth as her maids fussed with her hair and makeup like the nymphs in the Groom Room used to. “Dancing, etiquette, history … it’s the School for Good all over again. Only at school, I actually had time with my prince.”

      Lady Gremlaine raised her eyes to Agatha. She snapped her book shut so sharply a gemstone fell out of the mirror. “Well, since you have no further questions, your chambermaids here will see that you get to your breakfast on time,” she said, turning for the door. “The king needs me by his side every possible moment—”

      “I’d like to see Tedros today,” Agatha insisted. “Please add it to my schedule.”

      Lady Gremlaine stopped cold and turned, her lips a tight red slash. The chambermaids subtly backed away from Agatha.

      “I’d say you saw more than enough of him last night. Against the rules,” said Lady Gremlaine. “A king cannot be alone in your room before the wedding.”

      “Tedros should have the right to see me whenever he wishes,” said Agatha. “I am his queen.”

      “Not yet, Princess,” said Lady Gremlaine coolly.

      “I will be after the wedding,” Agatha challenged, “which I spend all my time planning like some brainless biddy when I’d rather be with Tedros, helping him run the kingdom of which he is now king. And seeing that you’re Chief Steward in service to the king and future queen, surely that’s something you can arrange.”

      “I see,” said Lady Gremlaine, moving towards Agatha. “The castle is crumbling, your king wears a crown still in dispute, you have spies plotting to kill you, the former queen and her traitorous knight have been in hiding since the coronation, and the Royal Rot, a rogue publication intent on overthrowing the monarchy, calls you, amongst other things, ‘a gilded celebrity from an amateur fairy tale destined to bring more shame to Tedros than his own mother once did.’”

      Lady Gremlaine smiled, lording over Agatha. “And here you are, still pining for your days at school and a little kissy-time in the hall with the Class Captain.”

      “No. That’s not it at all. I want to help him,” Agatha retorted, enduring the onslaught of her steward’s perfume. “I’m fully aware of the problems we face, but Tedros and I are supposed to be a team—”

      “Then why hasn’t he ever asked to see you?” said Lady Gremlaine.

      Agatha flinched.

      “In fact, except for his momentary lapse last night, which he assured me will never happen again, the king hasn’t mentioned your name once,” Lady Gremlaine added.

      Agatha said nothing.

      “You see, I’m afraid King Tedros has better things to do, trying to bring Camelot out of shame in time for the wedding,” Lady Gremlaine went on. “A wedding that must be so magnificent, so memorable, so inspiring that it will erase all doubts that rose from that humiliating coronation. And it is a wedding that, per thousands of years of tradition, is up to the future queen to plan. That’s your job. That’s how you can help your king.” She leaned in, her nose almost touching Agatha’s. “But if you would like me to tell King Tedros that you find your responsibilities beneath you and that you have questioned every one of our decisions, down to the colors of your wardrobe, the importance of baths, and your choice of footwear, and now, on top of that, would like him to interrupt his urgent efforts to prove his place as king so he can make you feel part of a team … then by all means, Princess. Let’s see what he has to say.”

      Agatha swallowed, her neck rashing red. Her eyes drifted down to her clumps. “No … that’s okay. I’m sure I’ll see him tomorrow,” she said softly, looking back up.

      But Lady Gremlaine was gone and all that was left were her pastel minions, ready to whisk the princess to a breakfast she would have no time to eat.

      Halfway through the day, Agatha was about to turn runaway bride.

      She’d endured weeks of this with a forced smile—the same deadly dull routine of inspecting a thousand place-cards and cakes and candles and centerpieces, even though they all looked the same to her and she’d be happy marrying Tedros in a bat cave (she’d prefer it actually; no room for guests). Interspersed with all this tedium were appearances for “Camelot Beautiful,” a queen-led campaign to raise funds for the broken-down castle that had been left to blight after King Arthur had died. Agatha believed in the cause wholeheartedly and had a high tolerance for nonsense—she was friends with Sophie after all—but Lady Gremlaine seemed determined to humiliate her with each day’s schedule, whether making her sing the anthem at the Woods Rugby Cup (even the Camelot team covered their ears) or ride a bull at the Spring Fair (it bucked her into a mound of poo) or kiss the highest bidder in a Smooch-the-Princess auction (a toothless hoodlum who Lady Gremlaine insisted had won fair and square).

      Guinevere had warned Agatha to expect resistance from her new warden. Lady Gremlaine had been Chief Steward when Guinevere was Arthur’s wife, until she and Guinevere had a falling-out and Guinevere had her dismissed. But after Guinevere’s disappearance and Arthur’s death, his Council of Advisors took over Camelot since Tedros wasn’t yet sixteen—and these advisors brought Lady Gremlaine back. Now with Guinevere returned to the castle, surely Gremlaine would be prickling to exert control over Guinevere’s son and his new queen. Even worse, the old fusspot couldn’t be fired until Tedros’ coronation was sealed.

      Knowing this, Agatha had tried to befriend her steward, but Lady Gremlaine hated her at first sight. Agatha had no idea why, but clearly the woman didn’t want her marrying Camelot’s king. It was as if Lady Gremlaine thought if she just tried hard enough, Agatha would give up her groom before the wedding.

      I’d sooner die, Agatha vowed.

      So for the last six months, she’d woken up each morning ready for the fight.

      But today was the day that broke her.

      First there was the florist, who shoved Agatha’s face in so many effluvious bouquets over the course of an hour that she’d left red-eyed and nose dripping. Next there were the six tailors who showed her dozens of linens that looked exactly the same. Then came the reporter from the Camelot Courier, a miserably cheerful young girl named Bettina, who arrived sucking a red lollipop.

      “Lady Gremlaine already scripted all your answers, so let’s have an off-the-record chat for fun,” she diddled, before launching into an array of startlingly personal questions about Agatha’s relationship