When you're a (mostly) good, (generally) kind-hearted, small-footed princess with a clear idea of how a group of royals can make their cheating prince's life a living hell, you want to find them immediately so you can get on with it. You don't want to have to referee squabbling amongst your ladies-in-waiting; you don't even want to bother changing out of your men's clothing disguise into something more princessy, even if you are suffering from considerable chafing; and you don't want to bother choosing a menu for Christmas dinner, which was months away.

But the very last thing you'd want would be to return to the castle to discover that somehow, Princess Blanche of Gravenstein had been misplaced by the kitchen staff.

Sadly, all of this was precisely what happened.

Let's start at the beginning ...

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Ashley skipped back to the castle, feet barely touching the ground as if the magical contents in her pocket enabling her to defy of gravity. Back at her rooms, the happiness quickly faded when she had to break up a fight between her ladies-in-waiting, who were jealous about Valeria's promotion, and calm them enough to help her into a gown and remove Gerald's mattress straw from her hair. She didn't want to explain to her new friends how mattress straw got into her hair.

Before she could go in search of her guests, she was urgently summoned down to the kitchens—a series of large square rooms with arched fireplaces on the walls, large enough for a ring of druids to dance inside. Spit boys rotated haunches of lamb in crackling fires, and despite the chimneys, layers of soot clung to the walls and ceilings like a mourner's veil. Chopping knives bit into vegetables. Cauldrons bubbled, and coils of steam scented the air with the smell of cooked meats and spices and yeast. The kitchen staff bowed when she entered, then returned to their labors.

The head chef asked her to make the earth-shattering decision of whether to serve goose or ham for Christmas supper or even ... both? Being a princess was way different than she'd dreamed about when she mooned over Charming as a lonely teen, posting drawings of him in her attic room the way all the village girls did.

She thought marrying the prince would be about true love. Instead, it was about expectations and protocol. Appearances versus reality. She'd learned a lot from the other royals, just not what she hoped. A royal spouse was meant to perform a part in the prince's play. To enhance his standing and power. The appearance of true love trumped real emotion. Her loveless, solitary life hadn't changed, except the cage was prettier and the food more plentiful.

She patted her bodice, where she'd secreted the potion, and smiled. If she couldn't have love, at least she could have freedom. And revenge.

"How about both?" Ashley said.

The chef nodded somberly, setting his three chins aquiver. "Excellent, your highness."

Having made the crucial Christmas decision, Ashley scrubbed her hands together in anticipation. Finally, she'd dealt with the last distraction and could gather the royals and tell them of her Wane & Tail discovery.

Ashley nearly escaped the kitchens when a panicked voice shouted her name from the wine cellar.

Taking a calming breath, Ashley prepared for the next crisis.

Marmotte, the bone-thin Sommelier, scuttled up the stairs from the cellar. The man had cheekbones so hollow; you could insert a hummingbird nest neatly inside each one. Please don't ask me whether we should have red or white wine for Christmas dinner.

"Princess Ashley," Marmotte stammered. "It wasn't my fault."

"What wasn't your fault?" Ashley said.

"It's about Princess Blanche. She ... uh ..."

"What about her, Marmotte?"

"Well, she came down to the cellar to ... uh ... strongly recommend I discard all the apple wine. She really despises apples! Anyway, I turned around and Princess Blanche ..." His gnarled hands shook.

"Blanche, what? It's okay to tell me." Marmotte's skin turned ashen. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple surging up his neck. "I'm not going to send you to the rack," Ashley assured the poor man.

"Oh, thank the heavens," the Sommelier replied. "Princess Blanche disappeared."

All eyes turned toward Ashley and the Sommelier.

"Show me," Ashley said, anxious to be somewhere outside the hearing range of the kitchen staff. Though she knew it was probably too late. Word of the disappearance would fly around the castle. By suppertime, every soul in the realm would know. Before heading down the narrow stairway, Ashley turned to face the kitchen. "Tell no one," she ordered. "We don't want people to panic over something that is most likely nothing."

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Panic wooshed through the castle with the speed of an arrow. Soon a crew of troll-sized castle guards, irate Gravensteinian courtiers, and a quivering sommelier crowded into the cellar.

"Princesses do not vanish," Ashley ruminated aloud. She shuffled through the wine cellar with a torch, squeezing past uniformed men and peeking between endless racks of dust-coated wine bottles. Each time she sneezed from all the dust, the bottle of Wane & Tail stabbed into her chest.

She'd never been to the wine cellar before and decided it wasn't a vacation destination. You wouldn't send someone you cared about a postcard saying: "Wish You Were Here." Although, if dream-Gerald had been there, and they'd been alone, it might've been tolerable.

"She was there," the Sommelier warbled, pointing to a spot in the back next to a shelf with an inscription: Apple Wines. "Then, she wasn't. Perhaps ..." he lowered his mouth closer to her ear, "... maybe she was taken by dragons. Or fairies, or trolls, or Ivar the town fool."

Could this be related to the village's disappearances? Speaking of inexplicable departures, what about her truant lady-in-waiting, Scarletta? Could the dragon, troll, fairy, or fool have taken her too? It had never occurred to Ashley that the village disappearances could be connected to Scarletta's. Had she allowed jealousy to cloud her judgment by assuming Scarletta had simply taken off to find Charming?

"This is an outrage," spat an over-adorned, white-wigged spindle of a man. Literally spat. Ashley wiped her cheek. "You've lost our princess. I demand you return her immediately."

"Believe me, I'd like nothing more," Ashley said. "Look, could we maybe pare this crowd down to me, the Sommelier, and one of my guards? It's impossible to conduct a thorough search when we can't move."

"I believe you should leave that to our men," said Blanche's drool-inclined guard.

"If you want to find a princess, ask a princess. That's what I always say," Ashley said, though she'd never uttered these words before.

The guard puffed out his chest. "I'm afraid I must insist."

Ashley cupped the crown of her head in her hands. How had she been so kind and forgiving for so long? What was happening to her? "You will have a chance. I promise. But for now, leave us."

Shockingly, Blanche's guards did leave with a little gentle prompting (read: sword rattling) from her guards.

Once the crowd had cleared, Ashley could breathe. She examined every nook and cranny of the stone-lined cellar. Near the oldest, dustiest bottles, way in the back, were the faint outlines of footprints on the unswept floor—most likely human. Ashley assumed dragon footprints would be reptilian, fairies wouldn't necessarily leave footprints because of their wings, trolls would have much larger feet, and Ivar the town fool would never make it inside the castle as he'd end up swimming in the moat. He loved playing Marco Polo with the moat monsters.

She crouched to get a better look, skirts billowing. One pair of footprints had the tiny outlines of a princess's shoes, the other prints were of bare feet, much larger, and appeared to be missing a big toe.

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Ashley's head swam. She grabbed a shelf. Took several deep breaths.

"Are you all right, my Princess?" Marmotte said. "Have you made a discovery?"

Ashley was not prepared to discuss the insane theory forming in her mind. She'd need time to be alone with her thoughts. Sort them. Perhaps make a list of saner explanations.

Because the only people she knew personally missing their big toes were her two stepsisters, both of whom had been deported from the kingdom, along with their mother, the stepmonster, for their misdeeds. The step-trio had been flown by the Prince's unicorns to a deserted island off the coast of Atlantis, hundreds of miles away. The evil stepfamily possessed no boat and could not swim or fly as far as Ashley knew. And it is said that only the unicorns knew the location.

However, during the "Quest of the Glass Slipper," word on the street was that quite a few of the maidens had carved off foot parts in a desperate effort to fit into the glass shoe. Meaning the bare four-toed footprint could have been from dozens of women. Perhaps she could obtain a list of all maidens who'd tried on the slipper. There had to be likelier suspects than her stepsisters.

"Princess?"

"Oh, sorry. Take a look at these footprints," Ashley said.

"Interesting," the guard said. "This could be helpful. Thank you, Princess."

"Let us in," came a loud, angry voice from outside the cellar door. Only a princess with a lot of practice shouting at a suitor from the top of a tower would have a voice that loud. Tressa. Guess that answered Ashley's question as to who was yelling at her.

"We're under orders not to allow anyone else to enter. It could disturb important evidence," said a guard standing watch at the door.

"I insist on speaking to Princess Ashley immediately."

"I'm afraid ..."

Ashley opened the cellar door. The room filled with the smell of cooked onions and roast lamb. "It's alright, guard. Let them in."

"What happened?" Tressa demanded as she stomped down the stairs, followed by Sadira, Kai, Derek, and Layyin. All of them had an "Am I next?" expression of terror on their faces.

"What measures have your people taken to ensure our safety?" Tressa said. "I mean, you have to admit things look bad. When we got here, someone tried to shoot you with an arrow. Now Blanche is gone."

"It's too early in our investigation to determine what happened exactly. But I assure you we will get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, we shall increase security. None of us should go anywhere alone."

"That is making me more frightened, not less," Layyin despaired. "Ever After isn't safe. I heard about your lady-in-waiting disappearing, now Blanche. And for we all know, children have gone missing from the village. I'm going home."

Tressa scowled. "Or maybe Ashley is planning on kidnapping us all. One by one. Getting us all out of the picture so she can have Charming to herself."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Tressa, don't be ridiculous."

"Don't call me ridiculous," Tressa screamed. "I mean if the glass slipper fits." She glared at Ashley, whose mouth hung open as she tried to formulate a response to Tressa's ridiculous accusation. One that wouldn't escalate the situation. Rather than encourage peace and collaboration, Ashley had brought the seven kingdoms to the precipice of a world war.

Layyin covered her ears with her palms. "You guys are scaring me now. Stop fighting."

"Little miss 'scared of her shadow.' You're the most ridiculous of everyone here," Tressa said. The Princess of Xanthe was losing it. Maybe when your hair grows too long, it sucks the empathy out of your brain. Ashley vowed to keep her golden locks above waist height.

"My fears are all rational," Layyin said, eyes tearing.

"Oh, right. I forgot," Tressa said. "Because having to sleep on a hundred mattresses so you don't get bruised by a pea is totally logical."

"As logical as having people climb up your hair so that you don't have to be alone."

Tressa's face turned blotchy red. "I dare you to walk around with fifty pounds of hair! Oh, wait. You'd trip and stub a toe and lie on top of your hundred mattresses for a month."

Layyin folded her arms across her chest. "Do you think I like being sensitive? It's the worst. Life is easier for people with high pain tolerance. Being sensitive isn't a choice or a personality flaw. It's how I am made. Hair length, on the other hand, is. A. Choice."

"Tressa, Layyin. Come on. We're supposed to be a team," Sadira said.

"Stop with the holier than thou attitude," Tressa said. "You're always acting so superior!"

"I'm not ..."

"Ladies," Prince Derek interrupted. "Now is not the time. We should be working on our other little problem. Remember?" He eyed the guard and the sommelier at the edges of the room, both of whom tried to pretend they weren't listening.

"Stay out of it, frogman," Tressa said. "Whoever heard of a grown man being afraid of frogs?"

Glancing up at the rafters, Ashley prayed for patience and watched as a mouse scurried along, then disappeared into a crevice between stones. The comradery they'd established disintegrated at the first hurdle. Ashley wished she could compress her body and escape as deftly as the mouse. "Guys, stop! Arguing isn't going to find Blanche. My best people are on the job. They will find her. In the meantime, why don't we continue our work in the Jacuzzi room? There's much to do, and you're only here a few more days."

"Maybe now's the time," Sadira said, nodding at Tressa.

Ashley held up her hands in defeat. "Okay, I guess I'll just have to take care of #3 on the Favorite Things list by myself."

"Number three?" Derek winked. "I'm in!"

"Me too," Layyin piped up.

"Ooooh!" Kai clapped her hands.

"All right," Sadira said.

They all turned to Tressa. "I'm sorry, everyone. I was out of line. Lost sight of the true problem. It won't happen again."

With that, a procession of more tranquil, less-likely-to start-a-war royals climbed the cellar's steps to the kitchen. As Ashley bade farewell to the guard and the sommelier, an icy, ghostlike chill skittered up her neck.

Ghostlike?

No, ghosts didn't exist, despite what Valeria told her.

But what if it turned out the chardonnay-stealing Ghost of Cornell Castle was real?

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I dedicated this chapter to because she made the most kind, awesome comment a couple of chapters back that made me so happy. I love my readers! Thanks Teresa!!!