Unicorns? Get Real!

mountains of lace pillows—except in Kristen’s bedchamber, since she preferred plain cotton ones edged with canvas ruffles. They reminded her of her favorite sailing vessel, the Glory Be , in which she had won the junior division of the Realm of Rolm Regatta. After the chambermaids had unhooked an average of one hundred and thirty-two hooks, unbuttoned seventy-five buttons of the princesses’ gowns, and unlaced at least twenty feet of strings and ribbons that held up various petticoats and under-petticoats, their royal charges were at last ready for bed.
    Princess Kristen now clasped her hands in prayer as she knelt by her bed. “Oh please, dear Lord, and Saint Guy of Anderlet, may the weather be permitting, and may we get to go on the roundup.”
    “What about Camp Burning Shield, dear Lord?” Princess Alicia prayed. “Any chance they might be going on the roundup? Oh please please please! We haven’t even had a dance with Camp Burning Shield yet! So a roundup would be nice. Amen. Oh, P.S., bless Mum and Pops and my dear sisters Lorelei and Isabella. Oh yes, Isabella has pinkeye and poison ivy—royal bummer! Make it go away. Love and kisses, and don’t forget about Camp Burning Shield. Amen again.”
    Princess Myrella dropped to her knees and asked the Lord for nothing, but only thanked him over and over for answering her prayers that she could live with Alicia, Gundersnap, and Kristen, and finally be out of the North Turret and away from the awful Princess Morwenna and Princess Millicent. They were not only the meanest princesses in the entire camp, but they cheated as well—always up to dirty tricks in every camp competition. “Thank you, thank you, Lord, thank you so much for delivering me from those vile, horrible girls and letting me join this turret with the very best and kindest princesses of the whole camp.”
    Princess Gundersnap furrowed her brow and then, kneeling, began her prayer.
    “Dear Lord, bless Empress Mummy and the rest of the lot. I don’t have time to go through all the fifteen names of my brothers and sisters—or is it sixteen now, did Mudder have another—well I’m sure you know who I mean by now, and please please please bless my dear pony Menschmik.”
    And then Princess Gundersnap prayed that dear Gortle’s arrival not be delayed because of the crazy weather in Palacyndra.

Chapter 2
    THE AGONY OF PRINCESS GUNDERSNAP

    There would be no roundup or unicorn activities yet, because outside a blizzard raged. It had begun suddenly, in the middle of the night, as storms so often do in Palacyndra. But in the Princess Parlor, there was a large roaring fire and the princesses were toasting marshmallows, then putting the melted marshmallow between two biscuits with a chunk of chocolate. These special treats were called s’moroyals, or s’morls for short. So despite the blizzard, everything in the parlor was cozy, and all the princesses cheerful as could be. Except, that is, for Gundersnap, who sat in the window seat looking mournfully out the window, eating s’morls and wondering if Gortle would ever make it through the snowdrifts. “Now come on, Gundersnap,” Alicia urged. “Listen to this!” Princess Alicia sat curled up in a plush winged chair reading the latest issue of The Royal We .
    The Royal We was a gossip magazine that specialized in tittle-tattle of the major kingdoms’ courts. “Listen to this and take your mind off Gortle for a minute. You’re going to make yourself sick with all those, by the way.”
    “Vot is it?” asked Gundersnap, stopping mid bite. It was her twelfth s’morl of the morning. Alicia held up the magazine. There was a portrait of King Harry of Britmoria and a glamorous-looking woman laden in diamonds. The words shrieked from the page “HARRY AND QUEEN TO SPLIT!”
    “The man has had five wives already. What’s his problem?” asked Princess Kinna of the Queendom of Mattunga—a tall, slender princess with skin the color of cinnamon.
    Gundersnap was out of her chair immediately. “Gunshuch mygott! My mudder was going to marry off my sister Brunhilda to him. But he thought she wasn’t pretty enough and instead took this woman—a commoner, but quite beautiful. Vot happened?”
    “She’s a witch!” Princess Zelenka said.
    “Get out!” Alicia said disdainfully. “You haven’t even read the story. It says here, and I quote, ‘Vivacious court beauty Katrina Beaufort is said to have caught the notoriously roving eye of King Harry.