The Carol Singers

'God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nuffink you dismay!' Kev's baritone voice rang out through the frosty December air as he stood with Charlie on the doorstep of the second to last house on Snowdrop Crescent.

There was a brief pause, then he hissed to his companion, 'Wot's the next line, Charlie?'

'I dunno,' Charlie shrugged.

'Not a lot of use, are you?'

A light came on, somewhere in the house. 'Quick,' Kev urged. 'Sing another carol!'

Charlie took a deep breath and launched into a new song. 'While shepherds washed their socks by night, all hanging on the line - the angel of the Lord came down and said the socks are mine.'

'Those ain't the words, you div.'

'That's wot we used to sing at school.'

Kev was about to tell Charlie again that he was useless, and next time, he'd find a new partner in crime, when the door opened and a tired looking woman in a dressing gown and slippers stood there, looking at them wearily. 'If you wouldn't mind, lads,' she said, 'I just got the baby to sleep, so here's a fiver. Please go away.'

Kev took the note she held out, wondering how easy it would be to overpower her and ransack the house, but only briefly, since at that moment, a man came out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Big, burly bloke, the father of the sleeping kid no doubt. In any case, the woman had had a clear view of them thanks to the bright security light over the front door. If they went for her, they'd have to kill her, and they weren't murderers. 'Fanks, Missus,' Kev said. 'Merry Christmas.'

Kev and Charlie swaggered off along the long driveway. They weren't the world's best carol singers, but it didn't matter, since carol singing was only their excuse for being here, a handy way to find out whether or not the residents of Snowdrop Crescent were at home. Should they find a house with nobody in, they'd break in and clean up. 

This time of year not only provided carol singing as a way to stake out potential properties, but small, valuable items were easy to find - piled up under the Christmas trees. All Kev had to do was peel off a little bit of the festive paper to be sure the parcel contained an ipad, laptop or games console, and not a pile of kiddies' books. Nobody would take any notice, either, as they strolled back up the High Street carrying piles of Christmas gifts.

So far, they'd not been lucky - there'd been someone in at each house so far; but they did have £50 in cash, which people had given them so that they'd stop singing and go away; so it wasn't a completely wasted evening.

There was one house left to try. Like all the homes on Snowdrop Crescent, it stood far apart from the others and was surrounded by a high hedge. People here liked their privacy; and the amount of land which went with every house meant they had to be affluent to live here.

The boys' boots crunched on the gravel driveway as they walked up to the front door. They took a moment to compose themselves, and launched into another enthusiastic, if not polished, performance.

'Silent night! 'Oly night! All is calm, All is bright!'

The house was in darkness, and they reached 'Sleep in 'eavenly peace' without seeing any lights come on or detecting any movement from within at all.

They nodded to each other, and set off in opposite directions to circumnavigate the house, looking for any open windows or rickety doors which would give them an easy way in. Failing that, a window which could be easily broken.

They were in luck. A window at the back hadn't been closed properly. It would be no problem at all to jimmy it open and clamber in.

That done, they crept through the silent kitchen. Kev noticed a bottle of whiskey on the table, which he slipped into his ample coat pocket. That was another great thing about Christmas. People had usually been buying booze.

In the lounge, as expected, there was a Christmas tree with a pile of wrapped presents around it. Kev rubbed his hands together, wondering which one to investigate first, while Charlie scanned the room for any valuables left lying around.

Kev selected a promising parcel which looked about the right size to be an ipad, and peeled off a strip of the wrapping paper. It was a book, but there was something odd about it.

'Funny sort of book this,' he commented. 'It ain't got no writing, nor any pictures, neither.'

Charlie ambled over and peered at it. 'It's Braille, innit? Like they has on cashpoints so that the blind people can use 'em.'

'Oh,' Kev said, putting the parcel down. 'Don't reckon it's worth much, then.'

Charlie went back to inspecting the room. He reached out to pick up a photo in a frame which could be silver and therefore worth taking. He looked at the picture it held. It had been taken in the room they were in - the family were sitting on the sofa behind them, with the same picture of a mountain landscape on the wall behind them. The little girl sat between her parents, her sightless eyes looking in the direction of the camera, calipers on her legs. 

'Hey, I seen this kid in town,' Charlie said, showing the picture to Kev.

'Yeah. I seen her, too.' 

He had indeed seen her; in fact, she'd made a lasting impression on him. He'd noticed her making her way slowly down the High Street behind her parents, wincing with pain at every halting step. He'd seen the determination on the girl's face, the way she'd resolved to walk all the way down that street by herself, no matter what. She wasn't going to give up and let her father push her in the buggy. 

They'd been going to see the Christmas lights turned on. The child had stood next to her parents, frowning a little as everyone in the crowd had gasped, 'Oooh!' as the lights came on. She alone had not been able to see them.

'We can't rob from here, can we?' Kev said.

'We can't steal from a blind, crippled kid,' Charlie agreed.

'Let's go.' Kev put down the parcel he was about to unwrap. 'We'll call it a night.'

They crept back through the kitchen. Just before he let himself out of the back door, Kev put the bottle of whiskey back onto the kitchen table. He paused for a moment. He put his hands in his pockets and emptied them of the carol singing proceeds, leaving £50 in cash beside the bottle.

************

My Christmas Novella!

A Very Variant Christmas

Last year, Jade and Gloria were embroiled in a bitter conflict to win back their throne and their ancestral home. This year, Queen Jade and Princess Gloria want to host the biggest and best Christmas party ever in their palace. They invite all their friends to come and bring guests. Not even the birth of Jade's heir just before Christmas will stop them.

The guest list includes most of Britain's complement of super-powered crime-fighters, their families and friends. What could possibly go wrong?

Gatecrashers, unexpected arrivals, exploding Christmas crackers and a kidnapping, for starters.

Far away in space, the Constellations, a cosmic peacekeeping force, have suffered a tragic loss. They need to recruit a new member to replace their dead colleague. The two top candidates are both at Jade and Gloria's party. The arrival of the recruitment delegation on Christmas Eve is a surprise for everyone; but their visit means one guest now faces a life-changing decision.

Meanwhile, an alliance of the enemies of various guests at the party has infiltrated the palace; they hide in the dungeon, plotting how best to get rid of the crime-fighters and the royal family once and for all. Problem is, they all have their own agendas and differences of opinion on how to achieve their aims.

Not to mention that this year, the ghosts who walk the corridors of the palace on Christmas Eve will be as surprised by the living as the living are by them.

Available from Createspace, Amazon and Amazon Kindle

New!

Secrets and Skies

Jack Ward, President of Innovia, owes his life twice over to the enigmatic superhero, dubbed Power Blaster by the press. No-one knows who Power Blaster is or where he comes from - and he wants it to stay that way.

Scientist Desi Troyes has developed a nuclear bomb to counter the ever present threat of an asteroid hitting the planet. When Ward signs the order giving the go ahead for a nuclear test on the remote Bird Island, he has no inkling of Troyes' real agenda, and that he has signed the death warrants of millions of people.

Although the island should have been evacuated, there are people still there: some from the distant continent of Classica; protesters opposed to the bomb test; and Innovians who will not, or cannot, use their communication devices.

Power Blaster knows he must stop the bomb from hitting the island. He also knows it may be the last thing he ever does.

Meanwhile in Innovia, Ward and his staff gather to watch the broadcast of the test. Nobody, not even Troyes himself, has any idea what is about to happen.

Part One of The Raiders Trilogy.

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The Princess and the Maid

Scarlett struggled to carry the pail of water across the courtyard. She was six years old, and while she'd been born to hard work, today had been relentless. Even the fittest young men seemed to be flagging.

The bucket was heavy. Scarlett had to be careful not to spill a drop of the soapy water, because if she handed it to Trudy half empty she'd get a beating.

The child of a scullery maid and a footman, Scarlett was destined to become a servant,too. If she was lucky, and worked her stockings off, she might one day be a ladies' maid or a housekeeper; but for now, her lot was drudge work. Today, more so than usual, for the king was to visit the castle for a meeting with the baron who lived there. Everything had to be spick and span; parts of the castle which hadn't been cleaned for years had to be scrubbed.

It was a frosty day. Scarlett's thin smock gave her little protection against the cold, but scurrying to and fro with buckets and mops and anything else needing to be moved from one place to another kept her warm, apart from her hands and feet and the tip of her nose.

She stopped halfway across the courtyard to put the heavy bucket down, blow on her stiff fingers and push a straggly strand of black hair behind her ear, even though she knew it would fall back into her eyes again the minute she picked up the bucket.

She stamped her tiny feet, wishing she had strong boots like the guards at the gate instead of scuffed, worn shoes with holes in them.

She was almost at her destination when it happened. A puddle beneath Scarlett's feet had frozen solid. She didn't notice the black ice until her feet slipped from under her and she fell, dropping the bucket. For a second or two, the warm soapy water warmed her feet and legs, but then made her even colder as the chilly air sucked away the heat. A graze on her hand began to hurt, but worst of all, Trudy had seen it happen.

'You stupid, stupid child,' Trudy snapped, striding over, her skirts rustling. She slapped Scarlett hard across the face. Her cheek smarted; other workers around the courtyard stopped to watch. Scarlett's cheeks burned with humiliation as much as from the slap. Crying in front of Trudy would bring even worse punishment, so she hastily wiped her eyes as she scrambled to her feet.

'Go and fill that bucket up again,' Trudy ordered, 'and don't spill any this time, or it'll be my belt on your bare behind.'

Scarlett grabbed the bucket and ran back the way she'd come.

However, on reaching the scullery, instead of going in and refilling the bucket, noticing that nobody was looking at her anymore, Scarlett put it down and dodged down the alley. The alley was dark and dingy. No-one would notice a little girl moving furtively in the shadows. She reached the ladder to the hay loft and climbed up.

Everyone was so busy. No-one would notice if she disappeared for a while. She wasn't the only servant carrying soapy water to Trudy and the floor scrubbers, so even Trudy wouldn't notice.

Scarlett often hid in the hay loft. If she burrowed into the hay, it would warm her, and she wouldn't be seen if she decided to take a sneaky nap.

The other advantage of this spot was that she could see out through a large knot hole in the wooden wall. She could watch people come in and out of the castle gates. She could spy on the merchants in their thick, fur-lined robes with their carts of rich fabrics, exotic foodstuffs and furnishings. She saw knights in armour, proudly riding off to battle; and returning, either proud and victorious or in shame, limping and bleeding. She saw fine ladies and their escorts coming to visit the baron.

Secretly, she often thought there must have been a horrible mistake when she was born; that she was meant to be one of those ladies, but the gods had messed up and delivered her to Wanda the scullery maid instead. Another daydream she had was that her father wasn't actually Uriah the junior footman but the son of a visiting earl who'd seduced Wanda up here in the hay loft. That young man would, one day soon, be carried off a battlefield, mortally wounded, and as the last of his line, would confess that he had an illegitimate daughter living as a servant. In the absence of any other issue, Scarlett would be made lady of the earldom. She loved to imagine having servants herself; being in charge of people like Trudy and having them beaten for the slightest mistake, as they did now to her.

Scarlett was in the same spot three days later when the royal family arrived. She managed to creep out of the kitchen when she was supposed to be peeling potatoes, a tedious task at the best of times. Today, there were exciting things to witness. Pleading a need to use the privvy, she sneaked down the alley and up the ladder to be among the first to get a glimpse of the king and his queen.

He rode through the gate, his head held high, flanked by guards on either side as well as ahead and behind him. The guards had on their bright green livery; none of them held the reins of their mounts; instead they carried bows, ready drawn, in case anyone should try to take a shot at His Majesty. The king himself was a handsome man with curly dark hair and a powerful physique.

Behind him, in a carriage drawn by prancing white horses, rode the queen, and on either side of her, the prince and princess. Scarlett gasped at the queen's travelling gown, a red velvet creation the like of which she'd never seen. The prince was a haughty-looking child, who clearly knew he was born to be important. He sat beside his mother, arms folded, an air of boredom about him.

The most arresting sight for Scarlett, however, was the princess. Looking at her was like looking into a mirror. The Princess Fleur was the same age as Scarlett, with the same black hair and turned up nose. If Scarlett was dressed up in fine clothes, she'd be Fleur's identical twin.

Scarlett lay back on the hay, wondering how she might be able to use this situation to her own advantage. There had to be a way. Scarlett didn't go back to the kitchen that day. Instead she lay in the hay loft, scheming.

The first thing she needed to do was befriend the princess. If she could only attract the girl's attention, Fleur would notice the same thing Scarlett had, that they looked identical. Next, she'd need to convince Fleur how much fun it would be to swap clothes and pretend to be each other; to fool their families.

Her chance came the following day as Fleur sat in the courtyard watching her brother doing his archery practice. The princess looked bored. The king and queen were deep in conversation with the baron. Scarlett drew no attention from the guards as she carried a bowl of fruit across the courtyard. A servant girl was no threat. While she would have been stopped from approaching the king, queen or prince, there was no problem for her to walk up to the princess with a bowl of fruit and offer Fleur an apple. That wasn't a threat - it was hospitality.

Fleur's eyes opened wide as she took the apple from the basket. The similarity between herself and the servant girl wasn't lost on her, either. 'Thank you,' she said. 'Do you realise we look alike?'

'Yes, Milady. It's odd, isn't it?'

'We could wear each other's clothes and no-one would know,' Fleur said. Scarlett smiled. This was going better than she'd hoped. She hadn't even needed to suggest this idea to the princess. Fleur leaned in to whisper to Scarlett, 'I've often wondered what it must be like to be a servant. Why don't we swap places tomorrow so I can be a servant for a day and you can be me?'

'I'd like that,' Scarlett grinned. 'It will be fun. You see that dark alley there? In the shadows there's a ladder to a hayloft. Meet me there in the morning and we'll do it.'

Scarlett walked away without looking back. Nobody noticed that she'd spoken to the Princess at all.

'I asked for ten apples, there are only nine here,' Trudy grumbled when Scarlett placed the basket on the table. 'Have you not learned to count, you stupid girl?'

Scarlett could have redeemed herself by telling Trudy the princess had taken one, but in the longer scheme of things, a clip around the ear from Trudy for miscounting was a small price to pay. It wouldn't do to advertise the fact she and the princess had even spoken. After tomorrow, Trudy would never hurt her again. 'Go back and get another apple,' Trudy ordered. Scarlett scampered away.

Next morning she went straight to the hayloft and waited. Sure enough, Fleur appeared not long afterwards. The two girls giggled as they stripped and swapped clothes. Scarlett insisted they swapped underwear, too. 'What do I do now?' Fleur asked, her eyes shining with excitement.

'Go to the kitchen,' Scarlett said. 'Someone will give you a job to do. May I borrow your comb? I need to make my hair look neat, like yours is.'

Fleur held out the comb.

Scarlett knew the royal party would be leaving the next day. She just had to make sure it was she who went with them, and not Fleur.

After Fleur had gone, Scarlett spent several minutes teasing the tangles from her hair and tying it up with a ribbon Fleur had given her. When she was satisfied her hair was as smooth as she'd be able to get it, Scarlett descended the ladder and sauntered out into the courtyard. There was no sign of Fleur, but the prince was practising swordplay now, watched by his mother.

Scarlett settled on a low wall to watch. Trudy scuttled by, not looking in her direction.

The queen, however. looked up, and did take notice. 'Fleur, darling, just look at the state of you! What have you been doing? Your hair! Oh, my lord, come here!'

Scarlett obeyed. Her ploy was working. She submitted herself to the queen's attentions, having her hair combed vigorously and twisted painfully into a bun. She'd known she'd never get her hair exactly right, so this was necessary.

When the prince had finished his exercises, the queen ushered Scarlett into the castle, past the entrance hall and into the main dining room, a part of the building Scarlett had never set foot in before. She was told to sit at the table next to the prince. He kicked her under the table and pulled at her hair. Scarlett decided she wasn't going to put up with that, and kicked him back, so hard that he yelped. The look on his face told her the real Fleur must have always sat and taken it. The queen glared at them both. Scarlett sat perfectly straight and still.

'She kicked me,' the prince complained.

'He kicked me first,' Scarlett said, praying her voice sounded like Fleur's as much as they looked alike.

'I can quite believe that,' the queen said. 'Leave your sister alone, Horace.'

Scarlett risked poking her tongue out at the boy as soon as his mother turned away.

Moments later, Trudy came in carrying a tray. This was another test - would Trudy recognise her now? Scarlett kept her eyes on her plate, glancing up through her fringe to make sure Trudy wasn't giving her away. Trudy curtsied and began dishing out delicate sandwiches and pastries using silver tongs.

Scarlett took a bite, and had to stop herself from moaning with sheer pleasure. It was the best food she'd ever tasted. It melted on her tongue. So this was what the rich people ate.

After lunch, she was told to go to her room. 'I'm sorry, Mama, but I can't remember the way. I get so lost in this castle,' she said.

'Yes, it is a rather confusing layout. Do you remember where Fleur's room is, Horace? Show her, would you?'

'Gods, girls are stupid,' Horace grumbled as Scarlett followed him up the stairs.

Scarlett was blown away by the room he led her to. There was just the one bed, piled with bright cushions. It had four posts and a canopy she could draw curtains around. It was high off the ground; she wasn't sure how to get up onto it. Thankfully, Horace didn't hang around, and she had the chance to walk around the bed, and found a small set of steps. She climbed up and let herself sink into the mounds of soft bedding. This was even more comfortable than the hay loft. She could even see out of the window.

She spent some time exploring the room, until the queen came in. 'Fleur, my darling,' she said, 'We're leaving this evening, I'm afraid. I know we were meant to stay another

day, but your father and the baron came to an agreement much quicker than expected. We leave at sunset. So, my dear, you should take a long nap now, or you'll be extremely tired. Up on the bed, darling, so I can tuck you in.

Scarlett had never been tucked in in her life - her mother was always too exhausted, if she was even there when Scarlett fell into bed. Often she was still at work somewhere.

Scarlett had no trouble at all with the concept of a long nap. That was the life she was born to - she'd hide in the hayloft as often as she could for that very purpose; but there was always the fear of being discovered. She could never surrender to sleep entirely there, for someone might find her at any time and she could get a beating for slacking. She could now.

In fact, the next thing she knew, the queen was shaking her awake. 'You need to get up now, put on your warm cloak. We're leaving on the hour.'

Scarlett sat up, and saw the sun setting through the large window. She felt a momentary panic when she realised she had no idea where her warm cloak might be found. If the queen saw her searching for it, the woman would know she was an imposter. However, behind the queen stood a maid, holding the cloak. Of course. High born ladies never had to rummage in a wardrobe looking for their own clothes. She never needed to know where anything was.

Bundled up against the cold, Scarlett was lifted into the carriage. She looked around anxiously in case Fleur should appear and give the game away. There was no sign of the real princess, and Scarlett relaxed.

When the carriage began to move, however, a little girl ran out of the servant's hall and in front of the carriage, waving furiously. 'Mama! I'm down here! It's me, Fleur, the girl in there is a servant! We swapped places. It was a game! Please, she's not the princess! I am!'

The driver reined in the horses. Scarlett sat silently, waiting to be thrown out of the carriage. The queen looked closely at Fleur, who was wearing Scarlett's old, patched tunic. Her feet were bare, her hair tangled and there was a smudge of soot on her face. There was no doubt there was a resemblance between the two little girls, but there was no way this grubby little urchin was a princess.

Trudy strode up and picked up the princess bodily. 'I am so sorry, your majesties,' she grovelled. 'This one has got it into her head that she is really the princess and they were swapped at birth. I helped deliver Scarlett here, so I know that's not true. I will deal with this.'

She carried the struggling Fleur away and into the servant's hall. Scarlett knew Fleur would be beaten within an inch of her life, but Scarlett didn't care. She was only glad it wasn't her, and that she was on her way to start a new life, a life of luxury in which she would never have to work again.

Fleur lay on the hard mattress which had been Scarlett's, and wept. At first, pretending to be a servant had been fun. The first couple of tasks she was given had been fairly simple ones. Take this basket of apples to the kitchen - luckily, she'd known where the kitchen was, because her mother always insisted on being shown the kitchens anywhere she went, wanting to be sure they were clean. Once there, she'd been asked to take a tray of sandwiches back to the servant's hall.

As they day wore on, however, Fleur, unused to such hard work, became tired. Unlike Scarlett, she didn't feel it was right to sneak off anywhere for a break. This, and the fact she was given tasks which Scarlett had been taught to do, but she, Fleur, had not, led to her making mistakes. She nicked her finger on the knife while peeling potatoes. Not only did the scratch hurt, but Trudy gave her a smack in the head for being careless. She got lost looking for the scullery and was upbraided for taking too long. 'You've been hiding in that hay loft again, haven't you girl?' the head scullery maid, the only one who'd been sharp enough to get the measure of little Scarlett, scolded.

'No, Ma'am,' Fleur stammered. 'I got lost.'

The head scullery maid threw back her head and laughed. 'Lost? You expect me to believe that? You should know these corridors like the back of your hand!' She also gave Fleur a smack.

When Fleur was finally left alone, she did go to the hayloft, realising she hadn't made a specific arrangement with Scarlett to swap back into their proper roles. Even when she got there and didn't find Scarlett, she assumed the girl would be along soon, and they'd change back into their own clothes.

Fleur waited and waited, but Scarlett didn't come.

When Fleur heard her mother's voice outside, she peered through the knot hole - and saw Scarlett being lifted into the carriage. Horrified, Fleur had rushed outside, calling to her mother that she was taking the wrong girl. Her mother hadn't listened, hadn't believed her. Rough hands had dragged her away and beaten her. Any protest she made that she was the princess Fleur either fell on deaf ears or resulted in more beating. To Trudy, she was an insubordinate servant girl known to stop at nothing to get out of doing any work. This was a new ploy, and while it couldn't be denied that Scarlett did bear a certain resemblance to the princess, the very idea that she and the princess might have swapped clothes and pretended to be each other was preposterous.

As the days went by, Fleur gave up trying to convince people of who she really was. Her attempts always resulted in beatings. Perhaps Scarlett would confess to the queen - but by now, Fleur had realised this was Scarlett's plan all along - to escape this life of drudgery. Fleur's only hope, then, was that the queen would notice the difference.

The queen did not. She took little interest in her children when she didn't have to. The resemblance was sufficient to fool her. The nanny responsible for dressing and tutoring the young princess had left to have a baby the day before they'd left for the castle, and a new maid had taken her place. The new maid had never known Fleur. She'd expected the young princess to be spoiled and haughty, and so wasn't surprised at all to find her so. Had she met the real Fleur, she would have been pleasantly surprised, for Fleur had always been sweet, good-natured and kind.

The king took even less interest in his daughter than his wife did. He was only interested in his son, who would succeed him and needed to be tutored in warcraft and statesmanship. The prince spent as little time with his sister as he possibly could, bored to death of the games girls played. The arrival of another prince a few months later meant Scarlett was left alone even more.

A few servants noticed the change, but put it down to the princess growing into her role as a royal and learning how important she was compared to everyone else. They hailed it as a shame she wouldn't grow up as sweet as she'd seemed to be as a child, but that she might actually be a different girl never occurred to them. Scarlett, of course, never intended to say anything.

Fleur set out to do her best as a servant and avoid beatings until such time as her family realised they'd taken a servant home in her place. Luckily for Fleur, she was bright and learned fast. While Trudy would grumble, 'You want me to show you that again? I thought you'd mastered it. All right, stupid girl, I'll show you one more time.'

One more time was all it ever took. Fleur only needed to be shown any task once, and she would perform it perfectly thereafter. Trudy and the other servants couldn't help but notice how much more biddable Scarlett had become. She no longer sneaked off to the hayloft for a sneaky nap. She applied herself. There was no more backchat. She was polite and worked hard. They put it down to her growing up and into her role in life.

Years passed. The two girls grew into young women. Scarlett into the Princess Fleur, notorious for being spoiled and hateful, and Fleur into Scarlett, a servant girl, good-hearted and kind. After a time, they could barely remember their early lives and how different they'd been from their current ones.

A prince in the nearby kingdom of Bastion, meanwhile, was looking for a wife. He'd heard how beautiful the Princess Fleur of Namley was, and set out to meet her and see for himself. As princes go, Prince Roland wasn't the most handsome prince there had ever been. His nose was large, his hair a mousy brown and he had slightly protruding teeth. What he lacked in looks, however, he more than made up for in kindness, nobility, and a huge fortune.

He stopped at the castle where the real princess Fleur lived as a servant. The baron was more than happy to put the lad up for the night. A future king, the baron needed to court his favour. If Namley went to war, he might need protection and sanctuary. Fleur had the task of setting the fire in his room, which she did, as always, to the best of her ability. She wasn't supposed to still be in the room when the prince returned from supper, but Roland hadn't been all that hungry and had retired early.

'I am so sorry, my lord,' Fleur stammered as he walked in to find her kneeling at the grate. She scrambled to her feet and made to scurry out of the room.

'There's really no need to be,' Roland said. 'Don't rush away - I'm pleased to have the opportunity to thank someone who does all this dirty work for me. I'm never allowed to meet the servants at home.'

Roland looked at the girl, thinking that if the Princess Fleur was as lovely as this girl, he'd be a very lucky man.

Fleur smiled. 'Thank you, sir,' she said. 'Is there anything else I can get for you?' She had long since given up trying to convince people she wasn't Scarlett, the servant girl. It didn't even occur to her to tell the prince her story.

'No, thank you, I'm perfectly happy with the room,' he said. Fleur bowed and left, thinking how much nicer Prince Roland was than most of the guests who passed through here. Most would have complained about her still setting the fire when they entered the room and had her beaten.

Roland went on his way the following morning, with a packed lunch given to him by the same girl. He rode on, unable to get that servant girl out of his mind.

Late that day, he arrived at the palace where Princess Fleur, really Scarlett, lived. Scarlett was beginning to think about the possibility of getting married. Fleur's brother would inherit the kingdom, and his unmarried sister would have no role at all. A queen, however, had a certain amount of power. She would marry, and someday be a queen. She was delighted to hear that tales of her beauty had spread far and wide, and that Prince Roland of Bastion was on his way to meet her with a view to making her his wife. She lay in bed daydreaming about him. She could only imagine what he might be like. He'd be handsome, she decided, strong and muscular with blond hair and blue eyes. He would sweep her off her feet; she would fall passionately in love, and he would carry her off to be his bride in a palace even bigger than this one.

'The Prince Roland is here, your majesty,' the servant said. Scarlett patted her hair and went downstairs to meet him.

At first, she thought the thin, mousy man with the big nose standing at the foot of the stairs must be Prince Roland's footman. She arched a dainty eyebrow as he stood and stared. She was the exact image of that servant girl he'd liked. He really was in luck.

'So where is your master the prince?' Scarlett asked.

'I am the prince, your highness,' he replied. He held out his hand for her to take so he could kiss her hand as was the custom, but she didn't move.

'You?' she said, finally. 'You are the prince? Don't make me laugh. You don't look anything like a prince to me. You're far too ugly.'

Her words pierced Roland's sensitive heart. He knew he wasn't handsome, but that didn't mean he enjoyed having lovely women pointing the fact out to him.

'I... I may not be the most handsome prince there ever was, but if you get to know me, you should find me agreeable.'

'I doubt it,' Scarlett said, tossing her curls. 'You may as well go home. There's no way I would consider marrying you in a thousand years.' She turned and ascended the staircase. Roland watched in despair as she went to her room and slammed the door behind her.

He stayed a couple more days, hoping and praying to the gods that the princess would relent and give him a chance. He hoped that his sense of humour, his kindness and generosity would shine through and change her mind - but she refused to leave her bedroom until he'd gone.

With a heavy heart, he took to the road once again.

Roland was pleased people in this land didn't know who he was; it meant he didn't have to return to the baron's castle and admit he'd failed to win the heart of Princess Fleur. He could stop at a busy inn, instead. Nobody in this inn knew what his quest had been and what a painful failure he'd experienced. Riding alone along the road, he'd allowed Scarlett's rejection to eat away at his heart like acid. He felt ugly, worthless. No woman, let alone a princess, would ever love him.

At first, his intention was to retire to bed, and seek the oblivion of sleep, but a band of travellers seated in the bar caught his eye. They were a mixed bunch, drinking and making merry. Several of them were old, with beards reaching down to their waists. A couple were younger, but older than Roland. One of them was a dwarf, deformed and even uglier than Roland believed himself to be. The man's eyes looked in opposite directions to each other; his hair was thinning and his limbs bent, yet the barmaid paused to laugh and flirt with the man. It was this man who called Roland over.

The dwarf said to him, 'You are heartsore, my friend.' It wasn't a question.

'You could say that,' Roland said.

'I won't ask you to tell us the details,' he said, 'but why not join us for the evening? You need to remind yourself there is more to life than an ugly hearted woman.'

'What?'

'Whoever she is, she is not worthy of you. One who can see past the outward trappings is the one you should seek after. She may not be a princess on the outside, but a pure heart is worth so much more than royal blood.'

'How did you know?' Roland asked. It was if the dwarf had read his mind.

'My friends and I know many things. We are mages. Users of magic.'

'You are? That's fascinating.' He'd heard of wizards, but had never met any. In his own country, such people were hunted down and killed. He'd always thought that was more than unfair; but he wasn't king yet, and could do nothing about it. Not yet.

They poured him wine from their flagon. Roland didn't know whether the lift in his mood was a result purely of alcohol, or if they'd put a potion in it; or if it was their company.

'So why are you here, in this inn?' Roland asked after a time.

'We are on our way to Redburn,' the dwarf said.

Roland had heard of the place. Their king had died without issue, and there was a succession crisis there. Such news tended to travel fast, for there might be an opportunity for the king of another country to expand his realm. Roland's father had decided not to try and invade Redburn, since the kingdom of Namley stood in between the two - but if the king of Namley launched an invasion, and Roland had married his daughter, he could inherit all three kingdoms in time. 'Why are you going there?' Roland asked.

'We can help, we think.'

'How?'

'This potion,' the dwarf said, holding up a vial of lurid green liquid. 'A drop of this and anyone with royal blood changes visibly.'

'How?' Roland asked.

'Their hair turns brilliant white. The idea is that those who lay claim to the throne drink a drop. If their claim is legitimate, their hair turns white. It will weed out ambitious usurpers.'

'Their hair turns white? Honestly? I'm not sure I believe that.'

'You should, your highness.'

'Why?'

'I took the liberty of slipping a drop in your drink. Take a look at yourself.'

Roland glanced at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was white as snow. For a moment, he was angry - he was ugly enough without his hair making him look like an old man; but there was something about his countenance now which made him seem more distinguished.

Perhaps if he went back to Namley...

'No, your majesty, she wouldn't,' the dwarf said kindly. 'She is a lost cause. Who was it, if you don't mind me asking?'

'The Princess Fleur.'

'Oh. That doesn't surprise me. Everyone knows she's a nasty piece of work. A shame, she was such a sweet little girl. Nobody knows what went wrong. No, my man, you deserve better than her.'

'Yes,' Roland said, with new confidence. 'I certainly do.' He had no idea who he'd marry now; he wasn't aware of any other princesses the right age.

Next day, he set out for home and the mages set off for Redburn. 'It will be another day's ride even to the border,' the dwarf said. 'I don't suppose you know of a place we could stay?'

'The Baron's castle in Namley is well appointed,' Roland said. 'Tell them Prince Roland of Bastion recommends you to them. That should gain you entrance.'

The dwarf nodded. 'Thank you. I wish you well, young man, and hope you soon meet a princess worthy of your attention.'

They took their leave, and Roland went home.

There was considerable shock from his family at the sight of his hair, now white as snow, but once the queen had come to terms with that, another more burning question had to be answered.

'She said no,' he told his mother the queen. It brought back the awful pain and shame.

'Never mind, darling,' she said. 'I've heard Princess Fleur is the biggest bitch in Classica since Princess Amethyste disappeared. I'm glad you won't be chaining yourself to her. I'd rather you stayed single, quite honestly.'

'I can't stay single, can I? I have to marry and produce an heir to ensure our dynasty goes on.'

'Yes, but for a man, there's no hurry. It's possible your future wife and mother of your heir isn't even born yet.'

Roland frowned. He wasn't sure he wanted to wait for a new princess to be born and grow up. It seemed, however, that he didn't have the luxury of choice in the matter.

Meanwhile, the mages had reached the baron's castle. The baron, too, had a fascination for science and magic, so he was delighted to offer the party rooms for the night. More than that - he ordered a feast to be prepared for his guests so he could dine with them and find out more about their work.

For Fleur and the other servants that meant hard work. By now, Fleur was old enough and reliable enough to be one of the maids who would serve food to guests, ask if they were satisfied with their accommodation and pass on any requests or complaints to those who could deal with them.

The dwarf had more requests than most, thanks to his small stature, which hadn't been mentioned on the initial request for an overnight stay. He needed a stool in order to get into bed. He couldn't reach the window catch and would need someone to open and close the window for him as required. He had the additional inconvenience of an allergy to eggs, and so much liaison with the kitchen was needed to make sure no egg passed his lips.

Fleur dealt with his needs with grace and patience. Not only was it her job, but she, too, had an interest in magic, and found the dwarf a most interesting person. He answered the questions she asked about magic and science, and their conversation made both of them late for the meal. It needn't be said that Scarlett, had the change of places never happened, would have viewed the dwarf with scorn and not done her job anything like so well.

When everyone had gone to bed except for the dwarf and the senior mage, the two had a conversation by the fire. 'The servant girl they assigned to me is most efficient,' the dwarf said. 'I'm impressed with her intelligence, her attitude and her attention to detail. You know we've been looking for an assistant. I think we may have found her.'

The old man chuckled. 'An assistant? Is that all you want her for?'

'Yes,' the dwarf replied indignantly. 'I've told you before - I have no wish to pass on this curse of mine to future children. Besides, I have an inkling this woman's destiny will take her away from us in time. For now, she's just what we need to keep us in order.'

'Speak to her then. Offer her the job. I'll agree you need someone to keep your study in order.'

Fleur was amazed and delighted when the dwarf suggested that she might become their assistant. While she'd resigned herself to life as a servant, it didn't mean she liked it. The work was hard, and the more willing she showed herself to be, the more tasks were heaped on her.

Trudy was still there, getting more and more curmudgeonly in her old age. She'd never forgotten what a rebellious child Scarlett had once been, and still took her anger out on Fleur, beating her for any tiny mistake. Fleur would be only too pleased to leave the castle behind at long last. She may not be returning to her old life, but this new one could only be an improvement. Neither the dwarf nor any of the other mages would beat her, she knew that. Also, they'd seen her as a person, not merely a drudge. She could learn from them, and perhaps become a mage herself some day. It was, what we would say in our world, a no brainer.

'We will come for you when we return from Redburn,' the dwarf told her. 'That should give you time to make ready to depart.'

Fleur argued that she had few possessions, and could have been ready in minutes, but the mages all agreed she should have a few days to get used to the idea, and to give their offer proper thought.

Fleur watched them go; a deep-seated fear she'd had for years made her heart tremble. They might have promised to return for her, but that didn't mean they would. Scarlett had made the same promise, and the last Fleur had seen of her was when she'd ridden off in the queen's carriage in her place. Even though she barely remembered the incident now, it had left its echoes in her mind. Fleur was so convinced she'd seen the last of the mages that the water she used to wash the floor that day was seasoned with her tears.

She was overjoyed, therefore, when she saw them ride back into the castle a month later. The dwarf had a small gold crown on his head and all of them seemed in a jolly, celebratory mood. As she served them dinner again, they confirmed the offer of a job still stood, if she'd had time to consider and still wanted it.

The next morning, she was in their carriage, riding away to a new life. At first, she got little conversation out of any of them, since they'd celebrated so hard the night before. Even the dwarf said little, save swearing that he would never, ever, drink that much again. They dozed around her, but Fleur was too excited to sleep and frustrated none of them were talking and telling her about what her duties would be.

In the afternoon, though, the dwarf woke up, more his usual self, and they did talk. 'So, where did you go after you left the castle last time?' Fleur asked.

'Redburn. They had a problem, and we had the means to solve it.'

'What kind of a problem?'

'Their king died, and he'd never married or had children; and his father had banished anyone else with a claim to the crown many moons ago. We had to find them, but most of them had forgotten who they were. We've developed a potion which, if a person with royal blood drinks it, it turns their hair pure white.'

'Permanently?'

'Sadly, yes - but we find people don't mind having white hair if it means they inherit a throne; and it doesn't make people old in other ways.'

'So you found a new king?'

'We did. He was living as a farmer and believed all the tales his father used to tell him about growing up in a palace were just fairy tales made up to entertain him. Now he knows they were true. We were guests of honour at his coronation last week, and he's showered us with gifts.' The dwarf pointed at the small crown sitting askew on his misshapen head. 'Not a bad day's work, if I do say so myself.'

It set Fleur thinking. She wasn't usually prone to daydreaming, but as the dwarf soon went back to sleep and the other mages continued to snore, there was little else to do on the journey. What of those memories, those pale, wispy images of herself in a palace, her brother telling her he'd be king one day, and the empty, desolate hole in her heart she'd never been entirely able to explain? Could she be a princess too?

Fleur, however, didn't let daydreams influence her for long. She didn't ask the mages any more about the potion or ask that she should be able to taste it. She threw herself into her new work. There was a lot to learn. The cooking and cleaning were familiar enough, but keeping the studies in order was a new kind of work. She had to remember which substances should never be touched or sniffed; which ones needed to be separated from each other, which had to be kept in the dark, and so on. There was the care of the magical herbs, the schedule for watering and feeding them, regulating how much light they got.

The mages had expected they'd need to teach Fleur to read, too, and were pleasantly surprised to find she already had the skill, although it was rusty from lack of use.

'Where did a servant girl learn to read?' the dwarf asked her one day. 'It's not usually the done thing to teach kitchen servants to read.'

Fleur didn't know. She'd been able to read for as long as she could remember and, unlike the other servants, could read the labels on the kitchen jars and the writing on the messages and letters she was required to deliver.

There was a lot to do, but Fleur was used to hard work and did everything required of her without complaining. In her spare time, she struck up a friendship with the dwarf, who began teaching her a few simple spells and potions. He had it in mind that one day, Fleur might be the first ever female mage.

None of the mages were unpleasant to her. None of them were bullies like Trudy, so beatings were a thing of the past. It was several months, however, before she could confess a mistake or oversight to any of them, even the dwarf, without cringing. When no blows or punishment ever came, she began to grow in confidence. Instead of cowering in fear when she made a mistake, she learned from it.

In due course, a letter came from the king of Bastion. 'I am concerned about my eldest son,' the letter read. 'Since the Princess Fleur of Namley turned down his marriage proposal, he has been in a deep melancholic state, but a matter of even more concern to us is that his hair has turned pure white. He is only nineteen years old. We thought in time the colour might return, but there is no sign of it doing so. I wonder if I could send him to you so you can try and cure him.'

'Oh, yes,' the head mage mused after reading the missive. 'I seem to recall that was down to you.' He peered at the dwarf over his half moon glasses.

'Yes. Well, it was a good test of the effectiveness of the potion. I've no reason to believe there's the slightest chance it's reversible, mind you. It would be best to tell the prince not to come. It would be a wasted journey.'

'I will do no such thing. You were wrong to slip the stuff into his drink without a word of consultation! You're lucky you still have a job here at all after that. Since the prince himself did not complain, I let it go; but now his father the king is angry. You will work on an antidote. You are to drop every other project you're working on and concentrate on this.'

'But...'

'I don't want to hear another word. I will tell the king to send the prince to us, and I want you to have found an antidote by the time he gets here - or you will be fired!'

The dwarf made his way back to his study with a heavy heart. Fleur was there, doing some filing. When the dwarf flopped into his chair and put his head in his hands, she knew something was wrong. 'What is it?' she asked.

'I've been asked to do the impossible. Find an antidote for the potion which turns a royal head white. I'm not sure it can be done, and if I don't do it, I shall have to leave here.'

Fleur gasped. 'They can't do that, surely?'

'The head mage can, and he's said he will.'

'I'll help you,' Fleur said. 'We can work on it together. I don't want you to leave.'

'Thank you, my dear, but I really don't think...'

'Have you ever tried to come up with an antidote?'

'No.'

'How can you know it can't be done if you haven't attempted it?' Fleur asked. 'We should at least try.'

The dwarf sighed. Fleur's enthusiasm, as misplaced as he was certain it was, was nevertheless infectious. 'All right,' he said. 'Bring me the potion. It's the third from the left on the top shelf.'

Fleur picked up a stool and climbed up to reach the bottle. As she did so, a bat flew in through the open window and fluttered in front of her face. Fleur wasn't afraid of bats, but the sudden movement sent her off balance. She dropped the bottle and the potion spilled out over the floor.

'Oh dear, I'm so sorry,' she said, kneeling down quickly to mop it up and save at least some of the mixture. As she worked, she gasped as a splinter from the wooden floor went into her finger. Without thinking, she put her finger in her mouth to ease the pain. 'Ow!'

'Are you all right? The dwarf asked.

'It's a splinter, that's all,' she said.

'You need to go out into the yard where it's light,' he said. 'Take the tweezers. I think we should call it a night for now. We can start work in the morning.'

Fleur managed to ease out the splinter fairly easily, and as soon as she'd done so, retired to bed. The dwarf would want to make an early start and she'd need to be alert and able to think. Who knew? She might even be the one to figure out how to make the antidote. They were sure to let her study to be a mage if that happened.

When she woke the next day, she was so keen to get started that she didn't bother to look at herself in the mirror. She simply tied back her hair so it wouldn't get in the way, pulled on a comfortable dress, ate an apple on her way, and reached the study before the dwarf did. He'd worked late into the night, she could tell by the number of used candle stubs and the pages of notes he'd left on the desk.

She settled herself in his chair and scanned the notes. Although the dwarf's writing looked like a very small spider had walked across the page, Fleur was getting used to his hand now, and could decipher most of it. It was a list of the ingredients in the potion and a list of antidotes to some of the other potions which contained them. Some of these other antidotes could take months to prepare; other ingredients they'd need were out of season.

She began making lists of tasks she could do to help - which herbs she'd need to pick, which pieces of equipment would be required. So engrossed was she that she didn't notice the dwarf entering the room an hour later. 'Scarlett, my dear girl, what in the world has happened to you?' he gasped.

She looked up, puzzled. 'Why, nothing - I was making a list of things I might do to help you. I'm fine.'

'But - what have you done with your hair?'

'Nothing. I just tied it back. The prince isn't here yet. I'll do something with it when he's here, but for now there are more important things to do.'

'You haven't looked in a mirror today, have you?'

'Why, no, Should I have?'

'Wait here. Don't go anywhere,' the dwarf said, and hurried out of the room.

Fleur sighed and turned back to her work. He came back moments later with a little, hand held mirror. 'Just look at yourself and tell me what happened,' he said.

Fleur thought it best to humour him, although she had no idea what all the fuss was about. She took the mirror and looked. It was her turn to gasp, for overnight, her dark hair had turned completely white.

'Did you drink any of the potion?'

'Why, no,' Fleur said. 'Of course not.'

'It only takes a drop, you know.'

She thought hard, and the answer came to her. 'There must have been a little on my finger when I got that splinter,' she said.

'That's it - you know what this means, don't you? You have royal blood. You're a princess!'

'I... I am?'

'Yes! You just saw the proof! What do you remember about your parents?'

'Not much. I don't remember much at all.'

'Think, my dear, think! Do you remember about your early life? What is your earliest memory?'

'I can't think...'

'Never mind. Just you sit there, my dear and I will make up a memory potion. It will help you recall.'

Fleur watched him work, and drank the potion he gave her. 'Now, relax,' he instructed. 'Close your eyes and think back. Before you were here, you were at the baron's castle - go back to when you were ten... nine... eight... seven... six...'

When he reached six, Fleur burst into tears. She sobbed for several minutes, and finally said, 'I do remember something. There was a girl who looked just like me. We decided to play a game and swap places; only, when the time came for us to swap back, she didn't turn up. I watched her drive away in a carriage with my mother and brother! They left me behind!'

'Where did you live before that? Can you recall?'

Fleur could not remember, even after she'd drunk the whole bottle of potion.

Prince Roland arrived several days later. The dwarf, despite help from Fleur, hadn't managed to find an antidote. Fleur had drunk any number of revolting concoctions to see if her hair changed colour. It didn't.

'There's no antidote,' the dwarf told the prince dejectedly. 'However, I hope you might be able to help me with something.'

Roland, who in truth wasn't that bothered what colour his hair was - it had been his father who'd objected - said he'd be delighted to help in any way he could.

'Are you aware of any princesses anywhere in Classica who went missing? Say about twelve years ago?'

Roland frowned, trying to recall all his lessons about the royal houses of Classica. He shook his head.

'Hmph,' the dwarf said, a thought occurring to him as he recalled Fleur's story. 'Of course. The princess hasn't gone missing as far as her family were concerned. She was replaced with a servant girl who looked identical. 'Never mind. How familiar are you with the various princesses?'

'I've met one or two. No more than that,' Roland said.

'It's a long shot, then, but there is someone I'd like you to meet. I want you to tell me if she resembles any princess you've met. Scarlett, would you come here, please?'

Roland knew her at once, despite the fact her hair was white now. It was the servant girl he'd liked at the Baron's castle, the one who looked exactly like the princess Fleur, who'd so cruelly turned him down. 'I know this girl,' Roland said. 'She used to live in the baron's castle.'

'That is correct.'

'What happened to her hair?'

'The same thing as happened to yours. She was helping me look for an antidote when she accidentally spilled some potion on her fingers, and put them in her mouth. Next day... well, you can see. With the help of a memory potion, we learned she was a princess who swapped places with a servant girl who looked like her - as a game, she thought, but it would seem the servant never intended to swap back, and she is living as a princess somewhere.'

'Princess Fleur,' Roland said. 'That's who she looks like, although two more different women in terms of personality you never did meet.'

'How so?' the Dwarf asked.

'The Princess Fleur, or perhaps I should be calling her Scarlett the servant girl imposter, is shallow, rude and mean spirited. I proposed marriage to her, but she couldn't see past my less than handsome appearance and refused me most ungraciously.'

'If I may speak?' Fleur said.

'Of course you may,' the Dwarf said. 'We seem to be discovering that you are of a station which does not need to ask.'

'I wanted to say I'm sorry, and that it is my doppelgänger's loss. When I served you at the baron's castle, your highness, I found you to be of a most noble disposition. Kind, considerate, intelligent. I was a mere servant but you didn't look on me with disdain. You would make any girl a fine husband. You deserve better than her. You should count it a blessing she turned you down, for what kind of wife would she make?'

Roland smiled at Fleur. She was right, of course. He'd mainly found the princess attractive because she had, at first, reminded him of this sweet servant girl, who was still sweet, even though her hair was as white as an old woman's.

'I have a question,' Fleur said. 'If the princess is an imposter, should we make this known?'

'I believe we should - but I will seek the counsel of the head mage first.' The dwarf secretly hoped this new discovery would take the head wizard's mind off the fact he'd not been able to find an antidote to turn the prince's hair back to brown. 'Would the two of you come with me, so that I can show him the evidence of these claims?'

Fleur and Roland looked at each other. 'Yes,' they said, in unison.

As they walked to the head Wizard's office, Roland did some searching of his soul. Was he doing this because the princess had humiliated him, as an opportunity to get revenge, or out of a genuine desire to put things right? He couldn't be sure.

The head mage listened to the story with a grave expression on his face, and when the tale was done, spent several minutes stroking his beard, staring into space and saying 'Hmmmm.' Finally, he gave them his verdict. 'It would appear, from what you have told me, that the Princess Fleur is a humbug who has been living a lie for more than a decade. She is guilty of deceiving the royal family, not to mention condemning the real princess to a life of drudgery. I would decree, therefore, that she be exposed and punished. However, it will need to be done with care. My suggestion would be that I go to see the king and queen myself. Such an accusation will have to come from someone of high rank. The Prince and Scarlett, or the Princess Fleur, if such she is, should accompany me. I will take with me some of the potion which I can administer to the princess to ascertain whether she is of royal descent, or not.'

'From what I saw of her, she won't be happy at all if her hair turns white,' Roland commented.

'If her hair doesn't turn white, I suspect she will be even more unhappy,' the head mage said, 'since it reveals her as a fraud.'

The party set out the very next day - the head mage, Roland, and Fleur. The head mage disliked travel and spent most of the time grumbling to himself about saddle sores, the cold, the lack of creature comforts at the inns. Roland and Fleur let him ride ahead, bringing up the rear together. They spent a lot of time talking to each other during the course of the journey, and by the time they reached the palace in Namley, had fallen in love. Neither dared mention their feelings, however, in case the princess proved not to be a fraud after all. If that happened, Fleur still had no idea who she really was, and whether she would be a suitable bride for Roland.

The mage requested an immediate audience with the king, while Roland and Fleur remained outside, still mounted. 'If the princess's hair does turn white, we may need to stage a quick departure,' the mage told them. 'What we will have done, if that is the case, could be considered treason. We shall all be exiles in danger of being hunted down and executed.'

Secretly, Roland and Fleur thought that an almost acceptable outcome. They might have to live in a humble cottage and hide their hair, but they could be together, with no regard for status. Or lack of it.

Scarlett saw the party arrive from the window of her opulent bedroom. At first, she thought it was a party of tedious, old, white-haired ministers come for a political meeting, until she noticed one of the visitors was a woman, who, aside from her hair, was not unlike herself. With a shock, she recognised Roland - what had happened to his hair? He looked like an old man! Surely he wasn't coming to request her hand in marriage again. Had he come with a decree from his father demanding she marry him? She couldn't bear it, being married to someone as ugly as that, and with white hair.

It didn't occur to Scarlett at first that the woman might be the real princess she'd swapped places with all those years ago. She would still be scrubbing floors. She might even have died of a poor person's disease, or in childbirth by now. Even if she was still living, there was no way Prince Roland would have her as a travelling companion. She supposed it was his sister. Perhaps she was here to convince Scarlett of her brother's virtues as a husband. Scarlett sniffed. It wouldn't work. She was not going to marry Roland and that was that.

A servant knocked on her door with a message that she was to go to her father's audience room immediately. She prepared herself, as she went, to put on a show pleading that she could never marry a man she didn't love, and especially not an ugly one with white hair. When she opened the heavy oak door and entered the room, she expected to find Roland there on one knee with some expensive trinket, but there was only her father, her mother and an old mage. The mage had in his hand a bottle of wine, and was pouring four glasses.

'Won't you join us for a drink, Fleur,' the king said, handing her one of the glasses. Scarlett took one, waiting for the onslaught about how she'd turned an eligible prince down. It didn't come. The mage made small talk about how awful his journey had been. Scarlett had to stifle several yawns. She looked back at her mother and father, seated on their thrones, and immediately noticed a startling change in them. Both had been greying, but in the course of a few minutes, their hair had gone completely white. She gasped, realising this must be the effect of some potion in the wine she'd drunk along with them. She hardly dared look at her reflection in the glass, but when she did, she breathed a sigh of relief to see that her hair was still as black as coal.

Her relief did not last for long. The look on the king's face was grave. 'You are not my daughter,' he said. His voice turned Scarlett's blood to ice.

'But of course I am, father,' she said. 'How can you say such a thing?'

'You see how your hair is black and ours is now white? Well, Fleur... no, you are not Fleur. I don't know what the hell your name is... we all just partook of a potion which turns the hair of those of regal descent pure white. As you can see, the queen and I now have pure white hair. If you were our daughter, your hair would be white also. The fact it is not is incontrovertible proof that you are an imposter.'

Prince Roland strode into the room, whipping off his hat to expose his snowy hair. 'I, too, partook of the potion,' he announced.

'As did I,' Fleur said, following him into the room.

Scarlett knew then who the woman was. The real princess, the one she'd duped into changing places with her all those years ago, so she could take her place and live a life of luxury. Scarlett was not, however, going to submit to this new reality without a fight.

'They are traitors!' she shouted. 'It's a lie! The potion does no such thing! They have committed treason! Execute the lot of them!'

'No,' the king said. 'The one who committed treason is you.'

'It has been a mystery to me for all these years,' the queen said sadly, 'why my beautiful, sweet-natured daughter seemed to turn into a complete bitch overnight. Now I know. You are not my daughter, but a wicked, selfish, sneaky, ambitious servant girl who took advantage of her resemblance to my lovely daughter. What breaks my heart the most,' the queen, her eyes brimming with tears, looked at her real daughter, the white-haired young woman, standing by Prince Roland's side, and continued; 'not only did you deceive us, but you condemned the real princess to life as the lowliest of servants, to be beaten and used and to miss out completely on her birthright.'

'Oh, please!' Scarlett raged. 'You believe this stupid old man over me, your own flesh and blood? Can't you see? That woman is his daughter and he wants her to take my place! They deserve to die, all of them!'

'I have always taken a great interest in the art of the mages,' the king said. 'I believe in it; I always have, and the fact that your hair remains black when everyone else's in this room is white is proof enough for me. You are not our daughter and I suspect you know it, you scheming little... I have no words.'

'This isn't happening!' Scarlett cried, seeing her life of luxury slipping away from her. 'It's that Roland. I didn't want to marry the ugly idiot, and this is his way of paying me back!'

'He is not an idiot, and he is not ugly,' Fleur said, quietly.

'So you marry him, then, you little sneak,' Scarlett raged. 'Though since you are no more than a scullery maid, I doubt he'll have you. Even if he does, his parents will never approve!'

'That is enough!' The king got to his feet. 'You, Fleur, or whatever your name is...'

'It's Scarlett,' Fleur said. 'Her name is Scarlett.'

'Scarlett, you have been found guilty of high treason. Guards! Take this woman to the dungeon and cut off her head!'

'No!' Scarlett yelled, struggling against the guards who ran in and began to drag her away. 'It's a plot! An evil plot, can you not see?'

'No!' Fleur held up her hand, and the guards, recognising true royal authority when they saw it, stopped. They still held Scarlett tightly, but did not drag her any further. 'When she did this, she was only a child. Since I ended up living her life, I know it was a hard life, with little love and little comfort. I cannot blame her for wanting to make her life better. I beg you not to be so harsh. A child's prank does not merit the death penalty.'

'What do you suggest we do with her, then, my dear?' The king looked at Fleur, knowing this was exactly what his sweet-natured daughter, the one he'd grown to love before the castle visit, would do.

'She was born to be a servant. If I am to be re-instated as the princess, she can be my servant. I will treat her well - the loss of status and this humiliation is punishment enough, I feel.'

'Can you trust her not to murder you in your bed?' the queen, glancing at the furious Scarlett, asked.

'Yes, if she wants to live,' Fleur said. 'There's no chance now that she will try to change places with me again, for her hair is black and mine is white - we can easily be told apart.'

'All right,' the king conceded. 'I will spare Scarlett's life as long as she serves you faithfully. If she does not, if she tries to do you any harm, or serves you with any less than her full ability, she will lose her head. Guards, perhaps you could accompany the Princess Fleur and her new maid to her rooms. I will be preparing a proclamation explaining why our hair has changed colour.'

'Your majesty?' Roland spoke up.

'Yes, Prince Roland?'

'When I was here before, you were prepared to let me have the Princess Fleur's hand in marriage. I wonder if you would still agree to that?'

'You mean, not only do I have to be a servant, but I have to marry this ugly...' Scarlett began, but the king cut her off with a wave of his hand.

'You are not the Princess Fleur, so shut your mouth! I don't care who you marry as long as it's someone of your own station. Roland, my consent still stands, if the true Princess Fleur agrees.'

Roland turned to Fleur. 'Would you agree to become my wife?' he asked.

'Oh, yes!' Fleur replied, her heart swelling with joy.

'In that case, the proclamation will include the announcement of a royal engagement!' the king said, rubbing his hands together.

That summer, there was a royal wedding. The bride and groom still had white hair, but they didn't mind at all. The dwarf and the head mage were in attendance, although Fleur had arranged a comfortable carriage to convey them, so the head mage was in a much more agreeable mood. The only person who did not seem overjoyed at this happy occasion was a certain ladies' maid, who stood on the sidelines with a scowl on her face.