“If you had died in Red Crow that day,” she said, “all the paintings you ever could have painted would have been lost. You kill an artist, you kill all their unmade art too. Why don’t people think about that before they hurt each other?”

He dipped his brush in white paint and began to make a unicorn appear before her eyes.

“Sometimes I think art is stronger than we are,” he said. “My favorite painter, Franz Marc, got his head blown off in World War One, but a music professor in Morgantown in 2006 had a print of his painting The Foxes in her house. I saw it and decided I wanted to do that. And I did. So that’s immortality, time travel, and miracle working. Not bad for some paint and wood and canvas.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Your entire kingdom exists because someone liked your story. If I were you, I’d take that as a sign you oughta write some more stories.”

“I haven’t written a word since I was thirteen. Where do I even start?”

“You can start where I started my painting. I paint people I love. You could write about people you love.”

She mulled that over as she watched him work.

“Write about people I love…” She hugged him from behind, and he stopped painting to rest his head against hers for a long, lovely moment. “That means I’ll be writing about you.”

He returned to his painting. “Just make me look good.”

“Maybe I’ll make you the hero.”

—

On the eleventh day, the Moonstone Palace hosted a Fall Festival in Emilie’s honor. More food. More drinking. More games. Even an archery tournament. Emilie entered the beginners’ match and won third prize, which was a dubious honor, as most of her competitors were between the ages of ten and fourteen.

After copious amounts of goading on Skya’s part, Rafe entered the masters’ level. The prize was a white pony with gray spots and a gray star on her forehead. When he inevitably came in first place, he brought the pony to Emilie and offered a trade—the pony for her third-prize ribbon.

When she was done hugging and kissing Rafe a few thousand times, she stroked her horse’s nose and whispered her name—Rhiannon.

No one was surprised by this.

—

The day of Emilie’s coronation grew closer and closer. Jeremy and Rafe set out to the Witch of Black Wolf Cave to secure the gift Skya wanted to give her sister. It was a long, long ride, so they had to camp in the woods and hunt and fish for their dinner. They nearly got themselves lost when the Green Lady took a liking to Rafe’s pretty face and changed the path to lead them both to her home in the Big Dark Hollow, a particularly ancient and mysterious part of the old forest. The boys had quite a time getting out. I wish I could tell the whole story, since it involved a failed seduction by sentient foliage, and at one point Rafe literally had to say, “You’re a lovely tree, but I’m in a relationship.”

Alas, we’re running out of time.

—

While they were gone, Skya and the Valkyries took Emilie to the source of the Bluestone River so they could bathe her in the holy waters. When they returned to the palace, they spent all evening trying to find a dress for Emilie to wear for the coronation. And this was the happiest Emilie had been in a very long time.

—

And for day fifteen…well, I think that deserves its own chapter.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Every soul in the wild and wonderful kingdom of Shanandoah had pressed inside the throne room to watch Queen Skya, wearing her crown of antlers, place a crown of silver and gilt leaves on the head of the lost and found princess.

To the beaming assembly, the queen called out, “I give you Princess Emilie, the Lion-Hearted.”

The cheers were deafening. Prince Rafe and Sir Jeremy, in full regalia, stood behind their queen and the princess.

“I remember your coronation,” Jeremy whispered. “Don’t remember your full regnal name and titles, though. I think it was ‘Prince Rafe, the Golden-Haired, Golden-Hearted, Hawk-Eyed Prince of Shanandoah.’ ”

“Mouthful,” Rafe said.

“I’ll say.”

If the queen or anyone noticed Prince Rafe elbowing Jeremy in the gut to shut him up, they didn’t say anything about it. Shanandoah, as it has been said, is not a kingdom that takes itself too seriously.

After all, one of the guests of honor at the coronation was a rat named Fritz, who watched from a silk cushion held by a Valkyrie. Did he know what was going on? Probably not, but he seemed to have a grand time chewing the tassels off the pillow.

After the ceremony, there was the giving of honors.

First, Jeremy was given a promotion from knight to baron. Rafe muttered, “Still outrank you, my lord.”

To which Jeremy may or may not have responded, “Bite me, my prince.” All assembled agreed Lord Jeremy wore his new silver coronet well.

Rafe was given a promotion from prince to high prince, which just meant he got a slight upgrade in crowns.

And tiny Fritz was given his own dukedom for chewing through Lord Jeremy’s bindings in the Ghost Town.

For even the smallest acts of courage and kindness performed by the tiniest citizens of Shanandoah deserve the highest of honors.

After honors came the best part, according to Emilie anyway. This was the giving of gifts to the newly crowned princess.

From Jeremy she received a music box that would play any song her heart desired.

She opened it a crack and “Dreams” began to play.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded.

“Traded my extra sword to a traveling wizard.”

“Well, I guess there’s no Amazon here, so that tracks.”

Rafe was next. He gave her the painting—Emilie’s official portrait. In it, Emilie sat on a pale pink armchair and was framed by an oval of animals—unicorns, rabbits, cats, foxes, and Fritz, of course, on a pink cushion on her lap. Even the frame was pink.

“I love it,” Emilie said. “Now can you paint one of me and Skya together?”

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll put you on my schedule.”

Rafe and Jeremy watched very closely as Skya presented Emilie her gift. They had, after all, traveled days to fetch it for her.

Emilie opened an empty black velvet bag.

“Fresh air?” she asked. “Thanks, Sis!”

“Very funny,” Skya said. “That bag holds your gift. You decide what you want your gift to be. If it can fit in that bag, you can wish for it and it’ll appear.”

“Like anything? Like a tiny snake that speaks Japanese or a DVD of The Matrix?”