If you ever meet a talking frog—any chatty amphibian, really—my advice would be to ignore it. That’s what I should have done, anyway.
It was the most important day of my life. My eighteenth birthday. I was beyond nervous, so I spent the morning in my papa’s industrial kitchen in France, making my birthday cake. Papa had been teaching me to make cream puffs, and for my birthday I created a towering croquembouche. I filled each little choux pastry with vanilla cream, then drizzled the whole tower with golden threads of caramel.
My mother had harassed me for taking the time to bake on such a busy day—especially when time runs slower in the human realm—but I didn’t want to whip all that cream by hand. I needed the KitchenAid.
My human father was happy in Faerie, but he still kept an apartment in Paris. It was in an old stone building with a balcony view of the Eiffel Tower. There were rooms for my parents and me, and a professional-grade kitchen with all the shiny copper pots and cooking gadgets you could dream of.
Sometimes we came to Paris for a holiday, or to do some shopping, but more often, Papa and I just snuck off to cook. It was our own little world in that kitchen.
I put the last spoon in the dishwasher and glanced at the enchanted clock on the wall that kept Faerie time. Oops, I was running late. I pulled off the apron covering my green spider-silk gown and slipped into my satin heels. I didn’t usually wear heels, but Mother insisted I look my best today.
“No one wants to see your bare toes, Tuala,” I muttered in my best impression of my mother.
A glance in the mirror told me that pale pastry cream was smeared on my golden-brown cheek. I hurriedly scrubbed it clean and adjusted my golden tiara on my black curls. Good enough. Carefully, I lifted the platter holding the croquembouche and stepped through the pantry door that disguised a gate to the faerie realm.
Between one step and the next, the stainless-steel kitchen disappeared and I was back in the realm of Faerie, standing in front of the Lily Gate.
My kingdom’s faerie gate stood on a beautifully carved stone platform in the middle of the pond in front of the castle. Pale pink lilies floated in the water, and stepping stones shaped like lily pads led to the shore. A stone arch, carved with lilies and gilded with the gold that powered the gate’s spell, stood on the platform.
I heard the chatter from the party in the distance. Mother wasn’t going to be impressed with me. I hopped onto the first stepping stone and wobbled on my stupid heels. The platter wobbled. The towering croquembouche wobbled. A little cream puff, right at the top, broke free from the threads of caramel, bounced off my platter and landed on the stepping stone.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the rest of the cream puffs stayed put. I had just gripped the platter more firmly and lifted my foot to step onto the next stone, when a little green frog jumped out of the pond and ate the cream puff in one bite.
I stared at it in disbelief.
“That was delicious! Could I have another one?” croaked the frog.
The frog was talking to me.
I stepped back in shock. Only there wasn’t anything to step back onto, and I tumbled into the pond.
The pond was only waist-deep, but that was more than enough to soak me from my satin heels to my gold tiara before I managed to get my feet under me. I sputtered as my head broke the surface of the water. Little golden cream puffs floated around me and I heard a musical trill of laughter coming from a lily near me.
“Stop laughing, sheerie!” I hissed at the tiny faerie hiding in the flower. The laughter was smothered, but the lily still shook slightly. Of all the aos sidhe—the small folk—no one loved mischief like the twinkling sheerie.
The frog leaped from the stepping-stone with a splash and began to swim around me, munching three more cream puffs before the little pastries became waterlogged and started to sink.
“You!” I pointed a dripping finger at the frog. “This is all your fault!”
“I hardly think that’s fair,” mumbled the frog around a mouthful of vanilla cream. “It’s not like I tripped you. Those shoes were an accident waiting to happen.”
“You’re still talking! Why are you talking?” I gaped at the obnoxious amphibian.
“I should think I’d be allowed to defend myself against your ridiculous accusations...”
“No, I mean, why can you speak at all?” I pushed a sopping curl out of my face. My hairpins were lost to the pond, and my thick hair was already springing back up into ringlets. “You’re a frog. Are you under a spell? Did you eat something magical? Anger a witch?”
“Well, Tuala, I—croak!” The frog shut his mouth in surprise. “Excuse me, what I meant to say was—ribbit! Hmm, it would seem I’m prevented from explaining.”
“Interesting.” I eyed the frog suspiciously. “And how do you know my name?”
“Croak.”
“That’s convenient.” I started slogging my way toward the bank. My bare feet collided with the sunken silver plate and I sighed and dunked under the water’s surface again to retrieve it. My shoes I left to rot at the bottom of the pond. The goldfish could have them.
“It’s hardly convenient for me,” said the frog, breast-stroking along beside me. “I’d much rather be able to explain myself.”
“And I’d much rather not show up to the start of the trials soaking wet and smelling like algae.” I reached the bank and pulled myself up onto the grass, collapsing in a heap of wet silk skirts. “Looks like neither of us gets what we want today.”
I eyed the billowing white canopies set up for the party. A row of low hedges stood between the courtyard and the pond. Maybe no one had seen my undignified dunking?
“I really did want to make a good impression today,” I muttered, picking at my sodden dress.
“What’s so important about today that has you all dressed up?” The frog settled down beside me in the grass.
I sighed. “Today is my eighteenth birthday and the first day of the trials.”
“The trials?”
I leaned back on my hands. “Okay, so when I was a baby, my parents threw a massive christening party. Standard princess stuff.”
The frog nodded encouragingly.
“And they invited all the heads of the Seelie Courts, and other important faeries, like Clíodhna, the elder fae. She came in disguise, of course, as she’s still in hiding from the Unseelie Queen. But she did arrive, and she agreed to be my godmother. She told my parents she would give me the gift of true love. She had looked in her enchanted mirror and seen that when I turned eighteen, they should hold a competition to find my future husband and co-ruler of the Lily Court. The winner would be my destined mate. My perfect match.”
The frog flicked out his tongue and snagged a fly. He looked a bit shocked as he started to munch it. “What did your parents think about that gift?”
“As a Seelie princess, my mother was raised with a great respect for Clíodhna and her wisdom. She was very pleased.”
“And your father? He’s human, not high fae. What did he think?”
“How do you know my father is human and not one of the Tuatha Dé Danann?” Was this frog a regular inhabitant of our grounds?
“Well, your skin is a clue, for starters. The Tuatha Dé Danann are all pale skinned and your skin is golden brown.”
I eyed my tawny hand and nodded. “But there are faeries from beyond Tír na nÓg.”
“True, but your ears are also much rounder than is usual for a high fae.”
“Fair enough, frog detective. Yes, my father is human, and yes, he was less impressed with Clíodhna’s announcement. She insisted she had foreseen it in her enchanted mirror, but he was still skeptical. In the end, my parents came up with a compromise. They would hold the competition, but the prize would be engagement only, not marriage. Papa wanted to make sure I had time to truly get to know the person, before binding myself to them for centuries.”
“Your father sounds like a wise man,” remarked the frog.
“He is. He helped me come up with the challenges for the princes.” I struggled to get to my feet. The silk dress was much heavier when wet. “And now, dear frog, I need to get changed. My mother is going to have my head for this.”
“Really?” asked the frog.
“No, but she’ll say I told you so, which is nearly as bad.” I picked up the platter mournfully. “I do wish I hadn’t destroyed my croquembouche though. I wanted to start out on a good note.”
“But you’re the one who gets to choose,” pointed out the frog. “Shouldn’t the princes be the ones who are nervous?”
“Logically, yes. But I still kind of feel like puking at the thought of meeting them all. Prince Naven from the Juniper Court was my friend when we were little, but I haven’t seen him in almost two years. I’ve met one or two of the others at the high court, but I don’t really know them. And a few are from other parts of Faerie, altogether. I wish I knew more about them.”
“I see...” said the frog. “What you need is a—”
“Document detailing all their interests and character traits? I am working on one, but I don’t have enough information yet.”
“Um.” The frog looked a bit taken aback. Not an unusual response when I started talking about research, but not an expression I’d ever seen a frog make. “No, I was going to say that you need an inside man. Well, amphibian.”
I picked up the frog and held him at eye level on my palm. “I’m listening.”
“I already have some knowledge of the Seelie princes because I—ribbit!” The frog grimaced. “And I could collect information on the foreign princes for you. No one would notice a frog.”
I considered his offer. I couldn’t deny I would feel a lot better with an ally to help me sort through the candidates. Even a small green one.
“Why would you help me?” I asked the frog. “What’s in it for you?”
The frog watched a small dragonfly dance past. “I don’t suppose you have any more pastries?”
I laughed. “It’s a deal. Now, if we’re going to be allies, I can’t keep calling you frog. What’s your name?”
The frog croaked at me, and then shrugged apologetically.
“Right, then. In French, you’d be a grenouille. I think I’ll call you Grenie.”
The frog sighed. “It’ll do, I suppose. Now let’s go meet those princes.”
I helped Grenie up onto my shoulder. Even with my heavy, sodden dress, having a friend put a spring in my step as I walked up to the castle to change.