I sat in the gardens that evening. The fountain twinkled nearby, and I could hear the murmuring and laughter of the party my mother had organized in the courtyard.
I wasn’t hiding. Not exactly. I was going over my notes, and they didn’t look promising.
“You see, Grenie, here’s the scores for all the princes so far.” I tapped the notebook open on the bench, and the little frog hopped over to examine it. “Aodahn was, by far, the best choice. He scored highest in all the categories.”
“He certainly came out ahead in the category of entitled liars,” said the frog.
“Very true.” I sighed. When Papa and a company of guards had returned Aodahn to the Willow Court, he learned that the prince had more than just a “falling out” with his siblings. He had organized a coup and tried to take the throne from his older sister. Aodahn had been cut out of the family and banished in return, but if he was causing trouble in other courts, his sister agreed that stricter measures were going to be necessary.
Papa left it in her hands.
“We’re down to five candidates, and I’m not very excited about any of them.” I picked up the top piece of paper and went over my notes. “They all look good on paper, but there’s no...”
“Magical fireworks?” suggested Grenie.
“I’d be willing to settle for a flicker at this point.” I sighed and set the paper back down. “All my life, I’ve trusted that my godmother had some magical foresight about this competition. I was sure that between the christening prophecy and my own system of testing the princes, I would find someone who would be a good match and co-ruler.”
“Talking to yourself again, ma chouchoutte?” It was Papa. Mother must have sent him to make me rejoin the party.
Grenie casually hopped off the bench with a convincing, “Ribbit.”
“Hi, Papa, am I supposed to come and be sociable now?”
“That’s what your mother would like.” Papa looked me over. “But I don’t think it’s what you need tonight.”
“And what do I need?” I closed my notebook and tucked it into my bag.
“Sugar, flour, and maybe some butter.” Papa’s eyes twinkled. “Let’s go bake.”
* * *
“We can only be an hour or so,” Papa reminded me, glancing at the golden clock on the wall of the Parisian apartment that kept Faerie time. “Or too much time will pass at home and your mother will murder us both.”
“I know, Papa. I have just the thing. I started it last time I was here.” I pulled up a stool to the marble island and flipped open the laptop.
“The internet?” Papa grumbled. “You know how I feel about recipes from the internet. Anyone can take a nice photo and say it’s ‘the best chocolate cake ever!’ but—”
“But there’s no way to know if they have any training. I know. I know.” I found the blog I was looking for.
“In my day,” he went on, “you had to be a chef to write a recipe.”
“In the dark ages, you mean?” In Faerie, everyone aged slower, humans and fae alike. “I’m pretty sure non-chefs wrote recipes back then too. And you didn’t have digital thermometers.”
Papa kept grumbling, but I ignored him and pulled up the recipe.
“Here. I know this girl isn’t a chef, but I’ve tried a few of her recipes and they’ve all been amazing.”
“Pie in the Sky,” Papa read aloud. “Are we making pie?”
“No, that’s the name of her blog. And her cafe, I think. Anyway, these are what I have ready to go in the fridge.” I tapped the photo.
Papa’s face lit up as he read the recipe title. “Ah, Tuala, that’s perfect.”
“Papa, how did you know mother was the right person for you to marry?” I pulled a bowl of dough out of the gleaming stainless-steel fridge.
“Hmm, well, you know we met here in Paris.” Papa handed me an apron, and I tied it on over my dress.
“You were in culinary school, and she was studying painting.” I knew this part of the story.
“Correct. And of course, I had no idea that the beautiful girl I saw painting en plein air in the park everyday was a faerie princess.” Papa checked the temperature on one of his favorite human gadgets, the deep fryer.
“Because she was glamoured, of course.” I turned the bowl of dough onto the floured marble island and started rolling it out.
“Of course. But even still, she was enchanting. And whenever we spoke, she made the world light up around her. Not magic…just…” he trailed off, his hands still motioning.
“Love?”
“Oui.”
I sighed. “That doesn’t really help, Papa.” I checked the width of the dough and began cutting it into squares.
“It’s not something you can explain, ma chouchoutte.” Papa lifted a square of dough and carefully dropped it in the fryer. “And while I’m going along with this silly competition for your mother’s sake, it’s not something you can test for or make lists to figure out. It’s something you feel in your heart.”
“That does sound wonderful,” I admitted. “But while I wait to feel that something, I’ll keep making my lists.”
“Ah, Tuala, you like to act as if logic rules you, but I know you have a tender heart.” He lifted the basket with the first batch of puffed, golden squares out of the fryer and tipped it onto a waiting plate covered with a towel to soak up the grease.
“I do, do I?” I picked up the shaker of powdered sugar and dusted the pile of golden treats. I’d have to sneak one to Grenie. That frog certainly had a sweet tooth.
“Of course you do.” Papa carefully dropped the second batch of dough squares into the fryer one at a time. “You are someone who loves with her whole heart. Why else would you have chosen to make the treat your mother has been dreaming of all week?”
“Hmm, I’m not sure how that will help me choose a prince.” I dusted my hands off on my apron.
“You will just have to listen to your heart, ma chouchoutte.” He reached over and hugged me to his side. “Now, let’s finish these beignets up and make your mother smile.”
I hugged Papa back, but I didn’t know what good a tender heart would do me, when the only people I wanted to spend time with were my father and a frog.