Read The Runaway Princess for Free Online Page A

inquiries.”
    Meg and Cam lay flat, waiting for the men to leave. When they had, Cam sat up to stare at Meg. “You know that prince?”
    Meg flushed. “He came around the tower the other day. On a horse.”
    â€œThat’s all?”
    â€œIt was a nice horse,” Meg said defensively.
    â€œHmmph.” Cam stood up. “I’ve got to get back. My cabbages are a bit peaky.”
    â€œYou sound like a worried mother,” Meg told him.
    â€œBut they’re yellowish around the edges,” Cam explained.

    Meg rose and brushed off her skirt. “I’ll come with you.”
    Cam shook his head. “Tob will recognize you.”
    â€œI’ll walk partway,” she offered.
    They strode along in silence. Finally Cam said, “So, now you’ve seen them. What do you think?”
    They came across a stableboy, and Meg ducked her head. When they were well past him, Cam asked her again. “So?”
    â€œThey’re big and old and gruff and vain.”
    â€œThat Prince Bain isn’t so bad,” Cam said casually.
    â€œHe’s at least eighteen! Maybe even nineteen!”
    â€œTrue,” Cam replied. They stopped, having reached the rose arbor. “What are you going to do now?”
    â€œI’ll go and find the witch,” Meg told him. “Or the dragon. I’ve got to warn them.”
    â€œMeg, there’s no warning dragons. You know they eat princesses, don’t you?”
    She tossed her head. “Legend has it.”
    â€œYour great-aunt? She was only a year older than you when the creature gobbled her up.”
    â€œPerhaps it wasn’t the dragon. It might have been a nefarious plot implicating the dragon.”
    â€œOr,” Cam insisted, “it was the dragon.”
    Meg set her jaw.
    â€œAt least wait till tomorrow to look for it,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”
    â€œWhat about Tob?” she snapped.
    â€œHe’s off to his brother-in-law’s funeral tonight.”

    Meg relented. “All right. Today I’ll warn the witch.”
    Cam began to go through the gate, but Meg was still standing there. “What is it?” he asked.
    â€œThey talked about me like—like I don’t know what,” Meg said awkwardly.
    â€œLike you’re not you,” Cam told her, and Meg nodded.
    Cam examined her. “You don’t look anything like a turnip.”
    Meg had to smile.
    Â 
    The woods were full of sunlight and birdsong. As well as brambles, Meg discovered when she tore her skirt coming up behind the witch’s cottage. Its walls were ancient and weather-beaten, its thatch sagged picturesquely, and a little hand-lettered sign read GO AWAY. Curtains hung at the windows, black ones adorned by neat rows of white skulls.
    Meg crouched against the back wall, slowly raising her head until she could see in the window. The inside of the cottage was dim. She could make out the shape of a fireplace cradling what must be the witch’s cauldron. She wondered what simmered in the pot. There was a sofa. An armchair. And dozens of little blobby shapes … Meg heard a croaking sound. One of the blobs leaped across the room.
    Many an old woman lived in a small house cluttered with memories and twining fondly with cats. Gorba the Witch had filled her home with clutter, true enough—
dainty dishes patterned with sprigs of noxious herbs, china statuettes of monstrous pagan deities, samplers cross-stitched with sayings like Have an apple, dearie! But she owned not a single cat. Instead, Gorba’s cottage was full of frogs.
    A great bullfrog sat on a cushion near the hearth like a venerable monarch. A bevy of leopard frogs and spring peepers dripped on the sofa. Gorba had wood frogs and painted frogs, puddle frogs and reed frogs, rockets and golden-backs and squeakers, even a rare tomato frog. Tiny tree frogs clung to the curtains like jewels. An ornate bathtub full of pond water