Tales of the Peculiar (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children #0.5) - Ransom Riggs Page 0,7

is, you won’t want to marry me.”

“Nonsense,” said the prince. “What is it? Oh no—we’re cousins, aren’t we?”

“It isn’t that,” she said.

“Well,” the prince said confidently, “there’s nothing that could stop me wanting to marry you.”

“I hope you’re a man of your word,” said the princess, and then she took away her hand and showed him her forked tongue.

“Stars above!” cried the prince, recoiling.

“That’s not all,” said the princess, and slipping one arm out of her dress, she showed him the scales that covered her back.

The prince was flabbergasted, then furious. “I could never marry a monster like you!” he cried. “I can’t believe you and your father tried to trick me!”

“He didn’t!” she said. “My father doesn’t know anything about it!”

“Well, he’s going to!” the prince fumed. “This is an outrage!”

He stormed out of the room to go tell the king, and the princess chased after, begging him not to.

It was just then that five Frisian assassins, who had disguised themselves as chefs, pulled daggers from their cakes and ran from the kitchens toward the king’s room. The prince was just about to reveal the princess’s secret when they broke down the door. While the assassins killed his guards, the cowardly king dove into a wardrobe and hid himself beneath a pile of clothes.

The assassins turned on the prince and princess.

“Don’t kill me!” the prince cried. “I’m just an errand boy from another land!”

“Nice try,” said the lead assassin. “You’re the prince of Galatia, and you’re here to marry the princess and form an alliance against us. Prepare to die!”

The prince ran to a window and tried to force it open, leaving the princess to face the assassins by herself. As they came toward her with their bloody daggers drawn, she felt a strange pressure building behind her tongue.

One after another they lunged at her. One after another, the princess launched streams of venomous poison into their faces, and all but one fell writhing to the ground and died. The fifth assassin fled from the room, terrified, and escaped.

The princess was as surprised as anyone. It was something she’d never known she could do; then again, she had never been threatened with death before. The prince, who was already halfway out the

window, pulled himself back into the room and regarded both the dead assassins and the princess with amazement.

“Now will you marry me?” the princess said.

“Absolutely not,” he replied, “but as a token of my gratitude, I won’t tell your father why.”

He grabbed a discarded dagger and rushed from assassin to assassin, stabbing their dead bodies.

“What are you doing?” said the bewildered princess.

The king emerged from his wardrobe. “Are they dead?” he said, his voice trembling.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said the prince, holding up the dagger. “I killed them all!”

The princess was shocked by his lie, but held her tongue.

“Magnificent!” cried the king. “You’re the hero of Frankenbourg, my boy—and on your wedding day, no less!”

“Ah—about that,” the prince said. “Regretfully, there will be no wedding.”

“What!” shouted the king. “Why not?”

“I’ve just received word that the princess and I are cousins,” said the prince. “Such a shame!”

And without so much as a backward glance, the prince slipped out of the room, gathered his entourage, and took off in his carriage.

“This is preposterous!” the king fumed. “That boy is no more my daughter’s cousin than I’m this chair’s uncle. I won’t allow my family to be treated this way!”

The king was so enraged that he threatened to go to war with Galatia. The princess knew she couldn’t allow this to happen, and so one evening she requested an audience with her father alone and revealed the secret she’d been hiding so long. He called off his war plans, but he was so angry with his daughter, and so humiliated, that he locked her in the dankest cell of his dungeon.

“Not only are you a liar and a beast,” he said, spitting through the bars of her cell, “you’re not marriageable!”

He said it as if that were the greatest sin of all.

“But, Father,” said the princess, “I’m still your daughter, aren’t I?”

“Not anymore,” the king replied, and turned his back on her.

The princess knew she could use her acidic venom to burn through the lock of her cell door and escape, but instead she waited, hoping her father might come to his senses and forgive her. 5 For months she subsisted on gruel and shivered through the nights on a stone slab, but her father did not come. The princess’s only visitor