I sit down beside Ruby, trying to mimic how relaxed she seems as I lay the notebook across my lap. There is so much here—witches, princes, storms, curses, knights—and it feels like a secret history of our childhood, the real one that no one could steal. I wonder if I’m betraying him by reading it aloud for everyone else to hear.
“It’s okay,” Sam promises, sitting next to me. Of course she understands.
My chest tightens at the sight of Lucas’s messy handwriting. I clear my throat.
“‘There once was a prince who loved to roam through his kingdom, even though his parents, the king and queen, warned him of all the dangers that lurked in the woods. But he was brave, and he was curious, and he wanted to know not just what was in the trees, but what lay beyond them. So one morning the prince woke early, packed food and a blanket, and he went to see for himself.’”
I look up, but my hope is stomped out a second later when I see that his eyes are still closed, that he’s barely moving at all.
“Keep going,” Sam says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “He hears you. Keep going.”
“‘The prince rode his horse for hours, until he had gone farther than he ever imagined possible. The woods were like a maze, but every now and then a tree would lift its roots from the ground and point them in the direction he was meant to head. The trees would shake down a curtain of leaves if he turned the wrong way. But he soon realized that he should not have listened to them, that they had tricked him, because the path they led him on was treacherous, and at the first shriek of a hawk, his horse threw him. He lay there, hurt, until a woman dressed in robes of white and gold stepped into his path.’”
Still nothing. I don’t need to glance at him to know. Sam’s breathing becomes harsher, pained.
“‘This was no ordinary woman. Her beauty was unearthly, and the trees, the forest, were hers to command. She was the queen of them all, a witch. In revenge for her banishment by the prince’s father, she cast a spell on the prince. His hands became claws, his skin fur, his ears horns, his mouth a snout filled with razor-sharp teeth. The witch laughed and laughed, telling him that he’d never be free—that the only way to reverse the spell was to find the one person brave enough to face him.
“‘The prince ran back through the forest. Brave hunters saw him and ran away. Villagers screamed as he passed by them on the road. And he knew he could not go home, not as he was; so he returned to the forest, to the trees that rustled their leaves in laughter, to the other animals, who fled at the sight of him. He lived in this place for years, alone.’”
I don’t want to cry, but I do. He is not moving. This is not working. I look over at Ruby. Her brows are drawn together, and her hand seems to be shaking. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, but she is still working. I need to give her more time.
Keep going.
“‘One day, his friend the stable girl begged to be allowed to look for the prince. As the years passed, stories of the beast in the woods had spread far and wide. Many believed the prince had been devoured by it; even his parents began to mourn him. They told her she would not survive alone in the thick of the trickster trees, that the witch would find her and turn her into stew. But she did not believe them. She wished only to find her friend. So one morning she packed her own food and blanket, and set out to find him.
“‘No sooner had she passed into the woods than she heard the beast’s roar. Her courage failed her, and she wanted to run back out onto the road, but she thought of her friend, how much she missed him, and kept going. Soon she realized the beast wasn’t angry, and his roars weren’t ones of hunger, but of pain. She followed the sound until she saw its hideous body stretched out beside a stream. Its teeth snapped at the air as it whirled toward her, and its roar nearly deafened her. But the girl saw what was wrong. Its