1
In Which Cimorene Refuses to Be Proper and Has a Conversation with a Frog
 
Linderwall was a large kingdom, just east of the Mountains of Morning, where philosophers were highly respected and the number five was fashionable. The climate was unremarkable. The knights kept their armor brightly polished mainly for show--it had been centuries since a dragon had come east. There were the usual periodic problems with royal children and uninvited fairy godmothers, but they were always the sort of thing that could be cleared up by finding the proper prince or princess to marry the unfortunate child a few years later. All in all, Linderwall was a very prosperous and pleasant place.
 
Cimorene hated it.
 
Cimorene was the youngest daughter of the King of Linderwall, and her parents found her rather trying. Their first six daughters were perfectly normal princesses, with long, golden hair and sweet dispositions, each more beautiful than the last. Cimorene was lovely enough, but her hair was jet black, and she wore it in braids instead of curled and pinned like her sisters.
 
And she wouldn't stop growing. Her parents were quite sure that no prince would want to marry a girl who could look him in the eye instead of gazing up at him becomingly through her lashes. As for the girl's disposition--well, when people were being polite, they said she was strong-minded. When they were angry or annoyed with her, they said she was as stubborn as a pig.
 
The King and Queen did the best they could. They hired the most superior tutors and governesses to teach Cimorene all the things a princess ought to know--dancing, embroidery, drawing, and etiquette. There was a great deal of etiquette, from the proper way to curtsy before a visiting prince to how loudly it was permissible to scream when being carried off by a giant. (Linderwall still had an occasional problem with giants.)
 
Cimorene found it all very dull, but she pressed her lips together and learned it anyway. When she couldn't stand it any longer, she would go down to the castle armory and bully the armsmaster into giving her a fencing lesson. As she got older, she found her regular lessons more and more boring. Consequently, the fencing lessons became more and more frequent.
 
When she was twelve, her father found out.
 
"Fencing is not proper behavior for a princess," he told her in the gentle-but-firm tone recommended by the court philosopher.
 
Cimorene tilted her head to one side. "Why not?"
 
"It's . . . well, it's simply not done."
 
Cimorene considered. "Aren't I a princess?"
 
"Yes, of course you are, my dear," said her father with relief. He had been bracing himself for a storm of tears, which was the way his other daughters reacted to reprimands.
 
"Well, I fence," Cimorene said with the air of one delivering an unshakable argument. "So it is too done by a princess."
 
"That doesn't make it proper, dear," put in her mother gently.
 
"Why not?"
 
"It simply doesn't," the Queen said firmly, and that was the end of Cimorene's fencing lessons.
 
When she was fourteen, her father discovered that she was making the court magician teach her magic.
 
"How long has this been going on?" he asked wearily when she arrived in response to his summons.
 
"Since you stopped my fencing lessons," Cimorene said. "I suppose you're going to tell me it isn't proper behavior for a princess."
 
"Well, yes. I mean, it isn't proper."
 
"Nothing interesting seems to be proper," Cimorene said.
 
"You might find things more interesting if you applied yourself a little more, dear," Cimorene's mother said.
 
"I doubt it," Cimorene muttered, but she knew better than to argue when her mother used that tone of voice. And that was the end of the magic lessons.
 
The same thing happened over the Latin lessons from the court philosopher, the cooking lessons from the castle chef, the economics lessons from the court treasurer, and the juggling lessons from the court minstrel. Cimorene began to grow rather tired of the whole business.
 
When she was sixteen, Cimorene summoned her fairy godmother.
 
"Cimorene, my dear, this sort of thing really isn't done," the fairy said, fanning away the scented blue smoke that had accompanied her appearance.
 
"People keep telling me that," Cimorene said.
 
"You should pay attention to them, then," her godmother said irritably. "I'm not used to being hauled away from my tea without warning. And you aren't supposed to call me unless it is a matter of utmost importance to your life and future happiness."
 
"It is of utmost importance to my life and future happiness," Cimorene said.
 
"Oh, very well. You're a bit young to have fallen in love already; still, you always have been a precocious child. Tell me about him."
 
Cimorene sighed. "It isn't a him."
 
"Enchanted, is he?" the fairy said with a spark of interest. "A frog, perhaps? That used to be quite popular, but it seems to have gone out of fashion lately. Nowadays, all the princes are talking birds, or dogs, or hedgehogs."
 
"No, no, I'm not in love with anyone!"
 
"Then what, exactly, is your problem?" the fairy said in exasperation.
 
"This!" Cimorene gestured at the castle around her. "Embroidery lessons, and dancing, and--and being a princess!"
 
"My dear Cimorene!" the fairy said, shocked. "It's your heritage!"
 
"It's boring."
 
"Boring?" The fairy did not appear to believe what she was hearing.
 
"Boring. I want to do things, not sit around all day and listen to the court minstrel make up songs about how brave Daddy is and how lovely his wife and daughters are."
 
"Nonsense, my dear. This is just a stage you're going through. You'll outgrow it soon, and you'll be very glad you didn't do anything rash."
 
Cimorene looked at her godmother suspiciously. "You've been talking to my parents, haven't you?"
 
"Well, they do try to keep me up to date on what my godchildren are doing."
 
"I thought so," said Cimorene, and bade her fairy godmother a polite goodbye.
 
***
 
A few weeks later, Cimorene's parents took her to a tourney in Sathem-by-the-Mountains, the next kingdom over. Cimorene was quite sure that they were only taking her because her fairy godmother had told them that something had better be done about her, and soon. She kept this opinion to herself. Anything was better than the endless rounds of dancing and embroidery lessons at home.
 
Cimorene realized her mistake almost as soon as they reached their destination, for the King of Sathem-by-the-Mountains had a son. He was a golden-haired, blue-eyed, and exceedingly handsome prince, whose duties appeared to consist entirely of dancing attendance on Cimorene.
 
"Isn't he handsome!" Cimorene's lady-in-waiting sighed.
 
"Yes," Cimorene said without enthusiasm. "Unfortunately, he isn't anything else."
 
"Whatever do you mean?" the lady-in-waiting said in astonishment.
 
"He has no sense of humor, he isn't intelligent, he can't talk about anything except tourneys, and half of what he does say he gets wrong. I'm glad we're only staying three weeks. I don't think I could stand to be polite to him for much longer than that."
 
"But what about your engagement?" the lady-in-waiting cried, horrified.
 
"What engagement?" Cimorene said sharply.
 
The lady-in-waiting tried to mutter something about a mistake, but Cimorene put up her chin in her best princess fashion and insisted on an explanation. Finally, the lady-in-waiting broke down.
 
"I . . . I overheard Their Majesties discussing it yesterday." She sniffled into her handkerchief. "The stipulations and covenants and contracts and settlements have all been drawn up, and they're going to sign them the day after tomorrow and announce it on Th-Thursday."
 
"I see," said Cimorene. "Thank you for telling me. You may go."
 
The lady-in-waiting left, and Cimorene went to see her parents. They were annoyed and a little embarrassed to find that Cimorene had discovered their plans, but they were still very firm about it. "We were going to tell you tomorrow, when we signed the papers," her father said.
 
"We knew you'd be pleased, dear," her mother said, nodding. "He's such a good-looking boy."
 
"But I don't want to marry Prince Therandil," Cim­orene said.
 
"Well, it's not exactly a brilliant match," Cimorene's father said, frowning. "But I didn't think you'd care how big his kingdom is."
 
"It's the prince I don't care for," Cimorene said.
 
"That's a great pity, dear, but it can't be helped," Cim­orene's mother said placidly. "I'm afraid it isn't likely that you'll get another offer."
 
"Then I won't get married at all."
 
Both her parents looked slightly shocked. "My dear Cimorene!" said her father. "That's out of the question. You're a princess; it simply isn't done."
 
"I'm too young to get married!"
 
"Your Great-Aunt Rose was married at sixteen," her mother pointed out. "One really can't count all those years she spent asleep under that dreadful fairy's curse."
 
"I won't marry the prince of Sathem-by-the-Mountains!" Cimorene said desperately. "It isn't proper!"
 
"What?" said both her parents together.
 
"He hasn't rescued me from a giant or an ogre or freed me from a magic spell," Cimorene said.
 
Both her parents looked uncomfortable. "Well, no," said Cimorene's father. "It's a bit late to start arranging it, but we might be able to manage something."
 
"I don't think it's necessary," Cimorene's mother said. She looked reprovingly at Cimorene. "You've never paid attention to what was or wasn't suitable before, dear; you can't start now. Proper or not, you will marry Prince Therandil three weeks from Thursday."
 
"But, Mother--"
 
"I'll send the wardrobe mistress to your room to start fitting your bride clothes," Cimorene's mother said firmly, and that was the end of the conversation.
 
***
 
Cimorene decided to try a more direct approach. She went to see Prince Therandil. He was in the castle armory, looking at swords. "Good morning, Princess," he said when he finally noticed Cimorene. "Don't you think this is a lovely sword?"
 
Cimorene picked it up. "The balance is off."
 
"I believe you're right," said Therandil after a moment's study. "Pity; now I'll have to find another. Is there something I can do for you?"
 
"Yes," said Cimorene. "You can not marry me."
 
"What?" Therandil looked confused.
 
"You don't really want to marry me, do you?" Cim­orene said coaxingly.
 
"Well, not exactly," Therandil replied. "I mean, in a way. That is--"
 
"Oh, good," Cimorene said, correctly interpreting this muddled reply as No, not at all. "Then you'll tell your father you don't want to marry me?"
 
"I couldn't do that!" Therandil said, shocked. "It wouldn't be right."
 
"Why not?" Cimorene demanded crossly.
 
"Because--because--well, because princes just don't do that!"
 
"Then how are you going to keep from marrying me?"
 
"I guess I won't be able to," Therandil said after thinking hard for a moment. "How do you like that sword over there? The one with the silver hilt?"
 
Cimorene left in disgust and went out to the castle garden. She was very discouraged. It looked as if she were going to marry the prince of Sathem-by-the-Mountains whether she wanted to or not.
 
"I'd rather be eaten by a dragon," she muttered.
 
"That can be arranged," said a voice from beside her left slipper.
 
Cimorene looked down and saw a small green frog looking up at her. "I beg your pardon. Did you speak?" she asked.
 
"You don't see anyone else around, do you?" said the frog.
 
"Oh!" said Cimorene. She had never met a talking frog before. "Are you an enchanted prince?" she asked a little doubtfully.
 
"No, but I've met a couple of them, and after a while you pick up a few things," said the frog. "Now, why is it that you want to be eaten by a dragon?"
 
"My parents want me to marry Prince Therandil," Cimorene explained.
 
"And you don't want to? Sensible of you," said the frog. "I don't like Therandil. He used to skip rocks across the top of my pond. They always sank into my living room."
 
"I'm sorry," Cimorene said politely.
 
"Well," said the frog, "what are you going to do about it?"
 
"Marrying Therandil? I don't know. I've tried talking to my parents, but they won't listen, and neither will Therandil."
 
"I didn't ask what you'd said about it," the frog snapped. "I asked what you're going to do. Nine times out of ten, talking is a way of avoiding doing things."
 
"What kinds of things would you suggest?" Cim­orene said, stung.
 
"You could challenge the prince to a duel," the frog suggested.
 
"He'd win," Cimorene said. "It's been four years since I've been allowed to do any fencing."
 
"You could turn him into a toad."
 
"I never got past invisibility in my magic lessons," Cimorene said. "Transformations are advanced study."
 
The frog looked at her disapprovingly. "Can't you do anything?"
 
"I can curtsy," Cimorene said disgustedly. "I know seventeen different country dances, nine ways to agree with an ambassador from Cathay without actually promising him anything, and one hundred and forty-three embroidery stitches. And I can make cherries jubilee."
 
"Cherries jubilee?" asked the frog, and snapped at a passing fly.
 
"The castle chef taught me, before Father made him stop," Cimorene explained.
 
The frog munched briefly, then swallowed and said, "I suppose there's no help for it. You'll have to run away."
 
"Run away?" Cimorene said. "I don't like that idea. Too many things could go wrong."
 
"You don't like the idea of marrying Prince Therandil, either," the frog pointed out.
 
"Maybe I can think of some other way out of getting married."
 
The frog snorted. "Such as?" Cimorene didn't answer, and after a moment the frog said, "I thought so. Do you want my advice or not?"
 
"Yes, please," said Cimorene. After all, she didn't have to follow it.
 
"Go to the main road outside the city and follow it away from the mountains," said the frog. "After a while, you will come to a small pavilion made of gold, surrounded by trees made of silver with emerald leaves. Go straight past it without stopping, and don't answer if anyone calls out to you from the pavilion. Keep on until you reach a hovel. Walk straight up to the door and knock three times, then snap your fingers and go inside. You'll find some people there who can help you out of your difficulties if you're polite about asking and they're in the right mood. And that's all."
 
The frog turned abruptly and dove into the pool. "Thank you very much," Cimorene called after it, thinking that the frog's advice sounded very odd indeed. She rose and went back into the castle.
 
***
 
She spent the rest of the day being fitted and fussed over by her ladies-in-waiting until she was ready to scream. By the end of the formal banquet, at which she had to sit next to Prince Therandil and listen to endless stories of his prowess in battle, Cimorene was more than ready to take the frog's advice.
 
Late that night, when most of the castle was asleep, Cimorene bundled up five clean handkerchiefs and her best crown. Then she dug out the notes she had taken during her magic lessons and carefully cast a spell of invisibility. It seemed to work, but she was still very watchful as she sneaked out of the castle. After all, it had been a long time since she had practiced.
 
By morning, Cimorene was well outside the city and visible again, walking down the main road that led away from the mountains. It was hot and dusty, and she began to wish she had brought a bottle of water instead of the handkerchiefs.
 
Just before noon, she spied a small grove of trees next to the road ahead of her. It looked like a cool, pleasant place to rest for a few minutes, and she hurried forward. When she reached the grove, however, she saw that the trees were made of the finest silver, and their shining green leaves were huge emeralds. In the center of the grove stood a charming pavilion made of gold and hung with gold curtains.
 
Cimorene slowed down and looked longingly at the cool green shade beneath the trees. Just then a woman's voice called out from the pavilion, "My dear, you look so tired and thirsty! Come and sit with me and share my luncheon."
 
The voice was so kind and coaxing that Cimorene took two steps toward the edge of the road before she remembered the frog's advice. Oh, no, she thought to herself, I'm not going to be caught this easily! She turned without saying anything and hurried on down the road.
 
A little farther on she came to a tiny, wretched-looking hovel made of cracked and weathered gray boards. The door hung slantwise on a broken hinge, and the whole building looked as though it were going to topple over at any moment. Cimorene stopped and stared doubtfully at it, but she had followed the frog's advice this far, and she thought it would be silly to stop now. So she shook the dust from her skirts and put on her crown (so as to make a good impression). She marched up to the door, knocked three times, and snapped her fingers just as the frog had told her. Then she pushed the door open and went in.