Leontodon's shoes squished in the mud, brown leather becoming caked with brown ooze as she walked toward the creek. Her sister, Virana, stood in a clump of rushes ahead and brandished a forked stick. "Come on, Leona!" she shouted. "We're going frog gigging!"

Leontodon wished she could be more like her--brave and adventurous, running through the woods without any self-regard. For what it was worth, neither of them had to clean their own boots. Their family knew a weaver with a dirt-destroying spell.

"Get a stick!" Virana exclaimed, shoving a length of beech wood into her hands. "Look, this is how you do it!" She stuck her own stick into the mud and twisted, and when it came out, a large green frog was stuck to the end, half-impaled.

"That's so gross." Leontodon's face curled over in disgust, both from the slimy, mucky nature of the frog and the pain it was clearly in. "Why would you do that?"

Virana grinned, a wide and mischievous smile spreading from cheek to cheek. "Because all frogs are princes, and if you kiss them, then you get to be a princess. You do want to be a princess, don't you?"

She did. She had grown up hearing stories of the magical and political world of Centerpoint City and of the people living there. Once she had seen Daja Acheron, the senior songlord's niece, come through town wearing a dress made of sparkling rose gold. Daja was only a few years younger than Leontodon herself. On that day, she had wished for a dress like that, but dreams didn't grow in Windpeak.

"Kiss the frog, Leona."

Worth a shot, she thought. Embarrassingly, she did kiss the frog. And it was not, in fact, a prince.