“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?”