The Queen and King, in their wisdom, saw fit to give each of their children the chance to prove themselves worthy of the throne. Each of the seven was given the governance of a town, and at the end of three years, whichever had governed with the gentlest hand, and the most perceptive eye, and the fairest rule would be the chosen heir.

“And we got the seventh prince.”

“But he was bad!”

“And whenever someone went to him for help, he gave them terrible advice.”

“Like what?”

“Well, when two farmers were arguing about who owned a foal, the prince told them to cut it into two pieces, right down the middle.”

Giggles cut through the peaceful spring afternoon, accompanied by the splash of bare feet in the fountain basin. Petra set down his handful of moss and listened with one ear to make sure neither child had fallen in. But as the splashing subsided and the conversation rekindled, he relaxed and resumed his work.

“What else did he do?”

“One of the farmers wanted to know what to do about the weeds destroying her crops, and the prince told her to ask for help from someone else.”

And so it went, and so Petra pretended not to listen. He folded thick, viridian moss into the basket in his lap, careful of the sharp edges of the basket’s wire frame. Gloves would, of course, have protected his hands, but they made him clumsy, too, and so Petra worked bare-handed, the moss soft as fleece against his fingertips.

First the moss, then the soil: pockets of earth added together with the flowering seedlings carefully pressed through the moss and artistic tangle of wire. Most were marigolds, their first golden petals tinted scarlet, but Petra liked the alyssum best: handfuls of tiny white and pale blue flowers that smelled like honey.

“But one night, during one of his parties, a poor beggar knocked on his door and asked to be let in. The prince called her old and ugly and turned her away – but she was a witch. So she cursed him forever and ever and ever to be as beastly on the outside as he is on the inside.”

Ageratum, too, would have been a natural choice, given how profuse they were with their downy lilac flowers, but most of the town asked for red and gold and white – the royal colors. The youngest prince may have failed them, but still they kept their trust in the rest of the family.

“And the next thing anyone knew, all the guests and all the household were outside. Anyone who tried to go back in to the manor to get out of the rain couldn’t take more than three steps over the threshold.