Camelot, Agatha panicked, shielding her eyes.

I’m in Camelot.

She squinted into the fiery glow—

A fat face shoved into it, splotched with rouge and emanating bacon breath.

“I ate your breakfast and there ain’t no more, so don’t bother asking,” Cinderella spat and trundled away.

Agatha jolted to her knees to see she was back at League Headquarters, the burnt-red glare coming from a sliver of sunrise through the cave hole. The muggy, dusty den was a hive of activity, with all thirteen League members packing up and stripping the cave bare, readying for a company move. On one side, Hansel and Gretel were magically storing furniture in Merlin’s hat, Peter Pan and Tinkerbell were stuffing a dozen satchels with snacks and tins of water, and Pinocchio and Red Riding Hood were scrubbing the last of the breakfast plates clean. On the other side, Yuba studied a spread of open storybooks, Princess Uma and the White Rabbit swept up scraps of black satin scattered on the floor, and Jack and Briar Rose pretended to be working while huddling over a notebook, finalizing their wedding guest list.

Amidst all this chaos, Hort lingered in front of the moth-eaten curtain shrouding the far cave wall. He was eerily still, biceps folded over his chest, as if standing guard over something. He met Agatha’s gaze for just a moment, then narrowed his eyes coolly and glanced away.

Meanwhile, near Cinderella’s mirror, Merlin was having an intense conversation with Tedros, who looked clean in taut white breeches and a cerulean shirt, the laces open down his smooth, bronzed chest, marred by a long scar near the heart. Agatha noticed Excalibur sheathed at the prince’s waist, while Sophie was nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” said Agatha, approaching the prince.

Tedros turned, his stare brilliant and blank. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

Agatha gaped at him.

“I’m Tedros of Camelot, Heir to Arthur Pendragon, Guardian of Good, and Eligible Bachelor, seeking my future queen.” He extended his hand. “And you would be . . .”

Agatha didn’t take his hand. “Bachelor?”

“You wanted a ‘New Beginning,’ remember,” Tedros joked, irritated she wasn’t playing along.

Agatha felt sick, the events of last night flooding back. Her prince had thought she was in on the lie to pretend to question their happy ending . . . when deep down, Agatha knew they should be questioning it. She didn’t want to be a queen. She wanted an ordinary life, away from the spotlight and people judging her and the pressures of having to look and act a certain way. That’s all she’d ever wanted since she was a child in Gavaldon, condemned by its people as a “witch” and a “freak.” Besides, who was she kidding? She couldn’t be queen of a potato sack, let alone King Arthur’s Camelot! Not without disappointing its people, who deserved a real queen who would restore the kingdom to glory. Not without disappointing its new king most of all.