More importantly, could Sophie really make Tedros happy? Tedros might appear strong and swaggery, but deep inside he was gentle, lonely, and soft. How could Sophie know every part of him? How could she take care of him? The more Agatha tried to envision their Ever After, the more she had a sinking feeling, as if reliving an old story. As if she were Lancelot now, surrendering Tedros to Sophie, like the knight had once surrendered Guinevere to Arthur. What Good had come of that in the end?

As the days passed and Tedros didn’t return, each girl seemed to slip further into private doubts, speaking less and less to the other . . .

Then came Nellie Mae.

For the past six days, Agatha had been riding a horse named Benedict, which she’d chosen for his scrawny legs, rumpled black coat, and hacking cough.

“Goodness, Aggie, don’t you read storybooks?” Sophie said after Guinevere had opened the stable of riding horses that first day. “Black horses are untrainable, untamable, and mean. Besides, he sounds like he’s on death’s door. What in the world possessed you to pick him?”

“Reminded me of myself,” Agatha said, rubbing his neck and finding a handful of fleas.

Sophie, meanwhile, had chosen an elegant, chestnut-skinned Arabian mare named Nellie Mae, with a striking white tail.

“So much character in her eyes,” Sophie admired. “For all we know, she belonged to Scheherazade.”

“Schehere-who?”

“Oh Aggie, didn’t they teach you any princess history at that Good school?” Sophie said, mounting her horse. “Not every fairy-tale princess is creamy white with a small nose and a name like Buttercup or—”

Agatha didn’t hear the rest because Nellie Mae had bolted from the stables like a demon out of hell.

For the rest of the week, Sophie tried in vain to control her mare, which kicked and neighed and spat at her, only obeying Sophie if she strangled it by the reins . . . while Agatha calmly rode Benedict as if coasting down a river.

Still, day after day, Sophie refused to switch Nellie Mae, as if admitting her poor taste in horses would somehow invalidate all her life choices. But this morning, after Nellie Mae stomped on her toe, farted in her face, and spent a good deal of time walking in a circle, Sophie finally turned to Agatha. “She’s as difficult as me, isn’t she?”

Agatha snorted. “You’re worse.”

“What is it with me and foul-tempered animals?” Sophie mewled as Nellie Mae swayed back and forth, trying to fling her off. “Is this because I didn’t take Animal Communication?”

“Problem is you’re fighting it instead of trusting it,” said Agatha. “Sometimes there’s more to the story than you, Sophie. You can’t pick everything at first sight, just because it looks good, and then force it to be with you, like a handbag or a dress. Relationships are more complicated than that. You can’t control the story from both sides.”

“Wouldn’t you try to control your story if everyone told you your heart was Evil, when you know it isn’t? Wouldn’t you try to prove them wrong?” Sophie fought, gripping the reins. “I have a Good heart, just like you, and I trust what it chooses for me. I have to. Because if I don’t, what do I have left?”