“No.” Emry sulked. “This spell is impossible!”

“Your father didn’t think so,” Master Ambrosius said. “Now focus and try again.”

Emry scowled at the poison, trying to concentrate. Once more, she fixed her attention on the tincture in the small glass vial.

“Edhwierft,” she whispered, willing the poison to reverse its deadly properties.

She felt the magic release, and watched the poison fizz. Carefully, she tipped a few drops onto a hapless snail, and waited.

The snail twitched and fell over.

“Ughhhh!” she groaned. “Why isn’t it working?”

“Have patience,” Master Ambrosius advised. “There’s no shame in encountering magic beyond your capabilities.”

“If it’s beyond my capabilities, then why did you assign it?” Emry grumbled, wondering if he was trying to teach her a lesson. She wouldn’t put it past him.

“I was curious if you could do it,” said Master Ambrosius. “I didn’t try your father on antidotes until his second year at the castle. And he struggled with it for weeks.”

“He did?” Emry said, feeling slightly better.

That wasn’t so bad, then.

“He did,” Master Ambrosius confirmed. “This spell is beyond me. It is beyond almost every wizard I have ever met. But I think, with time, it will work for you.”

He went to the bookshelves and took down a slim volume, sliding it onto the table in front of Emry. “How about we give those poor snails a break and try a hiccup-curing draught?”

Emry mumbled her agreement. Yet as she measured out the ingredients for a hiccup cure, her attention drifted back to the antidote she hadn’t been able to manage. It had been a long time since she’d been bested by a piece of magic, and she hated it.

Emry woke up early the next morning still annoyed about the poison antidote. Perhaps, she thought, she could sneak up to the wizard’s workshop a little early and practice before her lessons. As she got dressed in the pale gray dawn, she was distracted by some commotion down in the training yard.

She crossed to the window, wondering what was going on with the guard.

Arthur was out there, dressed in a pair of tight linen trousers and a close-fitting tunic. He had a bow and arrow raised, and appeared to have challenged his own guards to some target practice. His first arrow had hit the very edge of the bull’s-eye, hence the shouting.

Dakin, meanwhile, had landed his arrow high, missing the inner ring.

Emry watched in fascination. She’d never seen the prince shoot before, and was annoyed that he wasn’t half bad. Lance stood off to the side, looking smug. Arthur endured some good-natured backslapping after he hit the edge of the bull’s-eye a third time in a row, and said something that made the nearby guards double over with laughter.

He was such a maddening, infuriating boy.