The Great Troll War

Princess Tabathini took a deep breath.

‘Being a princess,’ she said, ‘is not simply about external beauty, deportment, grace, accessories, tiaras, footmen, castles and so forth, it’s what’s inside. An impostor could look like the real thing, take on all the trappings and even appropriate a castle and staff, but they could never truly be royalty, for the haughty dismissiveness and deep sense of entitlement to an empty life of conspicuous wealth and luxury – the very soul of a princess – can never be learned.’

The other princesses met this with a ripple of applause, and one or two even sniffed into their handkerchiefs.

‘We need a test that only a true princess could pass,’ continued Tabathini, ‘and this is it: the real Princess Shazine Snodd won the Pan-UnUnited Kingdoms Pout-Off three years running.’

There was a murmur from the crowd. It was true. Princess Shazine had stood head and shoulders above the most spoiled and indulged girls in the Kingdoms, and her level of obnoxious indifference to anyone but herself was envied far and wide. Tiger leaned towards me and whispered:

‘I thought she was going to suggest mattresses and a pea.’

‘So did I,’ I whispered back.

‘If you are the rightful heir to the Kingdom of Snodd,’ said Princess Tabathini, staring at the Princess, ‘you’d better show us that winning pout.’

The Princess looked at them all in turn, and they stared back at her. It was, in actual fact, a terrific test. Princessy pouts are rare and terrifying things, and exist solely as a way of instantly bending others to your will. They can take years to perfect, are often handed down mother to daughter, and the finest even have names.

‘Hmm,’ said the Princess thoughtfully, ‘so you want to see “El Carisma”,52 do you?’

‘If you can,’ said Princess Jocaminca. I don’t think she’d ever really forgiven the Princess for taking over when we arrived.

‘Yes,’ said the Queen, betting the farm on this, ‘give it your best shot – servant girl.’

The Princess looked at me, a sudden sense of doubt etched on her features. If she couldn’t prove that she was a princess, then everything we had fought for was gone. She leaned towards me and lowered her voice.

‘Get ready to make a run for it if I can’t pull this off,’ she said. ‘Trouble is, I’ve never tried “El Carisma” with this face and I’m not sure it has the muscle tone for it.’

‘An obnoxious pout that withers all it falls upon comes from within,’ I whispered in her ear reassuringly. ‘A sense of royal bearing, an utter contempt for and indifference to anything but your own precious ego. You were that princess once – you can be her again.’

She nodded, took a deep breath, turned to the princesses and the King and the Queen and gave them the full El Carisma.

The room fell instantly silent.

I was beside her so only got a profile, but even then I felt it – a sense of chilling social inferiority, as though I’d wandered into a drawing room full of duchesses with my underwear on my head. The assembled princesses felt it too and they instinctively bowed their heads in obedience. Somewhere a dog barked, several courtiers ran off to hide and Princess Tabathini started sobbing quietly to herself. Three waiting staff at the back of the lobby who were accidentally looking in our direction both hurriedly left the room backwards, bowing as they went, and even the usurper Queen went pale and started trembling uncontrollably.

Jocaminca was the first to react in the empty silence that followed, and knelt in front of the Princess.

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ she said, ‘I did not know what I was doing.’

‘I think you probably did,’ said the Princess, ‘but no matter. You are forgiven.’

The rest of the princesses started to kneel, and it moved like a wave around the room. Even Sir Matt’s retinue kneeled before her, and that included the wiry one with the wide-set eyes, and the shabby curate with the ill-fitting hat.

‘This is despicable,’ said Sir Matt, rising from the throne. ‘Guards, arrest that impostor and have her executed on the steps outside, then hung in one of those metal cagey things as a lesson to—’

‘Hush,’ said the Princess. ‘Your days of ordering people around are over. Minister for Justice?’

The man with the oversized wig obsequiously moved forward, bowing so much that he was soon on his knees. By the time he reached her it had devolved into a fawning grovel.

‘Yes, Your Majesty? Would you like me to have these two charlatans executed? We could conduct a trial if you want, but I think the verdict is pretty much foregone.’