The Frog Princess Read online

  PRAISE FOR

  THE FROG

  PRINCESS

  "An amusing fairy-tale adventure that takes the frog-turned-prince story a Little further."

  —SCHOOL LIBRARY JOURNAL

  "Adventures abound when the frog prince and, princess hop their way through the swamp."

  —VOYA

  "Comical scenes and witty dialogue."

  —OHIO LIBRARY MEDIA CONNECTION

  "Not only is this a clever and amusing twist on the

  old story, it's well-told, energetic and lively.

  Emma's headstrong and independent and occasionally

  quarrelsome,... and Eadric's the perfect foil for her

  attitude and stubbornness. Together, they're an

  entertaining pair on a bizarre quest."

  —CHRONICLE magazine

  Books by E.D. Baker

  THE TALES OF THE FROG PRINCESS:

  THE FROG PRINCESS

  DRAGON'S BREATH

  ONCE UPON A CURSE

  NO PLACE FOR MAGIC

  THE SALAMANDER SPELL

  THE FROG

  Princess

  Book One in

  the Tales of the Frog Princess

  E. D. BAKER

  Copyright © 2002 by E. D. Baker

  First published by Bloomsbury U.S.A. Children's Books in 2002

  Paperback edition published in 2004

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used

  or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written

  permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief

  quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Published by Bloomsbury U.S.A. Children's Books

  175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010

  Distributed to the trade by Holtzbrinck Publishers

  The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition

  as follows:

  Baker, E. D.

  The frog princess / E. D. Baker,

  p. cm.

  Summary: After reluctantly kissing a frog, an awkward,

  fourteen-year-old princess suddenly finds herself a frog, too,

  and sets off with the prince to seek the means—and

  the self-confidence—to become human again.

  eISBN: 978-1-59990-398-9

  [1. Fairy tales. 2. Frogs—Fiction. 3. Princesses—Fiction.

  4. Princes—Fiction. 5. Witches—Fiction. 6. Humorous stories.] I. Title.

  PZ8.B173Fr2oo2 [Fic]—dc21 2002074506

  * * *

  Typeset, by Dorchester Typesetting Group Ltd.

  Printed in the U.S.A. by Quebecor World Fairfield

  12 14 16 18 20 19 17 15 13

  All papers used by Bloomsbury U.S.A. are natural, recyclable

  products made from wood grown in well-managed forests. The

  manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations

  of the country of origin.

  This book is dedicated to Ellie, Kimmy, and Nate

  for their encouragement and support.

  I would also like to thank Victoria Wells Arms,

  Nancy Denton, and Rebecca Gardner

  for their comments and suggestions.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  One

  Even as a little girl, I had thought that the swamp was a magical place where new lives began and old ones ended, where enemies and heroes weren't always what one expected, and where anything could happen, even to a clumsy princess. Although I'd believed this for most of my life, I had no proof until Prince Jorge came to visit and I met the frog of my dreams.

  I had gone to the swamp to avoid the prince, a favorite of my mother's but never of mine. My escape hadn't been planned, yet the moment I heard that Jorge was coming, I knew I couldn't stay. Normally, few people in the castle ever seemed to notice me, so it was easy to sneak away undetected and flee to the swamp. It was only after I was secure in my escape that I began to worry about how my mother would react. I could almost see the disdain in her eyes as she gave me her usual speech about the proper behavior of a princess. Although I saw her as infrequently as we both could manage, I'd long since grown accustomed to that look.

  Thinking more about my mother than I was about my surroundings, I almost stepped on a snake that had slithered onto the path from the tall grass. I shrieked and jumped back, catching my heel on the root of an old willow tree. With my arms flung wide, I tried to keep my balance, but my long, heavy skirts and usual clumsiness overwhelmed me and I landed hard on the rain-soaked earth. Grasshoppers exploded up from the ground as I floundered about, struggling to get to my feet, my gown soaking in the pungent odor of the swamp. Unfortunately, being born a princess doesn't automatically make a girl graceful or confident, a fact I've lamented for most of my fourteen years.

  When I'd finally gathered my skirts and pushed myself off the ground, the snake had disappeared into the tall swamp grass. I edged away, searching for something that I could use to defend myself should the snake reappear.

  "Thanks a lot!" said a throaty voice.

  I looked around, but there was no one in sight. "Who said that?" I asked. Aside from my aunt Grassina, I was the only one from the castle who ever visited the swamp.

  "It's me, over here. You aren't very observant, are you?"

  I turned toward the voice and looked high and low, but all I could see was the pond, its murky water partially rimmed with a halo of algae, and a stand of cattails at the far end. Aside from the dragonflies, mosquitoes, and water striders, the only other living creature was a frog glaring at me from the edge of the pond. I jumped when he spoke again, although it wasn't so much his words that surprised me as seeing his lips move. I'm used to magic, for my aunt Grassina is a witch, but no animal had ever spoken to me before.

  "I was going to eat those grasshoppers for lunch, but because of you I'll never catch them now!" The frog scowled, shaking his webbed finger in my direction. "A big, galumphing girl like you should be more careful where she puts her feet!"

  "I'm sorry," I said, offended. "I didn't mean to. It was an accident."

  "Hah!" said the frog. "Apologies won't bring back my lunch! But then, it wouldn't matter to you, would it? I bet you've never gone hungry a day in your life!"

  The frog annoyed me. It was enough that I had to watch my tongue around my mother. I wasn't about to do it around a frog as well. "For your information," I said, frowning at the little creature, "I haven't eaten a thing all day. My mother invited Prince Jorge to visit and I left home before he arrived. I couldn't bear the thought of spending an entire day with him."

  "What is wrong with you?" demanded the frog, curling his lip. "Missing a meal because you don't like some one! You would never catch me doing that! I know Jorge and even he isn't..." The frog blinked and his eyes opened wide. He leaned closer, scrutinizing me from head to toe as if seeing me for the first time. "Wait a minute ... If your mother invited a prince to visit, does that mean that you're a princess?"

  "Maybe," I said.

  The frog grinned from eardrum to eardrum. Straightening his smooth green shoulders, he bowed from where his waist would have been if he'd had one. "I do apologize, Your Highness! If I had realized that you were
such an exalted personage, I would never have made such churlish comments."

  I groaned and rolled my eyes. "Give me a break. I hate it when people talk that way. I liked you better before you knew I was a princess."

  "Ah-hah!" said the frog. He hopped toward me, his eyes never leaving my face. "I'm delighted to hear that you like me! In that case, would you be so kind as to do me the eensy-weensiest little favor?"

  "And what might that be?" I asked, regretting my question even before the words were out of my mouth.

  "Would you do me the honor of giving me a kiss?"

  I couldn't help but laugh. I guffawed, I chortled, I wheezed. I laughed like I always do. Startled blackbirds took to the air as if hurled from a little boy's slingshot. A turtle basking in the sun scuttled off his rock and plopped into the water. The frog stared at me through narrowed eyes. "Are you sure you're a princess? You don't laugh like one."

  "I know," I said, wiping away tears. "My mother tells me that all the time. According to her, a princess's laughter should sound like the tinkling of a bell, not the bray of a donkey. I've told her that I can't help it. My laugh is not something I can control, not if it's sincere. I don't think about it. It just happens."

  "Whatever you say," said the frog. "So how about that kiss?" Puckering his lips, he rose up on his toes and raised his face in my direction.

  I shook my head. "Sorry, I'm not interested in kissing a frog."

  "I've been told that kissing a frog is good for the complexion," he said, sidling toward me.

  "I doubt it. Anyway, my complexion is fine."

  "What about the old saying, kissing a frog would bring you luck?"

  "I've never heard that saying. It can't be too old. I think you just made it up. All kissing a frog would bring me is slimy lips." I shuddered and backed away. "The answer is no, so quit asking!"

  The frog sighed and scratched the side of his head with his toe. "Maybe you would feel otherwise if you knew that I was a prince turned into a frog by an evil witch. I had the misfortune to criticize her fashion sense. She didn't take kindly to my comments."

  "What does that have to do with a kiss?"

  "If I can get a princess to kiss me, I'll turn back into a prince!"

  "That's not very flattering to me, now, is it? All you need is a kiss from any old princess. A girl likes to think that her very first kiss will be something special. Well, I'm not going to kiss you! I have no idea where you've been. I could catch some awful disease. Besides, considering what you must eat, I bet you have awful breath."

  "Well!" said the frog. He drew himself up to his full froggy height. "Now you're being rude. I simply asked you for the courtesy of a small favor and instead you insult me."

  "That was a big favor and you know it. I kiss only people I like, and I just met you!"

  "But this is important. It's a matter of life or frog-hood!"

  "I'm sorry. I'm not in the habit of kissing strangers, regardless of their species. Can't you get someone else to kiss you? There must be another princess you could ask. Someone petite who doesn't trip over her own feet." Although I wasn't about to admit it to the frog, his comment about my size still rankled. I had heard the same kind of remark from my mother many times, but it never stopped bothering me.

  "Sure! I'll ask one of the hundreds of other princesses who are hanging around the swamp, begging to be kissed!"

  I'd had enough. Gathering my skirts in one hand, I turned to go. "If that's the way you're going to be, I'm leaving. I left the castle today so I wouldn't have to visit with an obnoxious prince. Now here I am, talking to an obnoxious frog who says he's a prince."

  "No! Wait! Come back!" called the frog. "You can't go now! This is an emergency! Where's your compassion? Where's your sympathy? Where's my kiss?"

  I stopped at the edge of the path and tried to speak in a calm voice. It wasn't easy, and I'm afraid my words came out sounding short and sharp. "I don't care if it's the end of the world as we know it," I said between gritted teeth. "I have better things to do with my time than listen to unreasonable requests from a frog. Good day, Frog."

  The last thing I saw before I turned to leave was the hopeless look in the frog's eyes. It was the look of someone in terrible trouble. It was a look that would haunt me for the rest of the day.

  Two

  I spent the rest of the afternoon visiting my favorite places in the swamp. Following hidden pathways, I skirted the treacherous, boggy ground until I reached solid footing. After searching the thicket where I'd stumbled across twin fawns earlier that spring, I lounged by the deep pool that mirrored the drifting, puffball clouds. As the day grew warmer, I took off my shoes and stockings and waded through a shallow stream to a tiny island whose smooth, water-tumbled pebbles felt good under my bare feet.

  It was late by the time I returned to the castle. Rather than going straight to my bedchamber, I climbed the long, narrow tower steps to my aunt Grassina's apartments. The Green Witch, as she is called, is my mother's sister and has lived in the castle since before I was born. She has taught me more than anyone else ever has, and not just about how to be a princess. And unlike the rest of my family, she doesn't criticize me at every opportunity.

  Reaching the top of the stairs, I knocked softly on the door and waited for her to answer. Somehow, she always knew who was knocking. She'd told me how useful a skill that was, because she wouldn't have to answer the door if it were someone she didn't want to see. After only a few seconds the door flew open, but instead of my aunt's familiar features I saw a yellow duckling drop a gnawed stick and rush out of the room to snap at my ankles.

  "Come back here, Bowser!" my aunt called from inside the room. "I'm not finished with you yet!"

  The duckling darted back and forth, quacking loudly as it herded me over the threshold.

  "Shut the door, Emeralda!" shouted my aunt from her seat by her workbench. "That stupid dog won't hold still long enough for me to finish the spell!"

  "This is Bowser?" I asked, trying to fend off the ball of fluff that was viciously attacking the toe of my shoe. "Father won't be happy that you turned his favorite hound into a duck."

  "Duck, dog, what's the difference? Bowser will be his miserable self again faster than you can say the Greek alphabet backward. Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Here, sprinkle some of this on him while I find the spell again."

  "What, me? I can't!" I backed away from her outstretched hand. "I'll make a mess of it! Remember that time with the crab apple dumplings?" After I used that spell to make them, they grew claws and ran away. It took us weeks to find the crabby little things, and by then they were stale and their claws had pinched us black and blue.

  "Phooey," said Aunt Grassina. "Everybody makes mistakes."

  "But not the kind I make! I used that cleaning spell you told me about nearly four months ago and it's still as strong as ever! Every time I drop anything on the floor in my chamber, a little breeze whisks it away and dumps it on the dung heap behind the stables. You wouldn't believe how many stockings and hairpins I've lost that way! I can't do magic anymore. I just make things worse when I do."

  "How do you ever think you'll learn to be a witch if you don't try?"

  "I don't want to be a witch!" I said for the hundredth time. "I know you think I should, but I'd be terrible at it. If I could mess up such simple cooking and cleaning spells, imagine what I could do with something really important. We could all end up with three left feet or stuck head-down in some desert!"

  "Oh, Emma! Of course you want to be a witch! You just don't know it yet. Give yourself some time and a little more practice. I'm sure you'll be very good at it once you decide to apply yourself. Now, where is that parchment? I know I put it around here somewhere."

  I left my aunt shuffling through a stack of old, musty parchments and headed toward my favorite chair in front of the fireplace. The truth was, I used to dream about being a witch like Grassina, but to try so hard for so long and never have anything go quite right ... I slumped into the chai
r and closed my eyes, letting my bad day melt away in the peace of Grassina's room.

  The difference between my aunt's room and the rest of the castle was wonderful. Whereas the castle itself was cold and damp and generally gloomy, Grassina's room was warm and inviting. A small fire always burned behind the decorated iron grate, heating the entire room, yet never needing new logs. Gleaming balls of witches' light bumped against the ceiling, bathing the whitewashed walls and brightly colored tapestries with a rosy glow. The cold stone floors were covered with thick, woven rugs of various shades of green, giving it the appearance of a forest floor dappled with sunlight. Sometimes the room smelled of freshly crushed mint leaves, or pine boughs like the ones used to decorate the Great Hall during the winter celebrations, or sun-warmed clover on a summer's day.

  Two chairs cushioned for comfort and separated by a small table waited in front of the hearth. A fragrant bouquet of crystalline flowers bloomed in an etched bowl atop the table. A gift from the fairies, the bouquet was the home to glass butterflies whose delicate wings clicked softly as they flitted from one blossom to another. I'd spent many hours curled up in one of the chairs while my aunt occupied the other, regaling me with stories of far-off lands and times long ago.

  There were many wonders to be found in my aunt's room. One of her tapestries depicted a miniature town in perfect detail with a lion and a unicorn fighting each other in the streets. Once, when I touched the lion with my fingertip, it bit me, taking a small sliver of skin from my finger. I howled as tears streamed down my face. My mother cuffed me for lying, but Grassina winked and wrapped my wound in spider's silk.

  A sea witch named Coral had given Grassina a large bowl filled with salt water and the tiny replica of a castle, spires and all. The castle was perfect in every detail, and occasionally I'd see schools of miniature fish swimming by.