Princess Donna -

“The court tinkerer is sixty-seven and afraid of heights,” Donna replied, already halfway up the gilded ladder. “Besides, a princess should know how her own castle works.”

Donna read the letter three times. Then she laughed—that loud, uncontainable laugh—and ran to the armory for a pair of leather gloves.

Word of Princess Donna’s talent spread, but not in the way she hoped. Prince Aldric of Thornwood, a solemn young man with a polished sword and an emptier smile, heard the story and misinterpreted it entirely. He saw a princess who cared —cared about a flickering candle, cared about a broken gear. He decided she would care for his crumbling, melancholy castle, his sullen court, and his own wounded heart. princess donna

“And you’re greasier than I expected,” said Donna, nodding at the smear of pitch on Kaelen’s cheek.

“I can’t stay forever,” Donna said. “Veravalle needs its princess.” “The court tinkerer is sixty-seven and afraid of

Princess Donna, the northern suspension bridge across the Serpentine Gorge has snapped its main load cable. My team can replace it, but the counterweight mechanism—your design from the Veravalle grain elevator plans—is jammed. If it’s not freed before the spring melt, three villages will be stranded. I need hands that understand tension, not titles.

Donna laughed. “Titles are just labels on a jar. The question is whether the honey inside is any good.” Word of Princess Donna’s talent spread, but not

“What did you expect?”