The Princess And The Frog -

She placed her hands on the ruby. She closed her eyes. And she did not wish for a prince. She did not wish for a kingdom. She wished for what she had always wanted: For a true partner. Someone who loved the whir of gears and the scent of rain-soaked earth. Someone who saw the world as a problem to be solved, not a prize to be won.

“You didn’t break the curse,” Caspian said, his voice no longer a croak. “You rewrote it.” The Princess And The Frog

Elara, who had read the old tales, raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. I kiss you, you turn into a prince, and we live happily ever after?” She placed her hands on the ruby

Panic seized the court. But Elara did not panic. She looked at the frog on her shoulder. She did not wish for a kingdom

“Your Highness,” the frog croaked, his voice surprisingly deep and weary. “I am not what I seem. I am Prince Caspian of the Silverwood, turned into this form by a spiteful swamp witch. The only cure… is to be granted a single, heartfelt wish by a princess. Will you help me?”

The frog’s tiny eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

When it faded, the frog was gone. Standing in the cage, blinking in confusion, was a young man with dark, clever eyes and hands stained with ink and soil—the marks of a natural philosopher. He was no shining, armor-clad prince. He looked like someone who had just crawled out of a bog and was terribly sorry about it.