The Real Princess Returns

I tossed my spellbooks in the closet and spent a whole afternoon binge-watching sitcoms. For the first time, I felt a little lighter. Like maybe I wasn’t just failing for no reason. Sometimes that’s all you need.

Seeing I was down, my brother took off for a year and came back saying he’d found a good place for me. He was always chasing after solutions.

He left in a whirl of backpacks and promises, and when he finally showed up again, he was tanner, taller, and grinning like he’d won the lottery. I almost didn’t recognize him.

“How good?”

“Come on.” My brother dragged me along, flying over the waves. I opened my mouth and swallowed a bellyful of salty wind. As soon as we landed, I hugged a tree and threw up, dizzy from the ride! Never again.

He never did anything by halves. We soared above the churning surf, my hair whipping in my face, and when we landed on a pine-covered bluff, my legs went to jelly. I clung to the nearest tree, retching, while he laughed. Jerk.

My brother introduced me to someone, and only then did I realize he’d found a human mentor for me—a real old-school wizard type. I was kind of impressed.

The guy looked like he’d stepped out of a dusty old paperback—long beard, faded flannel, eyes that had seen a hundred storms. He gave me a once-over, then nodded like he already knew everything about me. Creepy, but reassuring.

“Since you’re human, maybe you can learn the human way,” my brother said, proud. He was practically glowing.

He puffed out his chest, clearly pleased with himself. “See? I think outside the box.” He was so proud I almost rolled my eyes.

Sounded logical!

The sea folk way didn’t suit me because I wasn’t one of them. My brother was actually pretty sharp! Sometimes he surprised me.

For once, it felt like someone actually got it. Maybe this was my shot. Maybe I could finally belong somewhere.

After setting everything up, my brother left.

He gave me a thumbs-up and disappeared, probably off to chase another adventure. I was on my own. Again. No pressure.

The human mentor looked like a storybook warlock, the kind you’d never dare cross. He had me practice with his apprentice, and when I looked—wow, he was seriously handsome! Like, unfairly so.

The apprentice had this messy hair and a crooked grin, and every time he caught me staring, he’d wink. I tried not to blush, but come on—who wouldn’t? It was hopeless.

I studied hard, and my senior classmate taught hard, too. He didn’t go easy on me, which I kind of respected.

We’d spend hours in the woods, practicing spells and laughing at my screw-ups. Sometimes we’d sneak down to the diner for milkshakes after a long day. It almost felt normal.

Time zipped by—three years gone in a flash.

Seasons changed, birthdays came and went. I grew taller, braver, maybe even a little wiser, though the magic still wouldn’t stick. No matter what I tried.

The good news: I could still recite every spell backward.

I was a walking encyclopedia of useless knowledge. My mentor said I had the memory of an elephant and the luck of a black cat. I’d take it as a compliment if I could.

The bad news: I still couldn’t use a single one.

Not a spark, not a fizz. The most I got was a headache and a sore throat from all the chanting. Useless, really.

The mentor frowned, checked me over, and declared: I didn’t have a core.

He poked and prodded, muttered under his breath, then sighed. “You’re missing the engine, kid.” Like, no battery included.

Seriously, what kind of cosmic mix-up am I?

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. It was like being handed a car with no keys. Or a bike with no wheels. Just a pretty shell.

He said he couldn’t teach me, told me to go home, and even refunded my brother’s tuition. “In the future, don’t say you trained at Mystic Pines.” Ouch.