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zem.”
    “Sneak?” So she was there, all those times I thought I saw her. But why?
    “Sit.” She gestures at a chair.
    I do, tripping over my own feet as I go, almost falling into her lap. “Sorry.”
    “It is all right.” She stares ahead, saying nothing, like she’s waiting.
    “The shoe, it’s okay?” I have no idea why I’m here.
    “Shoe?”
    “The one I repaired? I should have asked you for the other one, so I could polish both, so they’d be perfect. I could still.” I’m babbling. I’m babbling. Make me stop.
    She glances at me, then her shoes, and finally, it seems to dawn on her what I’m talking about. “Oh, oui. Ze shoe is lovely.” She lowers her voice. “Ze shoe, it was—’ow you say—a ruse.”
    “A ruse?” I whisper.
    “ Oui. A ruse. I broke ze strap in order to speak wiz you, and I pretend to be drunk so ze guards would not suspect my duplicity.”
    “You pretended to be drunk? But you reeked of mojito. ”
    “I had one, and I kept ze mint in my pocket to chew.”
    “But you were stumbling and acting, um . . .”
    “Crazy?” She rises and stumbles across the room in perfect imitation of a drunk. When she comes back around, she slumps against my chair. “Zis, I do all ze time.”
    “But why?”
    “Many reasons. For ze press, mostly, so zey will see me as harmless, someone to be ridiculed and never suspect ze turmoil in my country, ze turmoil”—she touches her chest—“in here.”
    “Wow.” Meg will freak when she hears this. “So . . . ?”
    “I needed to speak wiz you about a matter of ze utmost importance. I wished to see you”—she glances at the door—“alone.”
    She places finger to lips, then tiptoes to the door and pulls it open. A guard falls into the room. Victoriana barks several sentences to him in French. The guard retreats, and this time, Victoriana stands by the door until she’s sure he’s far away before pulling it shut.
    “What did you tell him?” I ask.
    “Zat if I catch him eavesdropping again, it would mean not only his job, but also his children would be kicked from ze Alorian soccer training team.”
    “Harsh.”
    “A princess needs her privacy.” She walks to the French doors. “Let us go out.”
    “Isn’t that dangerous?” I picture sharpshooters, waiting on the beach, or the Zapruder film of the Kennedy assassination we saw in history. “Couldn’t someone . . . ?” I mime a gun.
    Victoriana shakes her head. “ Non. Sadly, ze person who is ze greatest danger to me wants me very much alive.”
    I follow her out. The ocean roars, and seagulls’ cries surround us. Victoriana closes the balcony door. When she turns around, there are tears in her aquamarine eyes.
    “Please,” she whispers. “You must help me.”

Chapter 7
    The frog told her he had been enchanted by a wicked witch.
    —“The Frog Prince”
    “You want me to help you?”
    “Oui.”
    “Me?”
    “Oui.”
    “Me?”
    “Yes, you. You must stop saying zis.”
    “I’m sorry. It’s just . . . you’re a princess, and I’m . . . nobody.”
    She looks down at the shoe I’ve repaired, turning her foot to study it, her eyes shining. Below, the beachgoers are starting to come out. I’ve never seen them from so high. Their towels make the beach look like the patchwork quilt on Mom’s bed. When I look back, Victoriana’s still touching her shoe.
    “Your Majesty?” When she doesn’t look up, I say, “Princess?”
    “Victoriana. I have something important to say, so you must call me my name. And non.”
    “Non?”
    “No. You are not nobody. You are a hard worker, a good boy. I see you, always working. Zat is why I watch you, to see zat you are ze right boy to help me.” She sniffs.
    “Of course, I’ll help you. But how?” If she wasn’t a princess, I’d put my arm around her, do something to comfort her. But I don’t. Is it lonely to be so great that no one will touch you?
    She answers my unspoken question by grabbing my hand in