The Perfectly Proper Prince by Suzanne Williams

1
Princess Lysandra
    â€œO UCH !” P RINCESS L YSANDRA THREW DOWN her embroidery and sucked at her finger. “I hate sewing!” she said crossly. “My needle is always pricking me.”
    Princess Gabriella, Lysandra’s older sister, looked up from her own stitching and frowned. “Practice makes perfect.”
    â€œBut sewing’s not something I want to be perfect at,” Lysandra grumbled. “Why can’t Ilearn to use a sword, like Cousin Owen?” Her cousin had begun fencing lessons a year ago when he turned ten, the same age Lysandra was now.
    Brushing back her golden locks, Gabriella sighed. “You know the reason. Princesses have no need for swords.”
    â€œAnd no need for husbands either, right?” Lysandra said, slyly changing the subject.
    Gabriella blushed. “That’s not true. I’d marryin a minute if the right prince came along.”

    â€œWhat was wrong with the last one?”
    â€œPrince Hubert?” Gabriella sniffed. “He had the table manners of a pig. He rooted around in his food and mixed his peas with his mashed potatoes. He chewed with his mouth open and picked his teeth with his knife.”
    â€œSo what’s wrong with that?” Most of the men in the kingdom chewed with their mouths open and picked their teeth with their knives. And as for mixing peas in mashed potatoes, Lysandra thought they tasted better that way.
    â€œâ€˜Good manners reveal a fine mind; bad manners, a poor one,’” recited Gabriella.
    That saying, Lysandra knew, came from Gabriella’s favorite book: Courtly Manners and Duties. Gabriella had studied the book so much the binding was falling apart.
    Lysandra picked up her sewing again.“What about Prince Lowell?” It had been three years since he’d visited the castle, but Lysandra still remembered his elegant mustache.
    â€œ His table manners were perfect,” Gabriella said with a sigh, “but he sang like a crow and couldn’t dance three steps without tripping over his feet or, worse, mine.”
    Lysandra struggled to untangle her thread. She could live without dancing if she could learn to use a sword. Gabriella was just too picky. She’d come close to marrying once, but that was years ago, when Lysandra was only a baby. Though she wondered what had happened to break off that engagement, she never asked. Gabriella was touchy about her love life. It seemed no man would ever be perfect enough to suit her. And at twenty-five she was almost too old to wed; most princesses were married by the age of sixteen.
    Lysandra stabbed at her embroidery, piercingher finger again. “A plague upon this needle!” she yelled.
    Gabriella lifted a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Princesses do not swear.”
    Lysandra pressed her lips together to keep from saying worse. Once she’d read about a princess who pricked her finger on a spindle and fell asleep for a hundred years. That didn’t sound so bad—especially if it meant a hundred years without sewing.
    To Lysandra’s relief, the trumpets blew, announcing the beginning of the midday rest period. With a small yawn, Gabriella set down her embroidery and rose from her red velvet chair. “Come along,” she said to Lysandra. “Time for our naps.”
    After leaving the Sewing Chamber, the two princesses made their way down a short corridor to the bedchamber they shared. Lysandra would’ve preferred a separate room,but Gabriella liked having company. That’s what she said, anyway. What Gabriella really liked, Lysandra suspected, was having someone around to nag. Nevertheless, to spare Gabriella’s feelings, Lysandra kept on rooming with her.
    When they reached their room, a chambermaid was waiting to help the two princesses out of their gowns. Before climbing into bed, Lysandra checked to make sure the magic purse she always wore around her neck was still there. A gift from her father,