“You are welcome, Elinore the Younger.”

She let go the door long enough to give him a curtsy; then she opened the door, and found herself in an empty stone room, where the only light was a great fireplace against the far wall.

She hesitated only a moment, then stepped through in her impractical dancing slippers. She closed the door firmly behind her, and faced the empty firelit room. Her moment of fear was past. She was calm again.

“Your nephew the ogre has sent me,” she said to the emptiness. “I await your test.”

“You sound very brave,” said a woman’s voice from the shadows.

Elinore swallowed hard again, and could not keep her pulse from racing, but she answered firm enough. She would die bravely for the song they would write about her. It would be a shame to have them write a laughing ballad like they had for the one princess who died screaming.

“I am not certain I am brave, but I am here for your test.” She peered into the shadows, trying to see the woman, or ogre, for there was no room for a giant.

There was a shape in the dimness, but it was not a woman’s shape. Elinore’s eyes could not make sense of it, at first; then the voice’s owner stepped into the firelight, and Elinore did scream. She clapped her hand over her mouth to hold in the sound, but never had she dreamt of anything like what stood before her. It was worth a scream, or two.