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At that point, something nasty was going to happen in spite of all my parents were doing to prevent it. Somehow or other, I was going to manage to stab myself. (Oswald was particularly fond of this word. Stab. It had such a healthy, gruesome sound.)
    The resulting wound didn't have to be very big. One bright drop of blood was all that was required to activate the spell(s).
    After which, I'd probably just fall right down on the spot. Saved from death, that much was true. But, in its place, condemned to the nap from hell. A hundred years is a long time to slumber.
    More than enough to give Oswald and his heirs time of their own.
    Time to consolidate their hold upon the kingdom that should, by rights, be mine when I awoke.
    And then of course there was a possibility that could not be dismissed, according to my cousin anyway, and that was that I might not wake up at all. Who in their right mind was going to want to kiss someone who'd been sleeping for a hundred years?
    Would I still be young? Or would I age as I slept and so grow old?
    Chantal's counterspell hadn't been very precise upon that point, even I had to admit.
    Not a very promising future for me, all in all.
    Which brings me to a second set of things I've always wondered: Did Oswald and Jane know each other? How much of what happened at my christening did my cousin know about ahead of time, even though he was just a boy?
    There is no proof they knew each other at all, of course. Or none except the way the certainty of it, the Tightness, seemed to ring in my heart like a great bronze bell.

    19

    Here is what I think happened: They met by accident, Jane and Oswald, in some musty little-used corridor. Or perhaps it was in Oswald's favorite hiding' place, the one that enabled him to overhear the most secrets. He simply turned around, and there she was. For it has always seemed to me that their magic was complementary. A perfect fit, like the way Oswald's hand looks in one of his immaculately tailored kid gloves.
    His great talent in those early days was for uncovering secrets. Hers, for being a secret in and of herself. What could be more natural than that they should discover one another? And that they would be drawn together having done so? It made no difference that he was young while she was grown. Kindred spirits are what they are. Their talent lies in recognizing their own true colors in another, and this recognition forms an unbreakable bond.
    Perhaps Cousin Jane did what she did for love of Oswald. Who can tell? Certainly not I. Or perhaps she simply saw a way to hurt my parents and at the same time benefit the only person in all those years to have seen her truly. Perhaps it is even the case that her motivations aren't really all that important in the long run. She did what she did, then left: the rest of us to deal with it.
    But there is no denying that the one who came out best was Oswald.
    I probably don't have to tell you that I did my best to stay away from him. Most of the time, it wasn't really all that hard. In the first place, he was much older than I was. Eight when I was born. A gap that pretty much guaranteed we'd never have much in common, even if we were fond of each other.
    Which we were not.
    But about the time I turned ten and Oswald turned eighteen, a funny thing happened. The only way I can describe it is that Oswald grew up. My best guess is that he simply awoke one morning and realized that things might be better for him if he was known as Prince Charming for a reason other than the current one.
    Not because he was so obviously not charming, but because he so obviously was.
    I think it was right around this time that my nurse began to tell me bedtime stories featuring the adventures of various leopards who tried to change their spots. Unsuccessfully, I hardly need add.

    20

    Oswald had better luck. So much better that, before too long, everyone at court forgot that his nickname had originally been a cruel joke. Now the nobles called him Prince