Author’s note: The green-ringed toadstools mentioned in this chapter with their particular properties were introduced by Michael Anthony Steele in his book Open Centipede! (Shrek Tales #3).

Shrek never did attempt to find Donkey. For some reason she couldn’t quite grasp, Fiona was not surprised.

Once back in the shop, the princess muttered some half-hearted apology which she didn’t quite remember to Edwina and Carçon. Fiona’s mind overflowed with too many confusing thoughts, her feelings were overwhelmed by too many conflicting emotions, to really care anymore. She felt drained and lethargic, and the shop with its fixation on shallow outward appearances now seemed especially trite and banal after her encounters in the alleys. She ignored Carçon’s silently reproachful gaze and placidly followed his directions as he examined her now dirty and ripped dress. "Don’t worry, sweetie," he’d said, as if it mattered to her. "I can fix this. The Fairy Godmother’s not the only miracle worker in this town!" Shortly thereafter he produced a measuring tape and began taking her dimensions. As he knelt before her and wrapped the tape around her waist he shook his head and made a little ‘tsk tsk’ sound; this sorely tempted Fiona to knee him in the nose. She managed to restrain herself. Still, it was the most emotion she could muster. Aside from that, and the dull throb that had returned to the back of her skull where she had been struck, she felt numb.

Shrek, however, seemed to have no problems resuming his business here. He posed and preened in front of a mirror as Edwina fussed and bothered, tugging at sleeves and straightening lapels as he tried on an array of chic outfits. Fiona glanced in their direction every so often and sighed resignedly.

After an hour or so they were finally finished. Shrek had eventually decided to don the outfit that he had been wearing in the alley for the ball that night, but he also ordered a dozen more for future occasions. Edwin gladly took that order and promised that his white and gold outfit and Fiona’s sequined dress would be adjusted and delivered to the castle in time for the ball. In the meantime, the royal pair resumed the clothes they had been wearing when they had arrived, and then re-boarded their carriage for the return trip to the castle.

There were fewer people now, most having tired of waiting for the couple to exit the shop. Still, there were enough subjects along to the road for Shrek to smile and wave, especially if the subjects were female. Fiona, however, was having difficulty getting worked up about that. Her thoughts were elsewhere. She rested her chin on the palm of one hand, the elbow of that arm propped along her side of the carriage. Her face took on a somewhat dreamy expression as her mind wandered back to the alley, the dramatic arrival of the dark-haired stranger, his heroic rescue of her, and the way he had looked at her afterwards. She realized it was not the healthiest subject to dwell upon, but she found she couldn’t help herself. She both dreaded and hoped that she would catch yet another glimpse of him along the side of the road, but to her relief and disappointment she did not.

As they neared the gates of the castle Fiona finally pulled her thoughts away from the stranger and looked over at Shrek. He was giving yet another wave and wink to another trio of tittering young women along the side of the road, who hid their faces in mock shyness at his attentions.

"You’re really getting into this, aren’t you?" Fiona couldn’t keep from asking.

"What’s that, dear?" Shrek asked, turning his attention to her with some effort.

"The crowd and the waving and all that," she replied. "You really seem to be … digging on it, as Donkey would say."

He stared at her for a moment, apparently taken somewhat aback by the trace of bitterness in her voice. "Is that wrong?" he asked.

Fiona sighed. "No, not wrong," she said. "It’s just not … you."

"Well, darling," Shrek said, a bit flustered, "I realize I may seem a little … different … but really, inside it’s still me. But it wouldn’t do for me to ignore all my – er, our – I mean, your subjects, would it? Like it or not, you are the heir apparent to the crown, are you not? And am I not your husband? And so … correct me if I’m wrong, since I’m obviously new at this … but aren’t we therefore expected to maintain a certain public decorum? Really, dearest, I thought we’d already discussed this before."

Fiona sighed again as they passed through the castle gateway. "Yes, I know," she admitted. "But you seem so … enthusiastic. And what was with the clothes?"

"Clothes?" he echoed, not understanding her question.

"Yes, back the store. I never knew you and mirrors to get along so well."

A corner of Shrek’s mouth turned up in a small grin. "Well, muffin cake, you must admit that, in all honesty, I do cut a rather dashing figure in this body, do I not?"

"Yes, you’re very handsome," she admitted dryly.

"Thank you," he said, a full, satisfied grin breaking on his face as he apparently mistook her acknowledgment for a compliment. "Then, with a body like this, and with the position our marriage has thrust upon me, you must admit that I am obliged to select the best looking outfit I can."

Fiona lifted a cynical eyebrow. "That reeks of rationalization," she said. "I saw you. You were enjoying yourself."

Shrek looked back at her, seemingly confused for a moment as how to respond. Then, suddenly, he took on an indignant air. "Very well," he allowed. "Perhaps I was. Is that a crime? Maybe it’s the potion, or maybe it’s just something latent within myself, but I find I have an appreciation now for some of the finer things that I overlooked before. Beautiful clothes …" he paused, regaining control of his emotions. Then his voice lowered an octave as he continued smoothly "… and beautiful women."

"You mean those women that you keep waving to," Fiona said, turning away from him.

"No," Shrek said softly. He reached over, took a gentle hold on her chin, and slowly turned her face back towards his. "I mean yourself, the most divinely beautiful woman, not only in this kingdom, but in all kingdoms everywhere."

Fiona stared into his eyes. She wanted to feel something. She really did. "But … you haven’t been to all kingdoms everywhere," she eventually noted, an attempt at a tease.

Shrek shook his head. "It doesn’t matter," he replied, his voice smooth and polished. "The only possible rival you may have would be from Olympus, and that from the goddess Aphrodite herself. And even then I wouldn’t book wager on her."

Fiona smiled despite herself. Shrek had apparently been sneaking peeks through her books of fairytales to come up with such a line. Still, he was trying. She did not find his explanations for his recent behavior entirely convincing, but she realized she owed him the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had started sporting stick-on beauty marks or – Heaven forbid – wearing lipstick, like some of the most egocentric of the royals and aristocrats did. The very thought of that made her shudder.

"Whoa!" Sir Hoariman called as he pulled his horse to a stop in front of the castle, followed by the carriage and the horses of the other knights. Shrek continued holding Fiona’s chin and looking into her face. He leaned forward and began parting his lips for a kiss. Fiona felt an inexplicable urge to pull back.

"Ah, you two look splendid together! I assume the venture into town was successful, eh wot?" King Harold’s voice boomed.

Shrek rolled his eyes and released Fiona’s chin. Fiona, for her part, felt relief at the interruption. The two of them turned to face Harold, who was standing a few feet away on the bottom step of the castle. Beside him stood Queen Lillian.

"Yes, the trip was marvelous," Shrek replied as one of Hoariman’s knights opened the carriage door. Then Shrek spared a spiteful glance towards Hoariman himself and added, "Except for a couple of small things."

"Shrek, not now," Fiona whispered harshly as the knight that had opened the door helped her down from the carriage.

"Small things?" Lillian asked, curious.

"Yes," Shrek said, descending from the carriage after Fiona. He then turned to Hoariman, who was still sitting on his horse. "Sir," Shrek said, "you’re fired."

"Fired?!" The king and queen said together, surprised.

"Shrek!" Fiona implored. "You can’t do this!"

"I know, I know. I don’t have the authority," Shrek said, apparently mistaking her meaning. Then he turned to Harold and continued, "But I’m sure that the king will back me up, especially after I tell him how this knight’s negligence endangered his daughter’s life."

"What?!" the elder royals again echoed each other, their surprised expressions changing to shock.

"It’s not his fault!" Fiona said to Shrek, then turned to her parents. "It’s not his fault!" she repeated.

"What’s not his fault?" Harold asked.

"Yes," Lillian said. "What happened?"

"He allowed your daughter to inadvertently wander without escort into a particularly foul part of town, where she was set upon by three hoodlums," Shrek explained. "Fortunately, she was rescued. But she’s lucky to be alive."

"Fiona!" Harold exclaimed.

"Did you really do that?" Lillian asked.

Fiona blushed, dropped her eyes, and nodded.

"Why?!" Lillian and Harold asked together, another stereoscopic exclamation.

Fiona stared down at the ground, silent for several seconds, her blush deepening. She felt like she was a little girl again, her hand caught in a cookie jar. "I … just had to get away for a little while," she eventually muttered, the same half-truth she had told before.

"Your Majesties," Sir Hoariman said, dismounting his horse and facing the older royal couple. "The prince is quite correct. I failed in my duty."

"No!" Fiona said, looking up at him. "I was the one who –"

Hoariman turned to her and held up a hand. "No, Your Highness," he said. "It is my responsibility to watch for any perils. I’m just relieved that you escaped unharmed." He then faced the king and queen again. "I humbly offer my apologies. And also, my resignation."

"No!" Fiona objected. "You –"

"It’s all right, Princess," Hoariman said, turning towards her. "As I said earlier, I’ve been thinking about retiring for a while now." He again turned to the monarchs. "Your Majesties?"

Harold and Lillian looked at each other for a few seconds, their expressions awkward and uncomfortable. Eventually Harold looked back at the security chief and said. "Well … very well, Sir Hoariman. We accept. But if you’d like us to review the matter …"

"Thank you, your Majesty. That won’t be necessary," Hoariman said. He then bowed to them. The monarchs nodded uneasily back. Next, he turned to Fiona. "Your Highness," he said, bowing. Fiona, stunned, opened her mouth to say something, but her mind could think of nothing further to say. Instead, again blushing, she nodded.

Hoariman then turned to Shrek. "Your Highness," he said, bowing more stiffly and not quite as deeply as had to the others. There was also a detectable coldness in his voice as he spoke the title. Shrek’s face broke into a self-satisfied smirk as he nodded back shallowly and dismissively.

Hoariman straightened, took hold of his stallion’s bridle, then turned his back on the royals and began leading the horse back to the stables.

Shrek watched the man go. The prince’s smirk deepened and he mumbled to himself, "So much for ‘unexpected, coordinated threats’."

Fiona stared at Shrek. She felt a spark ignite within her, and the melancholy that had haunted her since her return from the alley burned away as her temper flared. "Is that what you’re holding against the man?" she asked, her top lip curling from her teeth in a sneer. "That he wounded your precious pride? That he ticked you off? And that justifies taking pleasure in the downfall of his career, so you can get a little petty revenge?"

Shrek looked taken aback. He stared at her for a moment, slack-jawed. Then a small, uneasy smile graced his lips and he said, "Fiona! Darling, no, that’s not it at all. You don’t understand –" With that he reached for her. But Fiona stepped back, an involuntary move but one she did not regret. Shrek again stared after her, his hand still outstretched awkwardly.

"You’re right," Fiona said, her voice strained with frustration. "I don’t understand. I don’t understand how you can be so petty. I don’t understand how you can suddenly become so egotistically pompous. I don’t understand what’s happened to your speech –"

"I already told you, sweetheart," Shrek implored, sparing a quick, edgy glance over at the open-mouthed monarchs, as if trying to gauge their reactions. "The potion –"

"I’m not talking about your voice this time, Shrek!" Fiona said. "I’m talking about the very words you use. You never spoke like that before. I don’t understand how the potion could change that. I don’t understand how it could change you into someone so … so … cold. So empty. So …"

Fiona trailed off. Shrek now appeared genuinely hurt. He looked over at her parents, embarrassment now also registering on her husband’s face. Fiona, too, looked over at the king and queen. They in turned glanced between the younger royals and each other awkwardly, as if not really sure what to say or even if they should say anything. Harold, particularly, looked nearly sick as his gaze shifted between his daughter and Shrek, and the king seemed almost afraid to look either of them directly in the eyes.

The princess felt her anger change into frustration. She blushed again. "I’m sorry," she said. "I guess don’t understand … anything."

With that Fiona turned and dashed up the castle steps, past her parents and away from Shrek. She heard Shrek’s "Fiona! Wait!" and Harold’s "Darling! Please!" But she didn’t stop. She pulled open a castle door and entered the edifice just as the first tears started stinging her eyes. Silently cursing her weakness, she fought back the tears as she ran up the stairway. She finally reached her room after what seemed an eon, entered it, slammed the door behind her and then turned and rested her back against it. She stood there for several seconds like that, caught between wanting to pull herself together and suppress her weeping and yearning to fling herself onto the bed and give into a good, long crying jag.

Fiona eventually pulled out a handkerchief, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. Then she looked down at the cloth in her hands, considering it for a moment. A sad, wry grin played at the corner of her mouth as her eyes shifted over to the fireplace mantle upon which set her childhood figurines. She put the handkerchief away as she wandered to the mantle and looked at the toys – the knight with its sword drawn, the ogre laying on its back at the knight’s feet, one arm held up as if defending itself … and the princess, holding out its own tiny handkerchief. Fiona picked up the princess figurine.

"Dear knight," its tinny voice said, "I pray that you take this favor as a token of my gratitude."

Fiona gave a mirthless chuckle. She looked at the toys on the mantle a little while longer, thinking. Then she reached over, picked up the ogre figure, lowered its arm, and placed it standing up. She then set the princess back on the mantle, only this time facing the ogre, as if presenting the handkerchief to it. She then picked up the knight, stared at it in her hand for a few seconds, then set it back on the mantle but off to the side, facing the stuffed dragon as if they were in combat. Let them have fun with each other, she thought. Dragon would be amused.

Fiona turned from the mantle and wandered listlessly to her bed. She took a seat on its edge, sat there for a few moments, head bowed, and heaved a great sigh. Suddenly she released a little shriek as the white Bichon Frise that the Fairy Godmother had given her jumped into her lap. The little dog barked twice, and then just sat there, looking up at Fiona and panting. After a moment, however, it seemed to sense Fiona’s mood, and gave a sympathetic little whimper.

Fiona smiled down at the canine. "Aren’t you a sweet little puppy?" the princess said, and scratched it behind one of its ears. It licked her hand. Fiona giggled. "You’re a cute gift," she said. "I just wish the Fairy Godmother had let her … assistance come to an end when she gave you to me."

There was a soft knock at the door. "Fiona?" a voice – Lillian’s voice – called from the other side. "May I come in?"

Fiona sighed again. "Sure, Mom," she said.

The door opened and Lillian stepped inside. She looked around for a moment and then saw Fiona sitting on the edge of the bed, gently petting the dog. The canine had shifted its position when Lillian had knocked and was now staring at the queen, its tongue hanging out as it panted and wagged its tail.

"A friend?" Lillian asked, smiling, as she approached her daughter.

"Yes, one of the few whose affection has been unconditional," Fiona responded.

Lillian, who didn’t quite appear to know how to take that comment, took a seat on the bed beside the princess.

"Where’s Dad?" Fiona asked.

"He wanted to have a word with Shrek after your … remarks outside," Lillian said. "I … um … judge from those remarks that things haven’t really been going well?"

Fiona choked back a laugh, then simply said, "No, Mom, not exactly."

"Would you like to talk about it?" Lillian asked. "Perhaps there’s something I can do to help."

Fiona shrugged. "Thanks, Mom, but I don’t see how," she said. "Unless you can rescind your invitation, change us back to ogres and send us back to our swamp."

Lillian shook her head, not in disapproval but in wonder. "You’d really prefer that?" she asked.

Fiona paused, then nodded. "Yes, actually," she admitted. Seeing the incomprehension in her mother’s face, she said, "I don’t expect you to understand. How could I? I don’t understand it myself. But it’s still true, still real."

Lillian released a little laugh. Fiona looked at her and frowned. "You’re laughing at me?"

"Oh, no dear, Heavens no!" the queen replied, becoming serious. "Well, not in the way you mean. It’s just so … well, the entire point of the tower was to free you from the enchantment that turned you into an ogre and secure your future with a handsome prince charming. It’s just so … unexpected that the reverse should have happened."

"I know," Fiona said. "An ironic twist on the witch’s spell, isn’t it?"

Lillian frowned. "Witch’s spell?" she asked.

"Of course," Fiona said. Seeing that her mother still didn’t understand, she said, "You know – By night one way, by day another, this shall be the norm. Until you find True Love’s first kiss, then take love’s true form. The spell that changed me from a normal little girl. Who would have guessed that ‘love’s true form’ would be that of an ogress after all?"

"Fiona," Lillian said, still confused, "there was no witch’s spell."

"What?" Fiona asked, becoming confused herself.

"No, dear. You were born under an enchantment. You changed between human and ogress every sunup and sundown from the day you entered this world."

Fiona’s brow knitted. "Really?" she asked, dumbstruck.

"Yes. Your father and I eventually turned to the Fairy Godmother, who arranged for the castle spell to break the enchantment, but –"

"So it was natural," Fiona said.

"What?"

"I’d always been an ogress," Fiona said. Her eyes had taken on a thoughtful glaze, and she was staring off as if into space. "At least, I’d never been wholly human. My ogress self … it wasn’t forced on me. It’s part of who I am."

"Well, that’s one way of looking at it, I suppose," Lillian said, unsure as to the direction this was now going. "But I don’t see what difference –"

"Then why did I believe that a witch …" Fiona concentrated, temporarily ignoring the queen. When had Fiona first heard those words? It was so long ago. It was – then she remembered. Her eyes widened. She stood suddenly, the little Bichon Frise jumping from her lap to the floor with a little yelp. "Dad!" Fiona exclaimed. "I remember one day when we were discussing my … situation, shortly before I was sent to Dragon’s castle. He told me a witch’s spell was how my condition came to be. And he recited the words of the spell." She looked back down at her mother. "Why would he do that?" the princess asked.

"Well, I’m sure I don’t know, dear," Lillian said. "But –"

"Unless it was to make me despise my ogress self even more. By leading me to think that it was something evil and foreign forced upon me by black magic, it would make me even more determined to be rid of it, no matter how many years I spent in that castle." Fiona, again losing herself in her own musings, turned away from her mother and wandered across the room out onto the balcony. There she heard a "yah!" cry from the front of the castle. She looked around the side of the edifice to see Shrek far below, riding a galloping white charger out through the castle gates. She wondered where in the world was he going now.

"Fiona," Lillian said from just inside the balcony door, "I’m sure whatever your father said, it was meant for your own good."

Fiona’s brow knitted. They were the same words that Fiona herself had used to excuse her parents’ actions when Shrek – the old Shrek – had criticized them. ‘Hello, they locked you in a tower’, he’d said. She had instinctively rebuffed him and defended her parents. Now … belatedly … she let a little of his criticality creep in. "Was it really for my good, Mom …" Fiona asked, still staring down at the castle grounds. Then she turned to face her mother and continued, "… or for yours?"

Lillian looked taken aback. "What?"

"So you two wouldn’t be burdened with the embarrassment of such an imperfect child?"

Lillian at first looked aghast, then her face quickly took on an expression of restrained anger . "That is not fair, Fiona," she stated, each syllable hard and clipped. "I cannot tell how much it tore us apart inside to be away from you for so long. Perhaps it was a lack of imagination on our part, but we really didn’t feel you could find happiness in the condition you were in. We really wanted a happily-ever-after for you, and that seemed the only way to get it."

Fiona stared into her mother’s now fiery eyes that blazed beneath her own knitted brow. The unexpectedly passionate expression from the previously placid queen shocked the princess, and she briefly wondered if this was what Shrek saw when he beheld Fiona in their more … contentious moments together. At any rate, Fiona relented. This was a discussion better left for another place and time. After all, her mother was here now because she wanted to help. And besides, "You’re right, Mom."

Lillian lifted an eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"I did get my happily-ever-after. At least I thought I did." Fiona sighed. "I was sure I did." She felt more tears threaten, and turned away from her mother and looked back out towards the castle gates. There she saw another rider. This one was far different from the first. He was of a smaller and somewhat slumped stature, covered head-to-foot in a plain brown cloak, and he – or she – was riding a dark chestnut colt that trotted lazily out the gateway. Fiona felt a brief twinge of curiosity, but let it subside. It wasn’t as if whatever business the rider had affected her.

Fiona felt her mother’s gentle touch on her shoulder. "Tell me all about it," the queen said.

Fiona turned to look at Lillian. The queen’s face had lost all trace of irritation and had resumed its benevolent, concerned countenance. "Help me to understand," Lillian said. "Tell me how you and Shrek … came to be."

Fiona nodded, and let her mother lead her back to the bed. The two again sat side-by-side on the bed’s edge. Lillian cupped her daughter’s hands and listened intently as the princess told her the tale: the unconventional rescue from Dragon’s castle, where Shrek showed his courage and his resourcefulness; her shock at discovering that her rescuer was, of all things, an ogre; the first hours after the rescue, with their sniping and bickering; the first night, when Fiona had overheard Shrek reveal his own inner thoughts and feelings and wounds, and caused her to reconsider so much; the incredible second day, from making them breakfast to the confrontation with Hood’s bandits and then through what they realized in retrospect was their courtship – Fiona laughed at her mother’s amused yet somewhat repulsed expression when she told her of how much she had enjoyed the weedrats. Then the princess told of that night in the windmill, the discussion with Donkey and how Shrek, overhearing it, had so tragically mistaken what he heard. She told of how she had spent the rest of that night thinking over so hard the lessons and the experiences and the emotions of the previous days. She told of fussing with the sunflower as she considered what she should do, of her eventual decision, and then of the heartbreaking encounter with Shrek as morning dawned.

She told of the miniature tyrant Farquaad, of her rush to be wed and be rid of the ogress inside – she nearly said ‘just as you would have wished’ but held her tongue there – and then she told of the wedding itself, and how Shrek had barged in to reclaim her. She told of her decision to reject Farquaad and accept the transformation, there in front of almost all the people of Duloc. Lillian greeted this part of Fiona’s tale with a look of surprise and – was that admiration? Fiona then told of Farquaad’s attempt to arrest them, of Dragon’s rescue of the two ogres, and then … she told of True Love’s first kiss. Here Fiona felt tears flow again, but they were no longer tears of pain, and she let them fall freely. Then she told of the dramatic breaking of the spell, and the surprise aftermath where they discovered that she had been changed into a permanent ogress … or at least they had thought it was permanent.

"Then we eventually wed," Fiona concluded, "and I was so happy. So very happy. I thought this was truly the happily-ever-after of the storybooks, despite our … unconventionality." She sighed. "I guess I believed it too much."

"How so?" Lillian asked.

"Because in happily-ever-afters, everything turns out perfectly," Fiona replied. "And so, when your invitation came, I thought that yes, of course you and Dad and Shrek and I would hit it off marvelously, and we’d all instantly become one big happy family, without a conflict or care in the world."

Lillian, who had listened to Fiona with a benevolent smile through most of her story, now frowned. "Is that all you believe happily-ever-afters are, dear?" she asked. "The end of strife and struggle and conflict, where everything is magically taken care of?"

"Well … yes, actually," Fiona admitted, although from the sound of Lillian’s voice she felt as if perhaps that was the wrong answer. "I mean, isn’t that how the fairytales end?"

"Oh, darling," Lillian said consolingly, patting her now uncertain daughter’s hand. "The end of struggle and conflict would be … well, it would be the end of life itself. To live is to struggle, it is to endure. Happily-ever-after isn’t an end, Fiona. It’s a beginning. When a couple embarks upon a happily-ever-after, their life’s problems aren’t all taken away, just the obstacles that kept them from being together. It’s not a fate, it’s an opportunity. An opportunity to face the rest of their lives together, as one loving, caring, mutually supportive unit, confronting and overcoming conflicts and difficulties, as well as sharing in joys and happiness. Happily-ever-afters aren’t just granted, Fiona. They’re what you work for. It’s that which makes them all the more gratifying … and magical."

Fiona frowned. She wasn’t expecting an explanation like that. Also, "That’s not the impression I get from the Fairy Godmother," she noted.

Lillian chuckled. "My dear," she said, "the Fairy Godmother is rather good at marketing and a bit obsessed with … material trappings. But really, for all her magic, the best she can do is set the stage. The principals she assists must do the rest." Then Lillian’s smile faded to a frown, and she looked away pensively, as if a distasteful thought just crossed her mind.

"What is it, Mom?" Fiona asked.

Lillian looked back at her daughter, then resumed her smile. "I’m sorry, dear," she said. "I was just thinking … well, there are other things the Fairy Godmother does which … quite frankly, I don’t approve of. Love potions that alter not the physical characteristics but … reshape the emotions. That make you fall in love with people you would otherwise not care for."

Fiona thought about that. She had heard tales of such potions, of course. But the thought of actually taking one, of being forced to fall in love with someone you didn’t like … perhaps even despised … she physically shuddered. "That would be like … like having your soul stolen."

"My thoughts precisely," Lillian agreed. "But that’s nothing to concern you now, dear."

Fiona looked down. "Isn’t it?" she wondered.

Lillian frowned again. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Do you think that … a potion could cause a person to … fall out of love?" Fiona asked, looking back up at her mother’s face.

"You mean … you and Shrek?" Lillian asked.

Fiona nodded, casting her eyes back down. "Ever since he changed physically, he’s been so different. That is, a different person. I mean, you must have noticed it, even in the short time you saw him as his true self."

"Yes," Lillian agreed, "I believe I have. So now you’re saying you … don’t love him anymore?"

Fiona paused, then reluctantly nodded. "I’ve tried, Mom. I’ve really tried," she said, and again felt tears start to well in her eyes. She impatiently swiped them away with a hand and then continued, "But … I just don’t feel the same way about him anymore. I’ve tried but … I just don’t. Now when he tries to kiss me, I feel like … like I want to recoil. And then today in town, I saw another man who …" Fiona hesitated. She had not meant to tell her mother about this, but she had become carried away. She looked into Lillian’s face, and saw her examining her daughter with an eyebrow newly cocked in curiosity. Fiona sighed, then continued, "… a man who I did have … amorous feeling for. He was the one who saved me from those attackers that Shrek told you about. But even before then, I felt …" She trailed off as the tears began flowing again. She suddenly threw herself against her mother and buried her head against her shoulder. "Oh, Mom," she wailed, hugging Lillian tightly, "What’s happening to me? What am I becoming? And what’s become of Shrek? What’s to become of us?"

"Shhhh," Lillian said softly, hugging Fiona and patting her back gently. "It’ll be all right. Remember what I said about struggles –"

"But this is different, Mom! We can’t overcome this together because … we’re not the same people that fell in love anymore. It’s ruined. I’ve ruined it. He didn’t want to come – but we came. He wanted to go back – but we stayed. He was happy to be what he was, and I made him feel – oh, God, Mom! I’ve ruined it! I had my happily-ever-after in my hands, and let it slip through my fingers. I’ve ruined it all –"

"No! Fiona, don’t think that way," Lillian said, and then took Fiona by the shoulders and held her out at arms’ length. The princess was still looking down and crying. "Fiona!" Lillian snapped. "You mustn’t think so negatively. You’ll get through this. You must get through this. You’ve been through a traumatic ordeal today. But you’ll endure. If your love is truly strong, it will endure even this."

Fiona sobs slowly receded. She wiped her now red-rimmed eyes again, and then asked, "But … what if it doesn’t?"

Lillian sighed. "Well … then perhaps it wasn’t meant to be after all," she said, dropping her grip from Fiona’s shoulders and rubbing her daughter’s arms.

"But it was, Mom," Fiona insisted. "At least, it was until Shrek …" She trailed off, and then a thought struck her. "Mom, I’ve noticed that the Fairy Godmother can be … overenthusiastic in getting people to go along what she thinks is good for them. Do you think it’s possible that she might have tricked Shrek into taking the potion?"

"What?" Lillian asked, surprised.

"I mean, Shrek was so proud of being who he was and what he was. He really loved being an ogre. Well, except for the taunts and attacks from ignorant humans. And getting chased by villagers with torches and pitchforks … okay, that can get a bit tiresome after a while. Still, for him to willingly give that up, just for me …"

"You don’t think he’d do that without being tricked?"

Fiona pondered for a moment. "Yes, actually, he probably would, if he believed it was necessary to keep us together. Still … if I could actually hear him, the real him, tell me he would do that, give that up for me … Mom, that would be the greatest compliment in the world." She paused, then added, "Well, next-to-greatest."

"And what would be greater?"

"If Shrek had left the decision up to me, which form for us to take, human or ogre," she replied. "As much as I loved him, that was a fault that irked me sometimes, how he would make decisions for us instead of considering what I wanted. I don’t think he meant to be presumptuous, it probably came of his being a loner for so long, but it was still irritating." She shrugged. "Anyway, as to choosing forms … you know, when I chose Shrek over Farquaad, I still thought with True Love’s First Kiss I’d end up human … like I am now? I didn’t realize that in choosing Shrek that I was choosing to remain an ogress."

"And if you did know … at that time … would you still have chosen as you did?"

A little smile creased her lips. "Yes, I believe I would have," she said. "Still … it would have been nice to have known ahead of time. Fortunately, everything worked out wonderfully." Then the smile faded. "Until we arrived here."

"Oh, Fiona," Lillian said regretfully. "I just wish you’d have sent word before you arrived what to expect."

Lillian’s words brought the terrible recollections of that first meeting two days before flooding into Fiona’s memory, and before she realized what she was saying, Fiona responded, "Why? So you could have snuck us in surreptitiously through the back entrance?"

Lillian’s eyes grew hard, and then in an equally hard tone she said, "That’s not what I meant."

"You’re right, Mom," Fiona apologized, ashamed at allowing the bad memory to lead to such a comment. "You’re here trying to help me, and I take a cheap shot like that. I’m sorry."

Lillian considered her daughter’s contrite expression, seemed to recognize its sincerity, and then resumed her pleasant manner. "That’s all right, dear. And I apologize that we didn’t greet you as warmly as we should have. But seeing the two of you … as you were. Well, I’m afraid we were a bit shocked to see you … like that."

Fiona gave a sardonic half-grin. "Shrek said you would be," she admitted. "But I pooh-poohed him. I guess that’s why I didn’t try sending word ahead of us … to do so would have been to admit he might be right and … well, I guess I was being as stubborn as him."

"Yes," Lillian said, actually chuckling. "I’m quite used to having to cope with an obstinate spouse. You might have noticed that Harold can be as stubborn as any ogre when he sets his mind to it."

"Yes, I did notice that," Fiona said. "At least, the day we arrived. But today, he seems to be acting so … differently. Is this normal for him?"

Lillian sighed. "Not really," she said.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to him about this morning, when you told Shrek and me to go ahead into the dining hall for breakfast?"

"What? Oh, that," Lillian said, suddenly shifting her eyes and speaking with a apprehensive tone. "Yes, well, his actions this morning were … curious. I thought that perhaps … he might have known something more about this potion business than he was letting on."

Fiona squinted. "You think that he had something to do with it?"

"Well, that thought did occur to me."

"Why was that?"

Lillian shrugged. "It’s hard to pin down; just a feeling I had. Sometimes your father can be … transparently clandestine, if that makes any sense. At any rate, he denied vehemently having any foreknowledge of Shrek taking the potion."

"Do you believe him?"

"I’m not really sure, to be frank. But even if he did know, or assisted in any way, then I’m certain that he only had your best interests in mind."

Fiona sighed. "Yes," she said, frowning. "It seems that everybody around me keeps acting in what they perceive as my best interests. Heaven forbid somebody actually ask me what my best interests might be."

"I know it’s frustrating," Lillian sympathized. "Tell you what, why don’t you come down for tea and cake and we can talk some more?"

Fiona looked at her mother. Conversation over tea and cake. How … normal. Normal for this societal strata, anyway. But that was part of the problem. Lillian was, as far as Fiona could tell, the ideal fairytale queen, practically perfect in every way. How could Fiona really expect her to understand, to truly grasp what her abnormal daughter was going through? The answer was simple: she couldn’t. The princess appreciated her mother’s attempts, and the conversation had helped comfort Fiona, and had enlightened her on a few points, but she really didn’t think there was anywhere else for it to go … anywhere else that Lillian could empathetically follow, anyway. If Fiona kept talking about herself and Shrek, she’d start to sound like she was whining, but she really didn’t feel up to talking about anything else right now, either.

"No thanks, Mom, I’m not hungry," Fiona eventually said, standing up from the bed. Lillian stood as well.

"But Fiona," Lillian said, "you really should –"

"Perhaps later," Fiona interrupted, forcing a little smile.

Lillian sighed. "Very well," she said. "But if there’s anything else I can do …"

"Thanks, Mom. But … I’d like to be alone for a while … wander around the castle, check out some old haunts. Maybe that’ll help me get my head together. But you’ve already been a big help. Thanks for letting me cry on your shoulder … literally."

The two hugged again briefly but warmly. When they separated Lillian said, "Well, I’m always available if you need anything, dear. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you do."

"I won’t. And thanks again."

Lillian smiled, then squeezed Fiona’s hands in hers. "I’ll see you later at the ball, then," the queen said.

Fiona smiled back, but didn’t say anything in return.

Lillian nodded, then turned and headed out the doorway, gently closing the door behind her.

Fiona stared at the closed door for a few seconds … and then her stomach growled. From its seat upon the princess’s bed, the little white dog barked in response.

"Thanks for mentioning food, Mom," Fiona muttered sarcastically. It was true; she really hadn’t been hungry when she’d said she wasn’t. But now that the subject had come up, it seemed that her stomach had ideas of its own. The hours since breakfast and the activity in between had convinced it the time for refueling had arrived.

"But I’m not going to have tea and cake," Fiona said, turning to the dog. "I’m really not in the mood for that. Having to sit there prim and proper, making sure you use the correct fingers when picking up the little cup and that your bites aren’t too big, having servants hovering over you the whole time …" Fiona made a sour face.

Fiona’s stomach growled again, and the dog barked once more. Fiona smiled wryly. "Don’t worry, Puppy," she said. "I’m not an ogre about to attack you." Then she remembered. Ogres …

She turned to where some of their luggage was still sitting on the floor, packed. She went over, found a satchel that they’d filled with snacks and had kept handy during the trip, and opened it. There was some food still in it. But it was food preferred by ogres. Fiona hoped there was something there still edible in her present state.

She reached in and pulled out an ear of fresh hard-kernelled corn, the husk still on. She sighed. Even peeled, the raw kernels would likely break her now delicate human teeth. Even if they didn’t she doubted she could digest it in her present state. She tossed it aside and then scrounged further in the sack. She pulled out a large raw onion. Fiona stared at the vegetable for a few moments, another sardonic smile gracing her lips. She could imagine the reactions she would get after munching down one of these and then greeting her guests at the ball, the looks on their faces as she got close and greeted them with a ‘Hhhhow do you do?’ Impulsively, she took a big bite from the onion. Her taste buds were immediately overwhelmed with the strong flavor and the fumes released when she crunched into it made her eyes water. She dashed to the fireplace and spat the bite out. When she had been under the previous enchantment, she had found that certain ogre traits would bleed through to her human self, such as the ability to appreciate certain ogre treats. She remembered, for example, the delectable weedrats and the silky taste of the spiderweb ‘candy’ she had made for Shrek. But not now. Now there was no longer an ogre side to bleed through.

After clearing her mouth of the onion, Fiona turned and hurled the rest of the vegetable through the open balcony doors and over the railing, frustration rippling through her. Then she buried her face in her hands and wept, and not just from residual onion fumes. Meanwhile, from somewhere on the castle grounds below the balcony a voice drifted up crying, "Ow! Hey!"

After a few seconds Fiona wiped her eyes, straightened, and returned to the satchel. She pulled out a codfish. It had been heavily smoked and brined to preserve the meat. Fiona took a small, experimental bite. It tasted a bit salty, and was tougher to chew with this set of teeth and jaw muscles, but was still edible. She’d have to take care not to eat the bones now, rather than grind them between her molars and swallow them with the rest of the meat like she could before. She also realized she’d best not attempt to eat the head – a pity, really, since fish heads had become one of her favorites.

Fiona poured herself a glass of water from a side table, and then sat down and ate the fish. There, she thought, looking down at the little pile of bones, fins, and head when she had finished, that’s better. She then checked to see if there was anything else in the satchel, more out of curiosity now that her hunger was slaked. She reached into the very bottom and pulled out three large toadstools, each with a bright green ring circling their stalks. Fiona paused. These would certainly not do. Although they were an ogre delicacy, and she had certainly enjoyed their tangy taste before – Shrek had said that their toxins gave them a delectable kick – he had also warned her that they were poisonous to everyone but ogres.

A delicacy for ogres. But poisonous to humans.

A dark idea lurched into being in the back of Fiona’s mind, one that refused to fully form, but one which frightened her nonetheless. She couldn’t face it directly … yet. But neither could she quite shove it aside.

After a moment Fiona went to a drawer, found a handbag, and dropped the three toadstools into it, trying not to rationalize why she was doing so. Then her eyes fell upon the picture of her and Shrek on the bookshelf. A small, sad grin briefly played at one corner of her mouth. She walked over, took the picture from the shelf, and then stared at the happy ogre couple for several seconds as she chewed her lower lip to prevent its quivering. Then, with resolution, she turned the picture around, removed the frame’s backing, pulled the photo out, and slid it down the front of her dress until it was out of sight and rested against her heart. Then she set the frame aside, retrieved the bag of toadstools, and headed for the door. She decided to start that little tour of the castle as she had indicated to her mother. It occurred to her that there was one particularly appropriate place which she wished to visit. Following her thoughts, her gaze drifted upwards.