First Chapter of The Princess Who Knew the Truth

Una's story isn't one I planned to write. Edmund Spenser didn't give her a backstory in the original Faerie Queene, so when I was first writing George's book (lo, those many years ago) I didn't know who she was as a person. My writing group, the Inkhearts, pushed me to find out. 

Once I started writing this novella I realized just how amazing Una is. She may not be a warrior like some of the other heroines in the Faerie Queen series (yes, Britomart, I see you), but that makes it all the more impressive that she takes up a quest like this, armed only with her sharp wits, her clear knowledge of truth and lies, and her unstoppable determination. 

Part Arthurian adventure and part fairy tale, Una's story releases August 1, 2026 in paperback and ebook format. Ages 10 and up. Find it here: The Princess Who Knew the Truth

And now, for your enjoyment, the first chapter!

*****

The queen rubbed her stomach through the thick brocade of her dress and peered around the door into her husband’s study. He sat in a big oak chair before the fire, while his steward read out the kingdom’s tax list to him in a reedy voice.

“And farmer Lollett of the orchards, with thirty acres of land, paid his taxes in fruit…”

Since the expression on the king’s face made it clear that he had given up listening to this some time ago, the queen called, “Dear?”

“What is it, my heart?” the king answered, bounding out of his chair with an expression of relief on his bearded face.

“Could I speak to you for a moment?”

“Come in, come in—don’t hover there in the doorway!” he said heartily. “Fratchett, that’s enough for today! Off you go!” He ejected the steward and bowed the queen into a chair with great goodwill. “What is it? All well with your ladies-in-waiting? With your family? Your mother isn’t coming for a visit, is she? Not that she isn’t a splendid woman, your mother, splendid woman.”

The queen knew from experience that this could go on for some time. “Dear, we’re going to have a baby,” she said.

“Splendid woman, your mother—”

“Dear, we’re going to have a baby,” the queen repeated.

“What? Are we?” He pulled her out of the chair. “Excellent! Excellent news!” He twirled her around the room, then hastily put her back into the chair again. “Mustn’t tire yourself out! Sit down!”

“You’re happy?” the queen smiled.

“Well, of course! I can’t wait to teach the boy to ride. All the things a king should know! Perhaps he can take over auditing the tax lists when he’s older. He’ll be a splendid king, splendid!”

“It could be a girl,” she pointed out, but the king, distracted by his happy imaginings, didn’t hear.

*

“It’s a girl, your highness,” said the midwife, wiping the child’s face.

“Oh, let me see her.” The queen stretched out her arms and received a small bundle. The child’s wide blue-gray eyes were already open and gazing around the room. The queen could have sworn that the baby’s eyes focused on her face at once, even though she knew the child was much too young for that to be true.

“All done in there, my dear?” bellowed the king through the closed door. “I’m coming in!”

“Goodness me!” exclaimed the midwife, shocked. “You can’t come in yet!”

“Of course I can! This is my castle, isn’t it?” blustered the king, shouldering his way through the door. “How are you, my heart?”

“Very well,” the queen replied, pulling the sheet up to her chin. “And here is our daughter.”

“Daughter? Daughter?” He looked bewildered. Out in the stable he already had a pony waiting for his expected son.

“That’s right,” the midwife told him pugnaciously. “A fine healthy daughter! You ought to be very happy!”

It was perhaps just as well that the king wasn’t listening to her. His wife held out the bright-eyed bundle. “Oh!” said the king. “Aha! A daughter! I see!”

The baby stared at him, then waved a small red fist.

“Excellent! Excellent work, my dear!” the king told the queen. “She is the most beautiful little girl ever born! She shall have all the dresses and jewels she wants! And dolls! Hundreds of dolls! But—dear me! Dear me!” He pulled distractedly at his beard. “Think of all the princes who will want to marry her! Should I build a tower, do you think, my heart? To keep her in?”

“No, my dear,” said the queen. “I don’t think that would be at all suitable.”

*

The christening of the little princess was accompanied by a great deal of bustle and noise. The king was determined to make it the grandest celebration since his wedding four years before. Such bundles of summer flowers! Such festoons of ribbon! The castle chapel received the most vigorous scrubbing it had had in many a year, until the walls shone white and clean. The silver baptismal basin gleamed on its wooden stand.

The king had nearly given Fratchett an apoplexy when he had declared that all the year’s taxes would be forgiven in celebration of his daughter’s birth, but after the steward had stiffened his spine and asked whether the king would like his daughter to starve, the king had responded by decreeing that the taxes should be doubled instead. (It had been left to the queen to convince him that the usual quantity of taxes would sustain the baby very comfortably.)

The christening was also accompanied by a good deal of care. The king invited every priest and holy hermit in his kingdom, as well as representatives from the nearest monastery; he invited every nearby noble family, and envoys from the nearby kingdoms of Alisene, Westerly, and Naimdeas; he asked the mayors of the two towns within his borders. But how many folk were to be invited from Faerieland, and which ones? It wouldn’t do to offend any of the Fae, but the king didn’t know his Faerie neighbors very well. There was only one well-established gate to Faerieland in his kingdom, which let out near a quiet village of Elves; the king had no idea what powerful or dangerous Faeries might live in the region.

In the end, he took the advice of the mayor of the Elvish town (who was also invited to the christening) and sent out a proclamation inviting “any Faerie folk of good heart and good intentions, with an interest in increasing the child’s wellbeing” to come, and to bring a gift if they liked (since asking the Fae not to give gifts would definitely be considered an insult). And so it was that when the morning of the christening came, half a dozen cheerful Faeries were seated near the front of the castle chapel. (One more was clinging to the chapel ceiling, but no one saw him.)

The Latin service was read, full of sincere praises to the Lord of All for this new life; the baby was baptized, and her name was written down in the chapel’s record book. “Una,” she was called.

“Because she’ll be the first of many!” the king said, quite forgetting that it had been the queen who chose the name, and not for that reason.

“Una Ancora Veritatis,” her full name was written. The priests who knew Latin nodded happily, while those who didn’t nudged their brethren with their elbows and awaited an explanation. “The one shield of truth; or Una, the shield of truth!” one priest whispered to another.

Next came the time for blessings and gifts—blessings from the priests in their best cassocks, gifts from the nobles and the Faerie guests. The child received such a quantity of dolls that even the king began to think that she might have enough.

Three identical Faerie sisters had sat quietly through the ceremony, all knitting busily. Now they stood up to approach the royal family. “For the mother, a blanket made of starlight,” one explained, and they offered their knitting to the queen.

“Would you, dear?” asked the queen, her arms full of baby. The king took the knitted bundle into his arms.

“And for Una Ancora Veritatis,” the three sisters said in unison. “Three gifts.”

The guests went silent, watching the Faerie guests warily. Even well-intentioned Fae didn’t always understand what would be a good gift for an English child.

“She will always seek and know the truth,” said one, and touched the baby’s feet.

“She will always speak the truth as best she knows it,” said another, and patted Una’s tiny cheek.

“And the truth will always be in her face,” said the third, and tapped one long finger on Una’s tiny nose.

The king didn’t know what use seeking the truth might be, but at least it wasn’t likely to lead to spiders coming out of his daughter’s mouth, or to her growing wings like a stork. “Thank you! Thank you! Glad you could make it!” he told the three sisters, and shook their hands so heartily that they were nearly pulled off their dainty feet.

“Well, we can hardly follow that!” the next Fae in line smiled ruefully.

A peal of laughter came from the ceiling. Everyone looked up, startled, as a boy in a tunic made entirely of leaves dropped down from above. He looked as if he might be ten or eleven years old, with leaf-green eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can’t you? I can!” he cried, and danced among them all to plant a smacking kiss on the baby’s soft forehead. “You shall have the favor of the Puck and of all wild things,” he announced, then turned into a deer and darted away, bowling over a small priest in his dash down the aisle. The English guests gaped after him.

“Goodness!” muttered one of the three sisters. “That could have been very bad! Praise the Lord of All that he didn’t give her anything dangerous!”

“King Oberon ought to keep a tighter rein on that boy!” another of the sisters said, shaking her head.

With no warning, the baptismal basin flipped suddenly through the air and doused her in water. From outside of the chapel came a peal of mischievous laughter!

And so the christening ended.