The man hovered over her hand for a moment longer. Aurora held her breath. When he looked up, meeting her eyes again, his were terrified.

“Who,” he started, tremulously, “are you?”

“Oh my God,” Aurora breathed. Then, louder, “Maya! Get out here!”

“What?” Maya crowded into the doorway. “Holy shit, who’s the face?”

“Maya! This is the stupidest joke you have ever played!” Aurora hissed, snatching her hand back from the man.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Maya said, her eyes wide.

Aurora waved at the man, and he flinched back. “A prince?! Very cute. Now get rid of him!”

“I didn’t—”

“Silence, both of you,” the man said, and, to their surprise, drew his sword faster than either of them could stop him.

Aurora and Maya screamed and ducked as it whistled through the air, slicing the Happy Birthday! banner over the door cleanly in half. Crouched on the floor, their eyes met.

“You have to believe me. I have no idea who this is,” Maya whispered, the color draining from her face.

Aurora took a deep breath and stood, trying to keep her gaze steady. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

The man, whose beauty was still evident behind the terrified look on his face, gripped his sword tighter. “Who am I? I am Prince Percival. Son of King Peter, of the line of Hastings, heir to the throne and,” his eyes slid between the girls, “in the midst of a very, very unsettling dream.”

“It’s not a dream,” Aurora fought to keep her voice calm. “Just put your sword away, okay, man?”

“What’s the hell’s going on out there?” a high-pitched voice demanded.

Aurora squeezed her eyes shut. “Nothing, Mr. Gubler. Everything’s fine.”

Mr. Gubler stuck his tiny head into the hall, his beady eyes popping at the sight of Prince Percival. “Does that man have a weapon?!”

“It’s a costume, Mr. Gubler. It’s fake,” Aurora said, quickly.

Indignation replaced the look of terror on Prince Percival’s face. “It is no such thing. This sword has been in my family since the Crusades—”

Ignoring the famous sword, Aurora grabbed Prince Percival by the medaled lapel and yanked him into her apartment.

“Maya,” she breathed, shutting the door behind them, “you are swearing to me you had nothing to do with this?”

“Nothing,” Maya said, her voice barely audible.

Aurora looked at Prince Percival who, sword still drawn, was looking around the apartment as though an assassin was going to leap out from behind her futon. No one leapt, and, his brows furrowed, he prodded a sequined throw pillow with his sword.

“Quit it,” she said, stepping over and snatching the pillow from the couch. “And put the sword away. You’re freaking everyone out.”

The prince looked at her. He was still wide-eyed with fear, but he slid the sword back into the scabbard on his belt.

Aurora let out a breath. She looked at Maya. “I’m going to call the police.”

“What? Why?” Maya asked, grabbing Aurora’s arm and pulling her toward the kitchen.

“Why?! There’s a delusional rando in my apartment, Maya! Who pulled a knife on us. This is insane.” Aurora looked around, trying to remember where she’d left her phone.

Percival sank onto the couch and dropped his face into his hands. “I have to wake up. I have to.”

Maya eyed him, warily. “Are you feeling okay, man?”

“No,” he snapped, his eyes flashing, “I am not feeling oh-kay. Whatever that means. I am feeling like one would feel after being slipped some sort of hallucinatory agent in one’s mead, when all one wanted was some mead after a really hard day.”

“Someone slipped you something?” Maya asked, as Aurora tossed pillows, searching for her cell phone in the cushions. “Who?”

“Bella, no doubt.”

“Who’s Bella?” Aurora asked from the ground, half her body under the couch at Percival’s feet, reaching into the dust bunnies for her phone.

“Princess Isabella.” Percival’s voice sounded weary. “My fiancée. She’s—" he passed a hand over his eyes. “My father has asked me to think of her as fanciful, but, she’s completely unhinged.” He looked at Aurora as she stood up, victorious, phone in hand. He narrowed his eyes. “As all women are.”

“Real nice, you lunat—”

“Wait, Prince Percival?” Maya interrupted.

He looked up. “Yes. Do breeches make women deaf as well as insolent?”

Maya’s brows furrowed. “Married to Isabella? Like Isabella the Mad?”

The color left Percival’s face. “Oh God. Have they started calling her that already? Well, we’re not married yet. Next week. Or, whenever I wake up from this sorcery.”

“Maya, what are you talking about?” Aurora asked, shaking dust out of her hair.

Maya grabbed the phone. “You can’t call the police.”

“Why?! He’s a crazy person—with a sword—in my home. I can and should call the police.”

“He’s not. At least, I think he’s not. I think he really is Prince Percival.” Maya looked manic.

“Maya, please stop. I get it. It’s a good joke. Because I wished for a prince. But he’s freaking me out.”

“No, Aurora, I think he really is Percival. He’s a Hastings, like, a cousin of the Habsburgs or something—”

“Second cousins, thank God,” Percival interjected.

“So? What does that mean?”

“Aurora,” Maya’s eyes were as big as saucers, “I don’t think he’s pretend. I think he’s from the past. He’s a prince. And he’s real.”

For the last hour, the three of them had been sitting, squished onto Aurora’s couch, staring at the wall. Maya had asked a few more questions, and then they’d each taken turns starting a sentence, trying to explain what was happening. Failing that, they fell silent, incapable of explanation.

“So, not a dream?” Percival ventured, shooting a furtive glance at the TV.

“Apparently not,” Aurora said. “And, you’re a real prince?”

“Yes. Real.”

“And if we don’t get him back to his time?” Aurora asked.

“Potential historical calamity?” Maya shook her head. “Didn’t you even see Back to the Future?”

“God, Maya, you talk about that movie like it’s a documentary—” Aurora snapped.

“You can’t just alter history, Aurora! Even small events can have huge historical repercussions!” Maya yelled.

They both sank back onto the couch and they all lapsed into silence again.

Percival tapped one booted foot. “What century is it?”

“Twenty-first,” Aurora mumbled.

He nodded. “Any advancements I should know about?”

Aurora rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Probably a few.” She hopped up. “Okay, this is crazy, because somehow that two-bit godmother created a time-space continuum that allowed for time travel, but,” she shook her head, “we’ll deal with that later. What we have to do now is get this guy back to where he came from. Like, the sooner the better, I’m guessing?” she added, watching Percival pick up a discarded plastic cup from the party and examine it like an artifact.

“Okay,” Maya said. “Any thoughts on how?”

“Well,” Aurora said slowly. “I wished him here, can’t I just wish him away?”

She looked at Maya, who shrugged. She looked at Percival, who was now eyeing the screensaver on her laptop with suspicion.

Aurora closed her eyes. “I wish for this prince to go back where he came from.”

They all stayed still, holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did.

“Why does it not surprise me that a woman failed to come up with an adequate solution?” Percival asked, getting to his feet.

Aurora rounded on him. “Well, Percy, if you feel so confident, why don’t you get yourself back to ye olde castle and your beloved Isabella!”

“Perhaps I will! And do not call me Percy!” Percival yelled.

“I’ll call you whatever I damn well please when you’re sitting in my apartment, Percy!” Aurora yelled.

Percival closed his eyes and put his hands over a jeweled cross that hung from his neck. “Dear God, if you have ever listened to my humble plea before, take me home and away from this chattering nag.”

“Oh, shut up!”

Percival opened his eyes. “You shut up!”

“No, you!”

“You!!”

Maya, still on the couch, was looking between Aurora and Percival like she was watching a tennis match, but she started at the loud knock on the door.

Percy and Aurora both shut up.

Whoever it was pounded on the door again.

“Who is it?” Aurora asked, trying to sound casual.

“Hey, noisy girls!”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Gubler?”

“I want to know who that weirdo is. The one with the knife. In the stupid outfit.”

“How dare he—” Percy took a step toward the door.

Aurora put a hand on his chest to stop him. She looked back at the door, doing her absolute best to ignore the jolt of electricity that shot through her arm when she touched him. “Mr. Gubler, he’s a friend of mine. He’s fine.”

“Where’s he from?”

Aurora glanced at Maya. “What?”

“He looks foreign. Not from here.”

“I should say not!” Percy shouted, looking deeply offended.

Aurora opened the door. “Mr. Gubler, I don’t know what you’re asking, but everything is fine. Nothing to be worried about.”

Mr. Gubler’s tiny eyes glittered in a nasty way. “I’ll need to see a form of identification, son,” he said, looking past Aurora at Percy.

“What right do you have to ask for that?” Maya asked, joining Aurora in the doorway.

“All the right in the world, little lady,” Mr. Gubler said, flipping open a leather case to show a silver badge.

Aurora and Maya leaned forward, and, behind them, Percy walked forward to look over their shoulders.

“What is,” he started, “Immigration and Customs Enforcement?”

Aurora and Maya looked at each other, their faces twin masks of terror.

Mr. Gubler grinned. “If you don’t know the answer to that, son, then it looks like you’re coming with me.”