For a while, we all managed to live without incident. I was proud of this minor accomplishment, because our first forty-eight hours at Auradon had been so… eventful. We went to our classes, we stayed out of trouble, nobody ate anything weird, and things were generally fine.

And then it was Club Day. The second Friday of the new academic year, during which every club and extra-curricular at the school made booths to promote themselves. I had enquired with Fairy Godmother whether being part of Queen Belle's book club filled my requirement, but she said she felt in my case – meaning the case of perpetually-startled easily-poisoned sidekick-Greta – it would be a good idea to participate in more group activities with AKs. I also got the distinct impression that Belle had chatted with her about encouraging some separation from Armand.

So, rather unjustly, I had to participate in two extra-curriculars.

Booths were set up in the courtyard, the garden, and inside the auditorium. I made an early decision that Ingrid was in charge of seeing which clubs had garden booths, and reporting back to me if anything looked interesting.

Apparently, nothing in there was interesting.

It was going to be another slog of a day.

Tourney tryouts were to be at two o'clock in the afternoon, once the majority of signing up and booth browsing had taken place. Armand's attendance was mandatory, and he asked if I'd make sure I was there to "cheer him on", something I took to mean ensuring he wasn't tricked into signing any paperwork.

Ingrid and I ambled around the booths in the courtyard, looking at the Science Club's very impressive display for a few minutes, then loitering around the Baking Club's booth to try their complimentary spinach puffs.

The first person to run into us was Cadfael.

"I've signed up for the Fairies and Friends Club," he informed us, with a very slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I thought it was an amusing choice, given my familial legacy and the fact that I'm gay."

I was so pleased with his word play, I almost shook his hand, but in the end decided just to say:

"Good choice, I hope you enjoy it."

"Apparently, most members also serve on various decorating committees," he replied, "so if they allow you onto the Princess Council, we can collaborate on ways to offend people."

The Princess Council, I had decided, would be too much too soon. On top of which, I'd begun to suspect that very few students felt royal citizens of the Isle counted as royal citizens. No one had said it to my face, but whenever someone mentioned my title, I got an awful lot of snobby side-eye.

The three of us made our way along various displays that weren't of much interest, until we came to the Khuno Appreciation Society booth. I was deeply amused to discover it was a real, accredited club. For some naïve reason, I thought he'd been kidding.

"Hello Blonde One, Creepy Guy," he nodded at Ingrid and Cadfael, then smiled at me, "Deathtrap."

I gasped in hurt surprise, even though I was well aware he'd been calling me that.

"That's not a very nice nickname," I pouted, trying to look cute or coquettish or some mix of the two.

"Not my fault," Khuno explained. "You've got a giant neon sign saying any guy who goes near you is a crime scene waiting to happen. Otherwise you could've been Future Mrs. Khuno."

"You know Armand and I aren't actually dating, right?" I asked innocently.

"Yeah, it's kind of like, a whale isn't technically a fish, but it still swims around and lives in the sea and does pretty much everything a fish does, so…" he shook his head. "I'm just going to have to live with being the one that got away. I'm very sorry for your loss."

I was sorry for my loss, too. I'd researched his kingdom during a study period. It was literally dripping with riches.

Ingrid picked up his clipboard and started to read it, looking progressively more and more outraged.

"What the hell is wrong with people?" she demanded. "He has fourteen members!"

"What can I say?" Khuno shrugged, "I'm awesome and everybody loves me."

"Do they offer you sacrifices?" Cadfael wondered, reading the list of names over Ingrid's shoulder.

"Uh…" Khuno was understandably weirded out by the question. "They bring me fizzy sodas and crunchy snacks?"

Cadfael nodded like this was a satisfactory answer, then wordlessly wandered off to inspect a booth for the Astronomy Club.

"What, exactly, is that guy's deal?" Khuno asked, watching him go.

"He's the son of the Horned King," I reminded him.

"Okay, yeah. But… I don't know who that is, so…"

"Uh-oh," Ingrid laughed sardonically. "You'd better look that shit up."

We left him looking remarkably insecure for a guy with his own administration-approved fan club, and continued our search for mandatory hobbies. A few things genuinely piqued my interest – a correspondence club, a debate team, horseback riding – but nothing suitable for my growing reputation as a hopeless but well-meaning second-stringer. I was looking for something along the lines of glass blowing or portrait restoration. Something where I could literally destroy things in front of everyone like a tear-stained tornado of good intentions and honest tries.

In the auditorium, we found the Jazz Club playing one of their customary impromptu concerts. It quickly devolved into Nathaniel serenading Ingrid with a trumpet version of So This is Love. Everyone was staring at her.

She was not pleased.

It was probably best to leave before the violence broke out. I knocked over a display by the drama club and killed the mood, and after a few apologies and attempts to help that made everything worse, we managed to slip back into the courtyard.

"This place is so annoying!" Ingrid stomped one foot, with bizarrely expert stomping precision, let out a huff, and rolled her eyes at the universe. "These clubs are lame, and everywhere I go Prince Trumpet of the Land of Desperation is waiting to pounce."

"I think the clubs are sort of okay…"

I was only sticking up for them because people could overhear us. They were terrible and I loathed the idea of joining one.

"There they are!" A familiar voice said from behind us, and I turned to see Jane heading our way, with Fletcher White in tow, and two people I was most certainly not expecting to have to talk to that day.

I elbowed Ingrid to get herself together and take a look.

"Carlos?" I said, very cheerfully, "Evie?"

It was impossible to grow up on the Isle of the Lost and not have at least seen Mal's infamous gang of miscreants, even if you'd had very little conversation with them.

"Hello!" Evie said, every bit the gracious queen who'd put her troubled past behind her. I noticed the way she tried to smile to obscure a certain softening of her eyes, betraying a heart-bursting sympathy for mankind. I decided I was going to have to start practicing that in the mirror.

"Carlos came by to help me with setup today," Jane explained, looping her fingers through his as she spoke. He looked happily down at their hands, like he couldn't believe how lucky he was.

"So sweet!" I cooed in the way I'd learned Auradon girls do. You can either put one hand flat across your heart or tilt your head to one side while you do it. If you do both, it looks disingenuous. (I usually use the hand manoeuver, because my father once told me when I tilt my head I look like a hawk watching a mouse.)

"And I'm here to support Dizzy's Fashion Club," Evie explained proudly. "Did you guys sign up? I'm sure it would be a nice break from how crazy it can get around here. And what's more fun that sitting around with another VK making custom accessories?"

Good god, the custom accessories.

Dizzy was remarkably committed to her craft, but she had a… singular vision. The fact that Ingrid purposefully chose a utilitarian, military influenced style seemed to do the girl's head in. As for me, I wore whatever she gave me because it usually didn't go with any of my clothes and made me look like I was trying too hard.

"Her sheet was totally full when we got there," I explained. "She's such a hit around here! Everyone loves her!"

"And she can't shut up about you," Ingird told Evie. "Holy shit, it's like she's writing a book about your life. Evie did this, Evie says that, you guys are so different from Evie, Evie is the greatest."

Evie laughed uncomfortably.

"She's like a little sister to me," she explained.

We all nodded understandingly.

Carlos seemed to pick up on the big awkward black hole Ingrid had shot through the conversation, and decided to fill it:

"So! You guys settling in okay? Getting used to all the smiling and the food?"

I decided to cringe. Jane still felt enormously guilty about the unicorn punch incident, and every now and then I ever-so-softly poked that bruise, just to keep it fresh.

"The smiling is great," I confessed, "the food… has been a little trickier for me."

Jane took a deep breath and plastered on a big smile.

"Yeah…" she said, clearly not wanting me to tell any version of that story, "but it's getting better! Have you two picked your clubs?"

"All the good ones are full," I said glumly.

"Nothing suits me," Ingrid sighed in annoyance.

"What about yoga?" Jane suggested.

"Full," I reported with a frown.

Fletcher, who had so far been hanging a little back from the others, shrugged at us and said:

"Worst comes to worst, just make your own club. As long as the council okays it and you have a supervising teacher, you can do whatever you want."

Evie nodded enthusiastically at his suggestion.

"That's true!" She said, "We didn't have to do an extra-curricular while I was here, but if I was in your shoes… boots… I would've started my own club like Dizzy's! What are you into?"

Don't say money and guns, I thought frantically in Ingrid's direction, don't say money and guns.

"I guess I don't really know," Ingrid confessed, to my enormous relief. "I don't really have hobbies."

Of course she did. Apart from the aforementioned money and guns, she loved exercise and athletics. Military history was our favourite topic of conversation when we were both very sleepy, and she was quite fond of bath bombs and fragrances. The last one she was less likely to admit to.

The trouble was the lack of clubs that matched those interests. Even the yoga club was more concerned with mental wellness than actual fitness. And Future Guard Captains of Auradon, which had looked promising, point-blank refused to let either one of us join. Something about not wanting us to have swords.

"Well, you've got until the end of next week, so don't—" Jane was about to reassure us not to stress out too much, when a frantic looking girl with ringlets ran up and started telling her that someone had punched the president of the Jazz Club.

(Later we learned Nathaniel was decked by the president of the Acapella Club, who was sick of having her group's music drowned out by a perpetual Mardi Gras. Ingrid was thrilled to learn it was a girl who hit him. One of the Triton granddaughters, it turned out. Never interrupt a mermaid's solo.)

Jane made her apologies and exit, Carlos hurrying after her in case she needed back-up. Fletcher took this as a cue to wander away and do whatever Fletcher did with his spare time, leaving us with a very sympathetic-seeming Evie.

"I just wanted to say," she told us, eyes shimmering like opals, "I know the beginning is really hard. Really hard. But you'll survive. The important thing to remember is this isn't about getting rid of your life as a VK, it's about finding out who you are beyond that. It's your chance to be something better than your parents."

She was very sincere.

I think I might've flinched, because she shifted her gaze from the two of us to just me.

"If you need anything, even if it's just somebody who's been through the same stuff, I'm only a phone call away."

Of all the people I'd so far encountered in Auradon, all the princes and princesses and would-be royals, Evie was the only one who could probably win the hearts of a conflicted nation. I was enormously relieved she'd left politics behind in favour of entrepreneurship.

And while I'm sure her speech had been meant to comfort us, it instead left us both feeling more out-of-place and uncomfortable than ever. We thanked her for her concern and disentangled ourselves from her presence.

"I've figured something out," Ingrid decided, as we headed over to the tourney field to watch the tryouts. "I kept wondering why everyone says we're so different from the last group of VKs. It's because they hated they Isle of the Lost and didn't want to turn out like their parents. But we all hate the Isle of the Lost and admire our parents. Huge difference."

"What about Mal?" I asked, not arguing, just wondering how she fit in the theory. "She was obsessed with pleasing Maleficent. She was killing herself to follow in her mother's footsteps. Do you remember that summer she wore the dragon horn headband?"

"Oh my god, and she was just everywhere with that thing on!" Ingrid said, in that excited tone of voice that only happens when you realize someone had the same weird cultural touchstones as you.

"And then it was like everyone had to have a headband with their villain heritage on it," I nodded enthusiastically. "Maisie Medusa had the two crocodiles…"

"Didn't Harry rip that off her head with his stupid hook? I heard he took out a huge clump of her hair!"

"I heard that, too! I have no idea if it was true, she used to throw those huge tantrums and nobody would see her for weeks on end, so maybe he did..."

"And Uma, with the octopus one!" Ingrid remembered.

"That's why everyone stopped wearing them," I gossiped as proudly as Junebug would've. "Mal told Uma it looked like she had a calamari salad on her head, and Uma got so embarrassed she said anyone wearing one of those headbands would get thrown into the harbour from that day forward."

"Is that true?"

"Completely. One of Armand's brothers is in Uma's crew. He gave us an eye-witness account."

Ingrid stopped dead in her tracks and looked at me, mouth agape.

"Shut. Up."

"Gil," I said, as if to verify. "He's the rebellious one."

We kept walking.

"I never liked those stupid headbands anyway," she confessed. "Maybe it was because I couldn't figure out what to put on mine. Maybe… a hot air balloon full of remorse?"

"Oh, I had the same problem. I briefly considered cutting out a silhouette of a man proposing to an easily deceived woman, but I had a hard time finding construction paper," I joked.

It was nice to be myself for a little while with somebody who hated the same things I did.

When we got to the tourney field, the bleachers were full of adoring girls watching the guys on the field warm up. I immediately regretted my thin shreds of loyalty to Armand. We were going to have to join that gaggle and blend in.

"But will she be able to pull off sports girlfriend?" Ingrid wondered cynically, referring to the deep breath I often took to brace myself before trying a new social situation.

"Not helpful," I warned her in my generous-and-sweet tone of voice.

"Do you ever go 'woo' instead of applauding like you're at the opera?" She asked sincerely, "Because I think that's going to be mandatory."

I do not go 'woo', as it happens. Even if it's mandatory. I was prepared to loudly call for Armand to 'get it' if he was near some kind of spherical points-gaining object, though.

Honestly, it wouldn't be my first time cheering him on at this sort of thing. I'd been to two Gaston-a-Thons, the semi-annual family games where all five brothers were pitted against one another in a variety of ridiculous tasks. (My favourite was The Antler Decoration Challenge. It was always a toss-up.) But, back home, the crowd was always free to applaud as it liked, and encouraged to gamble. This was going to be different.

And it was going to be different for Armand, too. Everything he enjoyed about the Gaston-a-Thons – family bonding, the easy-going atmosphere, the barbequed boar at the end – was missing, while everything he hated – angry shouting, demands for higher performance levels, competitive point keeping, sweaty guys trying to tackle him – was there in full force.

I couldn't see Armand anywhere on the field yet, but Ingrid spotted Junebug and Naomi among the crowd of spectators.

"There's your camouflage," she nodded at them, as Junebug noticed us and waved us.

Thankfully, they'd chosen seats on the edge of the bleachers, so there wasn't a lot of fuss in going to join them. I wasn't really in the mood for botching a row cross, the most convincing way to do it is to apologize the whole time, then get something sticky spilled on you. It's a very effective manoeuver, but you also have to spend the rest of the event sitting in whatever you end up covered in.

"Nothin' like a fine fall afternoon watching a bunch of guys in tight clothes run around in lil' circles," Junebug said dreamily, offering me her bag of jellybeans.

"No thanks," I said, sitting down beside her.

"Oh shoot, I forgot," she shook her head. "It is a clean wonder you're not dead. I mean, this school might as well be made of sugar."

Ingrid sat on the other side of the pair, next to Naomi.

"Somebody punched your brother in the face," she reported.

"…Was the somebody you?" Naomi ventured carefully.

"Not yet."

It turned out that Naomi was no big fan of tourney, but she was there to promote school spirit, and because Suzanne Darling (who we were told was somewhere in the crowd behind us "bein' her awful self") used her association with the athletics department as some kind of leverage in the ongoing feud. Suzanne, as it happened, was the younger sister of a former player Coach Jenkins had been particularly reliant on. Suzanne used this to rule all council discussions of pep rallies and athletic events with an iron fist.

"I just don't think a school's identity should revolve around its athletics department," Naomi said quietly. "But it does, so if I want to get anything good done for the arts department, or even the main academic programs, I have to wade through a moat full of pom-poms."

"Politics is the ultimate contact sport," Ingrid said coolly. "Wouldn't you say so, Greta?"

"I think it all sounds intense," I nodded, looking like I couldn't be paid to dive into that mess.

But, oh-ho, what I wouldn't have given to breeze into a council meeting and rip out Suzanne Darling's administrative throat just for the fun of it. Unfortunately, I had important long-term goals, and little time for fun.

Junebug succinctly explained how the various elements of tourney worked and were combined. She was, as usual, very informative but prone to tangents. The gist is a variety of sports are combined to create a series of events based on obstacles a hero in the field of battle might face.

Ingrid listened with rapt attention, before standing up and announcing:

"I'm going to try out." she seemed enthusiastic. More enthusiastic than she'd been about any of her other options, and I wasn't too surprised. The whole thing sounded like track and field merged with hypothetical crisis roleplay. That was perfect for her.

Naomi and Junebug exchanged concerned glances.

"Uh, well, you kind of… can't…" Junebug said carefully.

"Why the hell not?" Ingrid asked, not sounding particularly irritated, just a little confused. "Armand is trying out, so VKs are good to go."

"It's not a VK thing," Naomi explained, glancing around like she was afraid of being overheard. "It's a no-girls-allowed thing."

Ingrid's expression morphed into one I had so far never seen her wear. Her eyes narrowed, her cheekbones seemed sharper, and her mouth tightened into a cynical half-smile. I hoped I never looked half as dangerous as she did in that moment, because it was very memorable.

"How strange," I said carefully, making sure to keep my sidekick tones floating nicely above my cautionary ones. "Back on the Isle, we had mixed teams all the time…"

"Tourney is training for princes and heroes," Junebug said, clearly disapproving, "it's like how the boys can take the Chivalry course and we can't. Tourney isn't part of our program…"

"Leaving aside that Lonnie was the best thing to ever happen to the Knights," Naomi grumbled. "She only got to play because Jay exploited a loophole. And if it wasn't for that damn Suzanne Darling – I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to swear!"

Naomi looked horrified with herself, while Ingrid looked uncertain if anyone had sworn.

"Loophole?" I asked, "If there's a loophole, it might be the perfect size to sneak Ingrid through."

We were given the truncated version of Lonnie's road to captaining the Knights, and how despite excellent performance on the field, the PTA received near-constant pressure to disallow her from playing. It was one of Naomi's big crusades to have the tourney rulebook amended, but she couldn't get enough support.

"So, you're telling me that a stupid tradition nobody likes is more important than winning?" Ingrid looked disgusted. "Winning is everything. This is insane."

"We even tried to get a girls team organized," Junebug added glumly, "but Coach Jenkins said it wouldn't work because there wouldn't be any other girls teams at the other schools to play against 'em."

"To which I replied that the Neverland team will play against anyone…" Naomi sighed, still boiling a bit from the old argument. "He doesn't like the idea of a mixed team, either. Apparently, girls are 'meek' and 'not cut out for the rough stuff' and he worries female players will call time outs anytime playing messes up their pretty hair."

Ingrid, now furious, bit her lip and stared hatefully in the direction of Coach Jenkins. He was talking with the fashionable fathers of potential players, all there to see how the team would shape up that year. I didn't recognize any of them as important figures.

Before I realized it, she was up and off the bleachers, heading towards the coach like an arrow heading towards an open eye. I watched her, not even considering going after her, because something of a brilliant idea was beginning to form.

Ideas are like children, if you neglect them when they're young it's much harder to get them to turn out the way you want. And I had a feeling that this was an important one.

From where we sat, we couldn't hear Ingrid, we could just see her yelling in outrage at Coach Jenkins. Naomi and Junebug debated going over to stop her, but they decided it was probably safer to stay where they were after she started kicking over big blue barrels of sports drink.

I was so wrapped up in my machinations, I almost didn't notice when Armand came to stand at my elbow.

"Ingrid seems… unhappy..." he noted, watching the pantomime unfold.

"Girls aren't allowed to join the team," I told him absently, fumbling for the last thread of my new plan.

He watched me think, which sounds weird, but he does it all the time, so I'm used to it. He claims it's when I'm at my prettiest, although I have sincere doubts he's telling the truth.

I wove together the plan like a tapestry, like I was looking at the rest of the world through a window while I worked.

It sounded far away and almost like a dream when Fairy Godmother walked up to Armand and said:

"All set for tryouts?"

She clearly hadn't looked across the field to our left yet.

"I guess so, but I joined a group called the Huntsmen this morning," he told her happily. "They don't actually hunt things, but there's a lot of woodcraft and things I like, so I'm looking forward to it."

"Well, that's wonderful!" Fairy Godmother sounded truly pleased. "I guess Coach Jenkins is going to be disappointed…"

"I think he's got bigger problems," Armand told her, nodding in the direction of Ingrid, who was now tearing up a bunch of papers she'd snatched off of the coach's clipboard, while the team's supportive fathers scolded her in outrage.

"Oh!" Fairy Godmother gasped, "Oh no! No, no!"

She sounded like a woman running after a puppy that got off its leash as she hurried over to the little hurricane.

Finally, I was happy with the new plan. It had come together very quickly, and it might have to change as things went, but it looked good. Very tidy.

"If someone wanted to start their own club, all they need is council permission and a supervising teacher, correct?" I asked Naomi, carefully putting the plan in a mental box and storing it with the others.

"That's right," Naomi answered, looking at me inquisitively.

"How does one obtain council permission?" I asked.

"For a club? It's not really formal, all you need is am accreditation. We pretty much give 'em out like candy, because you also need a minimum member count and a supervising teacher for the club to run. It's an easy way for us to get good will, because the really bad ideas can't get either."

"Could you give out an accreditation?" I was having a hard time bouncing back into sidekick mode, but I forced myself to wrinkle my brow and look like I was concentrating in the moment.

"Yes…" Naomi answered, looking terribly suspicious.

"So, if, let's say, I wanted to start a health and fitness club for girls – emphasizing things like salads and morning workout routines and which kinds of juices made your skin glow – and called it, oh, Auradon Valkyries or something along those lines, could you give me the paperwork I need?"

Naomi and Junebug looked at me in comprehending surprise, then look at each other conspiratorially.

"I could arrange that," Naomi said. "I could also put you and Ingrid in touch with girls who might be interested in a… health and fitness club. The trouble is getting a supervising teacher."

"I've got a few hunches about that part," I told them. "Be we'll need that accreditation. And a better name than the Valkyries."

They immediately set to brainstorming, while I excused myself and got Armand to help me down off the bleachers.

"We have places to go," I told him with a very happy smile.

"I'm supposed to do the tryouts…" He reminded me, one eye still on the chaos Ingrid was causing.

Fairy Godmother was clearly trying to calm her down, but she'd found a stack of plastic pylons and was pulling them off one by one and throwing them onto the field with an eerie calmness.

"You've signed up for something else," I reminded him with a dismissive wave of my hand. "Making you audition for a team you have absolutely no intention of joining would be the height of farce. It's only an excuse to show you off to people who make donations to the school, and Coach Jenkins is hoping to get a few of them to talk you into signing on. Ingrid's already spoiled all of that."

"But, what about Fairy Godmother?"

"You told her you've joined the Huntsmen," I reminded him, already starting to walk towards my next goal. "If she's a problem, I'll handle it."

I didn't have any more time to waste on the Knights. I was busy following a piece of advice my father gave me before his mysterious disappearance:

"There are two ways to get an army. You can steal one, or you can build one."