“You’re a frog,” the princess says, not even disguising her disdain.
“Well, I certainly am no freshwater flower, missy” the frog shrugs, hopping onto the next lily pad with the grace and precision of a five-year habit. “And the witch did say any princess will do—”
“I ain’t kissing no frog!” the princess shrieks before diving into the water with the temper of her sixteen years made worse by one week’s worth of cursed magic.
The persistent frog prince will find another princess to kiss the following year.
It takes twenty years for the fish princess to be so lucky.