The Leprechauns of Dorcha Wood

“Good sir an' fellow man-at-arms,” the man squawked, “I come in friendship a-seekin' to bear our good King's word to the young princess.” He held his hands high and made no effort to draw his hatchet. The little horse drowned his last word with another scream, and earned him a smack between the eyes from his flustered master.

“Princess?” Allie found her voice at last. “King? What King? A—and why are you calling me Princess? You—you must be—you are mistaken!”

“Are ye nary the Leprechaun Princess, Alastríona Síofra of Rois?” The man’s face turned pink.

“No! My name is Allie.”