A Little White Lie
"He's a prince," the young man holding the frog said.
Princess Marion eyed the frog with great skepticism. She might be only 16 years old, but she knew a prince when she saw one. That frog bore absolutely no resemblance whatsoever. Even if a prince could be turned into a frog as the boy said, she was pretty sure a frog prince would not go to a teenaged boy in ragged clothing for help.
"Really!" the boy insisted. "He's been cursed! Just needs a princess to kiss 'im, and then 'e can go right back to princing." He held the frog out to her. It let out a hopeful ribbit.
Princess Marion remained a bit skeptical, but...well, what was the worst that could happen? She gave the frog a little peck, it turned out to still be a frog, and the beggar boy had a laugh at her expense. There were worse things. There probably wasn't much to laugh at in a beggar's life, anyway.
Princess Marion, as kind and good as she was beautiful and rich, bent down toward the young man's hands and gave the frog just a tiny little smooch on the top of the head.
"Whoa!"
Suddenly the frog was changing, growing, twisting, croaking, screaming, and finally...muttering?
"Doyle Sullivan, ye're lucky I don't kill you."
The frog was not a prince. The frog had in fact turned into a young girl with dark hair and eyes, wearing a dress as ragged as the boy's shirt and trousers.
"Sorry!" Doyle offered an apologetic grimace to his sister, and then to the shocked princess. "Sorry! Thought ye might give a frog prince a chance, but I didn' have much hope for a frog wench."