A princess named Nightingale may be the only princess to lock herself away in a tower. Just shy of her eighteenth birthday, a dragon arrives to inform her that suitors from faraway lands are coming to ask for her hand in marriage. According to tradition, she is to be engaged on her eighteenth birthday and become a fully empowered princess. Nightingale wants none of this. With the help of her new dragon friend, the princess wrestles with the annoyance of moronic men trying to woo her and the struggles of being thrust into adulthood.
A princess named Nightingale may be the only princess to lock herself away in a tower. Just shy of her eighteenth birthday, a dragon arrives to inform her that suitors from faraway lands are coming to ask for her hand in marriage. According to tradition, she is to be engaged on her eighteenth birthday and become a fully empowered princess. Nightingale wants none of this. With the help of her new dragon friend, the princess wrestles with the annoyance of moronic men trying to woo her and the struggles of being thrust into adulthood.
Chapter 1
In the land of This-and-That, there lived a princess who…Listen, I understand that these types of stories usually begin with some beautiful rhyming scheme. That is not going to happen here. It is not that I’m a lazy narrator, it’s just that the premise seems a bit pretentious, is all. So…moving forward.
In the land of…Look, it is just difficult, OK? As your narrator, I feel that the rhyming might take away from this brilliant story that I am about to tell. I mean, have you ever tried it? What rhymes with princess? I’ll tell you what. Nothing. It’s a pain, and if the rhyme isn’t good, it seems you’re cutting corners. Britney rhymed “calling” with “warning” and Usher rhymed “floor” with “go”, and that’s just plain criminal. On to the story.
In the…I’m just asking that you cut me a little slack here. Narrating jobs are scarce enough as it is, and I don’t need your high expectations undermining my gig. I’ve got bills to pay. So, let’s just have a little fun, alright?
 Thank you.
In the land of This-and-That, there lived a princess named Nightingale. Princesses are depicted as having hair of spun gold and eyes of violet-blue who flitter around in their castle, summoning wildlife through melodious caterwauling. They gallop through glens of green on a beautiful stallion named Chestnut or Champion or some other regal-sounding name, where they inevitably meet the Handsome Prince, Sir Whatshisface of Whatever. They chat about scones and dancing for about three paragraphs, and by Chapter Six, a beautiful wedding, happily ever after, the end. They have twenty-seven kids, all of them gorgeous, and none of their children suffer from anxiety. They can totally get into all the good clubs without calling ahead first. Nightingale was all of this and more, except the complete opposite.
Our heroine is short with average brown hair and average brown eyes. Our heroine hates her nose but has come to grips with it. Our heroine drinks power drinks and stays up all night playing online war games such as Scabs of Destiny. She routinely kills players with nicknames like PizzaBoi, Death Fist, and N00bmaster, who camp by spawning sites and deserve to be dispatched with reckless aplomb. Our heroine loves her high-speed ping rate and eats cookie dough ice cream for breakfast. She wears a hoodie, despises high-heeled shoes, binge-watches streaming services, and loves to sleep until the crack of noon. Take a moment to close your eyes to imagine this girl. I’ll wait. Are you back? Good. That’s EXACTLY what she looks like.
Nightingale enjoys her life. She lives in a tower, but not because she was cursed by a witch or hidden from the world by an evil stepmother. She lives there by choice. She comes and goes as she pleases. Her tower has satellite TV and a fantastic mini kitchenette. A comfy couch and throw pillows of all sizes and colors are littered about the main room. The bathroom has excellent water pressure, a claw foot tub and is decorated with a few plants. The bedroom is cozy enough, with a princess-size bed and plenty of closet space to harbor the fancy gowns and shoes she rarely wears. Pictures of family and friends are scattered about on the walls and dressers, with silly frames for the friends and royal ones for her parents. Adorning a wall in the living room is a magic mirror named Reflexa, who was hooked up to her Wi-Fi and was ready to answer the worldly questions that may burden a princess, such as “when is Scabs of Destiny 2 being released?” and “what power drink pairs well with a robust cheese puff?”
The tower was your basic round, white stone type with a red clay tile roof and tendrils of vines and bean sprouts climbed high along its walls. A heavy red oak door faced a flower-lined path leading to the Woods of Nevermore, which began at the edge of her glen. Set high, the tower had a window facing each direction, and they overlooked the beauty that was the kingdom. South to the Woods of Nevermore and west facing her parent’s castle, Castle Beckett. The castle sat far enough away to feel comfortable yet close enough to feel…well, comfortable. Her bedroom window faced north, and the sea could be seen on most nights. The smell of the salt air rode the breeze into her bedroom, and the morning sun’s reflection off the waves would dance along her ceiling. The bathroom had a small window, big enough to let in enough sun for the plants but small enough to stop her from imagining serial killers peeking in on her while she was in the shower.
Hopefully, I, the narrator, have painted a clear enough picture of the princess’ domicile. You’re going to have to meet me halfway if we’re going to get this done, so use your imagination a bit and fill in whatever blanks you have. Wondering what color her comforter is? Figure it out for yourself. That is literally how reading works. Moving on.
Upon graduation from high school, (You had no idea that princesses attended high school, did you? Well, some do. Most importantly, this one does), Nightingale’s parents asked her what she would like as a present. Our princess chose solitude. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the castle or that she had an issue with her parents. She just wanted to try it on her own. No parents waking her up, no expectations, no responsibilities. She would have to do all her own chores and cleaning and food shopping. In return, she would have peace of mind and the ability to try herself.
I don’t mean to make it sound as if living on her own was an easy sell. Her parents didn’t graciously give her the keys and kiss her goodbye. The pushback on the idea was formidable and caused quite a rift within her entire family. Nightingale was an only child, and the king and queen were very protective, which is what they should be. What seventeen-year-old lives on their own a month after graduating high school?
Her father, King Killian, was enraged and took the planned departure as a slap in his face. As protector and provider, the king felt slighted that his efforts weren’t good enough for his daughter. Meticulously, he itemized every worst-case scenario he could find, including a massive flood and invasion by hostile forces. Her mother, Queen Evelyn, was concerned for her daughter’s virtue and reputation. How would it reflect on her if her only child ran out at such a young age? Her rebuttals included health concerns and “invasions” by “hostile forces,” if you catch my drift.
 The debate continued for weeks, with many a slammed door and tears shed on all sides. Nightingale pleaded her case that the new living arrangements would help round her as a woman and that she was eager to face the world head-on. How would she eventually become the leader of a kingdom if she didn’t experience being the leader of herself first? Surely, her parents had armed her with enough knowledge and maturity to withstand living alone. This was a chance to take all of that knowledge for a spin around the block.
Countless discussions were had between the king and queen when, finally, they succumbed to the idea. Nightingale would use an old tower just outside of the castle walls. It was once an outpost for sentries during harsher times, when the threat of said hostile forces was prevalent. The princess would stay in contact with her parents, and they promised to keep her bedroom handy in case she needed to retreat. The king was certain that this would only be a fleeting fancy and that after some scary nights alone by the woods, his daughter would return home safe and sound.
Queen Evelyn was much brighter than her husband.
Once the princess tasted her freedom, the queen knew she would never return. She was once a seventeen-year-old princess herself and knew how they thought and acted. It broke her mother’s heart to see her go, but she swore to support her daughter in ways that her own parents never had. In the end, the queen convinced her husband to loosen the ties a little and let their daughter spread her wings.
For the most part, Nightingale was happy with her simple life. When she was lonely, she would call her friends to hang out or just to chat. Occasionally, she would ride over to the castle to see her mom and dad for a hug and a snack and to hear the latest gossip of the kingdom. Mom would tell her who had the pox and who was dating whom, and if they had the pox. Dad would ask about her friends and discuss who was champion of what and whether the crops had gotten the pox. Frankly, upon reflection, there was way too much talk about the pox.
Today was going to be one of the days when she would ride over to the castle to see her folks. She had promised to help her mother bake some chocolate chip cookies for a charity event, and if her father was home, she would like to drop a hint or two about what she wanted for her upcoming birthday. Nightingale was turning eighteen in a few weeks, and she figured that now would be a good time to casually mention the new sneakers she had been eyeing up. They were low tops in marshmallow with a petite floral design and so adorable that she had to have them. If she didn’t say anything about her gift preference, her father would bestow upon her something traditional, like another tiara or that horrific crossbow that she got for a tower-warming gift when she moved in.
Baking was a fun bonding time for Nightingale and her mom. The king would always find an excuse to leave them alone in the kitchen, where they could talk and relax without the constraints of the parent-daughter relationship to hold them back. Among the mixing bowls and measuring cups, they were two friends enjoying each other’s company, and laughing and complaining filled the time between batches. Many a crisis was thwarted in that kitchen, and Nightingale was counting on the good council.
Sometimes, you need a mom, and sometimes you need a friend, and a good mother can sometimes figure out what role is needed at the right time. Nightingale was in need of both, and she was hoping that her mother would recognize that. Our princess was facing a monumental dilemma, and she thought that today would be a good day to address it. You see, our princess wasn’t sure she wanted to be a princess.
Ever since she was small, Nightingale was groomed to take over the family business. That’s one thing if your dad is a cobbler or a district supervisor in charge of mass production and distribution of eastern markets for future gains in accordance with sectional titles and regulations, or, you know, a cobbler. It was another if he was running a kingdom. There is a ton of responsibility, and actual lives are at stake. One misstep and people starve, or have no water, or end up in a war or even lose their unlimited cell phone coverage.
In a princess’s world, there are countless balls, events, and meetings with people who think fresh-smelling breath is a luxury. Itchy silk gowns and tortuous high-heeled shoes are displayed with the proper protocols and traditions. Fake smiles and laughing through your teeth while balancing a small chandelier on your head in the guise of a crown was commonplace. None of this was appetizing to Nightingale, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to try.
She was showered, dressed, and ready for the short ride to the castle. Peering at herself in the mirror, she practiced what she would say to her mother about her abdication. How she would lightly feather it into conversation with phrases like: “Hey Mom, what has two thumbs and doesn’t want to be a princess? This gal.” or “You know what would be cool? Not being a princess. All my friends are doing it so I thought I would give it a shot.”
Then came the noise. A noisy noise filled with noise. A noise that sounded…noisy.
It was a noise like a sail unfurling or someone shaking out a very large blanket. Before she could identify the offending sound, it was gone. Then, she heard it again. Nightingale crept to the window facing the sea and peered out into the afternoon sky. Nothing. Then she checked out the view overlooking the woods. Again, not a thing. The sky outside her window had darkened, but not all at once. First, the shadow was in the south window, then the east. Quickly to the north, the west, and then south again. Great winds fought the leaves in the forest across the small glen, rustling and protesting mightily. At once, the shadow and the wind were gone.
The princess stood in the center of her tower, unsure of what to expect. Curiosity had outwrestled nervousness in her mind, and once again, she walked to a window, the south one this time, and leaned out to get a solid look-see. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The sun was once again shining high in the afternoon sky. No shadows or winds as far as the eyes could see.
Nightingale pulled herself back inside.
 Perhaps the wind was playing tricks with me, she thought as she scooped up her phone to call a coach to give her a ride to the castle. Before she could dial, the phone made a series of annoying chirps. It was a text:
!!DRAGON WARNING IN YOUR AREA!!
FROM THE DRAGON OFFICES IN MT. HOLLY: A DRAGON WARNING HAS BEEN ISSUED FOR THE FOLLOWING KINGDOMS: FLOURIN, GUILDERLUND, NOWHERE, AND THIS-AND-THAT. DRAGON(S) HAVE BEEN SPOTTED IN THE AREA COMING FROM THE EAST. PEOPLE ARE ASKED TO SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY AND NOT TO DO ANY UNNECESSARY DRIVING. WHERE AVAILABLE, HEAD TO A ROOT CELLAR FOR SAFETY. TRY TO AVOID SCREAMING AND RUNNING IN TERROR.
Well, she thought that would explain the noise.
Nightingale had never experienced a dragon before, although she knew that it was an “occupational hazard.” Princesses usually encountered a dragon during their lifetime in one manner or another. One princess she knew had a dragon living in her kingdom for weeks until she could finally shoo it away. Another princess employed a team of knights to ride out and beg it to please go home and stop squishing all the peonies. During their stay, dragons would often scorch crops and feast on livestock, causing quite a nuisance for everyone involved, especially the livestock. After a neighboring kingdom was infested with a dragon, the place reeked of brimstone for months, putting a huge damper on their annual Tex-Mex festival. This incident prompted a new rule of thumb amongst the kingdoms: When inhabited by a dragon, never under any circumstances feed it chili.
Nightingale grabbed a chair from her kitchen table and dragged it across the floor to her front window overlooking the woods. Sitting down, she could not help but wonder why a dragon had chosen to visit her. She had no evil stepmother, nor was she a captive in her tower. No witches had cast a spell in her direction, and there was a vacancy in the Prince Charming department.
 Speaking of which, Nightingale hadn’t had a steady boyfriend since a boy named Brenton in high school. In fact, the only remnant of Brenton was a couple of pictures and the ratty sweatshirt she stole from him and was presently wearing. Women have a marked propensity toward lifting a hoodie from their ex-boyfriend’s so if any boys are reading this, let that be a warning to you all. Once a girl gets your hoodie, it is magically theirs, and there is nothing you can do to change it. It is a simple spell but quite unbreakable.
 Truth be told, if the stars aligned and the moon was in the proper house, she missed Brenton just a little. When Nightingale weakened, replete with memories and a pinch of self-pity, she would become angry and immediately cleanse herself with a mouthful of whipped cream straight from the can. Then she would play a few rounds of Scabs to destroy something beautiful. This process, repeated as often as need be, seemed to help her convalesce.
No amount of canned cream nor avatar mutilations was going to help her stay strong in the face of a dragon. Nightingale would need to summon all of her princessly powers to stay her chin from an occasional quiver. Surely you have read the same books and seen the same movies as our heroine. Dragons were rumored to be big nasty beasties. Breathing fire and whatnot. Smashing through castles and ravaging kingdoms. Melting thrones and icy walls and being decidedly awful dinner companions. Nightingale would rather eschew the rumors and judge for herself.
Having never seen a dragon up close, Nightingale was a little excited to see what the big fuss was about. Sure, they looked terrible in pictures, but how bad can they really be? Maybe they were just not very photogenic, or they might have been having a bad hair day. Had anyone ever sat one down and tried to take a good picture of a dragon? Probably not. All the ones that Nightingale had come across were always action shots, and they’d never come out good. Action shots are all sweaty and blurry, with strange facial expressions and awkward angles. She had learned that from her days on the high school archery squad. Her yearbook photos from archery were a disaster, with lots of squinting and matted hair.
She propped her feet up on the stone windowsill and waited for her uninvited guest. The sky grew eerily dark, and the sail/blanket sounds grew louder and louder. A flash of red and white raced past by in an instant, too fast for Nightingale to get a good glimpse of the monster as it glided past her window. The force of the wind that followed nearly took her breath away as it fled out of sight, releasing the sun from its shield. Then darkness shrouded the tower once again, followed by more wind and the far away flapping of wings.
“I might be in a little trouble here,” said Nightingale to no one.
 She grabbed her phone and dialed 9-1- and kept hovering her finger over the remaining emergency digit. If it was the dragon, it had her undivided attention. Nightingale again leaned out of her window, eyes darting in every direction. No sign of the creature anywhere. She contemplated leaving the window, but curiosity had riveted her in place. Her father did not raise a coward, nor her mother a fool. With a deep breath, she embraced the inevitable and prepared herself to meet her visitor.
With a loud thud that shook the stone tower, the beast landed in the glen directly before her window. A dragon it was, and an impressive sight at that. Twenty feet tall if it was an inch. Its coloring was deep blood-red with white feet and stripes of white running from its feet to its long tail, which put the dragon’s length at a good fifty feet. No scales like in the storybooks, but a fine fur covered its body. A high ridge of hair raced along its spine, thick and white like the mane of a horse. The head was enormous, easily the size of an ox, and it housed the eyes of a cat, but rimmed with a fiery glow. Beneath its chin sat a white tuft of a beard. The face pulled forward in a snout like an alligator that failed to keep a frightening number of teeth at bay.
If Nightingale weren’t a princess, she would have piddled there and then. I almost piddled writing that last paragraph, and I am a grown-up narrator. But a princess she was, and she was not about to show fear no matter how magnificent a beast landed on her front lawn. Our heroine stared directly into the eyes of the massive creature, resolute and unbending.
Some books try to be funny and to balance references to outside media. Very few books succeed, but The Self-Sufficient Princess by Sanguine Addams is one of them. In many ways, it is modern The Princess Bride, not ashamed to poke fun at fairy tale tropes while being a love-letter to them. The writing style is witty, compelling, and laugh-out-loud hilarious.
The story is more than the wit, however. It is a poignant tale about growing up and finding your place in life. Princess Nightingale, or Gale, lives on her own in a tower. She is learning to take care of herself before she has to officially step into her role as princess.
As her 18th birthday draws closer, the dragon Wrathnarok, also known as Mittens, shows up to protect her, followed closely by multiple suitors. Gale's life changes drastically. She doesn't want to get married, and isn't even sure she wants to be a princess anymore. Now she has to decide, what does she really want, and who is she, really?
Gale is the kind of heroine that readers can relate to. She is spunky, but she is also just trying to figure things out. Who is she? What does she want in life? These questions are something that all of us have asked ourselves at least once in our life.
Gale's relationship with her parents is very sweet. They are supportive and caring of their daughter, and give her space and time to discover who she is. This gave the story an additional sweetness and kept it grounded.
Mittens the Dragon is also a fantastic character. She is ancient, protective of her assigned princess, and totally enamored of modern life. She and Gale have their differences, but watching them slowly become real friends was a treat. The suitors are hilariously awful, yet realistic. Most people have met or seen at least one of these guys in action.
The Self-Sufficient Princess allows readers to linger. We learn about Gale and her life, and we get to watch her learn and grow, and maybe, we learn a bit about ourselves along the way.
If you enjoyed Princess Floralinda and the Forty-Flight Tower by Tasmin Muir or The Princess Bride by William Goldman, this is a book to check out. It's funny and heartfelt at the same time, and that is a winning combination.