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First published 2025 001

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Penguin Random House Children’s One Embassy Gardens, 8 Viaduct Gardens, London SW11 7BW

For Lelly. My sun, my moon and my whole universe.

The Kingdom in the Stars

Far, far away, deep in the nothing of space, was the cosmic realm of Galaxandria. This odd star-shaped world was made up of lots and lots of microplanets and asteroids spinning slowly, like a galaxy, round a central white sun. So small were some of these planets that you could have dinner on one and hop over to the next for your pudding.

At the heart of this world, with its own planet and garden moons, was the Galaxandria Royal Palace, a shimmering castle of astral beauty. But its quiet morning orbit was disrupted by its most unruly resident.

‘IT’S NOT FAIR!’ screamed Princess Celeste

Starwing, huffing down the long palace hallway, her golden star-shaped hair bouncing as she marched.

In all her 963 years, she’d never experienced such blatant favouritism.

Celeste wasn’t actually 963. The Royal Palace orbited the central sun much faster than the rest of Galaxandria, so a year in the palace was technically only a few days long. Celeste was more than happy to embrace extreme old age if it meant she got a hundred birthdays a year instead of one.

Today was not one of her birthdays (that was yesterday). But it was her older brother Percy’s actual fifteenth birthday and news had reached Celeste that their father, King Leonis Starwing VI, was throwing the prince the largest birthday bash this side of the cosmos.

The king and Prince Percy were enjoying their morning reading of the Terrestrial Times when Celeste stormed into the breakfast dining hall.

‘I’ve just walked past an entire spaceship’s worth

of party decorators and enough caterers to feed the whole universe!’ she said, stamping her foot.

The king paused a moment, sipping tea through the perfectly symmetrical star-shaped beard that hugged his stern face. Despite being in his dressing gown, he still commanded regal power, as if he were currently seated on the Cosmic Throne.

‘And what is your point, Celeste?’ He was unamused.

‘My point is you didn’t make this much effort when it was my birthday yesterday!’

The king sighed. This was a conversation he’d had with Celeste several times. He loved his daughter, which is why he allowed her to have so many

birthdays to begin with, but she was getting bossier every day.

Celeste continued. ‘All I had for my nine hundred and sixty-third birthday was a rubbish party and a twotier cake and a dozen presents and a sad clown and —’

‘Honey, if you counted your birthdays once a year instead of twice a week, they would be much greater celebrations.’ The king took another sip of tea. ‘Why was the clown sad?’

‘Probably because he was sick of singing “Happy Birthday, Celeste”,’ Prince Percy joked. Celeste shot him a sharp glare. The prince was a slim young lad, who had yet to grow any star-shaped facial hair, but it was just as well, because he would have hated to

get any of his Orbit-O frosted cereal flakes stuck in it. ‘You’d enjoy your birthdays more if you had some friends to invite.’ He smirked.

That one stung Celeste.

‘Perseus . . .’ his father said warningly, using Percy’s full name to show he was being serious.

Suddenly, a loud chime echoed across the room, interrupting them.

On a tall stand near the back wall was a large glass ball with a swirling green vortex inside. It was pulsing with a bright glow and continued its noise until one of the butlers walked over to it.

Celeste could see that a series of bright words was now displayed in the glass. The butler started to read.

‘A new message on the Wurm, sire. The lord and lady of the Meow-ky Way have accepted their invitation to tonight’s party!’

‘Excellent!’ the king replied cheerfully, standing

to take his leave. ‘Do make sure there are enough flying milk saucers for them.’

Nobody understood exactly how these magical Wurm spheres worked. All people knew was that if you wrote a message on the glass, along with who you wanted it to go to, the words travelled through the green vortex – a wormhole. After a short journey through a magical dimension, the message would appear in the right person’s sphere with the glass saying, ‘Lunch will be at noon,’ or,

‘Please stop inviting me to lunch; I don’t know you.’

They really were quite amazing little magical devices and were free to everyone. You could even get news updates, ask them questions and receive weather alerts if a meteor shower was coming.

Celeste ruffled her hair in frustration.

‘You have Meow-ky Way cat-people coming to your party, Percy? This is so unfair!’ she cried, not showing the maturity of a 963-year-old.

‘I’m not going!’ She felt her father’s large shadow

looming over her. ‘Well,’ she muttered sheepishly, ‘you never come to mine, Percy . . .’

‘Nobody has time to attend twice-weekly birthday parties, Celeste,’ said the king. Celeste wriggled in her seat, not liking what she was hearing. ‘You are going to this party,’ the king continued firmly, ‘and you will not embarrass this family with your ridiculous tantrums.’

‘But not once have you made this much effort for my birthday,’ she protested. ‘Not even for the proper ones. Percy is getting a Lunar Ball, a Galactic Feast and more guests than I’ve had birthday cakes!’

The king sighed again and gently put his hand

on her shoulder. ‘You can have a birthday party just as spectacular if you stop having them so frequently.

Maybe when this 963-year-old girl grows up and accepts she’s actually nine.’

The Wurm chimed again, and the butler glanced over to read the latest message.

‘Good news, Your Majesty! The young wizard and owner of the Wurms himself, Herman von Wurmon the Third, has accepted his invitation and he says he will be bringing a special surprise!’

Celeste sat quietly, in a glum mood, as the Wurm continued to receive party responses and well-wishes for her brother for the rest of the morning.

Big Bang Biscuits

It was the night of Prince Percy’s birthday, and his party was in full swing. The royal grounds were crowded with spaceships as a steady stream of guests arrived. Inside, the royal hall was illuminated by a flurry of solar-flare fireworks, dazzling planetary decorations circled the ceiling, and top music band the Moon Rockers lit up the Lunar Ball dance floor. Everybody was in high spirits; even the king was seen cracking a smile. Everybody, that is, except Celeste, who was orbiting the party like a moon made of stinky cheese, sulking.

‘Enjoying the party, Celeste?’ Prince Percy said smugly. He was standing by the gigantic food

buffet, sipping a Meteoric Mocktail.

‘Hmph!’ Celeste breathed through her nose.

‘No, I am not!’ She grabbed a cupcake from the enormous pile on the table and took a ferocious chomp. ‘Ew, YUCK!’ She spat it out. ‘That’s so sour!’

‘It’s lemonberry,’ Percy said, sighing.

Celeste aggressively wiped the crumbs from her mouth. ‘Do all the cakes taste like venomous swords?’

‘They’re delicious! And they’re my favourite.’

‘Pfft! Why can’t you like a normal flavour like chocolate or mint or prismberry?’

‘Because it’s my birthday and it’s my choice. When it’s your fake birthday again in a few days, you can have what you like,’ Percy said, grabbing a cupcake for himself. ‘Bet I can eat more cupcakes than you.’

This caught Celeste’s attention; she absolutely hated coming second in anything, and Percy knew this. ‘Bet you can’t!’ she said stubbornly, grabbing an armful of sour cupcakes and ramming them into her mouth. She was determined to cram as many in there as possible, but the horrid taste of lemonberry was too much, and she spat them all over the floor.

‘AACHH!’ she coughed.

‘Tough luck, Celeste,’ Percy gloated. He knew exactly how to wind her up. Celeste grumbled, but froze when she felt the tall, chilling shadow of her father looming over her.

‘Celeste,’ his voice rumbled behind her, ‘several of our esteemed guests have just watched you spit cake all over the carpet.’ He gestured to the pile of chewedup sponge at her feet. Celeste gulped. ‘This is your last

warning, young lady: do not embarrass me tonight. Understood?’

Celeste nodded, making as little eye contact as possible. She was quick to answer back to anyone except her father.

‘Distinguished guests!’ cried out a palace butler, ‘please welcome Herman von Wurmon the Third for a magical show entitled Dance of the Lemonberry Cake.’

‘Oh no, not more lemonberry cake!’ moaned Celeste. ‘I’m going to find some real food!’

As Celeste stormed off towards the kitchen, everyone else eagerly gathered around to watch the famous child-wizard Herman von Wurmon the Third perform his magic. Wizards were a rare sight in Galaxandria, ever since the magic academy closed years ago, before Herman was even born. The Von Wurmons were

the most powerful magical family in Galaxandria, and so to have one here performing was a real treat.

Herman was a short, squat young lad with sunken eyes and greasy black hair who, with a swish of his staff, magically changed his formal party outfit to dark green wizard robes. The lights in the royal hall dimmed and the entire room fell silent as he took to the stage.

‘Now, let’s see . . .’ he said in a high, raspy voice, searching his robes for something. ‘Ah, here it is!’

From his pocket he pulled a swirling green vortex, a wormhole just like the ones in the Wurm spheres.

Everyone had one of these magical portals in their home that they used to send messages, but no one had ever seen one outside its glass ball.

‘By the gods, what is he doing?’ the crowd shrieked. ‘We could all get sucked into that thing!’

Panicked gasps filled the room as the green swirls rose to the ceiling and grew bigger.

‘Now, now, people. There’s nothing to fear,’ Wurmon reassured the crowd. ‘This is a one-of-akind wormhole, created by yours truly especially for tonight’s performance. I can assure you it does not lead to anywhere dangerous.’

The audience applauded.

‘So where does it lead?’ asked Percy curiously.

‘The kitchen.’

On the other side of the palace, Celeste burst through the kitchen doors, determined to find something delicious to eat. She was immediately met with a pile of raw ingredients and one very large wormhole in the floor.

‘Weird . . .’ Celeste muttered, surprised to see a wormhole out of its glass and a few centimetres from her feet. The kitchen was several corridors away from the royal hall, but the wormhole made space go funny, and now it appeared as if the two rooms were right on top of each other. Through its green mist she could see the party below.

Meanwhile, in the royal hall, Herman von Wurmon was just getting started. The party guests were expecting a show, and a wizard never disappoints! He raised his staff and waved it with a flourish. A magical aura flowed around him as he channelled his power.

He looked up and smiled. ‘Hmmm, lemonberries.

Good choice, my prince. They’re my favourite as well.’

‘How do you know they’re my favourite?’ the astonished prince asked. Wurmon simply winked at him.

Back in the kitchen, Celeste had been about to get a closer look at the wormhole when a strange movement caught her eye. Suddenly, all the ingredients in the kitchen started rising around her. Large quantities of flour, butter, sugar, eggs, milk and . . . ugh, lemonberries . . . levitated from their sacks and cartons and dropped one by one into the wormhole. She took a small step towards the green mist and looked inside. She could see Herman’s audience on the other side being greeted by the arrival of all these ingredients, swirling and dancing around each other.

Celeste decided to ignore all that nonsense and scanned the kitchen, looking for something that wasn’t raw, floating or citrus-flavoured. Then she spotted what she was after, on top of the fridge.

‘Big Bang Biscuits!’ Her favourites! They created a flavour explosion so huge it was like an entire universe formed inside your mouth with every bite. ‘Yes!’ She licked her lips and, using its door-handles as footholds, she started climbing the fridge. In the hall, the Dance of the Lemonberry Cake continued. Ingredients swished and swooshed above everyone’s heads in gorgeous patterns. Butter joined sugar and milk, then flour came to play too.

Wurmon, almost in a trance, waved his staff hypnotically. Eggs cracked open and lemonberries were chopped at his magical commands. A great cake mixture had formed in the air. The crowd could feel a heat baking it. Meanwhile, Celeste had almost made it to the top of the fridge.

With one last wave of his staff, Wurmon conducted his finale, assembling fifteen floating tiers of freshly baked sponge and cream into a towering birthday cake. Gently, they glided on top of each other. Frosting coated itself over the top, and dried lemonberries fluttered into place like decorative butterflies. It was a masterpiece. All the party guests erupted in applause, unaware of the scene unfolding in the kitchen above them.

‘Gotcha!’ Celeste cried, grabbing the biscuits. But then, as if gravity had taken a sudden dislike to her, she felt the fridge begin to tip over. Powerless to stop it, Celeste held on as the fridge toppled slowly like a tree . . . ‘Oh, crumbs!’

THUUUUUD!

The fridge slammed on to the kitchen floor, but Celeste landed on the wormhole. The sheer force of the impact sent her rocketing out of the other side, above the astonished crowd. She tumbled and turned, falling faster and faster, until –

SPLAAAAAAAT!

She fell right into the cake. The whole thing exploded, breaking her fall. Cake went everywhere. There wasn’t a person in that room who wasn’t covered in cream, sponge or chunks of lemonberry – including the young wizard who’d made it, a prince drenched in frosting and a frosty-looking king.

Post-haste

For three days and three nights, Celeste lay alone in her room. She hadn’t just ruined her brother’s party –she had destroyed it. All the guests had left that night looking as if they’d been caught in the crossfire of a food fight, and the palace staff were still scraping bits of icing off the walls.

‘Wurm, what day is it today?’ Celeste spoke clearly into a Wurm that sat on her bedside table.

‘It is Mornsday, the eighth of Stelluary.’ It spoke back to her. She knew it was Mornsday but her Wurm was the only thing she had to talk to – she hadn’t had a real visitor for the whole time she’d been there. Nobody had wished her a happy 964th birthday, but she didn’t feel like celebrating anyway. Celeste hadn’t heard a peep from her father since the calamitous cake