Sometime in the night, I woke up with a start. I was still encased in Askar's 'claw,' at least his arms were still around me when I saw the neglected, melted wax of the candlestick upon the nightstand. The midnight sky was a rich, deep blue outside the windows beyond our feet, and for a moment, I felt at peace. But then it occurred to me that I had no idea the hour it was.

I hurried to get dressed, nearly rousing the Duke with my reckless endeavor by dropping a shoe, but with some patience, standing perfectly still within the room, I eventually slipped out the door before he was disturbed.

In the corridor, I held my heels until I was past the final room and then slipped them on and scampered down the steps like a child would on Christmas morn.

The party was still alive with the faire's undying festivity. I was nearly to the door undetected when I heard a familiar voice. It caught me by surprise.

"Havin' faith and havin' brains are separate traits, I say. What's to make Her Majesty hear something King Sameer will not?" it asked.

I couldn't place it.

I hovered by the entrance, curiosity piqued, but my vision was barred by the silhouettes of patrons in the way. There could be no other 'Her Majesty' he spoke of besides–

"The Wild Mare, they call her. Queen Svana is not known for her patience," he said. "She'll turn us away."

Another player joined. "Aye. Aye. I hear what yer sayin', I do. 'N yer right to be wary. Her Majesty and King Sameer are friends," he croaked. "Engaged once; I remember. When we were young."

"Friends," the first scoffed.

The second voice returned with confidence. "But Löff believes the Queen is in our path to hope. And I, for one, believe in Löff."

"I'll drink to that," the other replied.

Whiskers. The voice belonged to Whiskers.

Just as I moved to try and confirm the fact, the door to the tavern swung open and nearly bludgeoned me. I stumbled backward as Ser Willoughby stepped in. No one paid him much mind, that is, until the storm he had brewed around him was delivered directly to my place next to the hearth. The light of the fireplace flickered over his features, and he was mad.

Very mad.

"Your Highness," he seethed at me as far as he could seeth for such a cheerful man.

The comment was a little too loud than I think he had ever meant. The title and the presentation combined drew Ser Whiskers and Ser Fridrick to find me from their table. Their waitress deposited another pint in front of them and went on about her way, and while two or three other bar-goers scowled at or altogether dismissed me, the duo remained unflexed.

"Is that?" Whiskers started. He narrowed his eyes.

Instinctively, I tried to shield my face from him and told Ser Willoughby to go out the door, but Whisk stood up and lifted himself a little higher to get a better look, and I looked back, too. Despite the demeanor he had when he was gambling earlier, the frown he wore looked like a permanent ornament to his face.

The crow's feet at either edge of his expression deepened, and his hair, while in the daylight, looked to be silt; it was mostly gray beneath the candelabra that hung above him.

"I have been looking fo–!" Willough started.

"It took you long enough to step inside!" I cut him off. "I've been waiting half a minute, Ser," I begged him to comply with the tale, my eyes as desperate as I could make them.

His nostrils flared, but to my relief, he seemed to catch the meaning of the moment for what it was. He took in the tavern next, relaxing his back.

"I don't see what we're looking for," he said. "Let's try another inn. Come."

His grip was tight as it found and fastened to my arm. I went with him compliantly and with a purpose.

"As you suggest," I sang. "You would know best."

We scurried to make our escape, but then someone stood from one of the tables, pointing through the air. "Your R-Royal," he hiccuped. Drunk. "Your Royal Highness!! Princess! Everyone! It is the Princess! She's come to celebrate the faire!"

The man sent his ale into the air, splashing those around him, and everyone else looked up.

To make matters worse, the door to the inn opened again and introduced my brother. He was just as furious as Willough had been, but to my saving grace, when he opened his mouth to speak, all anyone could hear was the drunkard wailing instead.

"And the Prince!?" he screamed. "Heavens smile upon us!"

He basically fell to his knee to complete his devotion, and while any other time I would have thanked him for the respect, his display had cost me what should have been an easy exit.

"Hi, Willem," I plead.

Will's face went pale. He half-bowed at the room. "Aye, hello. You humble me. Please. Continue your night."

But the chair beneath Fridrick scraped across the floor, and his palms met with the tabletop the same as his friend. "Prince? Princess?" I heard him make the crack back to his friend. "Is that not the girl we saw earlier?" he asked.

Nothing could save me; I tried to avoid my brother's face.

"Is it?" he asked.

"I'm sure I've never seen those men before," I lied.

"It is the Apple Faire; perhaps they're making rounds," someone whispered.

"Rounds? In a bar? This late?" an elder spat. "No. No. This is strange. Something must be wrong."

"Good Lord, man," Fridrick waved at the drunk. "Find your seat."

He did.

I tried not to notice anyone in the room but the man who had bowed. Ser Willoughby offered me no advice; his lips were fused shut by what must have been frustration. I did the only thing I thought I could. I honored the man with half a curtsey, odd moments after Will had already delivered his nod and the knight had told him to sit down.

I said, "You humble me, as well, sir. How do you find your faire?"

The man's eyes went wide in a long attempt to blink, but he did not answer coherently.

"Right then, onwards. Knight? Brother?" I urged Will and Willough toward the door, but we were stopped.

"Wait a minute," Ser Fridrick said. "Perhaps a moment of your time?" He whispered something urgently to the other. Whiskers nodded at whatever it was. He left his table and started in our direction.

I patted the air. "No need for formalities, Ser. We're on our way, I'm afraid," I tried.

But he arched his brow. "No, my lady–err. Your Highness." He glanced at Ser Fridrick. "I must fetch the Duke."

"I beg your pardon?" The panic started to sink in. "Why?"

"Yes. Please. You must speak to Duke Löff," Fridrick said. "He is just upstairs. But he should like to speak with you."

"Or with your mother," Whiskey said. "Perhaps you or His Highness might be a conduit to–?"

"My mother?" I thought he was joking and rolled my eyes. "You mean the Wild Mare, sir?"

"Rosie!" Willem hissed. "Have you hit your head?"

"Come on, Eliza," Willoughby's hand brushed my arm, a reminder of my manners.

I heeded it.

Will offered the man a solemn shrug. "Unfortunately, Her Majesty is not taking counsel at the moment. She is in Chalke."

"In Chalke?" Frid replied. "We've just come from there."

"Yes, in the north," Will replied.

There was an awkward pause. Willoughby stepped in. "Send a letter to the castle. Someone will arrange a meeting," he said.

"It's grave–" Frid cleared his throat. "Your Highness. With respect. Might we move this to a more private venue?" he asked. He pointed outside.

My brother nodded. "With the same respect, sir," he said. "I have no concept of who you are. I'm not in the habit of entertaining private audiences outside or anywhere not near the throne with men I do not know."

"But yes, of course." He bowed. Actually, he took a knee. "I am Ser Fridrick Vast, Knight and Son of the Duchy of Gosil. I am Master of Arms for His Grace, Duke Löff. We need to–" He rose. "I'm sorry, but we need an audience with the Crown. I must urge it on my lord's behalf."

"The Crown is out," I reminded him.

"Then when will she be back?!" he snapped at me. "I am certain we can wait!"

My Sword bristled. He quickly touched the handle of his blade, and for long enough that the other knight settled and then gave me a low, polite nod. "You'll forgive me, Your Highness." He dipped his head my way. "I've not had much sleep."

"You're forgiven, Ser Fridrick, Knight and Son of the Duchy of Gosil," Will said. He turned to look me over. "I must see my sister home. You understand?"

"Of course. But you are the Prince?" he asked.

We met eyes, and I feared the worst. That he would expose my misdeeds to my brother. Did he know I'd been upstairs?

"If the Crown is out, then do you not stand in its stead?" he asked. "Surely someone is taking calls on Her Majesty's behalf?"

Willoughby repeated himself. "Write to the Queen; someone will arrange an audience. Surely the same is routine for your Duchy?"

"Whiskey, wait. Slow down." I heard Askar's smooth, rhythmic words descend down the steps ahead of him.

Immediately and shocked, I found his face as it rose from behind the banister, and I tried not to breathe too loudly. I wanted to vanish into the floor. Maybe jump into the fire.

"What did you say was happening?" he asked his knight.

"Your Grace," I still whispered.

The Duke followed Ser Whiskers, dressing his arms with similar bracers the others wore. The same emerald tree. The same leather armor. There was a sword at his waist, one I hadn't seen in the room but realized I hadn't ever stopped to look for.

I hadn't even noticed his knight vanish from our conversation long enough to go and retrieve the Duke, and when the two of them were back in the bar beside Ser Willoughby and me, Askar narrowed his gaze between us and then his crew.

"Ser Frid?" he asked. "What is the meaning of this?"

We shared a look. I tried to offer him a subtle dismissal, shaking my head, but–

"Your Grace," his knight replied. He shelved his hand to direct him my way. "His Royal Highness and Her Royal Highness, the Prince and Princess of Oreia."

"Prince and Princess?" Askar asked. "You're married?"

"Ew, gross," I gagged.

Willem frowned, and he met the Duke's question as if it was meant for him but with an equal sort of disgust. "My sister, thanks."

"Sister," Ask breathed. "My apologies. The hair threw me, I think."

"An odd observation," Willem said.

"And gross," I muttered. I scowled at Willoughby for comfort, but he was eyeing the Duke, and far, far, too close for my liking. "Ser?" I tried to break it. He furrowed his brow.

Will sighed, considering the room. "Your Grace, is it?" he decided. "Then that makes you Duke. Fine. We'll speak outside."

The night was colder than it had been when I'd last felt it. I tried to burrow within myself, rubbing my arms and wishing I'd brought my coat. Ser Willoughby stood rigidly next to me, but something told me it wasn't the weather that kept him still. He glanced between the Duke, who was speaking with my brother a length away from us, and me as I stood next to him.

"Just ask it," I finally said.

"I'd rather not," he replied.

"Please?" I tried. "Then we can move past it. Right?"

He didn't answer.

"Please?" I begged.

"I do not wish to know," he said.

"I do not wish for you to be angry with me," I whined. "So ask me. I'll tell you. Out of respect, you see?"

"You don't respect me, Princess," he said.

"What? Of course, I do!"

"Is that why you ran off?" He shrugged, purposely meeting my face. "And in front of the Prince, no less? It's different when it's a private disrespect. When you abandon me at the shop, or you don't want me to hear you giggle with the other ladies about the younger knights. But when you make me have to get your brother involved in finding you because I can't tell him if you're alive or dead or taken to be sold? How do you think that makes me look? Incompetent, that's how."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I thought you were hurt somewhere."

"I'm sorry, Ser," I said. "But I'm fine, see?" I told him. I held my arms out to either side, then regretted it, shrinking them back in. "Blast, it's cold."

"How could you be so foolish?" he hissed. "Over a boy, no less."

"Please. Do not be cross with me."

"I'm not cross; I'm disappointed," he said.

"What?" I shook my head. "No! That's so much worse!"

"No." He twisted me into his confidence. "What it is, is a series of bad decisions."

"I know; I was stupid," I said. "But–"

"Not yours, mine."

"Huh?"

"I let you get away with too much," he said. "Now I am reaping what I've sown. Elías warned me this would happen; I have no one to blame but myself, but I wanted to give you a chance."

"I don't understand. Elías said what about me?"

"That you would test my limits," he said.

"But. But this was my fault. Not yours. What decisions did you make?" I asked.

He exhaled, skirting a few of my questions. "I decided to trust you when you said we would be covert. I decided not to immediately take you home when you started trying to lose me, and I—"

"You knew what I was doing?" I bit my lip. "But I–"

"Yes, I knew what you were doing. How stupid do you think I am?" he asked.

"Uhm," I hesitated.

"Spare me answering that," he said.

"I don't think you're stupid; I just thought I was clever," I told him.

"I just don't know why." He scoffed.

"Why I think I'm clever?" I asked.

"Why you'd do this. Do you have any idea how livid your mother is going to be when I tell her that you ran off?"

"You're going to tell her?! Why!?" I asked.

"What choice do you leave me, Eliza?" he begged.

"Any! Any choice! Any choice that doesn't involve throwing me under the horses to my mother! How could you do that to me?" I cried.

"No, how could you do that to me?" He jeered at Askar. "You could've gotten very hurt. Very, very, very hurt!"

"I know, but!"

"There is no but, Princess." He raked his hand through his hair. "I am so disappointed in you."

My face began to twitch; I felt like I would cry. And then I started to, quickly swiping the tears from under my eyes and turning to face away from him and anyone else who might see me. I stared at the wooden planks of the tavern's outer wall.

"Stop it," he said. "Stop crying."

"I can't help it," I whispered. "I didn't think you'd be so upset with me. I knew you'd be upset, but I didn't think..."

"I have every right to be upset," he said. "If you cannot endure the consequence of getting caught, don't commit the crime."

"I didn't think it was a crime!" I felt the tears sting my eyes again. "Please! It was just a bit of fun."

"For him, I'm sure. Now. Tell me, and I urge you, do not lie to me about it. Did he mishandle you?" he asked.

"...What?" I looked back at him. "I don't understand the question?" My lips pouted, and checked to see if Duke Askar was looking at me. He was too engrossed in conversation with Will.

"Did he hurt you?" My knight insisted. "Was he too rough? Did he take liberties with–?"

"N-No, he– We had sex. That's it," I said.

He shut his eyes momentarily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "As I feared. Alright. How did he convince you? Did he threaten you? Or otherwise, coerce you into it?"

"No? No. And no!" I sniffled. "No. It was my idea."

"Sure."

"It was," I said.

"Did he tell you to say that?" he asked. "What else did he tell you to say?"

"Willoughby! I am being honest with you. I don't want to lie to you; I never meant to... ugh! Did it ever occur to you that maybe I coerced him?"

"What are you saying, Princess?" His face knit.

"Well, not...! Not violently, I meant. I meant this whole evening! Tonight! It was all my idea. It's the reason I made you bring me here. I don't care about apples; I wanted to have sex!"

"Shh!" he said.

"Sorry."

"...Fine. Say, I believe you. Then when did you plan this? Have you been in correspondence with the Duke for long?" he asked. "How did you two meet? At the season last year? I don't remember him. Did a friend invite him?"

"No, I–" I shifted awkwardly. "I met him tonight. At the faire."

"Oh, Eliza," he sang. "Ooh, Eliza." The second rendition drew out each vowel for longer.

"I promise you," I said. "Askar is innocent in this. He didn't tell me to say anything. I am a woman of my own bad ideas; I thank you."

"I'm going to be sick," Willough said.

"Because I wanted to have sex?!"

He shushed me harder.

I whispered, "God forbid I—"

"No," he pressed. "I'm sick because your brother is going to murder a Duke the second he hears you call him 'Askar' and not 'His Grace' or 'Duke Löff,' and I will have to help him bury the corpse of a very high ranking member of society, which is harder than you obviously think it is!"

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that?" I cried.

"Do watch your mouth, Princess," he added.

"I'll be careful," I said. "But you don't have to tell Willem or my mother anything, you know?"

"Of course I do. Don't be ridiculous."

"She's not even home!" I argued. "We can pretend this never happened!"

He huffed. "And if you come up pregnant?"

"If I what?" I touched my gut.

"Were you at least careful in that sense?" he asked.

"I-I don't know what that means. How do I know?"

"I swear to God, Eliza, I will throw myself upon my sword right now," he said. "It would be swifter that way."

"I'm not...." I leaned in, embarrassed. "How do I know if I was careful?"

He dragged his hands over his face.

"Willoughby, please?" I pleaded. "How do I know?"

He sighed. "Did he wear a condom?" When I didn't answer, he explained. "It's a sheepskin sort of wrap. It goes over him. You would have noticed it."

"He..." I thought back to how the night with Lord Beck had gone and tried to apply the same words he'd used to what Askar had done. "He...pulled out... of me?"

That brought him some peace. "Alright," he said. "Not a perfect technique but better than nothing."

"Are you suggesting I could be pregnant?" I asked.

"Play stupid games, win stupid prizes," he replied.

Neither of us spoke for another minute. I was shivering. Willoughby slacked off his armor and slipped the sweater beneath off his head. He handed it to me.

"Thank you." I played with the knit of it. "Did Josie make this for you?"

"Yes."

"She's getting good," I said. I tried not to sob.

"I have been your Sword since your birth," he started.

"Ser, I know. But—"

"Let me finish. Please... I have been your Sword since your birth, and it has been the highest honor of my career. You want to pretend like your shenanigans are not my business, but they are."

"I know we're being serious, but shenani–?" I didn't finish the thought. "Sorry. Go on."

"It's stuff like this that makes having a knight beside you such a vital tool. I could have— I could have prepared you better for your ... decisions. Had you only told me your intent."

"For what it's worth, I did not mean to wound you. Only heal myself."

"In what way does sex with a strange man heal you?" he asked.

"In... come on, Willough. Don't make me say his name out loud," I said.

He bobbed his head. "He is not worth the breath that it would take."

"That doesn't mean I didn't... I just wanted to... I heard you say it, you know? Get under to get over."

He scoffed. Then he thought about it, and he sighed. "Eliza. I didn't know you heard that. That's not advice I'd ever give you."

"But you said it," I said. "Everyone says it. All the knights."

"It's fodder. Horseshit," he said. "Sarcastic at best. We don't mean it; we're bluffing."

"Bluffing?" I asked. "But–"

"Sex is important," he said. "Even to men.... I get it. I do, but this is not—"

Will made a painful groan. His boots and Askar's moved toward us.

"Your Highness!" Ask called. "I know it sounds mad!"

"Dragons, Your Grace!" My brother croaked. "It does not sound mad; it sounds impossible."

"Dragons?" I asked. I felt my chest seize. "W-What of dragons?"

He shook his head as he arrived near Ser Willoughby and me and started to pass on orders. "Take her home. Have Amy watch her. Summon me if she tries to–"

"I'm right here, Willem. You can order me directly," I said.

He cracked his neck but did not acknowledge the remark. "It seems I'll be a moment here. Get her to bed. Stand outside her door until I am back."

"Willem!" I tried. "Stop it; you're embarrassing me."

His breath was loud out of his nose as he finally looked. "I cannot stand to even look at you right now. Embarrassment is the least of your worries, yeah? Now. Listen to Ser Willoughby and do as you're told."

I fought off the impulse to fight it, burying my nerves as I realized the Duke was watching me, likely waiting for my brother.

"Fine," I said. I whipped around, stomping off toward the road.

"Eliza," Willoughby sang. "Wait on me."

I stopped, but I kept my back facing the men. I felt the creep of resentment seeping up my spine into my cheeks. I didn't answer him, but I obeyed.

"Your Highness," Ask spoke.

The want in his voice could have broken me. There was something wrong. He sighed greatly.

"I am a pillar of authority as you are yourself," Ask said. "And I am a good measure of a man. You are like me; you want your people safe."

"Yes," Will replied. "And that is why–"

"I understand. I do. I understand your hesitation. Dragons burning crops? How could it be? Dragons are things of myth. They're lies. And why should you divide your resources for things of myths and lies?" he asked. "But, please. You must hear me. There is something burning our fields. Be it man or beast, I trust my banners in what they saw."

"I do not dismiss your bannermen, Your Grace," Willem said.

"Then help me discover the cause for the agony," Ask pled. "Help me protect my people. The Duchy of Gosil, we are not violent or deceptive folk. We're farmers. Druids. You know that. We do not wish your country harm. We wish nothing harm. We only wish to see the world grow."

"What is it that you want then?" Will asked. "How do you think I can help you?"

I peered over my shoulder as much as I could without spinning around. Ask's voice was calm; he was collected, but he was sure of what he asked.

"Our crops are everything," he said. "Without a successful harvest, people will starve. People will lose their homes and their livelihoods. They will lose their faith in me as their Duke. In turn, Chalke and Oreia will suffer alike. We are responsible for the majority of your agricultural trade; your success is strictly driven by ours. I do not wish for it to come to failure. Not when I can help. And if it's begging that you want from me, I am not above it."

"I don't want you to beg, Duke," my brother said. "But what can I do? I can't deploy an army for a complaint of burnt corn. My mother will absolutely intercept the call to arms. Who's to say Chalke will not take militia movement as a threat? No. It's better to wait for Her Majesty. She will be on her way back from Chalke in a fortnight."

"A fortnight longer than I have to spare," he said. "As I explained, my men and I have been traveling. We went to Rothingham first, and now we're here. With the trip back– even if we head south and take the ferry, it will have been a month: a month and no solution. No suggestion. Just loss. And it's further if we leave to meet Her Majesty back the way we came. I cannot ask or expect my party to venture so far and so long twice."

"You could stay in the castle?" Will suggested. "We're more than suited for guests."

"I must return to Gosil," Ask said. "If Oreia will not help us, I'll need to find another path. Perhaps the Isles."

"I'm sorry, I–"

I cut Willem off, blurting an idea, one I wasn't even sure of before the words. "Send a patrol," I said. I found their faces.

"Eliza." My brother shook his head. "Stay out of this."

"No," I urged him. "Listen to me. That's what Mother would do. You know it. She would be empathetic to the cause and send a scouting party. So, anticipate her move and send one back with–" I caught myself from saying his name. "With Duke Löff two weeks ahead."

Willoughby was quiet, but that was the mark of his agreeance. I felt sure.

"Send us," I said. "Right now. Send me and Ser Willoughby."

"Absolutely not," Willem hissed.

"Princess," Willough inclined his head.

"Why not? I've been handling farmers since I was ten. I know what I'm looking for!" I said. "I could handle burning crops."

"It's dangerous," Will said.

"I can work a sword. I'm better than you are!" My reply caught a brief smirk from the Duke.

"In your dreams, you are," Will croaked. "No. Your place is back home." My brother gestured toward the castle, but I frowned at the mass of rock and snow.

"Your place is back home!" I spat. "On the throne. Where it has always been. I! I have no place, no purpose. A reality that can, in fact, exist anywhere within the continent but for the purposes of this subject, in the Duchy of Gosil!"

"You're to host the social–"

"You want me to let an entire duchy die because I must tell a room of men and women when to dance?! A herald could do my job!" I spat.

"Do you even know where Gosil is?" he asked.

"Oh, like I've never seen a map before! Please! I can handle it," I said. "I can!"

Someone opened the door to the bar and stumbled off down the alley. There was a moment of silence between the four of us. Ask stole a glance at me, but he kept his attention mostly on the Prince.

"It's not a bad idea," Will started. I gasped at the comment until he added, "But you're not going. I'll send Willoughby and another Sword instead. If that works for you, Your Grace?"

Ask bowed his head. "Thank you, sir."

"You'll stay tonight. The grounds are twenty minutes up that hill," he said.

"Aye," Ask bowed again. "I thought it might be further."

"What?" Will asked.

"Nothing, Your Highness. I thank you, and I will gather my men. Can you spare us ten minutes?"

"Take your time," Willem said.

Ask and I did not look at each other as he passed by me into the tavern. When he was inside, I scoffed.

"Willem," I cried. "Why are you–?"

But he cut me off with a breathy, angry whisper. "What I am doing is my best not to humiliate you," he said. His finger jabbed between us. "You are correct. Mother would send a patrol. I'll give you that. But you–"

"But nothing! I–" I was louder than he was.

"But!" He joined my volume, waiting to be sure I was heeding his word. "You are tempting the very last of my straws, dear sister. I have half the mind to divulge where you were found this evening to Her Majesty as soon as she has returned."

"I don't care what you do!" I lied.

"Fine, perhaps I'll write a letter as soon as we are back?" he said.

"Fine. Do as you please!" I cried.

He rolled his eyes. "You fool everyone else but me. I am your brother. Your brother! You'll remember that when you're pouting in your room, cursing my name, but it is my job to keep you safe, and despite your relentless attempts to sway me, I will not fail. Do you understand?"

I crossed my arms. "Your job is to sit on a chair and make decisions when Mom and Dad are not home," I said, far too silly. "And you've always asked me for help anyway. And! Why would I want you to take care of me? Do you know how easy it was to dump you off in the Artist's Alley?"

He reared. "Your pardon?"

"Tell me, dear brother," I spat. "How is Mr. Henrik today? Is he well? Did he tell you–"

"Eliza Rose!" Willoughby cracked. "Do not finish that question."

Will and I met eyes, and we glared at each other, but I backed down first. "I can keep myself safe."