I read a book once. A dragon and a knight tricked an entire city into peddling them their coin. There was action; there was deceit; there were declarations of love in darkened alleyways between forbidden hearts. I loved that book so much that at my weakest moments, at moments when I was so bored I wanted to die, I would pray for my own creature to swoop down and rescue me like the dragon had his Sword. Or maybe just relieve me of my obligations for a single afternoon.

If you asked my mother, she'd say I was too eagerly overthinking. She'd suggest a new hobby, but it wasn't the hobbies that I lacked; I kept my nose inside of books. It was that what time did I have for anything outside of the Crown and books?

I knew it sounded silly. I was third born of three. I wasn't anywhere near the Crown, but Willem was, and Willem was dramatic and devoted to the arts. Arts he was terrible at. He was Heir Apparent but, apparently, thought that meant he should spend his whole day in and out of drawing rooms. I was the responsible one. He wore the title, but I suggested him ideas. I kept him up to date on property. He'd go as far as to threaten to abdicate once he was King and leave it all to me. God forbid my mother hear it.

And God forbid she knew where I was or why I was there. She would lock me away in the castle's tower, potentially for the sum of my remaining years, and she would not be sorry for it. She'd argue that it would serve me right for behaving so very badly because God forbid the Princess behave so very badly.

No, I'd wait until my father heard of it, and until then, the only company the small, windowed cell would offer would be that of my brother. He and his broad, looming shadow– the one I was running from– would never quite forgive me for vanishing. Will would make a big fuss over my error occurring under his temporary reign, even if it were for one measly hour, even if I returned in one piece, even if I never divulged to him where I was or who I was with. But he would visit.

Probably.

Much like the Queen, Will was righteous. More so than Sam or I or anyone else at court. He had to be. Just because he didn't want the Crown didn't mean he didn't try to. Kings were bound by Duty in a way that could never touch the rest of us, and because of that, his disinterest was irrelevant. Further, he would take my actions as a personal treason. So, he would visit, but he would never understand my intentions. He wouldn't try to. He would tell me that I was brash, or stupid, or reckless. That I had let him down. There would be no rationale. Willem would tell me I was a fool, assuming I could even explain the evening without passing out from embarrassment or puking all over his shoes in the throne room.

Regardless, I had my script down to the last T, like any good playwright. I would tell him it was all his fault he ever found out. It was his fault for leaving his role long enough to attend the Apple Faire in the first place, for not trusting me to be alone with just my knight– even if his gut was right in assuming that I was up to no good, but I would tell him that it was his fault for forgetting that I was an adult, just like him! That I was the Lady of the Season, whatever that meant, or that I was expected to be at the faire. He wasn't. Although the night's events weren't officially a part of the itinerary, I told him I was fine with Ser Willoughby.

Fine.

He didn't listen. I did my part to shield him from the truth.

That brought on another worry. Ser Willoughby. Ser Willoughby was a nice man. He might visit me, too, on occasion, I thought. He was easier tempered than the men of my blood, and he was always smiling and quick to make amends with me when I'd offended him. He was not as easy to distract as my brother, the Prince, but he was fun. He and his wife would take turns humming the same melodies through the halls; he took his job watching me as seriously as that, which is why I liked him. He wasn't serious.

Except when he was chasing after me. Truthfully, I had expected him to be as slow as he was tall, but he was oddly nimble in his spring armor. A smarter sneak would've convinced the Sword to wear his plates, but that idea would have failed and bungled everything. The only way I could lure him or my brother off the grounds in the first place was beneath the veil and promise that I would be covert about my identity. Which was a great idea on parchment, but in execution... things were left for want.

But, Oreian Bronze was anything but covert. It was literally crafted to shine like Justice and strike fear into the hearts of those that would offend the Queen or her guard, and every suit was stamped with our house's mare, and giant, metal horses were hard to hide. So, Willough had worn his well-weathered, flexible leather to blend in. That meant speed was not my friend. The crowd was not my friend. Willough's pants were not my friend; my dirt-length yellow day dress with its lace bodice and shaped skirt was not my friend. The fabric bent in a deliberate sort of flutter. It created the thickest resistance, making snaking through the sea of busy citizens more than difficult.

By luck, or the only convenience God had allowed me, we stumbled into the Artist's Alley right off of the entrance to Town Square. The quarter had been at the back of things last Autumn, but–

"Mr. Baerze," Willem said, addressing a familiar face. He cleared his throat, quietly settling the non-existent wrinkles of his slacks. "Good evening."

Our court painter stood up, donning a wide smile, and rounding the booth with a happy, "My if it isn't the Ólasons. You humble me with your presence, Your Highnesses."

"Of course," my brother said. "As if I would miss a show of yours."

I glanced at him, and he corrected the statement, his face flushing.

"Not when the Apple Faire is always so close, that is." He paused, then found a landscape to gesture at. "I haven't seen this one?"

"Willem," I started, hoping to escape. "Might I–?"

"Hmm?" He bent his ear, but his focus didn't leave the painter's; it stayed fixated as the man picked up Will's isolated canvas. "How do you do, sir?" he asked.

"I am well," Mr. Baerze replied. "Is this one the one you like?"

"Yes." Will gave a quick nod. "Is it not nice, Eliza?" he asked me.

"Oh." I glanced at it. "Yes. Nice. I like the colors of the trees."

"I do as well," Will said. "And the river. Where is this? Have you been there, sir?"

"For the hundredth time, Your Highness, you may call me Henrik," the other said. "...We've been friends long enough, would you agree?" He nodded to me. "Miss Eliza. Hello."

"Hi," I said. Willem scowled. "Greetings, Mr. Henrik," I said again at his correction. "How do you do?"

"I do well," he replied. He swallowed. "May I say that is a beautiful color for your complexion? I've always insisted you were a spring. I've told your brother as much."

I flashed a quick smile at him. "I thank you for your notice. This is a new dress. Will," I started again. I wanted to–

"It fits you," Henrik added. He faced my brother. "And your new suit. It's nice in a different way."

"My suit?" Will stood straighter. "Ah. This thing?"

"Yes. I like the red," he said. "Sort of a crimson, I'd dare."

"It isn't new, I'm afraid. I dug it out of the wardrobe," Will explained. "Raggedy old thing, perhaps?"

"What?" I asked, knotting my brow. "You purchased that last month."

"No." He shook his head. "You're thinking of another suit."

"No, I'm not," I argued. "I was there."

"You're mistaken, sister," Will insisted.

"You bought it while I was being fitted for–"

"Eliza," he said. His voice was stern. "Perhaps you would enjoy browsing the handbags over there?" He pointed in a direction but to no particular stall. "Did you not imply you needed something new?"

I was too worried to answer him. I hadn't said such a thing.

"Whatever the case. New, old," Henrik said. "It compliments you. I like red. It's my favorite color."

"It's really more of a wine," Willem noted. "Like that blazer you have. The one you wore to last year's Winterfest. Or, like a rose. Or... another color. I suppose you would have a better idea? Perhaps crimson or red is well-suited. Ha. Suited."

Willoughby cleared his throat, nudging me with his arm. He leaned in to whisper. "The window you're looking for is now."

I looked up at him, dumb. "I beg your pardon?"

"Let us go and find you a new purse," he told me.

I followed his eyes. "Oh," I said, nodding. "Yes. A purse. The new purse I wanted. The one Willem was going to buy for me."

Henrik shrugged. "Red comes to mind."

"I see," Will said.

I cleared my throat. "Brother?"

He scowled, but when his eyes fell to my open hand, Will caught the message and dropped a hand of gold into mine.

The artist gestured to the candy shop behind us. "I was just about to take a break. Have you tried the taffy this year?" he asked. "It's supposedly maple."

"Maple?" My brother said. "Aye, no. I mean, yes. I mean, I have not tried it, nor did I know it was maple, but I could find the time to try it. If you're asking?"

"I'm asking," Henrik said. He bowed to me. "Miss Eliza. Please enjoy your time."

I curtsied, but Ser Willoughby pushed me just as I did it, and I nearly stumbled off my mark and toward another stall. I clicked my tongue at him, but he only met it with a brighter grin and a look that told me to move.

"Princess," he said.

"Right." I nodded. "Purses."