Lord Askar whistled low and stepped away from me. I joined into the 'yeahs' from both his friends. To gather myself. To keep myself from from spiraling into the intense sensation that was begging to overthrow my brain. It didn't help quell anything when he and his Sword vaulted over the wooden pickets to collect their pal. They scooped him up by either arm in a rowdy sort kind of energy, and then they hoisted him into the air with a hefty grunt. The show was all very masculine, all very proud, and I was very sure of melting.

"Whiskers! Whiskers! Whiskers!" They'd started a chant.

"It's just a game, you fools," I teased, but I was snickering— no. Laughing. I was giggling at Lord Askar's poise.

I watched him grin, too; I watched his perfect jaw move to form his pride.

"Look at you!" I tried to think, but my mind was mush. "You've lost your wits. This game was designed for children. Anyone can win."

When Whiskers was settled back properly, Lord Ask set his eyes on me. Something behind his expression changed and signaled the want to play with me. The corner of his mouth bent up, and each brow went a different way.

"Can they now?" he asked. "I wonder, does that include ladies, then?"

He stepped off from his friends to lurch forward, closer to me, and in that moment, I felt as though I was his prey. I was grossly and increasingly too aware of how handsome Lord Askar was, whoever he was, and I felt it obvious in every inch of my body. Even my eyelids could not save themselves or me. They were agitated. They kept blinking; a thousand times! And my toes curled within my shoes. And my breath quickened.

He added to his question. "I should like to see you do it, then, my lady," he said.

"Lady?" Whiskers was surprised to hear it. He must have realized I was standing with them when his face became a knot. "It's you?"

"It's me," I beamed. It was weird.

He cut his attention toward his lord. "Do you know her, Y—?"

"Of course, I know her," Ask lied. He clamped his hand over Whiskers', fiercely shaking it. "Thank you for the laughs today, Ser," he said. "You and Frid enjoy the faire some more. Take my wager, yes?"

"Aye, but!" He stared at the gold his lord left in his hand "Yo—?"

Ask sighed and loudly. He relented into a quiet response. "We'll meet tomorrow, as planned, Ser Whiskey. I'd like to see the lady back to her chaperone if it pleases you."

Then Whiskers leaned in. I barely heard what he said. "I think she's married, sir."

"Married?" I laughed. "I'm not married." They weren't happy I was eavesdropping. "Sorry."

For a second, the two men were locked in some sort of stare. Ask returned a comment, but he was less obvious, and whatever it was he said, I didn't know beyond the words "Oreian women."

My braid, I thought. Whiskers thought I was married because of the braid. Which was almost exclusively a Chalke and Oreian difference, which meant...

Ask was Chalke.

I was so proud I'd unearthed the detail that I almost shouted it, but the pair broke their gaze, and Whiskers removed his hand from the weirdly long grip.

"Ah," he said. He found me, then his lord. "Then as you command, sir."

Command.

Sir.

Chalke.

Sers.

If Ask was Chalke, he wasn't a prince. I knew the Prince in Chalke; he was a spitting image of his father, and Ask looked nothing like the two of them. Certainly not a chance of playing cousin either.

I was racing to conquer the mystery. I felt exhilarated, like I was discovering fire for the first time.

Sers.

Knights.

Somebody's son.

I started to replay every other word I could reconstruct from our back and forth.

Ask.

Ask.

Ask.

I repeated his name. What origin was Askar? I cursed my father for not being there to help decide the entomology, then cursed myself for even wishing that. The trouble I would be in!

Ask.

Ask.

Askar. I repeated. What was Askar? Some kind of tree?

I didn't know what to make of it, of him, so I did the only thing I could think to do— I picked up the subject and ran with it, and painfully so.

"I'm not bobbing for apples," I told him, shaking my head. "I couldn't possibly. That's not something a lady does. Can you imagine what that might look like?"

One of them cleared their throat, and Askar turned to face me. He was dangerously amused. "I'm sorry?"

"And I would get wet," I added. "And it's cold. I don't want to get wet when it's cold," I said.

"Of course not," he mused.

He nodded back at Whiskers, instruction of some sort to his Swords, and I frowned because I felt left out.

"Good night, Ser Fridrick," Ask said. "Good night Ser Whiskers."

Ser Fridrick, I told myself. Ser Whiskers.

Two confirmed knights.

Askar.

Fridrick.

Whatever Whiskers meant.

Maybe his name was Whisklette or something?

Whisklette was a name in the South.

South of Rothingham, I decided. Yes. They're Southern-Chalke. Crild maybe? I realized that was really the only place I was certain was in the South.

I looked at Fridrick's sword for answers, but it didn't hold a symbol on the hilt like Elías'—the Willow was the mark of the Riverlands. Then I remembered Whiskey's armor had found his pair of trees. Then I found a single matching entity on the pommel of Fridrick's blade, a different place, but there!

A tree.

Chalke.

Tree.

Askar.

Askar meant ash.

"I knew it!" I spat.

"Knew what?" my lord replied.

"Askar is ash," I blurted. I committed the detail to my memory and racked everything around it for any correlation I could muster... but then I scowled when I came up short. "Like ash tree, right?"

"Uh? Yes," he replied.

Mother would know where Askar was from just by seeing him. I badgered myself for not reciting the names and features of every house in Chalke the way she had insisted. I had learned to dance and embroider! Will was the one who required aristocracy! I was third in line for the Crown. I was nobody. I didn't need to know people like he did. He was the future King.

"Good night, Your Grace," Whiskers said.

Your Grace.

Ask's eyes shut so tightly that I was certain that was the reality of his identity. The title he'd tried to keep from me when his Sword had teased him as lord, and then I realized he'd been cutting his other guard off every time he'd tried to for the words...

"Your Grace," Frid said.

My thoughts were disenchanted by his farewell. He offered me a measured bow, then slung his arm around Ser Whiskers, and the two of them sauntered off a few seconds down the square.

Askar was a Duke.

A Duke from Chalke.

But then he wasn't from Crild. Crild wasn't a Duchy, was it? I couldn't name any Duchy in the south, and I wished Ser Willoughby was there to tell me where I'd gone wrong. 

Ask turned to say something to me, but my mouth had other plans.

"You're a Duke," I sputtered.

He sighed. He tucked a hand beneath either arm and stepped closer, defeatedly. "Tonight, I'd like to be Askar, if you would."

"I..." It was like I was speaking into a mirror.

Askar, he'd said. And I wanted to be a woman.

"Okay." It was all that I could manage. "...Did you mean for us to be alone, Askar? Erm... Ask."

The use of his shortened name dropped his arms, and I watched what I thought might be relief as it washed over him.

"Is that alright with you?" he wondered.

He used his hand as an offer to me a choice. Follow it, catch up to his party. Take it and...

"I thought it might be easier to talk frankly if we were alone," he said.

Between his clothes and his knights, his color was green—seemingly every shade of it. I racked my brain for my tutor's lessons on houses and their colors, but my thoughts were moving at an impossible speed.

He wasn't a Fairchild. He had black hair, not red. Their sigil was a star. They were southern but of South Áire and Oreian. He wasn't a Duvet. He wasn't a Chastain. Where was his duchy!?

Askar left the air between us. He hooked his hand into a pocket.

"I didn't expect Whiskers to win," he confessed—an out.

"What?" I glanced between the three of them. Ser Fridrick and Ser Whiskers were nearly gone from our sights. Then I remembered the gold in their lord's hands. Ask had given Whisk a pair of coins.

"Right. You bet on him," I said.

"Against really," he quipped. Then he shrugged.

"Is he not upset that you did not root for him?"

"Nah. He's fine. Was just a bit of fun between the lot. We've been on the road a while yet. I wanted them to relax."

"I know," I muttered.

"You know?" That had regained his interest. "Know what?"

"You're from Chalke," I pressed. "And, depending on where it is in Chalke you're from, the trip is at least a week up here to Ísfjall. Further, if you must pass the Palace. Yes?"

"Yes, the trip took us past the Palace; however, I'm not from Chalke. I must say, it's not often I am at this end of an investigation. You've been to Rothingham, I take it?"

"Many times since I was born. My parents, they—" It was hard deciding what to say. "They were married there."

"It's a lovely city," he replied.

"Where are you from?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Further south."

"At least I knew that," I muttered.

A cool breeze emphasized the halt in turns. He broke the silence.

"Might I—? Might I walk you down the promenade?" he tried. "I hear that's the sociable thing to do. And perhaps we will find your knight from there?"

I turned to see his offer, following the gray stone as it wound around Town Centre's fountain, then back to the rest of the square. In a month, its role would be a weapon for mothers to flaunt their daughters' prospects.

"The promenade?" I asked. I found the back of my neck nervously. "It's kind of... In the middle of everything?" I thought of Lord Beck and how he had paraded me along it beneath the Autumn sun.

"Ah. You're worried you'll cross paths with someone you know?"

"Maybe," I said.

"Then you live close to here?" he asked. "Are you are afraid to be seen with me?" 

"Without a chaperone? Yes." My lips pursued. "I'm sorry, but yes. If we saw anyone I knew... or anyone my parents knew... Well, I am out here all alone."

"Your guard is somewhere close," he said.

"Somewhere," and I hoped he was right. "But still. What a situation that would leave you in. Heh."

Ask canted his head.

"The, uh, Oreian assumption would be that we were locked in an engagement, and half the city would pitch-fork you into marrying me for it. You know how things are for a lady, I'd bet? I'm sure you have a sister or two. Are they to be shackled to their escorts the same as I?"

"I don't have a sister," he said. "But I have cousins, and I understand."

"I have two brothers. And so if the town was not enough, they would have something to say about our... our walk." I swallowed, sweeping a rogue wave behind my ear. "My, my hair is unruly tonight," I joked. "I swear I have a lady's maid."

"I have no doubt you do." He paused. "If you prefer? I could..." He seemed to rake the folk around us for an idea. "I could walk you home?" he offered.

"No!" I shook my head deliberately.

"Does that also lead to engagement?" he smirked.

"Please do not feel obligated... I don't need your escort."

"The hour is late, and I am not scared of brothers. I'm sure they would appreciate that you simply got lost and then be glad that I've returned you," he offered.

"Ha!" I shook my head even harder. "In the perfect world, maybe, but no, I... I do not think anyone will believe that story for a second."

"You must be a troublemaker, I fear?" He moaned satirically. "Heavens, the scandal that would unfold! I should feel vulnerable out here with you, my lady. Where are my knights to protect me?"

"You sent them off." I rolled my eyes and twirled my hand through the air to dismiss his joke. "Don't play coy. You're the hunter here," I reminded him.

"That may be, but I don't think I'm the only one. I'd dare to say we are more alike than you're hoping that I notice," he said.

I cleared my throat. "I live too far from here for your assistance," I lied. The castle was just up the mountain. You could see it from where we stood. "It's half a day by horse." Twenty minutes, tops, I thought.

"I don't mind," he said.