"I have a gift for you," my father said. He sat on my bed to wake me up.

"It's too early," I argued, burying my face beneath my pillow.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked.

"No," I moaned.

"Then how do you know it's too early for gifts?" he mused. "Come on. Get up."

"No," I said.

"Eliza," he pressed.

"Dadddddy," I moaned louder.

"Come on," he sang. "I cannot stand to see you sleep through the entirety of Autumn."

"I'm not sleeping through Autumn," I said. "I'm sleeping through the morning."

"It's half past noon," he told me.

"What?" I shot up. "Why didn't anybody wake me?"

"Amy tried," he said. "But you've been quite the slug all month."

I shifted, clearing the sleep from my eyes. "That's not..." I tried to find a good reason, but I hadn't realized he was right until he'd said it. "There's been a lot of social things," I found.

"You haven't been to half of them," he said. "You slept through the luncheon yesterday."

"I'm sorry; I must be ill," I lied.

"Come on, then." He patted the bed. "Get up. Let's go outside."

"I don't want to," I whined.

I followed him into the stables, which felt strangely clandestine, given how often he checked if we were followed.

"Daddy," I tried. "Why do you keep looking around? What are we doing here?"

"It's just over here," he said. He dug into a box beneath a different one and opened a bundle of wrapping paper to another, thinner box.

"What is it?" I asked.

He sighed, then turned around and offered me the package.

I watched him with a careful brow as I opened it. It was a tied-up collection of leather and straps. I narrowed my eyes.

"What is it?" I asked again.

He frowned, taking it from me and undoing the ribbon. Then he held it up for me. "It's for your dagger," he said. "It wraps around your leg, like the pants you wear beneath your gowns."

"You know about the pants?" I asked.

"That you've not taken them off or washed them in a month? Yes, but I'll continue to pretend I don't."

"But how—?"

"A father always knows," he sang. "Now this... This is custom-made for you. You can wear it over trousers if that's the fashion you like, but it can be worn beneath skirts without detection as well. You can fasten it in two different ways, depending on the length of your chosen blade, meaning should you want to buy another... you can."

I took it tentatively, tracing the floral thorns that had been burnt into the design.

"You had this made for me?" I asked.

He nodded. "Yes. But your mother does not know, and you will not tell her."

"I don't know what to say," I said.

"Do you have your Duke's dagger on you now?" he asked.

I hesitated but then bobbed my head. "It makes me feel safe."

My father agreed. "I'm glad you have it, then, but I should have gifted you one myself. For that, I am sorry."

I denied it. "No."

I sat down on a bail of hay and hiked up my skirt to the pants. He knelt before me and helped me fix the sheath to my leg.

"There," he said, pulling the strap tight and hooking the tail to one of the notches. "Fit for a princess."

I laughed. "Thank you... Why are you looking at me like that? I didn't have time to brush my hair properly; you were so adamant I come outside!"

He shook his head. "It's not your hair. It's just that..." He took a measured breath. "That's the first time you've laughed in a while now."

"No, it isn't?" I said.

He tilted his head at me.

"Is it?" I asked.

My father stood, offering me his hand, and when I was up, my dress cascaded back around the knife like it was never there.

"Give it a walk, yeah?" he said.

I did more than that; I ran. I jumped onto another bail and over a trough.

"It works great!" I sang. I laughed again, and then I felt guilty, and my face fell with my skirt as it settled. "Thank you, Daddy."

"I'm serious; don't tell your mother," he told me. "She is still devastated that you were anywhere near needing a dagger. Elías told us about the bear and—"

"Why would he tell you that?" I whined. "I told Eli that in confidence!"

"You know better. Everything you say to Elías gets back to your mother. And by unfortunate proximity, me."

"That rat!" I hissed.

"He told us more about the swan, too," he smirked.

"I was not prepared for the swan," I said. "It hissed at us! I thought it was going to kill Askar!"

"I heard," he snickered. "Still," he stood taller. "I am very proud of you."

"I didn't really do anything; it was mostly Aska—" I cleared my throat.

We shared a long, awkward moment.

"The Duke," I said.

He didn't comment.

"The Duke did most of the defending," I said. "...I did kill a horse, though. Can you ever forgive me?"

He frowned. "I know who you are, Rosie. If you killed a horse, then you had no other choice. There is nothing to forgive."

"I love you so much," I said, hugging him. "Why is it when all the world is wrong and hurtful, you are always there to say exactly what I need?"

"Because a father always knows," he told me. "And I love you, too. Nothing will ever change that."

"Nothing?" My voice shook.

"Eliza?" He moved closer and enclosed me in his arms. "Absolutely nothing. I will always love you. No matter what it is you bear."

I loosed a sob into his chest.

"Oh, my rose," he whispered. "Tell me, tell me what is wrong."

"Nothing," I lied. "I'm fine."

"Everything will be alright," he promised. "Whatever it is–"

I did not hear the rest of his vow, lost within:

'Everything will be alright.'

I drew back, sniffling, hating that the Duke's voice had returned to my thoughts.

'Everything will be alright,' he had said at his Duchy. But now he was gone, and I would never see him or his stupidly chiseled cheeks again.

My father sighed. "One other thing... If you get a chance tonight at the ball... Please talk to your brother."

"He's ignoring me," I said.

"That isn't true. He's just... He's not sure how to start the conversation. He's scared to say the wrong thing."

I slumped into the hay. "I knew there was a catch to this gift."

He grinned and sat beside me, nudging me.

"Maybe I'm scared?" I said. "I'm the one who mucked everything up. I wanted to see a dragon; it wasn't even a dragon. It was an old man in a rickety basket," I said.

"That's a strange metaphor," he laughed.

"It's not a metaphor. That was the reality of it. But the man is absolutely mad-bonkers anyway. He thought that the mare you bought was a boy, remember? He lives in an old church. In the middle of nowhere. Too much time away from society has left him damaged."

"I don't know; that sounds like a dream to me," he joked. "But you're dodging my request."

"I don't want to say anything wrong either," I confessed. "Will is so... sensitive. Everything I say is harsh. I don't know how to navigate my own feelings; how do I navigate his?"

"What do I always say?" he asked.

"I don't know," I muttered.

"Eliza," he sang.

I sighed. "A man can only be brave when he is scared."

"There's my girl." He grinned. "And your brother is sensitive, yes, but that is why you must be the one to break the ice. Otherwise, no one will say anything, and you'll die apart."

"It isn't fair," I said. "I'm the baby! For once, I'd like to be the baby."

"Aye, but this is our burden for being the sensible ones," he said. "It's not all glamour and charm; I thought I warned you. Sometimes we must swallow our pride and listen to others, especially if we expect them to forgive us for our vanity."

"Or." I craned forward. "We could just ignore the problem until it goes away?"

"No," he said.

I rolled my eyes.