***Marigold Constallion***

Knowlege is power. Being powerless means being weak. So by default, the scariest thing in the world is not knowing.

I don't know what happened to Poppy.

The dragon stole her away, like in the fairy tales. I can imagine how they'd tell this story a couple centuries down the road, when time puts a comfortable distance between what actually happened. The tragedy of my fifteenth birthday will be recorded in a thick leather bound book with gorgeous pictures gilded into pages narrated by thick, swirly calligraphy. They would write about how beautiful Arthronia was, how lovely my family was, how spectacular the ball was.

And they would turn a blind eye where Rose was killed and the knight laughed at her.

I'm lying in bed trying to fall asleep when a maid tells me the news, that they found Nathaniel, that he's alive.

It's been five whole days since I've heard any news about him. Things have been too crazy since the ball and no one could bother to look for a knight, royal guard or not. At this point I figured we'd find his corpse, at least a body to bury. Anything was better than just sitting here and waiting, listening to Poppy's stupid kloq tick away.

After the night of the ball I started hoarding all the bits and pieces of herself that she left behind. Like maybe I could understand what was going through her mind the exact moment she held that kloq in her hands if I positioned my fingers in the right grooves and notches. Or something. I don't know. It sounds stupid when I try to put it into words.

"Princess, I'm not sure if you'd want to see him-"

I cut off the maid by shouldering past her.

"Don't be silly," I say, holding up my dress so I can walk faster. She jogs to keep up with me.

"He's not well-"

"He's alive," I snap.

"Yes, but..." she says, her arm extending slightly, as if she's going to grab my arm to slow me down. As if she's going to use her hands touch me.

"But what?" I reply, coming to a sudden stop. She almost runs into me, almost.

"He's, ah, um..."

I watch the crown of her head bead with sweat as she fiddles with her hands and I almost wish she had run into me. Her face pisses me off and I want a reason to scream at someone.

"Where is he?" I ask, this time sugarcoating my voice with honey. The change in tone startles her into blurting out an actual answer: "With the healers."

I give her my sweetest smile and a small curtsy before marching to where Nathaniel is. After a few seconds I hear her footsteps begin to trail after mine but they come to a stop when I cheerfully tell her I'll have her fired on the spot if she takes another step. 

I know it's not Nathaniel's fault that Poppy was stolen. He couldn't have fought that dragon, not one that size. I knew that and I tried to get him to do it anyways. If he had tried, he would have died. So I'm glad he didn't.

But something bubbles in my chest when I remember how he was so eager to drag me away from my sister, the way he laughed when Rose died, something hot and slick and angry. I try not to think about it too much because if I figure out what it is then maybe I'll hate him forever. I can't lose anyone else right now.

I barely take a step into the healer's ward before I'm blocked by a medicinal apprentice. I don't want it to be who I think it is, but I recognize the build of his shoulders even before I look at his face. It's Devon.

When I was little I used hurt myself on purpose so I'd have a reason to visit him. I loved Devon because no matter how small my injuries were he'd study them with a lot of thought and patch them up slowly and carefully, all while telling me interesting facts about nature and anatomy. To this day I credit him as one of the few things stopping me from evolving into a complete psychopath.

It's been a while since we've last talked. I don't adore him with the same puppy love I used to, but he's still important to me. But that doesn't change the fact that he's in my way.

"I'm here to see Nathaniel," I state.

"I'm afraid the patient isn't ready to receive visitors, Princess," he replies. There's none of the steady, gentle warmth I remember in his voice, just stiff professionalism. I catch a flash of something in his eyes, though. I can't put a finger on it, but it sets me on edge.

"I command you to get out of my way," I snap. I mentally curse myself when I hear a drop of uncertainty in my voice. Mother says you can never sound anything less than completely confident. It ruins everything.

She's right. Devon doesn't budge.

I step around him. Or try to, at least. He gets in front of me and I run into his chest. The shock of disobedience is enough to stun me into silence.

Then I remember something he told me a while ago, that doctors and other medical staff were allowed to bend the rules if they had good reason to believe that it would be in their patient's best interest. And I guess that includes disobeying royalty.

If I were a boy, bigger and stronger, I could force my way in. But I've never had to do that before. Words always get me what I want.

Words...

"Nathaniel!" I shout into the hall leading into the resting cots. "It's Marigold-"

"Princess, please, he's resting-"

"Nathaniel! Come out!"

"Marigold," Devon says quietly. "Please."

It's been a little while since someone other than my mother used my name.

"Why won't you let me see him?" I ask. Suddenly I'm fighting tears. Devon looks away, giving me an opportunity to wipe them away. I stare at his feet, grateful. "If he's asleep I'll promise to be quiet. So please."

"Princess, he..."

Devon swallows and I prepare for the the worst; comatose, brain dead, human vegetable. But then I look up and see his eyebrows pulled together, not out of grief, but confusion.

I recognize that look. It's the one he put on whenever he was stumped by a miscalculation or an academic riddle, as if Nathaniel was a really hard math problem he needed to solve.

It makes me want to slap him.

"Spit it out," I hiss.

Devon looks at me, but not really, I can tell that his head is somewhere else, walking a road mapped with words and studies and theories that I'll never be able to wrap my brain around.

"There has never been a recorded incident of a dragonfire victim capable of cognizant speech after sustaining burns over fifteen percent of their body," Devon muses, almost as if I'm not there. "The longest amount of time someone has been recorded surviving burns over twenty-five percent is seven and a half hours. What's absolutely fascinating is that five days ago Nathaniel had sustained burns over fifty percent of his body," Devon says, eyes shining, "and he's lived to tell the tale."

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All votes and comments are appreciated :)

For critiques: What do you think of Marigold's character in this chapter? I tried to make her more than just a bratty princess, so hopefully this added a little more depth.