Damon was desperate to be free of the play. And even more so from the burden of playing the prince. Freda and Roxie had used all their power and charm to coax him into the role, but now it turned out that there was to be a princess. And that he would have to act with her.

The moment everyone learned that the role was open, the women flocked to audition, half of them eager to just be a part of it, the other half only had eyes on him.

Daniel Cavendish very rarely showed his emotions, but when he saw Geneva walk in, his brows arched in surprise and his eyes jumped to Damon. Even Freda and Roxie, who sat on either side of the duke as if they owned the entire place, snapped their heads and frowned at the woman.

"Miss Withers," said Freda with awe as Geneva curtsied to Daniel. "I never thought you can act."

"Not after our little adventure on the side of the road," Roxie added.

Damon watched as Geneva's face tightened and her face formed a little scowl. "Well, I'm here to try."

The girls leaned over to share a look across Daniel.

"You know that you will be speaking, yes?" Freda asked. "You barely spoke when we played an act around Mr. Vernon that day."

"Yes, I'm aware I'll have lines to say," Geneva gritted out.

"Hm," Roxie muttered. "Interesting."

"Very well," said Freda, looking up at Daniel Cavendish. "Your Grace?"

The man was smiling with amusement as he motioned for Geneva to walk closer. Damon walked over to hand her a piece of paper. She looked down at it and frowned. "I can barely read this."

"That's Freda's handwriting," he murmured, clearing his throat to block her view from the devils. "It's quite legible if you start reading."

"No, it isn't—"

"Is there a problem?" Freda asked from her chair.

"One moment, Freda," Damon said over his shoulder. "This is a 't' and this is an 'a'," he pointed out. "Once you know what they are, you'll be able to read them."

"And this?" she asked.

"That's an 'o'."

"But this looks exactly the same as the 'a'."

"It has a little slant to it, see?"

She glared up at him. "No!"

He silently chuckled. "Do you need me to read it for you?"

"Is there a problem?" Freda repeated.

"It's your handwriting, Freda," Roxie wryly said. "We shall wait, Miss Withers. You can take your time."

Geneva shook her head in disbelief while Damon pulled her to the side to read the entire two-page script. And as he did, her eyes started to go wide at how the story ends. "The witch gets to live?" she asked in disbelief, looking at Freda and Roxie. "But why?"

"We hate killing our characters," said Roxie. "We don't have the heart for it."

"But she made the princess suffer."

"Thus she gets to live the rest of her life alone. That's punishment enough," said Freda. "Are you quite ready now?"

Geneva looked at Damon and he smiled at her. "Are you ready?"

"No."

"Very well," he said, blocking Freda and Roxie from her view again. "But you shall try, yes? Do your best. Know that Freda and Roxie are waiting for you to fail."

Her face hardened once more.

"Show them you can do this."

She glared at him. "You owe me," she gritted out as she snatched the papers from his hand.

Damon stepped away and leaned against the nearest wall as Geneva stood in front of the three judges.

He held his breath as she struggled with the first lines, stumbling on words with a deadpan tone. But as she read on, and as she got over challenges of Freda's handwriting, the story flowed through her lips like it should.

As the princess talked about her years of being alone in the forest, trapped in an endless nightmare that the witch veiled as a beautiful dream, her voice broke and she stumbled back, taking a pause to wipe a tear. When she read the part where the princess stood before the prince, seeing him for the first time and thinking he was just one of the many dreams that were not real, Damon saw Daniel straighten in his seat and share a look with Freda and Roxie. And finally, when Geneva sniffled and smiled reading the princess' last words to the witch before riding away with her prince, Freda and Roxie looked up at Daniel with hopeful eyes.

Damon, however, stood still holding his breath. When she finally looked up, her eyes wide with confusion at their reaction, Damon grinned at Geneva.

"You do not even have to move," said Freda with awe. "Your voice and face enough are enough. Your tone is perfect!"

"We found our princess, did we not, Your Grace?" asked Roxie.

Daniel nodded, eyes veering from Geneva to Damon. "I believe our prince did."

"Congratulations, Miss Withers!" Freda said, jumping from her seat. "You will be our beautiful princess tonight!"

"Be here before everyone else," said Roxie. "Our dear housekeeper will take care of your hair and face. And your dress, of course!"

"And we need your horse, Damon," said Freda. "And never speak of the ending to anyone! None! Do you hear?"

The news of Geneva Withers as the princess spread throughout the party before luncheon. It even reached the men who had gone riding, and the picnic in the woods.

They needed to practice, of course, but it seemed impossible with all the Stratfords pressing their ears wherever they went. As the last resort, Damon took Geneva to the woods and in the cabin where he first caught her.

"Just read it the way you did earlier," he told her after a few failed tries.

She groaned. "Why am I even trying?"

He smiled. "You enjoy it. You enjoy acting."

"No, I don't."

"You do. You are good at pretending." Her eyes snapped at him. "Please, do not take offense. We all pretend one way or another."

"Then tell me when and where does one Damon Priest pretend?"

He shrugged. "When I'm unhappy but I'm with my family."

Her lips pursed and she sighed. "You always make a good argument."

"I'm also good at making my point pretend as if they're sound," he said with a grin. "Now, should we start again? From the start? Summon the emotions you felt earlier."

"I can't."

"But you'll try?" He approached her with a smile. "You don't have to do it perfectly. You're not even being paid to do this."

"Then I can back off?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You promised to help me."

"I said I'll try."

"You're not trying hard enough."

Geneva stared down at the paper. "I can't believe they did not kill the witch."

He chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"You always baffle me. And when you do, I can't do anything but just laugh."

"What's baffling about me?"

"You change your mind more often than I think you would."

"You mean I'm feeble. Gullible to a fault. I know. My aunts say the same thing."

At her words, he frowned. "That's not what I meant. They tell you that?"

She nodded. "And it's true. You persuaded me to attend the party and I did. And now I'm going to act in a play created by your cousins."

"Geneva," he said, stepping closer. "Do you believe I've been making you do something against your will? Because that's not my intent."

"No. I just—I don't know. I would not be doing these things if they were not suggested to me. I would be home this very moment like I should be." She shook her head. "But I'm here by my own choice and even I don't understand why." Tilting her head, she looked into his eyes. "There is something you must know about me."

He waited without saying anything.

"My aunts believe I've inherited my mother's disease. The same one that plagued my great-grandfather and grandmother."

"What disease?"

"A condition of the mind."

"What sort?"

She took a deep breath and stepped away from him. "Erratic behavior, uncontrollable impulses. Taking impulsive decisions that may put me in danger." When he merely frowned, she began to explain with hurried words. "My great-grandfather, my grandmother, and my mother had very weak states of mind. They were easily controlled by their emotions. My aunts say I could suffer the same thing in the future, but I think it's already happening and I'm afraid they'll find out."

"What makes you think so?"

She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. "Every time I go to church, my heart would race. And whenever Freda and Roxie would play tricks on me, I would be hysterical. It took all my willpower not to scream or cry, but whenever I'm alone, I would be frail and I'd break down. My hands would tremble and I'd start crying for no reason. I thought prayers would help, but even the thought of talking to God now seem like a task. I don't get better. I get worse. And maybe I'm bound to be like my great-grandfather, the baron. And my grandmother who passed the disease to my mother." She paused to take a breath. "There. Another secret you can't share."

Damon was speechless for a moment, unsure of what to do. "Is that why you did not want to meet the Vernons?" he asked. "You fear seeing what your mother is like now?"

She nodded, blinking away a tear. "I've seen her many times in the market. She seemed fine from far away, but the condition can be easily masked, you see. Therefore, I don't know if she's... If she's insane."

"But she's not. She's as well as you and I." He stepped toward her and cupped her face, wiping her tears with his thumbs. "I'm not a doctor of the mind, nor I claim to be an expert on how one should process their emotions, but can I be honest and say what I think?"

She blinked, more tears flowing, and nodded as he wiped them away.

"I think what you are, Geneva Withers, is someone who grew up thinking she should only be one person. But you're not because you're more than what your aunts tell you who you should be. And now that you're starting to want things, you're confused. With no one to share your burdens with, you're also lonely."

Her eyes looked into his, open and innocent. Her lashes wet and thick around her eyes shadowed her cheeks when her gaze faltered and she silently sobbed. "I can't be lonely. I have my aunts. Gwen and the Lord. I have—"

"Nothing more," he finished. "And there's more and you know that. The Vernons. Friends you wish you have. Even me." He said the last one with a faint smile.

"My aunts would say it's wrong to want for something more."

"But what do you want?" he asked, bending his head to search for her gaze. "Hm?"

She swallowed and bit her trembling lips. This was too much for her, Damon thought. But then her hand came up to rest on his chest and she leaned closer. Wiping her tears, he leaned down and touched his forehead against hers. She did not answer with words, but her eyes left his to settle on his lips.

Just as he was contemplating if it would bring damage than good to lean down just close enough to kiss her, a very frantic voice from outside called out to Damon.

They jumped away from each other and Damon whirled to the door. "Web?"

"We have a small problem," his brother breathlessly said, running up the stairs to the door of the cabin, eyes on Geneva. "Miss Withers, your maid Gwen wishes me to inform you that your aunts' carriage has just passed the Abberton House. She's making her way home now to try to buy you more time when they arrive—"

They did not let Webster finish.

Damon swiftly grabbed Geneva's hand and they both ran.

"I brought a bloody horse!" Webster shouted after them.

They skidded to a stop and he turned to grin at his brother. "I owe you," he said, running after Webster's horse.

Mounting Alder, he led the horse toward Geneva and grinned down at her as he offered his hand. "Rehearsal for later, Princess," he said.

Her eyes were filled with panic, but at his words, she snorted and laughter burst through her lips as she reached for his hand. Unlike the play, however, the prince was not taking her away from the witch. He had to deliver her to them.