"That's why I prefer churning my own butter," Percy said, staring out the window. His endless tirade on the proper production of butter hadn't ceased since dinner the night before. Rory's hand pressed against her forehead as she silently recited her mantra.

Don't choke him in front of Cecily. Don't choke him in front of Cecily.

Nearly a month in the carriage with him had almost driven her over the edge. They'd pass the Myrzellian border any day now. She just had to last until then.

"It's all in the wrist. You turn the plunge and churn the perfect butter. The batch last night wasn't processed long enough."

An exasperated grunt echoed from across the carriage, and Rory opened her eyes. Muriel slapped her hand against the wall, her fair cheeks pinking to match her ginger hair. "I don't care! I do not care! If you say one more thing about butter, I swear I will scratch your eyes out."

Rory bit her lip to keep from smiling. Out of all of Cecily's ladies-in-waiting, Muriel often landed at the bottom of Rory's list. Muriel's haughty air and superior attitude didn't leave room for affection between her and someone as pathetically common as Rory. Muriel's family was one of the original noble families of Dellsby, not a family who rose to nobility through other means like Doreen's or Gayla's families had. As the middle child of seven, Muriel fought for everything and with everyone.

Rory cast a surreptitious glance at Percy, whose thick brows drooped low over his eyes.

"I was only trying to break up the silence. No one else was talking."

"We'd prefer the silence," Rory said.

He turned his dark gaze on her and looked her up and down without saying a word. She shifted in the dress Cecily had forced her into that morning, feeling exposed.

"It's nice to see you in your proper place," Percy said.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rory saw Cecily perk up, stiffening. Biting down on her tongue, she clutched a handful of her dress to keep from punching Percy right on the nose. "I'd watch what you're sayin' there, Percy."

"Saying, Rory," Cecily corrected, her gaze fixed on Percy as well.

"Fine. I'd watch what you're saying, Percy."

"You should never have been allowed in the guard. You're a woman. Nor should you be masquerading as a lady. You're not posh enough—you should be one of the maids."

"Percy, I don't know what you're implying," Cecily said, her gaze narrowed. "But if you don't—"

WHAM!

The carriage heaved, knocking them out of their seats. Rory braced herself against the side of the carriage, reached out, and caught Cecily before she hit the floor. Shouting echoed all around them outside.

"What was that?" Muriel asked, popping up from the layers of silver skirts surrounding her on the carriage floor. "What happened?"

"We're under attack!" Cecily said, peering out the window. Percy and Rory were already on their way to the door, but Percy shoved Rory back when she tried to exit.

"You have to play your part. You can't help."

"I have to! I can't do nothin' while you lot are in danger."

"Stay where you belong."

She glared at him as he pulled his sword and leaped from the coach. Hiking up the skirt of her jade dress, Rory slipped her hand into her boot and pulled a hidden blade from its sheath.

"You have a dagger in there?" Muriel asked, gaping at Rory's feet. "Who carries a dagger in her boot?"

"Shh, I'm thinkin'. Thinking." Each of Rory's senses was on alert. Her skin prickled, a sign of danger approaching. "We're sitting ducks in here. We need to leave."

"Leave?" Muriel snorted, shaking her head.  "What, when there are men out there trying to kill us?"

"If Rory says we need to leave, we leave." Cecily shifted to position herself behind Rory, who was crouched and ready to move. "Lead the way."

Rory shoved the door open and hopped out of the carriage, turning to help the other two down. "Follow me—we need to get the others."

They ran along the back of the coach, away from the fighting. Gene, Doreen, Gayla, and two maids rode in the second carriage, and unlike Percy, Gene hadn't abandoned his post. When Rory swung the carriage door wide, he leaped out, brandishing his sword.

"Gene!" Rory blocked his attack with her dagger, her unnatural strength pushing his blade down and away. He calmed at the sight of her.

"What are you doing outside your carriage? Where's Percy?"

"Fighting. We need to get the ladies to safety. We're as good as dead in the carriages."

He nodded, gesturing for the women to step out. "Listen to Rory. Come on."

"I'm not going anywhere," Gayla said, her deep-set eyes round as she cowered in the corner of the carriage behind a reluctant maid.

Doreen rolled her eyes and leaped from the carriage, her dark hair swinging around her golden-brown neck and shoulders. With a smirk at Muriel, she stepped up to Cecily's side. Neither Gayla nor the maids followed.

"Ladies, out now. Gene, go join the others." Cecily gestured toward the scuffle raging in front of the horses of their carriage. "They're outnumbered, and they need you. Rory can handle this."

He hesitated but didn't dare go against the order of his princess. Nodding to Rory, Gene raced off to join the fray. Gayla and the maids timidly obeyed Cecily's command.

"This way. Back here." Rory led them to the back of the second carriage, hoping its immense size would hide them. With all six ladies tucked behind her, Rory poked her head out to assess the situation.

A large group of men wielding crude weapons fought with the twenty-member King's Guard escorting Cecily's carriage. What the attackers lacked in sophisticated weaponry they made up for in guerilla skill.

"These men fight dirty," Rory said. "We're outnumbered."

"You should get out there." Cecily nudged her forward.

"What about my cover as your lady?"

"I think everyone's safety is more important," Cecily said, jerking her head in the direction of the fighting.

Rory pursed her lips. "Your safety is most important. I should stay with you."

"Well, look at these little pretties."

The ladies whirled around to see six men appear from the other side of the carriage. The leader leered at Doreen, his gaze roving over the feminine curves accentuated by her rose-colored dress. Wispy Gayla scooted behind Muriel, bending her knees to hide her height.

"Looks like we may have found ourselves a real treasure. How much do you think their ransom would get us?"

They spoke in the Dellsbian tongue, their accents common like Rory's. She arched a brow. "You aren't Myrzellian."

"You catch on quick, don't you, sweetheart?" the leader said, causing his men to chuckle.

"Do you realize who this is?" Doreen asked, turning as she pointed at Cecily. Rory tried to shush her. "This is Princess Cecily—your princess."

"We know who she is," the leader said. "Why do you think we're here?" He jerked his head forward, speaking to his men. "Get them."

The two maids screamed and fled. Rory jerked Doreen and Muriel back as two men approached them, and Muriel tripped into Rory. Rory threw up her arms, and her hand got stuck in Muriel's elaborate updo as she caught her. Their attacker threw himself against both of them and knocked them to the ground while Rory struggled to free herself amidst Muriel's shrieks. Though the force vibrated through Rory's body when they hit the dirt, she felt no pain.

Wrestling her hands free, she rolled and caught the attacker with a right hook to his jaw. The force behind her punch knocked him cold, and he slumped unconscious on top of Muriel, who continued to scream as Doreen and Cecily dragged him off her. A few feet away, Gayla lay oblivious in a faint of hysteria.

On her feet again, Rory grabbed the next man by the scruff of his shirt with one hand, her other gripping between his legs. He squealed as she hefted him into the air over her head, balancing him for a moment before tossing him into the other four, who watched her with slack-jawed awe. One of the men snapped out of his shock just in time to get out of the way as the scoundrel sailing through the air collided with the other three, knocking them all to the ground.

Muriel, on her feet and entirely disheveled, opened her mouth, her rosy cheeks paling. "How—how did you do that?"

"Rory!" Cecily's voice was high and tight.

Turning, Rory saw the last man—the speaker who'd first attacked them—holding Cecily by the hair, a blade against her throat.

"I don't know what kind of creature you are, girlie," he said to Rory, "but I don't fink you can get your little princess here out of this before I slice 'er open. Now you're goin' to come with me, real quiet like. All of you."

With his focus on Rory, the bandit didn't consider Cecily to be a threat.    

Using her weight to full advantage, Cecily grabbed the wrist of his knife hand and dropped down to her knees, flipping him forward over her. His back hit the ground, knocking the air from his lungs, and Cecily leaped up, his arm still in her grasp. She wrenched it around, and the bone snapped. He cried out, but Cecily knocked him hard upside the head, rendering him unconscious.

"That's my girl," Rory said, rejoining Cecily. "This is what you trained for."

"Not bad for my first real fight," Cecily said, grimacing as she touched her neck where a thin line of blood trailed from this place his blade had nicked her.

Another man rounded the carriage and surprised her from behind, knocking her sideways.

"No talkin' while fightin'!" Rory said, heeding her own advice too late as the man jumped her and twisted her arm behind her back.

"Talking! Fighting!" Cecily shouted, pushing back up to her feet.

"Is this the time to correct my grammar?"

A loud trumpet sounded somewhere in the distance, and Rory sensed an influx of fighters joining the skirmish.

Kicking hard against her captor's knee, Rory felt the bone shatter beneath her heel. As he screeched and released her, Rory bolted around the carriage to see the newcomers. Men in red uniforms rushed into the mix of the King's Guard and the bandits, causing confusion on all sides.

"P'ATÉEN!"

The command magically froze Rory in her tracks as she rounded the coach. She wasn't alone. Only the men in red retained their mobility as they dropped their blades to their sides.

A man in dark maroon moved through the crowd; he was taller than anyone present. He glared around at the lot of them, his tan skin lined by the permanent frown etched on his face, his dark hair cropped short, and a thick, white scar visible on his neck, even from a distance. His next sentence dropped low, and Rory couldn't hear him from so far away. A young man answered in kind.

The young man moved through the crowd with fluid ease, but he didn't wear the burgundy uniform of the others. His outfit, trousers and a wrapped tunic with a gold belt, shone blue like a sapphire, vibrant against his coppery complexion. His sable-brown hair partially impeded his vision, falling in a shaggy mop around his face, curling at the ends. Rory watched his easy gait, struggling against the magic holding her in place.

As she leaned into it, she could feel the magic weakening. Her skin tingled, urging her to continue. Closing her eyes, she pressed harder into the invisible wall holding her still, using every ounce of magical strength within her.

Concentrate.

Rory opened her eyes again to see the man in maroon speaking to the younger man. The latter shrugged his shoulders and gestured around, replying in the same dialect, his words too muffled to understand.

She knew the language—Myrzellian. It wasn't a written language, but everyone in the envoy was well-versed. A native Myrzellian had trained the princess from the time of her betrothal announcement six years before, and Rory and the others had begun their education two years later.

The invisible wall cracked against her force, the magic vibrating around her, and feeling returned to her fingers and toes. Just a bit further. She pressed into one more mental shove and flew forward, rolling into a somersault and ending up back on her feet, at the ready, her jade traveling dress covered in dust from the road.

All the eyes of those unfrozen turned on her, many of the soldiers raising their swords. The man in maroon shouted something at the younger man, who shook his head, his eyes wide as he stared at her.

"Bix tin ale?" he asked as the two of them marched toward her. Rory understood these words. "How did you do that?"

Wracking her brain for the right thing to say, Rory lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender, speaking in Myrzellian and hoping she appeared weak. "Please. Don't hurt me."

The lips of the young man, full and with upturned corners, twisted in amusement, giving her the distinct impression that she'd butchered the pronunciation of his language.

"No," he said, his accent thick and unlike any she'd ever heard as he stared down his sharp nose at her. "We will not hurt you."

The man wearing the maroon didn't warm to her. "How did you do that? How did you break free of the spell?" His R's rolled off his tongue, his brows forming a fierce arch.

"I don't know," she lied. The man's glower deepened.

"It's probably my fault." The young man put a hand on the other's arm. "I must not have done the spell correctly. Tell your men to lower their swords—she doesn't look dangerous."

Not if you don't force me to be. Rory held her tongue, trying to appear as fragile as Doreen or Gayla—in this, her tiny frame proved helpful.

The leader kept his narrowed gaze fixed on her. "I asked you a question. Who are you?"

"I don't make a habit of giving my name to strangers," Rory replied. "By whose authority do you delay our journey?" The words felt peculiar on her tongue, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't harden her r's, let alone make them roll off her tongue the way these men did.

The man in maroon straightened, the lines on his face deepening as he frowned and drew up to his full height. "I am Arrão Leyera, captain of the Border Guard. Brother to Mercusius Leyera, the Royal Advisor to Queen Adaliyah Nohchil. Now I ask you again—who are you?"

Letting out a breath of relief, Rory curtsied, wobbling as she did so. Time to play the part of a noble. "I am Lady Rory Castile, traveling here with the Princess Cecily Degalt, on her way to meet her fiancé, the Crown Prince Rakesh Nohchil. We were ambushed on the road by these men here. I ask your pardon and permission to travel into your lands." Her cheeks hurt from the forced smile on her face, and her jaw clenched as she mentally went over Cecily's list of formal greetings, ensuring she'd completed each step.

The mood on the road shifted. Most of the men dropped down to one knee, their heads bowed. Arrão brought his right fist to his chest, eyes widening, and even the young man beside him seemed surprised.

"My lady." Arrão dipped into a bow. "My apologies. Sir Vera, quick—release them at once."

The young man's eyes widened, and he tugged at his tunic. "I-I can't. At least, not without unfreezing all of them. Maybe they could do what you did?" he suggested, gesturing to Rory. Arrão didn't wait for her reply.

"There's no time. Let them go!"

Sir Vera bit down on his lip and lifted his hands, muttering something under his breath. Rory felt the pulse of power leave him even as he stumbled. She cocked her head to the side, surprised by his lack of control over his magic. Arrão did nothing as the sorcerer fell to the ground on his knees with the magic sapping his energy.

Chaos reigned. Bandits continued their attack against Cecily's envoy, but now the Border Guard knew who to fight as they joined in. Before Rory could move, Arrão pulled her, Cecily, Doreen, Gayla, and Muriel to the side, guarding them with his sword. Gayla, though shaky on her feet, was now awake and trembling. The maids were nowhere to be seen.

"What a friendly welcome," Doreen whispered in their native Dellsbian tongue, clasping her hands in front of her as Gene and Percy joined Arrão to protect the girls.

"It's the goodbye that's lacking." Muriel sniffed, lifting her chin. "Maybe your father isn't as popular as we thought." Her auburn hair, half torn from its arrangement, cascaded down her back, and dirt marred her porcelain skin.

Rory reached up and poked her cheek, a chuckle escaping her lips. "You look homeless." Muriel slapped her hand away, glaring. "Besides," Rory continued, "even if a king is the most benevolent and generous in the world, there will still be dissension. That's just politics."

Within fifteen minutes, the Border Guard and the King's Guard pushed the fight back down the road toward Dellsby, the thugs fleeing in fear before them.

"Sir, do we pursue?" a Myrzellian guard called, ready to spring. Arrão gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Let them go. They are Dellsby's problem, not ours." He turned around to face Rory and the others. "My ladies, might I have the pleasure of knowing your names?"

"Lady Doreen Abbot." Doreen, her onyx tresses unaffected by the tussle, appeared the least damaged of them all as she dipped into a curtsy and lifted her dark brown eyes to Arrão. Rory held back a roll of her eyes. Doreen flirted with and conquered any man who crossed her path.

"Lady Muriel Bryant." To her credit, Muriel managed a perfect genuflection despite her harried appearance, her light blue eyes reflecting a welcoming smile befitting a lady.

Gayla struggled to curtsy, her frail frame quaking. Much like Muriel and Rory, her cream gown was besmirched by a film of dirt. Her large, buck teeth bit down on her lower lip as she stammered, "G-Gayla Port."

Arrão turned eager eyes on Cecily, who dipped her head as befitted her status. "Princess Cecily Degalt."

"Your Highness." Arrão bowed again, his right fist still pressed to his chest. "It is an honor."

After a few moments of boring formalities during which Rory stared off into space, calculating the odds of successfully tracking down the Dellsbian renegades, Arrão switched to their Dellsbian tongue.

"Forgive our rudeness, Your Highness. We were not prepared for your arrival. Sir Vera was just putting the finishing touches on a new border alarm spell when we heard the, the . . ." he struggled for the right word. "Commotion."

Rory's spine went rigid, and Cecily frowned. "You weren't expecting us?"

Why the hells not?

"Not for another two months, Your Highness, no."

Rory shot Cecily a look, but the princess showed no sign of concern.

"Yes, I'm sure news of the change hadn't reached the Border Guard," she said, her smile just tight enough for Rory to sense her worry. "Queen Adaliyah changed my arrival."

"Ah, wonderful. You will face no more trouble from us." Arrão gestured back toward the carriage where one door, torn clean off, lay mangled in the middle of the road. Three Dellsbian soldiers coaxed an escaped horse back into its harness; others soothed the beasts still in their reins.

"Captain Arrão, where is your hospitality?" The sorcerer, though appearing a bit peaked after using magic, grinned at all of them as he dipped into a shallow bow, his gaze lingering for a moment on Rory as he spoke. His attempt at the Dellsbian language was disastrous. "Sir Tom Vera, at your services. Would you care to dance with Myrzellian escort the way to the royal city? I'm sure Arrão could spare a few of his ducks. I'll gladly lead the change."

Rory bit back a snicker at his mess of a sentence and caught the flicker of annoyance that passed over Arrão's face in the second before it smoothed into a smile. "Sir Vera, might I have a word?" He pulled Tom a few paces away, but not out of earshot, and they spoke rapidly in their native tongue. While Rory only caught a few words, she cast a surreptitious glance at Cecily, whose jaw was clenched and eyes were downcast as she focused on the argument.

"Arrão wants him to stay and cast more spells on the border," Cecily whispered, barely moving her lips, "but Sir Vera thinks it's more important to see us back. He says the spells are done."

Tom, it seemed, won the quarrel. He didn't attempt Dellsbian when he returned. "It's settled. I shall lead you to Chak Pixan myself. Arrão has even agreed to join us. That is, if this pleases Your Highness."

Cecily dipped her head. "I would be most obliged, Sir Vera."

"Please, call me Tom. Well then, we shall away. My horse is just there. Once your horses calm down, tell your driver to follow me." Tom winked before bounding off, a spring returning to his step. Arrão followed, his brow drawn low. A strange warmth spread through Rory's stomach, but she shoved it aside.

"We should have offered to have him in one of our carriages," Doreen said, placing a hand on her lean waist and watching Tom depart. "I wouldn't mind learning more from him."

"Please, who would want to listen to him blunder through our language more?" Muriel folded her thin arms. "Besides, you wouldn't listen to a word he said. You just think he's handsome."

"And you don't? Those dark curls, his beautiful brown eyes, his square jaw, and that dimple when he smiles." Doreen let out a sigh. "I think I love Myrzel already."

"I don't feel well," Gayla said, paling to a strange shade of green, her soft brown hair sticking to her face. Cecily looped her arm through Gayla's, supporting her as they walked to the carriage.

"Arrão doesn't seem pleased with his decision," Cecily said, her face impassive as though they spoke only of ribbons or dresses.

"I don't know if I trust him," Rory said. There'd been something familiar about his eyes, something that reminded her of someone she'd known in Dellsby. The similarity wasn't a comfort.

"Which one? Tom or Arrão?" Muriel asked. Rory opened her mouth to answer, but Cecily interrupted, holding up her hand to the approaching guards.

"No, Percy, you will not be joining us in this carriage. You're switching with Gene." The guard who stood beside Gene had his face scrunched in confusion. Rory's heart leapt. Cecily continued, "If we hadn't been attacked, you would have provoked Rory into a quarrel—and you would have deserved the thrashing you'd earned. I will not have you treating my dearest friend in a disrespectful manner."

She pointed to the other carriage. "You can ride with Gayla and the maids. Doreen will ride with us so you can lie down until you feel better, Gayla."

Blanching, Percy ducked into a bow before retreating with an arm supporting Gayla. Gene's lips pressed into a smirk as he turned to Cecily, his brown eyes alight with humor. "You don't want the rapier wit and stunning intellect of Percy in your cabin, Your Highness? I'm a rather simple replacement."

"I think we'll survive—and please stop calling me that, Gene. I've asked you at least a dozen times."

"Of course."

"Of course—what?" Cecily pressed.

"Of course, Cecily." Gene smacked Rory on the arm as she chuckled and permitted him entry into the carriage behind her.

"One more week. We're nearly there." Muriel sat back in her seat, pressing the tips of her fingers against her eyelids. She dropped her hands and sat straight up, her focus on Rory. "How did you do that back there?"

"Do what?"

"Don't play the fool. That man was twice your size, and you lifted him clear over your head!"

"I'm part of the King's Guard—highest in my division. I didn't get there by sleeping through trainin'," Rory said, turning to stare out the gaping hole where the carriage door used to be. Though she was doing her best to maintain a disinterested air, her nails bit into the palm of her hand, drawing blood. Still, she felt only pressure, no pain.

"She is supposed to be strong, Muriel," Doreen said, and Rory felt her fears easing. "But what I want to know is how you broke free of the freezing spell."

"Sir Vera said he mustn't have done it correctly," Cecily interjected, casting a sideways glance at Rory.

"You know," Gene said, nodding. "I did feel like I might've freed myself if I'd had just a bit longer. Rory's so small, and there were a right many of us frozen—it just didn't wrap around her quite as tight. Yeah?"

They're defending me, lying for me, and they don't even know what they're lying about. "I don't know, mate," Rory said with a lazy grin. "I think Lieutenant Wren would have been out long before you. You're always laggin' behind."

"I could have you beat no problem," Gene stretched out his long, muscular legs, "but there's a lot more mass for me to work with. The spell had more to hold on to."

"Rory, you really mustn't speak so commonly when we reach the capital. They'll suspect you aren't like us. You should at least try to sound respectable when we're alone." Doreen narrowed her gaze, pursing her lips as she pinched the apples of her cheeks to force a blush on her oval face. "At least you don't know slang in Myrzellian."

"Oh please." Unlike Doreen, Muriel had arching cheekbones and a slanting nose, which she looked down over at Rory. "She can speak with the refined air of a noblewoman in the common tongue all she wants—nothing will ever wash the stink of commoner out of her."

"I don't know about that," Gene said, switching to the Myrzellian dialect as he put a protective hand on Rory's shoulder. Just like Muriel, Rory, and Doreen, those accompanying them to Myrzel had been instructed in the language. "I think it's a challenge this pipsqueak here will live up to." He ruffled Rory's hair and laughed as she swatted at him. "She's full of surprises."

"Hush, Muriel," Cecily snapped, her focus out the window. "Her Myrzellian is far better than yours. In fact, I think—unless we wish to speak in private—we should aim to only speak Myrzellian from this point forward."

The conversationmoved to the nuances of the common tongue as Muriel argued her proficiency, andRory relaxed. Her secret remained hidden in Dellsby, and now it would foreverbe behind her.

Chapter 2 for YOU! Do you enjoy their friendship? Do you think Percy is kind of a dip?