Floral scents envelop me as I wait in the Forbidden Garden. It's a semi-circular space in front of the sprawling, tan-stoned palace, named because bushes and crepe myrtle trees obscure the entrance. Vibrant flowers sprout on green stems, waving over benches that line the cleared granite patio I stand on.

Sigvard and Benno appear at the entrance, and I wave to them.

"Ready to go?" Sigvard asks.

"Yeah, why else would I be waiting here?" I quip.

"Who knows."

The three of us walk through the cobblestone courtyard in front of the palace. A central fountain propels water into the air, landing in the ceramic basin below. As I stroll past, I run my hand under it. Droplets scatter along my arm, cool despite the sun's warmth. I hurry to catch up with Sigvard and Benno as they pass through the wrought-iron gate and onto the dirt road.

"Any ideas about what you'll get?" Sigvard asks me, breaking the silence.

"I'll see what the vendors offer," I reply. "What about you?"

Sigvard's protruding nose scrunches into his face. "Clemaina's irritatingly easy."

"What do you mean by that?" Benno chuckles.

"If she was picky, I would have an excuse to get her something she won't like."

"I don't see it as an irritation," I declare. "I'm happy I don't have to waste time thinking about her. Instead, I just grab the cheapest frilly object I find. She'll probably only wear it once before stuffing it into a trunk, never to see the light of day again. Personally, I don't think she'd enjoy any gift from us, no matter how nice it is."

The grin on Benno's face fades. "You really think your sister dislikes you that much?"

"Not think," Sigvard corrects. "We know she hates us."

"Hate may be a strong word..." I say.

"And what word would you use?"

I think for a moment. "She's a narcissistic prima donna. As heir to the throne, we're vassals to her, people who she seeks to use if we fit her plans, and items to be discarded if we don't."

"She still doesn't like us," Sigvard states.

"Of course not. But I don't think she hates us. If she has any sense, she knows we could be useful someday. Therefore, she can't hate us."

"That's assuming she has sense."

"It's drastic to assume she has none."

Sigvard grunts. I don't normally play in his battle of wits, but this time, I think I won.

A bell tower looms in the distance, rising from a curved entrance formed in a brick wall. Movement flashes through the dirt streets beyond. The buzz of chatter drifts toward us, and the three of us make a silent, coordinated decision to walk faster.

The marketplace hums with activity, customers bargaining, merchants yelling about their products. We merge with the crowd, gliding through gaps as we head to the booths. People bump into my side, funneling around me. A child darts in front of me, wearing an oversized hat that covers half his face.

"Duck!" a voice shouts.

I hunch just as a lengthy piece of lumber swings overhead. I glance up, and my eyes rest on a man gathering wooden beams into a vertical bundle.

"Sorry about that, your highness," he says.

"No worries!" I chirp. He moves on, trying to keep his purchases from falling over.

I glance down at my attire. Though not in a dress, the shiny, cinnamon-brown fabric of my blouse screams my status.

In my distraction, Sigvard and Benno disappeared in the shifting crowd. I push my way to the sides of the narrow streets, ducking under the awning of the nearest booth. A rainbow of quills are scattered across the tables in all imaginable colors and pattern combinations. Some are long and sleek, the length of my forearm; others are stubby, like my thumb. This is perfect for Uncle Rothbart. He enjoys niche gifts, just like me, though he prefers more practical items. Quills never cease to be his favorite writing instruments. As a child, he practiced long hours to learn just the right way to wield them. Now, he asserts they are easier and more effective than any cartridge pen.

I select two from the table, one a fiery red with orange and yellow sparks, similar to the kingdom's colors. The other is gray and white with a silver-gilded base. I debate whether I should purchase one for Sigvard, too, then decide he'd prefer a pen. I pay for the quills, then move on.

The next booth displays notebooks with shiny ombre covers made of fish scales. A few lay open, showing off the crisp, white sheets of paper inside. Sigvard does write a lot, mainly about scientific observations or military strategy. At least, that's what he tells me he writes about. He's never let me read his musings before and keeps all journals under lock and key after several of my attempts to sneak into his room. I keep this booth in the back of my mind and move on to the next vendor. I've already added to his notebook collection on several occasions. Today, I'm searching for something new.

I meander through the streets. In the process, I stumble upon a frilly bonnet for Clemaina, a clay anchor for Uncle Vonimir, a book for Benno, and a jar of marinated olives, one of my father's favorite delicacies. Olives don't grow in Saursi, making the find even more exceptional. I always struggle with my father's gifts. Seriously, what does one buy for a king?

I find Sigvard and Benno talking with a hat vendor. I decide to cross the street and wait behind them. Sigvard tucks the hatbox under his arm and turns around. He jumps back when he sees me.

"Ah! Don't do that!" he exclaims.

"Don't do what?"

"Stand behind people and stare at them creepily."

"I was not staring at you creepily."

"Yes, you were."

There's no use arguing with him. We join the crowd of people strolling down the street. My gaze sweeps over the booths. I still haven't found Sigvard's present. And now that he's joined me, there's no way I can purchase it without him seeing it. Maybe I can give Sigvard one of the quills for Uncle Rothbart after all.

Silver glitters in the sunlight as we pass a vendor. I search for the source, and a gasp bubbles in my throat. It's a dagger with a straight steel blade. Raised metal vines bend and wind around the handle. For a second, I wonder if that would make a suitable gift for Sigvard. But he has plenty of weapons already. Besides, Benno's eyes wander to the blade soon after mine.

"Sigvard, Aylo, look at that dagger," he says.

"It's nice," Sigvard says. "Though it might hurt your hand while using it."

The vendor stands from behind the table. "That won't happen so easily." He lifts the dagger from the table and hands it to Sigvard. My brother grips it, flicking his wrist to get a sense of using it.

"You're right," Sigvard says. "It actually feels quite comfortable."

"Not to mention it's a beautiful design," I chime in.

"Yeah." Sigvard looks down at it for a moment before returning it to the table. "Well, good day, sir."

"Good day, your highnesses."

I cast one more glance at the dagger, wishing Father gave me that instead of the ring. But I quickly shove aside the dissatisfaction burning inside me. It isn't right to be ungrateful, especially when I have so much.

The warm smell of spices hangs in the air, strengthening as we continue down the street. My stomach rumbles, though barely audible over the marketplace din. I shield my eyes with my hands and look up. The sun edges to the west. No wonder I'm hungry—it's past noon.

A food cart is up ahead, where a woman tends a squash and meat skewers on a grill. Sigvard and Benno seem to have the same idea as I do, since the three of us gravitate to it.

"A kabob for your highnesses?" she asks.

"Yes, thank you," I say.

"How about you, sir?"

"Yes, please," Benno replies.

The woman prepares three kabobs for us, placing them in small paper baskets alongside several condiments. "Are you a diplomat from a neighboring kingdom?" the woman asks Benno in the meantime.

"I'm The Prince of Riaca."

"Oh!" she exclaims. "I'm so sorry, your highness. I had no idea—"

"It's alright," Benno says.

"I'm only familiar with King Obadiah, Queen Serwa, and Prince Danne," she continues.

"It's quite alright," Benno repeats. His eyes shift around, probably to ensure no one is noticing their interaction. I think he enjoys being incognito in other lands. Many can recognize his parents and oldest brother, heir to the throne. But lesser known royals get little press. I know firsthand as second in line in Saursi.

"There you are. I hope you enjoy it." She hands the three kabobs to us.

"Have a nice day," I say. As we walk away, I bite into a piece of juicy, glazed chicken. It's sugary and spicy with a touch of smoke. I dip a piece of zucchini into the dill sauce on the side. The acidity balances the rich meat and vegetables perfectly.

"Ooh, that cabbage is good," Benno says. He pops another shred of fermented vegetable into his mouth.

"Marketplace food is the best," I say. I try something new every time I come. For some reason, my ventures into town feel incomplete without snacking on the side.

"I'm still hungry," Sigvard declares. He tosses his finished skewer and paper bowl into the trash barrel we pass. "Anyone want to scrounge for something else?"

"I'm always up for more food," Benno says.

I try to suppress the grin itching to spread across my face. Now's my chance to slip away.

"I'm full for now. Catch up with you later!" I dart into the crowd before they can reply.

People shift behind me, and I glance over my shoulder to make sure they aren't following. When I turn back around, I nearly run right into someone. I stumble backward, stepping on someone's heel. A smooth, warm hand grabs my arm to stabilize me.

"Woah! You okay there?"

"Yes, I'm fine," I say. "Thank you."

My gaze meets his tapered black eyes that shimmer in the sunlight. A brilliant smile stretches across his square jaw.

"This crowd is pretty vicious. Here." His hand closes around mine, and he pushes his way to the nearest booth. A few people browse thick books stacked on the table. I give them a quick glance before determining that they won't do for Sigvard.

"You're Princess Aylo, right?"

The hint of caution embedded in the question catches my attention. I face the boy again, who's now at my side. For the first time, I notice his attire. He wears a navy blue tunic over black pants. Yellow thread gleams around his left shoulder in a feather-like pattern.

"Yes. Are you visiting the Kingdom of Saursi?"

"I'm from the Eastern Isls," he says. "I'm staying here for the next month or so."

"That's great. I hope you enjoy your stay here. Be sure to check out the Festival of Fallen Roses. The palace's celebration is open to all."

"I plan to go. Perhaps we'll even see each other there."

"Perhaps." I smile and wave at him before ducking from the booth.

Three displays later, I finally find it: a ten-thousand piece puzzle in the design of a fake treasure map. It's perfect for Sigvard, a brain twister he certainly doesn't own—yet. Satisfied, I purchase the last present.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☀. :☆ﾟ｡･ ───

The sun has dipped in the sky when we return to the palace. Sigvard and I carry burlap sacks filled with goodies. We decided that we'll gather everyone this afternoon to hand them out. Some may go to bed early tonight due to the approaching festival, and tomorrow will be too busy for gifts. Best to do it early.

We wait in the Premier Parlor, located on the first floor, for everyone to arrive. It takes half an hour for the servants to summon all, including Clemaina and Sewale. She drips off his arm, seated beside him on a peach-colored divan. Her hands clutch a bouquet of purple orchids.

"Aren't they gorgeous?" she gushes again as our father enters the room, the last to arrive. He reclines in a chair across from her.

"Yes, they are," he agrees.

"My Darling Sewale got them for me," she continues. "He slipped out earlier to buy presents. Isn't that sweet of him?"

"Yes, it is."

This is the third time she went through those exact words. Uncle Rothbart and I exchanged glances.

Sigvard cuts off her prattle. "Father, this is for you."

I hand each of the gifts out from my sack, not wrapped. No one seems to mind, not even Clemaina gives me grief for it. Out of an over pouring of generosity, I even found some sweets for Sewale. He thanks me, albeit coldly. His gift to me is a plain handkerchief.

"Here's yours, Sigvard." I hand him the puzzle last. His eyes go wide, and he drops his weightless sack to the ground in order to receive it. He removes the lid, staring inside at thousands of tiny, colorful fragments.

"Thank you," he says, his voice hushed. He fits the lid on again and grabs his sack from the ground. Excitement builds in my veins, only to be dashed as he places two pink ribbons in my hands. I force a smile on my lips. A cursive "c" monogram shimmers on both. I'm sure it's a reference to my father's last name: Chatelain. Perhaps Sigvard meant it as a remembrance of our heritage, our dead parents.

"Oh, thank you," I say. "They're lovely."

"You're welcome." Sigvard moves on to finish delivering the presents.

I blink at the silk in my palms. First our father, now Sigvard? Am I getting too old for fun gifts? I'm only sixteen, not even that close to my twenties, in contrast to nineteen-year-old Clemaina. And there are far more practical things than this, a dagger, for instance. Women should be able to protect themselves, just like men.

"Thank you all so much," Father says. "I love every one of your presents. I'm so blessed by you three, Clemaina, Aylo, and Sigvard. Every year, I see you growing up." His blue eyes glisten in the afternoon rays streaming through the paneled windows, and his purple-adorned shoulders droop slightly.

"I too," Uncle Rothbart chimes in. "I'm going to put these away before dinner. When are we eating, King Ivandor?"

"At eighteen o'clock." Father's back straightens, presence dominating the room once more. "We should all sleep early tonight. We must be well rested for the Festival of Fallen Roses."