I am in no mood for the masquerade when the clock strikes five. I had endured a long day of boredom. First my fitting with Clarice, with an even more extravagant dress than before. The mask covers hardly any of my face, particularly because I am the prize to be won, not the suitor to be chosen for their personality rather than appearance. Clarice tells me every suitor with have nearly a full face mask, cutting off just under their nose. Only their eyes, lips, and hair color will be visible. It doesn't sound as so, but that means almost their entire facial structure will be hidden.

Facial structure is crucial in recognition.

After my fitting, the first suitor who had offered me jewels, the Prince Charles of Alemor, had approached me for lunch. Instead of leaving the castle, we ate alone in the dining hall. Pretending to be interested in politics is much harder when you've been deprived a night's sleep. I can't imagine he wants to be around me again anytime soon.

Then another suitor, the Duke Collin of Whirlton, had asked me for a tour of the palace, an attempt to be sly for my attention. I obliged, nonetheless, as it is my duty to do so. But that does not mean I enjoyed the company in the slightest.

Perhaps I am being too harsh. I'm trying my best, I genuinely am.

But I do not wish to be a fake, a liar to appease those around me.

The ball began about a half hour ago, and I have accepted the dance of more men than I'd like to admit. I have no choice in the matter, not really. Not when my father is standing at his throne with a proud smile as he watches me. He believes I'm satisfied when I smile back at him. I cannot find the strength in me to break that pride.

But it would be much easier to pretend if the suitors were actually interesting. Majority of them speak of politics, and what their country can offer Eudora. It is important topics, but I fear I am not the right person to speak of them with. I know the politics my lessons forced me to learn, and even that knowledge dwindles away after a couple of days. I can't bother to remember something I don't care about, and that is one of my downfalls as a future queen. Why I should not be in the running at all.

I slip away to the buffet table after my umpteenth dance ends, desperate for a moment to myself. I resituate the mask on my face, then pour a glass of water. There is champagne to the right of it, but last time I had champagne to forget a horrible ceremony, I completely humiliated my father. Not to mention I felt awful the next day.

As I take my first sip, a voice rises from beside me. "You look miserable."

I look to the man, taking in his concealing mask that only gives me sight of pink lips and--green eyes. Unmistakable green. My eyes widen yet I try to remain nonchalant so as not to draw attention. "What are you doing here?" I hiss. "You are a fool."

"Perhaps so," he admits. "But we did not properly depart yesterday."

"What are you talking about?"

"After our dance. You left without a goodbye." I glance at him and he smirks.

I can't believe him. "So you risk your identity being revealed simply because I did not bid you farewell in Riftborne?"

He bristles, teasingly. Carelessly. "Well, when you say it like that, I do sound like a fool, don't I? Alas, it is true. I was quite insulted," he jokes, feigning offense with a hand to his chest.

I can't help but to stare at him. What in the world goes on inside that head? He must be half mad to prance in here so casually with guards lurking every corner. After the first ceremony, the security is so tight, it feels as if everyone in the room has a leash on them. No one leaves without intense questioning, and no one is allowed to reenter. In fact, when the clock had struck at five, if you had not made it inside, you would not make it inside ever. Everyone is being watched meticulously with the narrowed eyes of the highest ranked knights my father has.

Harry startles me back into reality when he grabs my hand, his face near my ear. "Dance with me again. However, I'm afraid we will have to do it properly this time."

I gawk at him as he takes my glass and sets it on the buffet table. "I do not think this is wise in the least bit--"

"And you are absolutely right to think so," he says yet continues smiling. He gives my hand a small tug. "Come on. I won't be able to leave tonight if you don't."

"Why is that?"

"I'll feel guilty for leaving you in misery, of course."

"You really shouldn't be here."

"Yes, and you really shouldn't be upset at a masquerade thrown in your honor. Please," he says, his eyes meeting mine. "One dance, Princess."

I shouldn't agree, but I do. I allow him to pull me into the crowd, much gentler than he had the day before in the village. Once amongst the other dancers, it's strange to me how naturally the two of us fall into sync. We dance smoother, calmer than before. His fingers loosely laced with mine, his arm around my waist and my free hand on his shoulder. I don't enjoy this dance as much as the first.

But I enjoy this dance indescribably more than I had with the suitors.

"You may get caught," I tell him quietly, our feet gliding slowly to match the pace of the music. "I don't understand you."

His eyes beam down at me, twinkling with his smile. "I couldn't pass up another opportunity to dance with the princess, could I?"

"You could have. You should have."

"Perhaps I didn't want to."

"You're a fool," I repeat.

"Perhaps so," he repeats.

A pleasant quiet between us. Mixed with having no rest the past few nights and the serenity of the soft instruments, I lay my head on his chest and close my eyes. His chin rests atop my head, our bodies fitting like two pieces to a puzzle. This should not be happening. I should not be allowing it. I should have told him to leave or threatened to turn him in--but I see the young boy Ace in the back of my mind, and maybe that's why I didn't threaten.

But I have no excuse for any of the rest of it.

My eyes open when the song ends and another takes place. A more upbeat one that gets the commoners excited. Harry doesn't move and neither do I. Our clasped hands droop between us, his arm still around my hips and my hand sliding to rest at the base of his neck. I dare look up at him, his eyes already on me. My cheeks flush.

Then the moment is ruined.

Harry's mask flies off.

Or, more accurately, snatched off by none other than King Jacob of Marindale. Harry does not react frantically. He closes his eyes a brief moment, like he's gathering his wits, then turns to face the king, his jaw clenched.

"So my worry is confirmed," Jacob shouts so all may hear him. His deep voice booms in the grand, crowded room. "I am sorry to say that you are dancing with a criminal, Princess."

I act surprised, gasping and taking a step back. Then I realize that Harry needs a diversion--the knights are closing in subtly, to catch him before he has time to run. So I throw myself past Harry, right into Jacob's chest to distract him. "Oh please!" I cry. "Don't let it be so!"

Jacob is obviously startled with my abrupt gesture, but he smiles kindly at me. "It will be all right, Princess. We have him now--"

But they do not.

For he is quick and already breaking through the entrance doors. The knights had left their posts to sneak up on him, but their plan failed tragically. Instead of making it harder for Harry's escape, they made it easier. I stifle my smile of triumph and remind myself I did this for the young boy's sake. For Ace's happiness and freedom and his alone.

Deep in the pit of my stomach where knots twist, I know that is not the whole truth.

***

I don't sleep that night either. Another ball cut short, another to steal my rest. My thoughts had been clustered with concerns about Harry's escape. Had he made it back to Ace unscathed? I had tossed and turned all night, and even stood on my balcony for a while in hopes the cool breeze would calm my nerves and lull me to sleep. It did no such thing.

Half asleep that morning, I am awakened by shouting. I look out the balcony doors to the barely rising sun. It is hardly dawn. I rub the tiredness from my eyes and get to my feet, wrapping a robe around myself. I begin to braid my messy hair as I walk to the balcony, pushing the doors open. Morning air engulfs me, but the shouts are much louder now. I peer over the railing, twisting the end of my braid in a knot.

My mouth goes dry.

A massive horde of people are congested at the front gates. I make out my father's crown, standing on what I assume is a platform. There are other figures beside him that I cannot make out, but it is painfully clear that an execution is about to pursue. A gallows sits atop the platform, and there is a person in its noose.

It takes no genius to conclude who that person is.

I burst out of my room, scaring my overnight watcher half to death. He immediately calls after me, his footsteps pounding on the marble after mine. But I am frantic and I am scared, and no one can possibly catch up to a person feeling both. I practically float down the stairs, my barefeet hardly touching the stone. Then I am racing out the front entrance towards the main gates. I do not consider my flimsy, silk robe or my barefeet as I run down the cobblestones.

"Father!" I yell, breathless, but I don't stop until I have slipped out of the gates and stand before them. His head snaps in my direction, his eyes empty of all emotions.

"Annaliese, go back inside."

"What is the meaning of this?" I demand, eyes wide as I struggle to catch my breath. I risk a look to Harry who, of course, is already looking at me. He shakes his head slightly, an action invisible to anyone who hadn't been waiting for it.

"The outlaw who has recklessly plagued our country has finally been caught," Father says.

Harry hisses through his teeth, ever the sarcastic. "'Plagued' is an awfully strong word, Your Majesty. I admit I am a pest, but perhaps you exaggerate too much."

King Jacob, who had I not noticed on the platform before, steps forwards. "Quiet, scoundrel. You have no permission to speak."

A flicker of anger in Harry's eyes. He spits at Jacob's feet.

Jacob's fists curl, his nostrils flaring.

"Enough," Father mumbles, and yet is so authoritative he quiets the anxious crowd. "Annaliese, this is not meant for your eyes. Go inside."

"No," I say, surprised at my courage but I do not back down. "We are not savages, Father. Throw him in the dungeons if you must, but death should not be a punishment for common thieves."

"He attacked you," Father growls.

"He spared me," I argue.

We both look to Harry who has started to whistle. Everyone gapes at him, including myself. I cannot understand him for the life of me. Calm in situations where he should be paranoid and begging for mercy. He is a complete enigma to everyone, it seems.

"Forgive me," he says. "I have nothing else to do, after all."

Father bares his teeth in anger.

I want to scream at Harry. He's not helping himself in the least bit acting so arrogant.

"This is terribly uncomfortable," he adds, his shackled hands reaching to tug at the noose.

"Let us end your suffering," Jacob says mockingly, then snaps his fingers.

Again, they have underestimated the outlaw.

Right before the executioner can pull the noose to hang him, Harry grips the rope around his neck tightly, jumping up and kicking Jacob in the back, who had been foolish enough to stand within his reach. He slips out of the noose, but his hands are still cuffed. He doesn't seem to care. Before Jacob can get to his feet again, Harry swings the chain binding his manacles around the king's neck, pulling back forcefully. Jacob's face begins to go red.

The guards are too stunned to move.

In a swift motion, Harry uses the toe of his boot to kick Jacob's sword out of its sheath. He releases Jacob to catch the hilt, then presses the point of the blade into the king's back. The breath leaves my lungs when he looks over to me.

"Your Highness, do be a dear and retrieve the keys from the king's belt. These cuffs are making things a bit difficult."

I comply with no other choice, taking the keys even as Jacob growls. Not at me, but it is still intimidating. I unlock the shackles and Harry smiles, satisfied. He places his foot on Jacob's lower back and lifts the sword. I hold my gasp as does the audience, anticipating what will happen next. Surely he will not kill cold-bloodedly. I will hate myself for all eternity if he ends the king's life.

He does not kill him, but he does inflict a slash across the back of Jacob's neck. Just deep enough to draw blood. It seems such an odd thing to do; a warning, I suppose. It is this action, though, that snaps the guard's from their stupors, and they charge at him all at once. Harry is agile and swift, dodging and jabbing. A dance of a different kind.

He kills none of the guards, but injuries them all well enough that he manages to make an easy getaway. While scaling a wall, he looks back at me and winks.

Then he is gone.