Willow was beginning to wonder about King Jarrod's eyesight. Not one pretty face among them? The small one with grass-green eyes had been lovely, but the one on the throne had possessed something more. A quiet dignity he admired, and perfect poise. She would make a fine queen.

He nearly laughed as he left the throne room and headed up the corridor for the main door. His brother Rowan had spoken of Princess Maelyn before, but Willow had barely listened. Mainly because his dear, departed brother had been incapable of making any story sound interesting. And because the name 'Maelyn' had conjured for Willow an image of a woman his mother's age, who had a round, kindly face and enjoyed muffins too much. How wrong he had been!

He tightened his riding gloves as he strode into the entry hall, bootsteps echoed back by the high ceiling. The massive door stood open and the young princess... Aria-what?... was standing in the doorway, facing outward. Willow sensed she was expecting someone.

She glanced over her shoulder and flinched on seeing him. "Oh! I'm sorry," she said, stepping out of his way. "Are you riding straight for Grunwold? Do you need anything?"

"Not a thing. In fact...." Willow reached into the satchel where he was holding the reply and fumbled around until he found two of the goldens she had given him. "This was too much." He held out the coins until she hesitantly opened her hand.

Willow smiled. "In the future, one golden will be enough for my trouble; two if you're feeling extra generous. But I can't take four. Would make me feel like a thief."

"I'm sorry," she said, looking ashamed.

"Don't be! You were kind. It's me who should be asking forgiveness because I've been so foolish as to forget your name."

The girl smiled. "Ari. It's easier."

"Thank you, Princess Ari." Willow bowed and gave one more smile before striding out of the door. The spring air greeted him, moist and cool, and the sun had finally emerged after days of depressing rain. He had left his horse to nibble on the green turf in front of the castle, but she came at once on seeing him. He gave her neck a friendly pat before mounting, his spirits uncommonly high. They would have a good ride back.

"Sir Messenger!" Ari called as he turned the horse away.

Willow swiveled back, a crooked smile teasing his lips. "Now don't tell me you've forgotten my name too."

She approached him with a guilty grin. "I'm sorry, I... don't think I ever got it. But that isn't why-"

"Willow," he said, bowing as best he could in the saddle. "Like the tree."

Ari nodded. "Thank you, Willow. Uh... I think you dropped this." She held something up to him and Willow's stomach clenched hard. It was the reply from Princess Maelyn. He must have dropped it in the entry when he was fishing the coins out of his satchel.

His face burned as he took it. "I'm a... bad messenger," he said bluntly.

Ari gave a burst of high laughter. "Oh don't worry! You'll get better at it." She laughed some more, seeming genuinely amused by his embarrassment.

Willow wanted to kick himself all the way back to Grunwold, or better yet, let the horse do it for him. He had dropped the reply and would have returned to King Jarrod without it. First run as a messenger and he'd already failed, in front of the princess, no less. Muckwit! How could he do that?

He tried to cram the parchment back into his satchel when something surprised him. Another parchment was in his bag, tucked at the bottom. He pulled it out, puzzled. It was a much thicker roll than the other, and sealed with dark green wax. Frowning, Willow turned the parchment over until he saw a name written in tiny letters on the outside.

Willow shook his head. "Like I said, I'm a bad messenger. Never even saw this." He handed the roll down to Arialain. "It's for you."

"For me?" Arialain said in a tone of complete disbelief.

"Has your name on it," Willow said. "Sorry. I should have given it to you last night." Except that last night, there had been only one message in his satchel. He was pretty sure of that.

His anger carried him for several miles, with the downhill ride offering little to distract him. He found himself frequently checking the satchel to make sure Maelyn's message was still inside. Had that second message been there all along? The bag had belonged to his brother. Maybe it was old? A message poor Rowan had forgotten to deliver? Oh Sire Above, he hoped so.

But there was no denying that he had dropped Maelyn's reply. His overactive imagination conjured a scene in Jarrod's throne room, in which Willow stammered out that he had somehow lost the message. King Jarrod didn't give a fluffy laugh, as Ari had, or reassure Willow he'd get better at it. He was absolutely livid.

It wasn't even real and Willow was still seething with shame.

Was King Jarrod the type to execute someone for a mistake like that? He had ruled over Grunwold since before Willow was born, and though he wasn't known as a tyrant, no one sung ballads about his mercy either.

Willow checked the satchel again.

He began wishing he knew the contents of the message. It couldn't be long; there was only one sheet. If he knew what Maelyn had written, then even if he lost the parchment, he could deliver the message verbally. Not ideal... but better than nothing.

And also wrong. He'd been Rowan's brother long enough to know that messengers had a code of honor to uphold and reading a royal document would be considered a betrayal of trust. He wondered who he'd be betraying if he read the message. Princess Maelyn? King Jarrod? Both?

He thought of Princess Maelyn staring down from her throne, cold as a statue. Too cold. He had seen it as a shield and tested it with a few friendly arrows. Found a chink when he referred to them both as orphans. The other chink was the tremor at the front of her satin shoe, suggesting that inside it, her toes were twitching.

Nervousness. And Willow didn't think he was the cause. He had just reached twenty years and his blue eyes were baby-sweet (so his mother liked to say). No, if Maelyn was uneasy in his presence, it was because of something else.

He let his horse ease from the hard gallop his anger had commanded. He was calmer now. All things considered, he wasn't a bad person – in fact, he was a pretty decent fellow. But maybe – this one time – he could let himself be a bad messenger. After all, he hadn't asked for this duty. It had been imposed upon him. And he wasn't reading from petty curiosity. Only as a precaution in case he lost it.

The satchel hung against his right thigh. Willow checked it again. He thought of Maelyn, her frigid face, the subtle aura of fear she had projected. Was someone threatening her? He couldn't help her if he didn't know. He drew out the parchment, hesitated, shrugged, then untied the cord.