Maelyn sat in the Old Ogre Inn, waiting for Willow. She sipped from a tankard of cider and set it down on the table, a crude square of tired gray wood. Roke had offered her a private chamber, but she insisted on the common room. She enjoyed the cavernous hearth, and the mounted antlers, and the thick smell of rabbit stew simmering. Except for a frizzled hag dozing over ale in the corner, she was alone.

"It smells better than it tastes."

Maelyn gasped. "Willow! I didn't hear you come in!" She gestured to the opposite chair. "Do you mean the stew?"

"Like chewing on bark." Willow pulled off his riding gloves and plunked down on the chair. He wore a crimson tunic and knee-high brown boots. His blue eyes settled on Maelyn with strange intensity. "Pardon my boldness, my lady—you look beautiful."

Maelyn stiffened. Father had once told her she looked best in firelight, the way it danced in her dark eyes and brushed shimmering touches of red into her brown hair. "Thank you," she said. "And thank you for coming."

"Sorry I'm late." Willow clasped his fingers loosely. "I just finished supper with Maple. Spent yesterday and today taking her around the kingdom. She's in awe of the lumen trees; we don't have those in Grunwold. And she loves the market in Merridell. We had a nice day together."

"That sounds wonderful." Maelyn smiled. "And by the way—" She lifted The Wounded Warrior off her lap. "—I finished it."

Willow blinked. "In... in one day?"

"One night and most of the morning." Maelyn laughed, more lighthearted than she'd felt in weeks. "I loved it! Usually I don't care for romantic stories, but this was delightful." She smiled again. "Thank you, Willow. You did well."

Willow returned her smile, though a tinge of redness crept over his cheeks. "I am glad Your Highness enjoyed it."

Roke pushed in from an outer room and offer Willow a drink. Willow accepted a tankard of cider, though he kept his gaze downward until the innkeeper slunk away.

Maelyn folded her hands on the table. "Now! I want to hear about it. How did you convince the Book Miser to trade with you? It used to take me a dozen visits to get a book out of him."

"Why does he hate you, my lady?"

Maelyn sighed. "Our first meeting was... not pleasant. For either of us."

"Not pleasant in what way?" Willow asked quietly.

"Oh. He was there when...." Maelyn opened her hand but found she didn't want to describe that awful day. "When I was found. He didn't like me. I didn't like him. I guess that's never changed." She sipped her cider but was smiling again as she put it down. "But never mind that! I just want to know how you finally convinced him."

Willow grinned. "I'm clever. Haven't you heard?"

Maelyn raised an eyebrow. "But he rejected you twice. What did you say that made a difference this time?"

She noticed a struggle in Willow's eyes. He scooped up his tankard and shrugged. "Nothing worth telling."

Maelyn sat back, feeling frustrated. It didn't seem like such a difficult question to her. All he had to do was relay the story... unless he was hiding something. He couldn't have stolen the book, could he?

"I—I've read The Wounded Warrior," Willow said, as though offering conversation.

Maelyn's heart leapt. "Have you?" She leaned forward. "Do you think the warrior truly loved both ladies? Or do you think he only pretended with the second?"

Willow frowned. "No, I think he loved them both. But he had to choose. Do you think he made the right choice?"

Maelyn nodded. "But I think part of him will always miss the other lady."

"I think he'd feel that no matter who he chose," Willow said. "Do you think the dark lord is really dead?"

Maelyn couldn't believe they were doing this. Talking about the book. Her sisters never talked about books, at least not with any thoroughness. But Willow seemed as eager as she to trek over every detail and scrutinize every character. When she criticized a battle she thought ended weakly, he listened with unblinking attention. And when he mimicked the voice of an obnoxious character, she laughed loud enough to wake the hag in the corner.

Willow propped his chin on his knuckles, smiling. He had seemed to enjoy the discussion and his eyes shone with a new kind of softness. She liked the way he looked at her—it made her feel beautiful. Not that she thought herself ugly, or relied on beauty the way Coralina did. But when Willow looked at her, she felt beautiful as a jewel.

"What now, then?" Willow asked. "Will you trade it for another book?"

"Not The Wounded Warrior," Maelyn said. "I'll give you something else. Do you think the miser will say it's too soon?"

Willow flicked a headshake and grinned. "Don't give me a thing. I'll get another book for you."

"How? Believe me, the miser won't sell them. 'Gold has no story,' he says."

Willow gave a high-spirited laugh and Maelyn wondered what had given him such exuberance. "I disagree!" he said. "I think gold could tell many stories. But why won't you trade The Wounded Warrior?"

Maelyn shrugged. "I want to keep it. Perhaps I'll read it aloud to my sisters. They would enjoy...." She stopped, realizing how little time she had left to spend with her family.

Her eyes fell to her skirt. Since receiving the book, she had locked Prince Roald away in the dungeons of her mind, ignoring when he rattled the bars. Now he broke free, ready to clap her wrists in shackles. She shouldn't speak her fears, not to the royal messenger. But in the end, what difference would it make?

She looked up and spoke without preamble. "My uncle is arranging a marriage for me. To Prince Roald."

Willow gave a start. "His son?"

Maelyn nodded. "Have you met him?"

"I have. Though I can't claim to know him. What... I mean, how can this be? He's already promised to someone else."

"King Jarrod doesn't like her," Maelyn said. "He doesn't want her as his daughter-in-law. I'm sure he'll find a way to end it gracefully; that's the sort of thing he's good at. And put me in her place. I bet the people of Grunwold will see it as an act of benevolence: King Jarrod showing compassion for his brother's poor orphans by taking one of them under his protection."

"He could do that without you marrying his son," Willow said tightly. Maelyn noticed his face was ashen, as if he might faint. "He could take you—or any of your sisters—as a ward, and receive the benefit of looking benevolent. Haven't you told me—forgive me for bringing this up—haven't you told me you don't think the king likes you either?"

"He doesn't," Maelyn said firmly. "But in a different way. From what he's told us, he finds Roald's fiancé to be obnoxious. I'm not. I would probably be useful as Uncle Jarrod's daughter-in-law. For many reasons. Mainly because...." She felt shame creeping up her cheeks. But she'd made up her mind to tell Willow everything, however painful.

She dropped her eyes to the table. "Because I'm afraid of him."

Willow's face showed no expression. He offered no remark but simply waited on her words. The look of his eyes, which stayed focused on her without judgement or loss of respect, impacted her strongly. Her throat tightened and her eyes stung, but she continued speaking.

"I am... afraid all the time," she whispered. "For my sisters... for my home. For my kingdom too. I want to keep us all safe. But everyone... leaves me. My parents left me—all of them! The servants left me too. That's why I didn't hire more—I won't let anyone abandon me again! I just want to keep us together, me and my sisters. But now Uncle Jarrod has come to take them away from me too. It is what I have always feared...."

Two tears dropped, followed fast by two more. Maelyn brushed them off her cheeks and clenched her jaw. Willow reached inside his tunic. He pulled out a folded handkerchief, reached across the table, and put it beside Maelyn's hand with one gentle word.

"Cry."

Maelyn gave way. Grabbing the handkerchief, she covered her face and for several minutes the sobs wracked her body, silent but unstoppable. She controlled nothing but the volume. She bent until her forehead nearly touched the table and let her grief win the battle, not fighting anymore. Her chest heaved and her tears poured, and through it all, she knew Willow kept his hand very close to her, without touching.

Like a summer rainstorm, ferocious but brief, her sobbing dwindled. When no more would come, she wiped her eyes with the handkerchief and sat up straight, knowing her eyes looked as raw as fresh meat. She didn't care. She knew Willow wouldn't care.

"Thank you." She carefully folded the handkerchief again. She couldn't breathe through her nose. "You were right. I needed to do that."

"Anytime, my lady," Willow said softly. He took the handkerchief back, wet as it was, and returned it to the inside of his tunic. "Do you feel better?" he asked.

Maelyn nodded. "Anyway...."

Willow lifted a hand. "I just want to say: you being afraid for others is what makes you a good ruler. It means you care. Is that why you're afraid of your uncle, because of what he can take away from you?"

"Not just that." Maelyn glanced at the innkeeper behind the counter and lowered her voice. "He's... a horrible person. My mother told me. He—he wanted her as his wife. Was obsessed with her. He tried to get her to break her engagement to my father, and be with him. She was the queen Grunwold deserved, he said. When my mother pointed out he already had a wife, all he said was, 'nothing is permanent,' and winked at her. Which my mother took to mean he was willing to kill his wife for her." She looked at Willow. "What's always made me sick about it is that his son was three years old at the time. He would have deprived a small child of his mother, just to get what he wanted."

Willow looked stricken. "I would never have guessed. He seems so friendly, most of the time." He sighed heavily. "But I guess... he didn't go through with it? His first wife lived many years longer."

Maelyn nodded. "My mother refused him. She said Jarrod has enough vanity that he still wants his women to want him. So he didn't force her. But you understand, right? If he could do such horrific things to his wife, to his son, to his brother... then what would he do to someone like me?"

Willow nodded. "Yes, I quite understand your concern. And why you feel so trapped. I guess he's chosen you because you're the eldest?"

"Well, he didn't specifically say it was me...."

She was unprepared for Willow's reaction. His hand shot across the surface of the table, as if to clutch her own hand, and then he quickly yanked it back. But not before his fingers collided with hers.

"He didn't say it was you!" Willow cried. The relief coming off him was palpable.

"He didn't say my name," Maelyn said quickly. She didn't want to give Willow false hope, whatever sort of hope he had. "But the signs point that way. I'm the eldest. He's already taken me off the throne. And I really don't see why he'd want one of the others. He barely knows them."

"Do you think he'd take Coralina?" Willow asked, and Maelyn almost laughed at the hopeful note in his voice.

She smiled, though she still couldn't breathe through her nose. "No—not after Teresina. Yes, he likes Coco, but... she's too similar. I think he'd rather leave her here as my replacement, but does he really mean to make her the next queen of Runa? She thinks ruling is some kind of festival. She cares nothing for the people, she simply wants to frolic with the knights. I found them dancing yesterday!"

"Then she can't be crowned." Willow pushed aside his tankard to cross his arms on the table. "Tell your uncle she is unsuitable. Tell him you don't want to marry his son. Tell him you decide what happens in this kingdom, not him."

Maelyn's eyes flickered and fell. "You mean stand up to him. I know. I just don't know if I'm able to do it."

Willow held silent, his head tipped to one side. His pale eyebrows pulled together as though he wrestled a thought before speaking it. "Do you know the peasants of this kingdom love your birth story? They tell it to their children at bedtime. The story of the tiny orphan who won the heart of a king and became their first princess."

Something jabbed Maelyn's heart. She never knew the peasants told her story. As though it were something beautiful, not something to hide.

"They say it was one moment, one word, that made you the king's daughter," Willow said.

Some wetness returned to Maelyn's eyes. "I spoke the word bread."

A smile softened Willow's face. "My lady, once upon a time, you conquered a king. And I think you can do it again."

*********

Please vote on the potential AI illustration for this chapter! Just say top, middle, or bottom. Seems like AI is always a close-but-no-cigar thing, but I keep trying. :)