It was late afternoon when Maelyn sauntered into the throne room. The long walk home had not tired her. She had taken her time, enjoying the sights of her kingdom as she never had before.

Arialain's eyes widened when she opened the door. "Maelyn?"

"I'll explain later. Where's Coco?"

"Throne room. A few of the knights came. But then they left. I don't think she was in the mood for them."

"Good." Maelyn smiled. "I'll go to her."

She found Coralina sitting sideways on the throne, legs dangling over one arm of the chair. She gazed at a small object held in her hand.

Coralina turned her head. "Maelyn!"

Maelyn walked toward her and held up the document. "Uncle Jarrod had a change of heart. I'm the next queen of Runa Realm after all."

Coralina dropped her legs, the relief on her face unmistakable. She reached for the document and read to the end before looking at Maelyn in disbelief.

"How did you do it?"

Maelyn nodded toward a window niche in the left wall. "Let's go sit." She lowered her voice so her sister would know she meant secrecy. Coralina followed her to the window, where the stained glass depicted a glowing blue peacock surrounded by morning glories.

They both sat in the niche. Coralina's eyes burned with curiosity. "Did you murder Uncle Jarrod?"

"No!" Maelyn laughed. "No. It looks as if he has Red Fever."

Coralina gasped and covered her mouth.

Maelyn smiled. "But he doesn't."

"He doesn't?"

"Do you remember the first time Father tasted lumen wine?"

Coralina shook her head, then her expression cleared. "Yes! He got horribly sick!"

"His face became dark red and swollen," Maelyn said. "Mother panicked, thinking it was Red Fever, until someone told her the fever never causes swelling. Father was well again in two days."

"But Mother drank the wine too," Coralina said.

Maelyn nodded. "Only Father was affected. Somehow, lumen fruit doesn't agree with him."

"And that's what happened to Uncle Jarrod?"

"He's Father's brother. I was hoping the wine would have the same effect."

Coralina's purple eyes grew wide. "You planned this?"

Maelyn laughed. "More like I tried this. When Heidel mentioned the lumen wine, I remembered Father's reaction. And I suspected Uncle Jarrod had never tasted it. I didn't know if he'd become ill, but I planned how I would act if he did." She told Coralina about the vial of 'medicine' she had used to barter for her crown. "I made it in the kitchen last night! A mixture of goat milk, molasses, and dried mustard!"

Coralina was laughing. "You sold him a bottle of fake medicine to cure a disease he doesn't have! Why Maelyn, that's—that's devious!"

Maelyn grinned. "I'm a devious damsel."

And suddenly she thought of Willow.

"But Uncle Jarrod will soon realize he was tricked," Coralina said. "He'll be mad. Possibly... execution mad!"

"He might." Maelyn shrugged. "Or he'll think he's one of the few people who survived Red Fever and brag to the world about it."

Coralina laughed. "That sounds like him! But he'll still be furious about the document. He doesn't want you to be queen."

Maelyn nodded. "He'll find it much harder to stop me now. I'll see to that."

Coralina's eyes fell to her skirt. "Mae... I'm glad."

"Glad?"

Coralina looked up again. "I'm glad you're not leaving."

Tears stung Maelyn's eyes. "I'm glad too." She reached out, and the two hugged each other tightly. Coralina smelled of rosewater and fresh linen. Comforting, familiar smells that told Maelyn how much she loved her home and her family.

When they pulled apart, Maelyn noticed the object in Coralina's hand. A small owl carving. When she asked about it, Coralina blushed. "It's nothing. Something Gord gave me."

Maelyn looked at her. "Coco, I'm so sorry about what happened to you. We were all betrayed that night. Again."

"Again?"

Maelyn nodded. "First time was the servants leaving us."

Coralina looked thoughtful. "I don't think they betrayed us. Not Joc. Not Nira. Something happened to them. Have you tried to find them?"

"I meant to. But I've been... afraid, I guess. Afraid of what I'll find out."

Coralina laid a hand on Maelyn's shoulder. For the first time in many days, she smiled. "I'll help you."

"You will?"

"We need to find them. They were our friends—most of them. I want them back. Not new servants, but those we lost, every last one of them."

Maelyn raised her eyebrows. "Think we can do it?"

Coralina laughed. "Maelyn, we're the nine princesses! We survived a horrible plague when the whole world was dying. We can do anything!"

Maelyn laughed. "If you're behind me, Coco, I know we can."

Coralina arched her eyebrows. "Well, not too far behind. I am second eldest."

The door creaked open and Arialain peaked in the throne room. "Pardon me, Maelyn." Her face still held the glum defeat it had since Maelyn's return. "Someone is here to see you."

"Willow?" Maelyn asked quickly. Coralina gave a teasing look.

Arialain shook her head. "The Book Miser."

Maelyn climbed the four marble steps, hooked the ivory cape around her shoulders, and sat on her throne. It felt wonderful.

"Show him in, Ari."

The Book Miser looked as he always looked: stooped and sour. His eyes squinted as if unused to the light. He clasped a heavy book in his fingers and offered no bow.

Maelyn lifted her chin. "Good day, sir."

"G'day." His voice always reminded her of dead branches scraping together.

"You haven't come to the castle in many years," Maelyn said.

"Six," the miser said, "since I left your father's service."

Maelyn nodded. "What brings you, then? Must be urgent if you came all this way yourself."

The miser scowled, shifting his weight from one twiggy leg to the other. "I want the book the fellow brought."

"The fellow?" Maelyn said. "You mean Willow? The messenger?"

"I mean The Carnivorous Carriage." The miser never wasted his words. "Didn't want it before, but do now. Someone offered a good price."

Maelyn knew what the miser called a 'good price.' Even when he worked for the king, he often asked to be paid with books instead of gold. But to trek up the hill on creaky ankles to ask her for only one.... He must have been offered at least a dozen in exchange.

"Who wants it?" Maelyn asked, genuinely curious.

The miser narrowed his ice-blue eyes. "Someone," he said, clearly suspecting Maelyn to trade the book herself, if she could.

Maelyn leaned back in her throne. "Then I'm sorry to disappoint you. I gave that book away."

"Gave it away?" the miser looked at her as if she had given the nose off her face. "To who?"

Maelyn smiled. "Someone."

Suddenly, she felt guilty. By the looks of the thick, gem-studded book he carried, the miser had come to do a generous trade. And he had given her The Devious Damsel, which inspired her to use trickery with Uncle Jarrod. Though she hated to admit it, she owed him a debt of gratitude.

But when she tried to explain this, the miser's forehead cluttered with wrinkles. "Never owned a book called The Devious Damsel. Never traded one either."

"No?" Maelyn said. "What about The Heartsick Hero?"

"Never heard of it." The miser's eyes glinted. "Are they... are they good books?"

Maelyn's mind churned with confusion. But beneath the tumult, one simple fact took form. "You gave nothing to Willow. Not one book." Her hands clenched the arms of her throne. "Because he was trading for me."

The miser's sneer lines deepened. "If you desire my books, come to me yourself. Don't send the golden swain."

"Because you enjoy disappointing me. Making me return, again and again, to beg on your doorstep." Maelyn's face was hard as a diamond. "You had better go."

The miser's gaze shifted back and forth. "So you won't tell me—"

"I said go, Dorian!" Maelyn shot to her feet. "Let me never see your face here again!"

The miser appeared to swear under his breath. "Should've expected this. Of your kind...."

"I'm not asking you to like me. But so long as I am ruler of Runa, you will respect me and my commands."

The miser gave a mock bow and a crooked smile. "Yes, my lady. So long as you are the ruler."

Maelyn stiffened. "What do you mean by that?" But the miser hobbled out of the throne room in hostile silence. For several minutes, Maelyn sat quietly, her chin resting on interlaced fingers.

She had better send for Willow.

She unhooked the ivory cape and draped it over the arm of the throne. Leaving the room through a side arch, she walked to the library. At the writing desk, she extracted a sheet of parchment and sat for some time with her quill poised above it. She'd been too harsh with him. Insensitive. Especially in speaking those awful words: Why would I want you to stay?

She didn't know what to write. Another ten minutes passed as she conjured and rejected a score of ideas. Finally, she touched the pen to the paper and wrote two lines, her heart jumping high in her chest. She rolled the parchment and sealed it before she could change her mind.

She walked to the entry hall. Arialain sat on her usual stool, chin resting on her hands. Maelyn felt a twinge of compassion. She had been too hard on her little sister.

"Ari, I need you to take this message and deliver it to Willow. Hopefully, he's still at the inn."

Arialain sighed. She took the parchment without making eye contact with Maelyn.

"Did you see Tofer today?" Maelyn asked.

"No," Arialain said sullenly.

Maelyn took a deep breath. "Ari.... I'm not fond of Tofer. I'm not sure I trust him. But he's your friend and not mine. I won't forbid you from seeing him."

Arialain's eyes leaped to Maelyn's face. "What about his not being a nobleman?"

Maelyn smiled. "Mother wasn't right about everything. Just promise you'll be careful."

"I—I will! Don't worry!" Arialain wrenched open the door and hurried out.

Maelyn pushed it shut. She wasn't sure if she'd done right. Just felt Arialain should be given the freedom to make her own decisions.

"You asked to see me, my lady?"

Maelyn turned away from the bookshelf. "Good day, Willow." She spoke as if nothing unusual had occurred. His eyes were cautious, but she detected no hostility.

She had spent the past hour rearranging her books, moving her favorites to lower shelves. Her library had never looked more beautiful.

Willow strode toward her, boots hushed by the carpet. "I thought you left. I saw your uncle's carriage when it passed through Merridell."

Maelyn nodded. "Turns out I won't be Prince Roald's bride after all." She slid The Devious Damsel off the shelf. "Because of this."

Willow looked startled. "Because of... that book?"

Maelyn told him all that had transpired during her carriage ride with Uncle Jarrod. Willow leaned against the bookcase, arms folded, his face a blend of the shock and outrage Maelyn had felt. But he grinned through her description of the king's symptoms as he slowly succumbed to 'Red Fever.'

"It was the devious damsel!" Maelyn laughed. "She switched ingredients and spoiled the wicked pixie's potion. So I switched Uncle Jarrod's wine. I wouldn't have thought of it otherwise."

Willow smiled softly. "I'm so glad, my lady."

"I'm glad it worked," Maelyn said. "It might not—"

"No." Willow stepped closer, barely a foot from Maelyn's face. "I'm glad you're not leaving."

She could see he had read the note. Suddenly shy, Maelyn pulled her gaze from the grip of his blue eyes. "Thank you," she mumbled, forgetting what she wanted to ask. "Oh! Where did you get this?" She held up The Devious Damsel. Willow's expression became withdrawn.

"And The Heartsick Hero," Maelyn said. "I know they didn't come from the Book Miser."

The room had sunk to a cozy gloom as daylight crept back from the window, but she noted the darkening hue on Willow's face. For a few worrisome moments, she wondered if he'd stolen the books.

"They were mine," Willow said. "After a few visits, I knew the miser wouldn't bend. But I couldn't disappoint you." He smiled uneasily. "And you seemed to enjoy the books I brought."

"I did." Maelyn wondered why Willow acted like a bandit caught in the treasure room. She stood straighter. "Willow, what is it you're not telling me?"

Willow sighed, his features succumbing to a bashful smile. "I—I wrote them."

Maelyn stared at him. Once again, she became that knight thrown off his horse.

"I never had many books of my own," Willow said. "So I learned to write them myself. You wondered why you never saw me before I got the post? It's because I was always at home, writing. All day. All night sometimes." He laughed. "Becoming the messenger has been good for me. It drove me out of my hermitage."

"How many books have you written?" Maelyn asked.

Willow laughed again. "A lot!"

"Who reads them?"

"My family—but not Maple. Some friends."

"Who copies them? Do you hire the monks?"

Willow shook his head. "I can't afford copies."

Maelyn gasped. "You mean... the books you gave me—they are all that exist?" She reached out, offering the book in her hand. "Here. I'll give them back immediately."

"No, Maelyn. They are for you."

Maelyn.

He called her Maelyn.

Since her father's death, she had not heard a man's voice speak her name. A queer feeling tickled her stomach, and she dropped her face again. "But... why would you give them to me?"

A quiet moment passed. Then his gentle fingers slid behind her neck. When Maelyn looked up, Willow pulled her against him and kissed her. Softly. Steadily. The book dropped from Maelyn's fingers.

Willow released her, sliding his hands along her arms to her fingertips before letting go. He scooped up the book and held it toward her, smiling. "Good day, my lady."

Maelyn clutched the book to her chest until the library door closed behind him. She leaned against the bookcase, breathless, her heart and cheeks burning with a fire never felt. She closed her eyes, savoring the light glowing within her like a new star.

Willow.

She heard the soft clop of horse hooves passing on the dirt road outside. With a frantic, unladylike scamper, she reached the window, shoving the curtains aside. In the russet glow of sunset, she watched his mounted silhouette until it faded behind the lumen trees.