My lungs heaved so noticeably that his eyes fell to the tops of my breasts. The whole notion disturbed him so greatly, he took a long step away from me and smoothed the lip of his shirt with a lowered brow."Beg your mercy. My pardon," he cried.

"...You remind me of him in so many ways," I hadn't meant to say.

"Of Sam?" he asked, offended.

"The ostler's boy."

He shoved his hands into his slacks after a second. "Who?"

"My friend," I sobered. I shook myself from the memory of tousled blonde hair. "Back home. The one I skipped rocks with."

"Right." He shot another over the water, this time harder. "You expect me to believe you were friends with a stable buck."

"Do not call him that!" I tensed, every stone dropping from my hand. I swiped one over the other, sweeping off the dirt and closed my eyes to fight the threat of Miss Hellveig's awful voice. 'Stable buck!'

"You called him the ostler's boy. You clearly don't remember his name. Some friend. Yet 'stable buck-'"

"Please," I begged. "You cannot use that term." 'With me' I should have added, but he stared at me.

Of course I knew it wasn't a real offense. And of course I knew Willem's name. But. What did I have to prove to this man? What good would breathing life to that pain bring? The truth was, I had tried to find the boy. To find Willem. I went as far as to hire Elías to do just that. And after twelve years of absolutely no reward, Willem was gone. And Cyrus. Cyrus was a rake and an ass. He didn't deserve the comparison I had offered him. I wished I could reel it back into my mouth.

My teeth slid over each other and I didn't want to be outside anymore. I wanted to go home. Home home; to brood by the fire in my tower of ice. Where no one ever saw me, or terrorized me with games and secrets, or talked about my mother, and-

"My father was an ostler," Cyrus said breaking the spiral. His voice had taken a kinder hesitation. "It's not a slur; stable buck."

His father was an ostler. I could've cried at the synchronicity.

"Princess?" He was more focused on me now than before, stepping close enough to smooth the tear from my cheek. "...You said I was gifted with horses. That's why. I've grown up with them. I've grown up a stable buck," he said. "It's not a bad word. I did not mean to offend you."

"Just my luck," I cursed. "Is your..." I locked the memories of feathers and true love away, melting back into my steely facade.

Cyrus seemed to see it happen.

"There are only two Evergreen lines I can think of. Though I've been without my governess for a few years, perhaps I'm ill-informed. But last I checked, neither were ostler types."

Something passed behind his eyes.

"What part of Oreia does your father hail?" I added.

"My father's gone. For several years now."

"Oh," I fell. "I'm sorry. Your mother?"

"When I was very young."

"...Mine, too."

"I know."

"...You know?" I tried to determine why his voice shook. "Right," I sighed. "You've heard them talking."

"...You're the Princess. Everybody talks."

Isaac made a sad whinny, dancing on her hooves. The moment was gone between us and he reached into one of the satchels that hung off the side of her, pulling out a crimson sphere.

"I'd offer you the other, but I think you might take that personally. I'm really not out to remind you of anything. The horses are just accustomed to a certain lifestyle."

"Well. It's not every day a man brazenly eats the fruit or off my plate, let alone winks as he does it. You may have a future in poison control should you grow tired of swinging steel."

"...I meant with Sam."

"Oh." Oh, no. I had forgotten about Sam's indiscretion, again! And he saw me do it! He saw me babble on about him eating my apple, and I-

"I think we should head back," he said.

I blurted; "Willem," which, as I had wanted, twisted him back from leaving.

"Svana?"

"Willem was his name." I went on. "And his father; the same."

Cyrus ran his hand through his bangs and asked, "...The boy?  You've... remembered his name?"

"I didn't remember it! I never forgot it." I didn't have anything more; just standing there.

"What else?" Cyrus called.

"What do you mean?" I frowned. "You accused me of not recalling his name. I very clearly proved to you-"

"What else do you remember about Willem?"

I bit my lip. "He... His blond hair. Quite unruly really. Curls that always fell in his face. And dark eyes. A mouth that always got him in trouble, especially with the staff. Especially with my Governess. And he was stupidly chivalrous."

After a second, "All that just to call him stupid?"

"He wasn't stupid. He was stupidly chivalrous."

"Is there a difference?"

"Oh!" I huffed. "What do you know? Willem was a knight! You're just a flirty swordsman!"

Cyrus' eyes got wide; humored. "Oh! A knight? How grand to rise from stable buck to knight! How very impossible. And to think, how better that must make him than me."

"Oh! Come quick! Someone fetch me a tiny violin, Not-a-Lord Cyrus Evergreen wishes to sing his ballad for us! On and on it goes; how much lesser he is than everyone! Hear ye! Hear ye! Here comes the refrain!"

An entire minute may have passed of just burning holes into one another before the man, madly started laughing and rolled his eyes. I didn't know what else to do but watch him, in his deranged snicker as it slowed and finally tapered off into a reserved grin. "Alright. Let's go," he said.

"What?"

"It's getting late."

I knotted my arms into each other. "I'm not leaving!"

"Alright, enjoy the bugs then." He started to gather our rides.

"What are you doing? Don't abandon me!"

Cyrus stopped, unconvinced.

"...You have information, and I want it. I will not relent."

My pseudo-threat only fueled the wryness he took on, stepping closer to me. "You readily order people around when it suits you, don't you?"

My hands flew wildly out to my sides and I gave him one large, theatrical nod. "I am a monarch, that's literally what I do."

"Fine," he said.

"I think-! Wait. Did you say fine?" I frowned. "Why did you give up so easily?"

"I'll give you what you want. For a price," he added.

"A price?" I feigned a choke. "He said to the Princess!"

"I haven't forgotten who you are," he remarked. "You hardly make it easy. And you don't have to pay it."

I looked around, very much aware of the immediate weight threatening to crush me with whatever 'a price' was poetry for. He followed my gaze, unable to tame it to meet his, and soon it twisted into a mix of confusion and perhaps worry.

"On second thought," I sucked in an obnoxious amount of air. "We should go."

Cyrus stepped back. "Aye. The hour is late," he said. He secured the saddlebags on each horse before he said anything else. "I'll be unavailable for the next few days. If you wish to continue our fights, send for me sometime mid-week."

"Unavailable?" I asked. "Why? Where are you going? Is this because I-"

"I didn't say I was going anywhere" He nodded to my blouse, where mud had appeared across it. "You wear a shocking level of pastels for such a pale and messy woman. If you committed to a proper color already, Josie might thank you for it."

"What?" I looked down, trying to scratch the fifth away.

"Easier to clean," he sang.

"This, from the man who dresses so loudly an orchestra could not outplay him?"

That brought a genuine smile to his face as he gently removed my hand from the stain, letting it fall naturally from his. "Leave it for your seamstress, if Josie has trouble. You could damage the lace."

That spark was back, and if he felt it, too, he didn't let it bother him as deeply as it did me.

"Sam and I are going hunting," he confessed.

"You don't like hunting," I commented.

"No, but I like Sam, and Sam likes hunting. So hunting I go."

"Well you like horses," I muttered. "By your logic you should stay here with me."

Cyrus shook his head. "You'll be fine. Make your knight take you."

I tsk'd, rolling my eyes, resolved to say nothing more of it for the trip back to the castle grounds.

"He's completely daft!" I declared as the seamstress circled me once more with her measuring tape. Josie stood faithfully by the vanity and held her hands. "I swear it, I do. The man can go from angry to laughing in a matter of seconds. It's as unrivaled in nature as it is troubling."

"That should be the last of it I need," the woman sighed. "And you're certain on the swatches?"

"Yes, thank you." I nodded. "Yesterday, he pointed to a cloud that was clearly a rabbit, and do you know what he insisted that it was?"

"No-?" Josie shrugged.

"An alligator! An alligator!"

"An alligator, miss?"

"I know! Maybe if you turned it on its side? But again, I think Cyrus is just mad."

Josie was confused as I hopped off the podium the tailor had brought with her and immediately went to the wardrobe to pick out today's frock.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I thought I might wear the pink today," I said, flipping to it. I looked it over once, swallowing the uncertainty of wearing something so... embellished with life.

"The pink, Miss? You said it was too bold," she sang.

I huffed. "Should I conjure something profound to say about it being a new day? Or can I just wear the dress without the inquisition?" At Josie's leer, I caved. "Fine, if you must know, the comment was made that I may wear too light a color palette."

"By whom? Is that why we're reinventing your entire closet?"

I frowned and the tailor coughed. "Your next gown will arrive Friday, in the morning, but the other dresses should come at the start of next week, Your Highness," she said. "If that's all?"

"Yes. Thank you for doing this." I waved politely, only to call for her right as she had met the door. "Oh! One more thing!" I begged. "The garment there. I wasn't able to remove the mud from it. It's some sort of river clay, if that helps."

She nodded, collecting it, and folding it softly. When she turned, I yelped once more. "Oh! I'm sorry. One last piece?" I dug out a handkerchief from a drawer. "The emblem, my house; it's worn. I wasn't sure if you could revive it?" I passed it onto her, instructing Josie to deliver her a piece of stationary with the same crest. "Is it too difficult?"

"No..." she paused to touch it. Suddenly the girl came alive again and smiled, shaking her head, though something felt amiss. "No, You Highness. I can fix it."

Her eyes lingered on me a moment longer, and then she went.

Josie stifled a look.

"What?" I muttered, retreating to the seat at my desk. I pretended to be interested in something in front of me, but could not help but peek up out the window. Prince Sameer and the man I'd been thinking of all morning, my alligator seer, took strikes at each other and parried around the yard. It was quite remarkable. Quite aggressive.

She followed my line of sight, sweetly brushing my hair. "I see the Prince is outside," she teased.

"Yes, the Prince," I said obediently. Because that's what I was. Obedient. And that's who I was thinking of. My betrothed. "On Wednesdays, he has lessons with his instructor."

"His instructor. Who just happens to be your new friend." She adapted a brighter pitch, "The daft Mr. Evergreen."

We met in the mirror, and I was certain she'd caught the full force of my blush as it appeared.

"A casual oversight, forgetting his name, I'm sure," she said.

I rolled my eyes exhaustively, unable to help but sneak a glance outside one more time. Dammit! But Sam struck Cyrus in the shoulder, and as he stumbled, I lifted anxiously from my seat to follow the response.

"They're using practice swords," Josie hummed, pressing me gently back down. "I'm sure he's fine."

"Sam's struck Cyrus," I said.

"I saw the exchange." She gestured towards the pins she'd left on the desk, encouraging me to hand her one. "Would you like me to join you in pretending to root for the Prince?" she asked.

"I-! Oh," I squirmed. "Is it so obvious?"

"You're very... animated when speaking of one but not the other. Best to be careful with that."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," I tried, but she only grinned deeper. "Stop it." I demanded.

Then something peculiar happened. The seamstress strolled by the two of them, earning both of their gazes. She didn't look at them, but they looked at her, and then they whispered to each other.

I didn't like how awful that made me feel. How seeing Cyrus rest his sword to his side and spend a concerning amount of energy watching her go made me feel.

"It's not my place, Your Highness," Josie began. "But if it were, I'd say Daniel informed me of Sam's relationship and I am well on your side of it all. I hope Cyrus gives him quite the run."

"What run?" I bristled, ready to deny any attraction I'd developed for the man.

She gestured outside, "In their practice."

"Oh. Yes." I flashed my teeth defeatedly in an irritated 'tsk'. "Wait," I said. "Does everyone know about Agatha? Who is Daniel?"

"Daniel is... Ser Willoughby."

"Oh," I blinked. "Oh."

"Also. Yes... and no," she hummed. "Most of everyone knows of a connection. But not the particulars. Not that you know."

"I see." My eyes widened as I replayed the last statement."Did Daniel tell them?"

"Of course not!" she sang in his defense. "He would never. The news broke from the Prince's staff, I swear it."

"And we're calling him Daniel, now."

"We're friends," she assured me.

"You were friends before," I suggested.

"We were speaking before," she said. "Now we are friends."

"...Does he call you Josie?"

"You call me Josie," she buzzed.

The concept of anyone considering Ser Willoughby as something more than a dumb shield baffled me, but who was I to judge? My fiancé was still occupied with Lady Agatha's brilliant blonde hair and bosoms, and I was... thinking about swords and horses.

"Daniel calls me Jocelyn. ...You're not angry are you?" she asked.

"Angry? About what?"

"About me and... well a knight?"

I raised a brow, "I thought you were just friends, dear?"

She frowned.

"No," I quickly added. "Perhaps if it were Ser Elías I might be a little concerned given the age disparity... Ser Willoughby... he's..." I struggled to find something nice to say, but honestly I didn't know the man. "He's young. Though I wouldn't inform my father. Not yet. The King is shockingly rigid when it comes to relationships, and for that you'd sooner have his blessing with Elías. If your friendship blossoms into love, I'm afraid you'll have to wait for my reign to wed."

"Wed!?" She paused, knitting her brows. "I didn't say anything about a wedding!"

"Isn't that why people... get to know each other?" I shrugged. "I'm sorry I assumed it must be love- I-"

"That's not something I've even considered! Is this humor because we're friends?"

"Josie," I cried. "I'm not deceiving you. I don't care enough to care about your stations. If you knew half of-" I decided against sharing my past. "Who am I to deny you your perfect match if you think you've found him... in Willoughby no less. It must be love."

"Hush," she giggled. "You are quite cruel of the man who cannot speak higher of you if he tried."

"Oh he speaks highly of me?" My face contorted. "I couldn't believe that. I am mean to him."

"Quite," she sang. "But he admires the contrasts between you and your father, he says."

The words struck me and I felt an instant burden of guilt regarding how frivolous I'd been with poor Willoughby's feelings. "He said that? That... is quite a nice thing to consider," was all I managed. I didn't want to be my father; I couldn't think of anything I wanted more.

"Aye." Josie finished the tail of my braid into the start of it. "Miss," she hesitated. "If you were to... find your own friendship, say with somebody who made you laugh... I would be the first to support you."

I choked, nodding profusely. "I suppose I should thank you for your loyalty, but I have no desire or ability to find any friendships. Even with those who make me laugh. Though... you may feel free to inform Daniel of my blessing. If that helps somehow."

"That is... Not relevant. But, I thank you."

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