I stare at his outstretched palm, noting the vibrant smear of blood soaking the sleeve of his shirt. Numbly, I reach out my own hand and shake, my addled brain still trying to make sense of the sudden turn of events.

"Kay." My voice comes out hoarse and I clear my throat.

His brow twitches and he holds his injured arm as we withdraw. "Kay. I would say that it is an honour to make your acquaintance, but to be honest, the stabbing was a little off-putting." He gestures to his bloody arm and grimaces again.

I am in no mood to dole out sympathy. "What do you want?"

"I want to put a bandage on this. And it looks like you could use something for that leg." He has noticed I am heavily favouring my right.

I attempt to straighten, and wince again.

"Come on, I have a spot nearby where we can patch up," he says. "I'll explain everything once we're there."

"Are you jesting? You just gave me the gods-damn scare of a lifetime, chased me through the streets, slammed me against the walls and wrenched my knee into a very unfavourable state, and now you would like me to go to a strange location with you to chat? Forgive me, whatever-your-name-is, but we are going to have to establish some trust first."

"It's Will."

"Will. Fine. Whatever. What do you want?"

He casts a furtive glance down the abandoned alleyway. "I don't think this is the best place to discuss it."

"I am sure you are used to being surrounded by marble floors and fine china, but this location suits me just fine for talking."

"For gods' sake, you are a mouthy thing, aren't you?"

"You have no idea. And you haven't answered a single one of my questions. Who are you, what do you want, and how did you find me?"

He takes a step toward me, his grey eyes flashing. When he speaks, it is through clenched teeth.

"My name is Will Cain, I aim to overthrow the monarchy, and I looked up. Now, can we please take this conversation somewhere a little more discreet?"

That's twice now that this man has left me speechless.

"All right," I say, eventually.

I retrieve my dagger and re-attach it to my belt, checking that the stolen purse is still tucked safely in my pouch. Finally satisfied, I turn back to Will and nod. "Lead the way."

I tail him back through the narrow alleyways, noting that he has wisely chosen to avoid the main street. No doubt, our odd pairing and various injuries would attract an uncomfortable amount of attention.

He catches me limping and slows his pace, drawing closer and offering an arm around my back. "Here, let me help you."

"I'm fine." I jump away from his touch.

His mouth twitches up into a half-smile. "Suit yourself."

I expect him to lead me back toward the house with the red shutters, but instead we wind up in the fringes of the Court, adjacent to a rough common neighbourhood. Will pushes open the door of a nondescript building and we spiral up the staircase to the top floor, finally entering a tiny flat.

"This is not what I anticipated," I say, feeling awkward as I regard the few scattered pieces of second-hand furniture.

"The marble floors and fine china not up to your standards?" Will's voice carries from a room at the back of the flat.

"Can't you afford something nicer?"

I hear his muffled snort of laughter before he walks back into the main area, laying some bandages and a bottle of water on a low table between a shabby couch and chair.

"You don't have to just stand there. Please, sit." He gestures toward the couch. "How's the leg?"

"It's fine." It's not, but I accept his invitation to sit and perch on the edge of the couch. "You have a habit of avoiding my questions."

"You have a habit of asking a lot of questions."

"So I'm told." I grab the water and drink greedily, closing my eyes at the sensation of cool liquid coating my dry throat.

He doesn't say anything while I drink. When I lower the bottle, I notice him staring at me, a look in his eyes that I can't quite place.

"What?" I run my fingers over my mouth, thinking I must have spilled water on my face.

"You aren't what I expected," he says, looking away before he lowers himself into a chair and unrolls a long strip of white bandage.

I can feel my face growing warm and concentrate on placing the bottle carefully back onto the table.

"Yes, I think it's time we talk about that." Recovering from my momentary lapse in composure, I straighten my shoulders and stare at him again. "You seem to know a great deal about me. Let's get the reasons for that squared away before we discuss anything else."

"Of course I know about you—there isn't a soul in the city who hasn't heard of the Runner." He tilts his head, studying me. "I've been searching for you for months. You're a difficult person to track down."

I stay silent, tapping my foot impatiently as I wait for him to continue.

"You are the person we need to lead our cause."

"And what cause is that, exactly?"

"I already told you. There is a collection of us, more than you might think, who aim to see this oppressive monarchy gone forever." His voice has lowered and he fairly spits out the last few words. His fists are clenched and I find myself a bit taken aback at the abrupt change from his nonchalant attitude.

"Such a mysterious collective of rebels," I say, my tone dry. "Who have you recruited?"

"Soldiers I fought alongside in the Wastelands. The King has taken too many good men from their families and forced them into battle. We're going to take back the City and put an end to this war once and for all."

My brows rise nearly to my hairline. "End the war? You?"

He looks offended. "Why not?"

"You're a courtier, for one."

"So?"

"So, if you take issue with fighting in the Wastelands, why not just buy your way out?" I lean back in my seat and cross my arms. "Problem solved."

A deep crimson appears above the white collar of his shirt. "You think I should let my spot go to someone from the Commons?"

"Your kinsmen don't seem to have a problem with it." I don't bother to keep the bitterness from my voice.

"Not all of us are like that." The crimson climbs higher. "I've spent five years in and out of the Wastelands, and I can tell you that I've seen courtier blood spilled as well as common."

My stomach churns at the thought. I tilt my head, considering Will. There is an unsettled storminess in his eyes and a grim determination to the set of his jaw. His intensity stirs an old memory and I lean closer, despite myself.

Our war with the Wastelanders has existed since the formation of the City. Desert resources are finite, and controlling the oases means survival. To some, the war is about power. Defeating the Wastelanders in battle and demonstrating City strength is a point of pride, a demonstration of ingenuity over desert savagery. To others, the Wasteland war persists simply because it has always been. It is a constant, as predictable as the setting sun and shifting sand.

I think of the old soldiers occupying the greasy booths in the Beacon. Night after night they sit slumped over their mugs of ale, twitching each time a glass breaks or a door rattles on its hinges. They seem to exist not as men, but as shadows. If Frye had returned from the Wastelands, he might have turned out like them.

But there's something different about Will. Something defiant.

"And how will overthrowing the monarchy change anything?" I ask. "Do you suppose that the Wasters will let us take whatever we need, once they see the King is no longer in charge?"

"Maybe not, but at least it's a start." Will runs a hand over his scruffy head. "If we carry on under this dictatorship, then nothing is ever going to change."

I wrinkle my brow as I regard him, considering his words.

He slumps back in his seat. "You don't trust me."

"I'm not certain, yet."

"Is it because I'm a courtier?"

I shrug. "It certainly doesn't help matters."

"Think of it this way. As a courtier, I can gain access to the King and his underlings. I can move freely about the Palace and I have certain resources that we can utilize to organize a rebellion."

"Resources?"

He stares at me meaningfully. "Money."

One big score. This could be my chance to earn enough to get Lara off the streets for good. It's a tempting thought, but there something else... something even more intriguing than the idea of robbing this rich idealist.

"And where do I factor into all of this?" I ask. "You obviously went to a lot of trouble to get me here."

His eyes light up. "You're the best part. The Runner means something to the commoners. If you and I join forces, then we can knock the King off his perch and rebuild the City into something greater."

"I think you've overestimated my influence."

"But not your skills." Will speaks quickly. "You're quick, stealthy and impossible to catch." He smirks. "Nearly."

I roll my eyes, ignoring the throb of pain in my knee that lingers from when he pulled me off the wall. "So, you want me to recruit the commoners to your cause, is that it?"

"Partly. I actually had something a little more complicated in mind."

His smug expression has softened into something friendlier. When he rolls up his sleeve, I catch a glimpse of the bloody scrape on his arm and grimace.

"Ouch, I really did a number on you, eh?" I bite my lip. "I suppose I should apologize for that."

"No need, I consider myself lucky. I suspect you could have done a lot worse if you'd had a mind to. Besides," he pulls up his other sleeve, revealing a long, ugly scar on his opposite forearm, "now I have a matching set. Thank you for the relative restraint, and for sparing my face." He swabs an alcohol-soaked rag across the cut, barely flinching from the sting.

"I wouldn't want to damage that," I joke back, before becoming suddenly interested in a stray sofa thread.

If he notices my slip, he doesn't say anything. I allow myself a glimpse of his fit physique as he finishes cleaning his arm, bandaging it snugly. Very little blood seeps through the wrapping, which I know is a good sign.

He pulls his shirt back on and looks up at me. "How's the leg?"

"It's all right," I say, abruptly drawing my hand back from rubbing my knee.

"Let me take a look."

"It's fine," I insist, then change the subject. "You still haven't answered any of my questions. How did you find me?"

He looks like he wants to say something about my knee, but thinks better of it. Shaking his head, he regards me and another smug grin escapes him. "You're the one who found me."

"That was only a coincidence," I say, annoyed. "And I don't make a habit of announcing my presence every time I'm on a job. If it wasn't for that old pervert—" I stop myself, biting down hard on my lip and avoiding Will's eye.

His hands curl into fists. Neither of us says anything and I wait while Will takes an audible breath.

"My father." He releases the air through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry you had to see what he's capable of. I do what I can to keep the girls away from that house, but..."

"I know," I say softly. "They don't have many alternatives."

Will stands abruptly, knocking the rickety table between us. Water sloshes from the bottle of water and I grab it before it topples, taking a drink to distract myself.

"All right," I say, watching Will cross the small room. "So, until I wandered into your house yesterday, you had no way of knowing how to find me?"

He ceases his pacing and sinks back down into the chair across from me, then grabs the bottle from my hands and takes a healthy sip. "Essentially, yes. I'll be the first to admit that I had a lucky break." He fairly winks and I feel another jolt of irritation. "That's an incredibly bold trick you pulled, dressing as a maid. Really extraordinary. What did you manage to steal?"

He seems genuinely interested, watching me intently as he takes another swig of water. I am struck at how he doesn't seem bothered about putting his lips where mine have been and momentarily lose track of his questioning.

"Enough to get me through a few weeks' rent," I say, vaguely. "Nothing anyone would miss."

That strange half-smile. "You have a talent for camouflage. I spoke with you myself and didn't have the slightest idea you weren't who you appeared to be."

"Thanks." Will seems oddly focused on the disguise aspect of my heist. "It isn't so difficult. I can rely on people not looking too closely at what's right under their noses."

"Those are my thoughts exactly." He is nodding as though we have just come to some kind of understanding. "With enough confidence and daring, imagine what you could get away with."

"I...suppose." I furrow my brow. "What are you getting at? How did you know to look up?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Up. You looked up and saw me on the roof yesterday. How did you know to do that?" My impatience gets the better of me.

"Oh, that."

His nerve is positively staggering. I have half a mind to stab his other arm, steal what little this mouldy flat has to offer, and take off out the window straight to the tavern. As it stands, Will is fortunate that I happen to be curious about him and his mad idea for a rebellion.

"Yes, that. How did you know I'd be up there?"

"I didn't know, not for sure. I had a hunch."

"A hunch."

"You have to understand that I've spent a great deal of time searching for you." He studies me carefully, as if memorizing my features. "I spent months aimlessly wandering the City, tracking your accomplishments, chasing rumours, speaking with all manner of people." Shaking his head. "I never came close."

"Good."

"The time spent looking, however, allowed me to come up with some theories."

"I'd love to hear them." I arch an eyebrow, listening.

"I kept coming back to the same question: how does the Runner move from place to place, completely unseen? Once I began thinking about it, the answer became obvious." He extends an index finger, gesturing at the ceiling. "She must go up."

Crap.

"So, when my father came down the stairs, hollering that the Runner was in the house, I knew precisely where to look." He continues, looking at me earnestly. "Seeing you on that roof only reaffirmed my belief that you are exactly the person I am searching for."

"And what person is that, exactly?"

"You're rubbing your knee again."

I am thrown by the sudden change of topic and freeze with my hand on my knee.

"Would you please let me take a look at it?"

"I told you, it's fine." I scoot further down the length of the couch. "What are you, some kind of doctor?"

"Only in the sense that I trained as one and occasionally work in the Palace infirmary."

The half-smile has returned and he moves to sit next to me. I recoil slightly, but he pays no notice.

"Just relax. Is this an old injury?" He picks up my leg gently and lays it across his lap, rolling back my pant leg and slowly rubbing the area with a surprising tenderness.

His touch is so shocking that it takes me a moment to find my words. "Yes. I hurt it five years ago. I was fourteen." I cringe as he lightly squeezes the sore spot, sending the familiar shot of pain up to my hip.

"Sorry," he says, not unkindly. "What happened?"

"I was fall... jumping," I correct myself. "I was jumping and I came down on it and..." I wince again. "It hasn't been the same, since."

He nods and reaches across my leg for the roll of bandages, scooping up a small tin in the same motion.

"Let's try this."

He brushes his arm across his forehead before applying the balm to my knee. I can feel his warm breath mixing with the cooling effects of the medicine and a pleasant, calming sensation envelops my sore leg. I fall back against the couch, breathing shallowly.

His grey eyes crinkle in the corners as he looks up. "Feels better, doesn't it?"

"It really does. Thank you," I say, meaning it.

He screws the cap back on the tin and begins to unroll the bandages. "With an injury like this, you should try and keep the limb stabilized. As your doctor, I do not recommend you go hopping from building to building." His teasing tone is a stark contrast to the gruff passion he spoke with earlier.

"So, you're both a doctor and a soldier," I muse as I watch him lift my leg and wrap it tightly. "A man of many talents."

"I try to stay busy."

Looking at Will in his elegant, albeit torn and bloody linen shirt, I can't help but marvel at what a mess of contradictions he is.

He finishes bandaging my leg, pulling the clasp tight and tapping lightly on the secured knee. "That should do it. I'll give you this balm and some of these bandages so you can wrap it up whenever you need to."

"Thank you," I say, again, feeling a bit cold as he lifts my leg off his lap. I am touched by his generosity until I remember that he brought me up here for a reason, not just to tend to my injury.

My head is swimming with questions but I can't seem to articulate one clearly. The cool relief in my knee and the strangeness of Will are proving extremely distracting.

"Are you hungry?" Will asks, making me suddenly aware of how prolonged the silence has become.

"Yes." I am famished.

"Let me see what I can rustle up." He jumps out of his seat, jolting me, then disappears into the kitchen.

"Do you need any help?" I call.

"No, no, I've got it. You relax," his disembodied voice floats back.

I sink back against the cushions and screw my eyes shut, rubbing them in an attempt to make sense of my scattered thoughts.

Will appears a few minutes later, his arms laden with dried meat, cheese and another flask of water.

"Sorry there isn't much." He doesn't look the least bit embarrassed. "I'm due for a shopping trip, it seems."

"It's fine," I say, trying not to appear over eager at a free meal.

I lean forward and grab a piece of meat, trying to chew slowly even though I could scarf the whole mess down in a few seconds.

"So." I swallow. "We have established that you are a rich man who rents a dingy flat, a doctor who can hop fences, and a soldier in the King's army who wants to see the monarchy usurped. Is there anything else I should know about you?"

Will laughs, the warm, genuine sound filling the room. "No, I would say that about sums me up." I notice he hasn't taken any food for himself. "You're one to talk, Runner. There is a great deal that I find strange about you."

I waggle my eyebrows at him, but I'm genuinely curious about what he could know.

"A girl from the streets who has bested the King's forces; a professional thief who gives all of her earnings away. Tell me, Runner: what should I make of that?"

I shrug my shoulders, unable to formulate a response.

"I'll tell you. That you are the person I need to help us end this tyranny." His voice has taken on that low, rough quality again.

I reach forward and grab a wedge of cheese, then break off a bit with my finger. I roll the food around a bit in my mouth, taking my time in answering. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

Will's grey eyes light up as he leans in toward me. "From the way you assimilated flawlessly into my father's house, I assume you are comfortable with sneaking in and among courtiers."

"I can come and go without you even knowing I was there."

"We are in need of someone who can go into the Palace and extract information for us, so we can best plan our attack on its walls."

"Don't you work in the Palace already? Is there a good reason I should risk my neck over yours?"

"I wouldn't risk that neck unless I was positive you could handle yourself," he assures me, looking slightly annoyed.

"So what's the plan, then?" I scratch my neck, thinking. "You want me to work as a servant in the Palace?"

"Not exactly. I was thinking we could get you a little closer to the royal circle than that."

I swipe a slice of bread off the table, raising an eyebrow as I wait for him to continue.

"You are going to the Palace as a lady-in-waiting to the Princess Megra."

The bread seizes in my throat and I choke, coughing loudly. I lean forward over my knees in an attempt to catch my breath, spying Will's dusty boots making their way toward me as he crosses to the other side of the table and pats me sharply on the back.

"Th-thanks," I rasp.

Will hands me the bottle of water and I drain what's left of it. He doesn't say anything, waiting for me to compose myself.

"You want me to pretend that I'm a lady-in-waiting?" I ask when I can finally fill my lungs properly.

"No, I want you to be a lady-in-waiting," he replies calmly. "It will be a breeze for you; there's nothing to it but a sense of self-importance and some shiny hair."

I scoff, fingering my own mess of curls, more knotted than ever thanks to our tussle in the alleyway.

"It will be completely straightforward. We'll dress you up and tell you all the right things to say. All you need to do is use that natural stealth and charisma to befriend the Princess."

"But why me? And why a lady-in-waiting?" I rub my temple, struggling to make sense of Will's words. Could it be that less than an hour ago, I was wandering the streets in search of loose coins? I feel as though an entire lifetime has passed since then.

"Recently, an incredibly unique opportunity has presented itself." Will's voice is calm and measured. "One of the Princess' ladies-in-waiting has found herself in a—shall we say—delicate condition. I suspect that it won't be more than a month before Miss Tessa will be asked to vacate her position."

He smirks, but I feel an unexpected twinge of sympathy for this girl I've never met. Even in her shiny world of privilege, there is still a distinct unfairness.

"How scandalous," I say dryly. "So, you suppose that any girl should be able to waltz in and take her place?"

"Not just any girl," Will corrects me. "You."

I glance down at my sand-smeared rags and dirty fingernails, studying the dried blood crusted in my knuckles where Will knocked me against the wall. I'm about as far from a princess-pleasing courtier as the stars are from the ground.

"Playing a courtier is a touch different from playing a servant," I say, unsure of whether I'm speaking to myself or Will.

His callused hand appears above mine, hovering for an instant before withdrawing. When he speaks, his voice is gentle.

"If anyone can pull it off, it's you," he says. "And you won't be alone—I'll be there every step of the way. I'll teach you everything you need to know: what to say, how to act. If you're half as brilliant within Palace walls as you are upon those roofs, you'll have the Princess confiding in you in no time."

Sighing, I push my knotted mess of curls off my forehead. I feel the weight of Will's hand on my arm and glance up at him, but he stands suddenly and moves back to his spot in the chair across from me. He leans forward in his seat, forearms on knees, his eyes regarding me and imploring all at once.

"Well? What do you think?" he asks, carefully.

I blow a puff of air out between my teeth. "What possible use could the Princess have to you?"

"She is the King's only daughter and completely idle in that Palace. If you were to gain her confidence, I think you could learn a great deal about the King and his plans. I want you to relay any relevant information back to me so that I can organize the rebellion."

"I see." My head is swimming. The Palace. The Princess. A battle. Just this morning I was a lowly street urchin looking to steal enough pennies to get myself a meal. Now, I am being presented with the opportunity to go directly inside the home of the City's richest and most powerful. My fingers twitch with the possibilities.

I could go along with Will's madcap scheme, play his games until I can steal enough to keep Lara off the streets for good. Who knows—with a bit of luck and a lot of guts, I might even manage to give the market beggars a fresh start.

But there's something else...some spark of possibility that draws my interest more than a few shiny Palace trinkets. This plan, as farfetched as it is, could be my chance to do something worthwhile. To do more than just survive. To succeed where my father failed.

From the corner of my eye, I can see Will jiggling his knee up and down, waiting for me to speak.

"It seems like a lot of fuss to take on." I keep my speech to an easy drawl as I look up at him. "Why not just have me help you recruit some commoners? With enough manpower, you could attack the Palace whenever you damn well pleased."

"It isn't enough to attack with brute force—we need to plan our fight strategically." He speaks with the world-weariness of someone who has seen battle. "Real change comes through patience and cleverness."

He's right; every attempted uprising against the monarchy has ended in our blood. I forcefully push aside the memory and concentrate.

"So, you think that you have the answer." I wonder if his arrogance is because he was born a courtier, or if it is a predisposition.

"I believe we can be smart about this. History has shown us that we cannot succeed through fury alone. If we have an ear behind enemy lines, we could learn their weaknesses and exploit them." Will pounds a fist into his palm to emphasize his point.

I find myself nodding slowly. Despite my misgivings, I have to admit I am impressed with his thinking. Unlike previous rebellions, we wouldn't be a hodgepodge collection of miners armed with shovels and pickaxes. We would be an actual army of soldiers, fuelled by the knowledge of our enemy's inner workings.

My heart begins to pound furiously in my chest, and my body buzzes with the familiar static of anticipation. This could actually work.

"Before I agree to put my neck on the line for you, we should first get one thing straight." I lift my bandaged knee out of its reclined position on the couch and place it on the floor, surprised at how much stronger it feels. I stand up, gingerly shifting my weight before taking a few tentative steps.

Will may possess an excessive amount of self-righteousness, but I'll give him credit for knowing something about medicine. I continue my lap of the room; Will turns in his seat to follow my movements, looping his arm over the back of the chair as I walk behind him. I stop in front of the window and cross my arms, fixing him with a withering glare.

"I won't work for you—I'll work with you. Your cause sounds promising, but I don't know the full breadth of it. I don't know if you intend to put one of your own in power or how you plan to run the City if you can seize it. You can ask a favour of me and I can choose to help you, or I can choose to leave at any time. Don't think you can impress me with your lofty ideals and fancy plans. I have been running rings around this monarchy for a long time now, and I have never needed anyone to help me." Feeling my cheeks warming from the length of my speech and the intensity of Will's gaze, I fight the urge to turn and look out the window; instead I force my eyes to lock with his.

Will lifts his hands and claps them slowly together. "Well said. Allow me to alleviate your misgivings. Please, tell me what you want for this city."

I ignore his sarcasm and continue my lap around the room, buying myself some time before I return to the couch. I sit back down, careful to keep my body forward instead of slouching.

"What I want..." I start, my brows furrowing and my gaze drifting upward as I think. "I want everyone to have the opportunity to educate themselves. I want my friends to be able to support themselves through their trades, and I want the rich to give up their unnecessary luxuries so that their wealth can be redistributed." I think back to the sea of hungry and wretched faces I walk by each morning.

"Well, I know we could—"

"I'm not finished." My voice comes out more loudly than I had intended. "I want reparations paid to every family of a man injured or killed in the mines. I want the safety of those men guaranteed, and I want our women given the right to take any job that is available to a man." Lara shouldn't have to go out at night, rattling her jewellery.

Will seems to be waiting for me to say something else.

"Is that it?" he asks, after a beat.

"I am sure I will come up with some more later."

"Without a doubt." He scratches the stubble on his chin, a thoughtful grin tugging at his lips. "I can see you've given this some thought."

"The concept, yes," I say, slowly, "but not the execution. I suppose that's where you come in." I admit the last part begrudgingly.

"Well, I will tell you that no one can speak to the needs of the people better than the Runner. What you want is fairness and equality, which is exactly what we want as well."

I feel a jolt of irritation at his placating tone.

"I can promise you that, in the new city, no one will want for an education or for the basic necessities. We will all have the same opportunities."

He is an idealist. I've grown up with this type; the kind who believes that removing the monarchy will allow us to rise up as equals. While I admire the idea, I have always failed to see how an angry, under-educated and abused group of people can achieve a thriving nation.

My father always impressed this fact upon us. He taught my brother and me that strong leadership with an ear and voice for the people was what our city needed, and that it was our responsibility as citizens to keep our hearts open to the trials of those around us.

My mind momentarily drifts to the snippets of conversation I would catch as he spoke, huddled with his friends around our kitchen table. That was the first time in my young life that I had heard whispers of revolution.

I stretch my knee again. Under these circumstances I should be wary, but against my better judgment I find myself trusting Will. There is something about this strange man, his unwavering sureness and passion. Somehow, when he speaks of the possibilities, I believe him.

"I have no doubt you have a great many questions about who we are and what we are doing." Will's voice breaks through my thoughts. "There will be enough opportunity for you to meet my friends and consult with us on our plans. Does that help?"

"It does help. Some."

"What I am offering you, Kay, is the chance to be part of something bigger than yourself. Before this, your acts of rebellion have been annoyances, enough to slow the King down, but by going inside, planting yourself right in the middle of the hive—that is when the real changes will happen."

It's when his voice takes on that low, burning intensity that I can't help but find myself believing anything he says.

"So, I would have to wear dresses." I wrinkle my nose at the thought.

"Yes." He chuckles. "And wash your face, and brush your hair."

"Bloody Burn." I groan. "I can't run in a dress."

"And you'll have to clean up that mouth of yours." Will raises his eyebrows in mock seriousness. "Don't be so worried about the dress, though. If you can convince the courtiers that you're one of them, you won't need to run."

The afternoon sun is waning in the small room and I can see particles of dust floating through the air, bouncing off Will's dark hair and reflecting in his earnest gaze.

I sigh, but I can't help the smile slowly creeping over my face. "When do we start?"