Dove was Mirabel.

Tomas had lost count of how many times that thought had gone through his mind since last night. It was hard for him to wrap his head around; Dove, the scared girl he had found on his way home, was Mirabel. A princess. More than that, a kidnapped princess.

The more he thought about it, though, the more it made sense. Why her hands had been tied when he first found her, why she had been so scared of him… suddenly everything he had ever wondered about the strange girl who had so mysteriously entered his life started to make sense.

But there was still one thing that didn’t make sense: the war. From what little Tomas knew of Lucerne’s king - and it was clear just how little he knew, considering he hadn’t known about Mirabel - declaring war didn’t seem his style. Not without more proof than wagon tracks leading across the border. Granted, the two countries had always been at odds - perhaps the king had only been waiting for a reason to strike.

He felt sheltered, isolated - and not in a good way. How had he missed all that had been happening around him? A kidnapped princess, a declaration of war, and who knew what else? In a way, he wished he had been allowed to stay oblivious to it all. Now the responsibility weighing on his shoulders felt like it was crushing him.

Tomas rolled over, adjusting himself on the mattress. Light was beginning to sneak in through the window as the sun rose, and he realized he hadn’t slept at all. He had been too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

He hadn’t even realized how tired he was until that thought hit him. Suddenly, a new wave of exhaustion swept over him, and it was almost enough to send him off to sleep at last. Almost. Instead, however, he sat up. Dawn was gone and past, and he had business to take care of. After all, it wasn’t that much earlier than he usually awoke; granted, usually he had slept.

But that didn’t matter. He had to get to the palace. As he began moving about the room, the drowsiness disappeared again, evaporating like the morning dew on the window.

Surely there would be some people awake by this hour; he estimated it was one, maybe two hours past sunrise. The villagers in the town near his home were generally awake and beginning their preparation for the day by this time. If anyone was heading out of town and towards the palace, it would be now.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and glanced around the room. He didn’t plan on returning; with luck, he’d be able to hitch a ride out of town within the hour. If not, he could probably manage to get a few supplies with his remaining coins and set off on his own. It wouldn’t be a short journey, but if he had to walk, then walk he would.

He retrieved his cloak from a nearby chair. In the chill morning air, that’s one thing he didn’t want to forget.

With one last glance around the room, he opened the door out into the hallway. It was a slim corridor, made of old wood, and he was suddenly thrown back to the last time he’d left an inn. His jaw clenched at the memory, and he strode down the hall with new purpose. He would find Dove - no, she was Mirabel. He would find Mirabel. He would make things right.

Even if it was the last thing he did.

The downstairs of the inn was surprisingly quiet. The stillness was eerie, enough for him to draw his cloak closer around him as a chill ran down his spine. He almost wished that woman were here, strange as her behavior was. It would be better than the silence.

But he pushed aside the chill and walked out the door of the inn.

If anything, the streets of the town were worse. A long stretch of dusty road was all that greeted him. The bustling crowds of the night before had long disappeared, replaced by nothingness. All the shops were closed, the windows dark despite the light peering curiously over the horizon.

Hesitantly, he stepped out onto the road and glanced around. Where was everyone? It was as if he had woken into a ghost town. Uncomfortable, he tugged on his cloak again. Then, realizing his hood was down, he quickly pulled it over his telltale dark hair. Ghost town or no, he would rather not be recognized as Pommern.

He walked down the street, taking slow, careful strides. There had to be people here somewhere. There had certainly been plenty last night.

Maybe the townsfolk in Lucerne slept in later? He had never been out of his home country before, after all. It was certainly a possibility. If that was the case, though, he might as well have stayed in his room. With no one awake, he couldn’t possibly hitch a ride or buy supplies.

He considered heading back to the inn for a moment before discounting the idea. There was no point; what would he do there? It wasn’t as if he could fall asleep. He was far too awake now for that. Then again, there was no point in continuing to wander, either.

As he pondered, a voice called out behind him. “Hey, you!”

Startled, he whipped around. In front him stood a pair of soldiers, their golden hair glinting as bright as their drawn swords. Before he had a chance to respond, or even to think properly, they began rushing towards him. Automatically, he stepped backwards.

“Stop right there!” called one of the soldiers, presumedly the same one as before. But Tomas wasn’t liking the look of their swords, and he started heading in the opposite direction. What if something had happened here, and they thought he was to blame?

As he ran, mind whirling in disarray, he realized that running away wasn’t making him look any less guilty. With that thought, he slowed himself and turned. The soldiers were almost upon him.

Tomas made his decision. He stopped. These soldiers were the first people he had seen all day, and he was running away from them; where was the logic in that?

Nevertheless, the closer the soldiers got, the more he felt like reconsidering his idea of logic. After all, wouldn’t logic tell him to run away from the men pointing swords at him?

But then it was too late. The soldiers reached him, one of them pointing his sword at Tomas’s throat. The man looked like he was trying to glare, or look somehow intimidating, but he was failing. He looked more tired than anything.

The other soldier was much better at glaring. “Who are you?” he demanded in a sharp voice. “And what are you doing wandering the streets at this hour?”

Tomas’s brow scrunched in confusion as he answered truthfully: “My name is Tomas. I’m simply passing through town, and was hoping to find someone willing to give me a ride.”

The glaring soldier didn’t look convinced. He glanced at his fellow soldier, whose sword was drooping; it was now pointed closer to Tomas’s chest than his throat.

“Jaks!” The tired soldier jumped, his sword jumping with him. Tomas backed up a bit, wondering if the man - Jaks? - was even qualified to be holding a sharp weapon. “Stay awake!”

“Yes, sir!” Jaks said, attempting to sound livelier. For a brief moment, Tomas had the strange urge to laugh at these two men playing soldier. The moment passed as quickly as it had come, though, when the angry one turned back to him.

“Why is your hood up?” he asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. Tomas’s heart seemed to stop.

“No reason,” he responded, but even he didn’t think he sounded convincing. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe the soldier wasn’t suspicious. Maybe it was just a casual question. Maybe they wouldn’t even care about the color of his hair.

The look on the soldier’s face made him think otherwise.

“Then why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something?” the soldier asked. Maybe because you’re paranoid? Tomas thought. He didn’t voice the thought; something told him that wouldn’t help his case.

Instead, he said, “I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” As he said it, he realized that might not have been the best response either.

He was right. The soldier’s face informed him of his error, turning beet red.

“Take the hood off, young man,” he barked. Tomas knew that definitely wasn’t a good idea. He was liking this soldier less and less by the minute.

Tomas glanced at Jaks instead; the man was falling asleep on his feet. Any moment now, he expected him to start snoring.

The other soldier cleared his throat. “I said, take off the hood.” He sounded more adamant this time, an underlying threat floating beneath his words: if you don’t take it off, I will.

This soldier was definitely paranoid, Tomas decided. One paranoid soldier, one incompetent one. He resisted a sigh; of all the people he could possibly have run into, why did it have to be these two?

Maybe he should have just stayed in bed.

“Jaks!” the paranoid one yelled again, and Tomas got the feeling this was a regular thing for the two of them. Jaks jumped once again, his sword swinging, and Tomas took the opportunity to take another step back.

The other soldier harrumphed before continuing.“Take this young man’s hood off.”

For the second time that morning, Tomas’s heart felt like it had forgotten how to work. He had no idea what would happen if they saw his hair; considering the paranoia of the one solider, he doubted it would be good.

He cleared his throat anxiously. “Come on, guys. It’s just a hood! What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal, indeed,” said the angry soldier, taking a step forward and looking him dead in the eyes. The man was taller than Tomas, and for the first time he felt intimidated by the soldier. “If it’s no big deal, why won’t you take it off yourself?” His eyes narrowed. “And why are you out before curfew?”

Tomas hesitated in confusion. “I-”

Before he could go any further, there was a tugging on the back of his head. The cold morning wind blew through his incriminating hair, and Tomas froze in panic. He hadn’t been paying attention to Jaks, but he suddenly noticed he was no longer falling asleep in front of him. Silently, he cursed himself for not noticing the tactic.

Meanwhile, the soldier he could see took a step back in surprise, his eyes widening; whatever he had been expecting, apparently this wasn’t it. He fumbled and drew his sword, raising it to a point just beneath Tomas’s chin. Tomas lifted his head, avoiding the cool touch of the metal.

“You’re a spy,” the man said after a moment, his voice just above a whisper. It was the first time Tomas had heard him speak without barking. Then, again, louder. “You’re a blasted Pommern spy, you are!” The glare was back, and so was the yelling.

“Wha-? No, I-!” Tomas stammered in an attempt to defend himself.

“Shut your trap, spy,” the soldier said, jamming his sword closer to Tomas’s throat. Tomas swallowed hard, tilting his chin higher. “Now I know why you’re out so early. Hoping not to get caught on your way to report back, eh? Well, you should’ve known better.”

The soldier, not interested in waiting for a response, then turned to his companion. “Jaks! You got any rope?” Jaks nodded quickly. “ Good. Tie him up.” The glare turned back to Tomas, and his next words came out in a sneer. “We’re taking him to the prince.”

Something about the way he said it told Tomas that it wasn’t a good thing.

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A/N Hey guys :) Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Sorry for the long wait :\ I feel like I say that every time. Ugh.

There was something I was going to say, and I forgot what it was. [insert whatever I was going to say here]. Anyway. Vote/comment, all that good stuff. Let me know what you thought of this chapter! It's been a while since I wrote anything, and I feel like I'm a bit rusty :P But yeah. Thanks for reading xx