I squeaked indignantly when something tugged me around the corner of that dingy brick building. The guards in the red-and-silver livery of the Bellan army fell out of my sight as I wrenched out of the boy’s grip and turned to face him. My brow furrowed in a most displeased fashion and I said, “I was handling it, thank you!”

“You were about to be seen,” Lance countered, wearing that superior grin that so often riled me. Completely ignoring my loathsome glare, he jerked his head in the direction opposite the mucky road down which I had been peeking. “Come on, there’s another way – bit of a shortcut, and none of those redbacks in sight, you’ll see.”

He didn’t leave me with much of a choice as he headed off in that general direction, along a path that ran between the stacked stone-and-wood homes of the Bedrosian public and a line of thick bushes and brambles that protruded into the walkway rather inconveniently. It can’t have been a very well used path, I thought as I watched my friend dodge fallen branches and puddles left over from the storm a few nights before. I followed only because I knew he was right; there was no way we would be able to reach the inn before nightfall at the rate we were going. I had a more difficult time picking my way along the path than I would have the road, though, as I was constantly hiking up my skirts so as not to get the hems soaked brown with the mud that squelched under my peasant boots.

At this I sniggered, my anger dissipating, for I knew I must look ridiculous. Lance only raised a curious eyebrow at me as I ducked under one of the bush’s limbs he held for me, and I grinned. “Like one of those redbacks would recognize me anyway – look at me! Do I put you in the mind of an obedient Bellan princess?”

To demonstrate this absurdity, I twirled on the spot, my bright blue-and-purple skirts floating about my person in a way no stiff court gown ever did; my hair, too, fell in loose brown curls about my shoulders, covered by a vibrant kerchief that had never seen inside the quarters of any kind of nobility.

Hints of a smile tugged at Lance’s lips, but he was kind enough to keep amusing thoughts to himself. Instead he drew himself up quite regally and announced, “You underestimate your people, Miss Mehnota – clothes aren’t everything, you know. Your features are quite unchanged, and just as beautiful as always.”

“And you’re just as full of it as any courtier ought to be,” I countered with a roll of my eyes. “What a pair we make! Go on, then – some proof that your shortcut wasn’t just another opportunity to get us lost, if you would.”

The glint in his chocolate eyes asked if I would really have minded getting lost again, but before I could decide whether or not I’d like to explore that avenue once more, he offered me his arm. I took it without a thought, and Lance led me up a short flight of concrete steps littered with moss and orange-brown pine needles that ended with a short walk around the corner to scuffed up old door. Before twisting the handle, he flashed a cheeky grin in my direction. “Ready to face the great unknown, my darling?”

The burst of noise that greeted us when the door creaked open drowned out my laughter, and we were quickly embraced by the warm glow of the rowdy Shattered Sword, Bedros’s oldest and most renowned tavern. Raucous laughter, idle gossip, and what may have been a drunken brawl led us to the main room. Here the floor was obscured by an eclectic clutter of scrubbed wood tables, chairs, fallen stools, and human feet. I saw the bald head of a stout man poking out from behind a booth where he was lying, clearly unconscious, with a near-empty mug drooping from his right hand. I couldn’t help but giggle at him; it was only just evening.

Lance led me to a small pock-marked table, wax-stained and burnt in places, just outside of the bedlam that enabled us to blend in and also to escape quickly if unwanted visitors in red uniforms decided it was time for a drink. I thought his precautions were unnecessary; I wanted to sit in the center of the rowdy crowd and soak in all of it – all of the normality. But here I could watch and listen to my heart’s content, and appease Lance besides.

Somewhere music started – a well known tune – and much appreciative clapping flew about the room by those who were coherent enough to notice what was going on. Tables and chairs screeched against the stone floor as couples made their way onto the slightly raised, wooden platform meant for dancing. One look into Lance’s twinkling eyes was all the prompting I needed to take his proffered arm and begin twirling around myself.

The way my peasant skirts floated about my person as I laughed and smiled and whirled about had a way of flinging my worries and problems away from me, and I thought that perhaps this was why the greater population of Bedros always seemed so much more serene than the noble one. Their cares disappeared when they stepped through the tavern door; they floated away on butterfly wings riding the currents of music into the clouds. At the end of our three dances my only question was why so many here indulged in alcohol, because dancing seemed to me a drug in and of itself.

“I’ll go get some drinks,” Lance said, heading for the bar. That left me alone at the scrubbed little table, watching the remaining dancers – their smiles, their laughter, their skirts flying around so unlike my gowns. They didn’t know what a court gown felt like, how heavy and tight, encrusted with jewels until its wearer was made to sparkle, to stand out. They knew only this wonderful feeling of being free, and not for the first time in my life I wished I’d been born into this world rather than the one I knew higher in the mountains.

I wasn’t sure at the time what it was that attracted them to me; I wasn’t even sure what it was a year later, after everything had already happened, but soon after Lance disappeared from my sight and my thoughts had drifted from the dancers to the rest of the tavern’s occupants, two forms obscured my view. I blinked and glanced up, and saw two men framed in the light of the candelabra hanging overhead. One had darker skin like Lance, an unusual sight in these northern lands, and the other simply looked tan, and bored.

It was the former who spoke, who made my heart stop. “Are you Princess Aralyn Mehnota?” he asked.

So much for anonymity.

“I – um –“ I said incoherently, staring up at him. He simply smiled, a small curve of his lips, and he and his friend sat without invitation at that little table, which suddenly seemed too crowded. I wondered if this was one of the times Lance had meant for me to make a quick escape, but I found myself frozen in my seat half by raw curiosity and half by disappointment that Lance was correct once again. I needed to prove him wrong – needed to prove that this was not a dangerous situation, because the only worry I’d had was running into some of the soldiers, which these men clearly were not. So I unstuck my troublesome tongue and asked, “Who are you?”

“We don’t mean to alarm you, Miss Mehnota,” the first said. “My name is Gareth, and this is Saxen – I thought I recognized you and wanted to ascertain that you’re not unaccompanied.”

That set my temper flaring. He sounded like Lance, scolding me for being careless, and I tugged at the silver bracelet that always rested on my left wrist, irritated. Making the scene in front of a huge crowd would only draw attention to myself, though, and I made sure I was under control before I said, “Thank you for your consideration. You should know, though, that even if I was unaccompanied I could take care of myself. I’m not helpless. Besides, my father came here every weekend in his youth, no one can deny that.”

The second man, Saxen, turned from watching the dancers (in a fashion that had been rather more interested than my glances), and laughed. “Your father’s and your situations are quite different; if memory serves, he was only second in line to the throne, was he not?”

I kept a stony silence, playing with my bracelet with thoughts in my head cursing unwanted strangers who thought they knew more than they really did. But my visitors weren’t near as interested in me as they could be, and didn’t seem to be a danger to my personal health. Gareth quirked a smile my way.

“I’m not about to hand you over to the authorities, dear, so you can stop looking at me like that,” he said. I’d been caught glaring.

But he didn’t elaborate on that, content to simply watch me, and I tugged at my bracelet rather less ferociously. Curiosity had always been my downfall. Once when I was seven I’d wandered down some offbeat street Bedros proper and was nearly corralled into some youth’s gang (much to my childish delight), before the redbacks found me and returned me safely to my father’s arms. A few years later I had an urge to walk outside in the middle of a thunderstorm; I’d been down by the rising river when I slipped on some mud, and if my cousin Cady hadn’t seen me from her window and come to collect me I’m not sure what would have happened – my father didn’t know about that incident.

At that moment I felt the same strange, insatiable curiosity. First ascertaining that Lance was preoccupied with the bar – it had been a very long line, but even so, he wouldn’t have been pleased with me, talking to strangers – I looked into the darker man’s honey colored eyes and asked, “If you were really seeing if I was safe you’d have left by now. As it stands, I can’t help but think you’re either slowly working up the courage to ask a princess to dance or you need something further – which is it?”

Saxen snorted, leaning back in his chair to eye me with a fresh, calculating gaze. Gareth chuckled softly, a sound barely audible over the music and chatter from surrounding tables, even though he was so close.

“I confess I do have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind answering,” the latter answered; Saxen muttered, “Too bad… I wanted a dance.”

The request caught me by surprise, and I wondered what information I could possibly hold that might interest a random stranger, though I composed myself enough to say, “I’ll answer what I can – what are your questions?”

“I thought, since you’re so close to the king –,” he began (I glanced around, but I saw no curious eyes looking at us. It was a good thing The Shattered Sword had so many visitors that night), “that you might be able to help me. I’m to appear in court tomorrow with a request, and it is imperative that this request be accepted. I know it’s not only your father who decides, but…”

Help. Of course it was – I was silly to think any question could have been anything but about the crown. That was my core, and when someone recognized me they rarely talked about anything else. That was my reasoning behind defying my father and going into the city past curfew, risking being caught by his soldiers, so that I could escape my life in the castle and for a few hours be like everyone else. For a moment I considered tossing my hair and telling him exactly what I thought of his trying to gain the king’s favor in this fashion, but my good court manners overcame me, and I plastered a smile onto my face.

“As long as my father doesn’t hear about –“

“I’ll keep my lips sealed.”

“—then my only advice would be not to lie to him.”

My father hated lying. His demeanor was a calm, pleasant one for the most part – but when he learned of a lie, especially if it was within his institution, it was best to stay out of his path. People lied to him all the time in court; he had entire branch of government devoted to finding the truth in what people said.

They looked like they wanted more, but when nothing more came Gareth smiled and asked, trying to lighten the mood – for I’d gone sour and they knew it –

“Why is this inn so crowded tonight?”

“For the festival, of course – everyone knows that.”

“What are you celebrating?”

“Why, the defeat of the Kedroni Rebels – you’re really not from around here, are you?”

“No – and I do believe time’s gotten away from us. I think… yes, I think it’s now time for us to leave. It was lovely talking with you, Miss Mehnota. I expect we’ll be seeing you again quite soon.”

Lance’s hand appeared on my shoulder, knuckles white where he clutched me as if he’d never let me go. I didn’t know how he’d gotten behind me without my notice but I didn’t ask questions when it came to sudden appearances, not anymore. Neither Gareth nor Saxen looked surprised; rather, they were leaning back in their chairs, coolly watching the scene with expressions of mixed apprehension and reserve.

It was Saxen whose lips first broke into a timid smile as the two men stood. “It was lovely to meet you, Miss Mehnota. Nice to see you again, Lance… having a good time?”

But Gareth tugged him away from us, and within seconds they were lost among the rainbow colored crowd. Lance gazed after them, though I didn’t see how he could discern anything from amongst the twirling skirts of the peasant girls. He was still tense behind me, his fingers maintaining their tight grip on my shoulder, and it wasn’t until he relaxed and asked me to stand that I dared speak, for I’d witnessed his wrath before and wasn’t fond of the idea of it being directed at me.

“You knew them?”

“No,” he answered.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“He looked like you… Gareth did,” I whispered.

“Never mind that,” Lance answered quickly, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “We need to get back to the castle. Now.”

And so we went, my curiosity clamoring to be satiated. But I didn’t say a word.

This was the first of a long string of strange events that I find difficult to recount because of the speed at which they happened, and my lack of understanding at the time, but that need to be told for my own peace of mind in the hope that they won’t soon be forgotten, by this generation or the next. Know only that my actions were that of an unguided young girl, and that my knowledge at the time was just as pockmarked as that old, stained table we sat at that first night.

All I knew then was that Lance wasn’t the same after that. He wasn’t the same at all.