Chapter 9

MARGE

I changed my dress three times the next morning.

The first was too tight. The second was too bright. The third was the one Fren held up with a small smile.

"This one," she said. "Trust me."

It was deep emerald, soft as water. It skimmed my waist and fell loose around my hips. The sleeves ended at my elbows. No tight corners. No hiding.

I stood before the mirror and waited for the old voice. Large Marge.

It came. But it was quieter.

"You look like a queen," Fren said.

"Don't say that word."

"Why?"

"Because last night, a king nearly made me one in front of thirty people."

She laughed and pinned my hair back. Her fingers were gentle. Almost too gentle. "Then let them wonder."

A knock came at the door.

Ryan stood in the hallway in a plain dark coat, no crown, no guards. His eyes dropped to my dress, then lifted fast to my face.

"You look…" He cleared his throat. "Good. You look good."

Heat crawled up my neck. "Thank you."

"I thought we could leave the palace," he said. "Walk the town. If you want."

"Won't people stare?"

"Probably." He grinned. "But not for the reason you think."

**************

The town sat at the foot of the hill. Stone streets. Bright awnings. The smell of bread and spice drifting from every corner.

I hadn't walked freely outside in four years. Not without Zach's guards or Trinity's sneer.

"Breathe," Ryan said beside me.

"I am."

"You're holding your arms like you're expecting a hit."

I looked down. He was right. I dropped them.

"Better," he said.

People bowed as he passed. Children ran up to him, laughing. He pulled a coin from behind one boy's ear and the kid shrieked with joy.

"You do magic tricks?" I asked.

"Only for people under ten. They're easy to impress."

"And me?"

He looked at me for a moment too long. "You're harder."

I looked away first.

We stopped at a bakery. The woman behind the counter froze when she saw him, then bowed so low her flour-covered apron brushed the floor.

"Your Highness!"

"Mara, please. Two of those." He pointed at golden pastries glazed with honey. He handed me one. "Try."

I bit into it. Warm. Sweet. Buttery in a way that made my eyes close.

"Oh," I breathed.

"Good?"

"It's perfect." I opened my eyes. He was smiling, and he wasn't looking at the pastry. "What?"

"You were the one who made the cake at the wedding, weren't you?"

I stiffened. "How do you know that?"

"I asked around, remember? Everyone said the cake was the best part of the night. And that you made it." He tilted his head. "Why did you stop baking?"

"I didn't stop. Zach said it was a servant's work."

"It's an art."

"Not to him."

"He's not here." Ryan stepped closer. His voice dropped. "What did you want to be, Margaret? Before all of this?"

Nobody had asked me that in years. My throat tightened.

"I wanted to open a bakery. A small one. With books on the shelves, so people could read while they ate." I laughed, embarrassed. "It sounds silly."

"It sounds like a good place to sit."

"You'd sit there?"

"Every day," he said. "I'd be your worst customer. I'd stay for hours and order nothing."

I laughed. A real one. It surprised both of us.

We walked on. The market stretched ahead. Silk, spices, candles, jewelry. Women whispered as we passed. Some of it was soft. Some of it wasn't.

"That's her."

"The wolf."

"Look at the size of her."

My smile slipped. My shoulders curled.

Ryan stopped walking.

He didn't shout. He didn't threaten. He simply turned his head toward the women, and the whole street seemed to hold its breath. They looked away at once.

"You don't have to do that every time," I said quietly.

"I don't mind."

"They'll talk anyway."

"Then I'll stop them anyway." He faced me. "I mean it. Nobody speaks about you like that in my realm."

"Why do you care so much?"

It came out sharper than I meant. He didn't flinch.

"Because I watched you in that courtyard," he said. "Someone laughed at you, and you got up and kept carrying the tray. Most people would've broken. You didn't." His eyes held mine. "I've never met anyone that strong."

I wanted to say something clever. Something to shut the moment. But my mouth had gone dry.

His hand lifted, slowly, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers barely touched my skin.

It was nothing. A second. Less.

My whole body lit up.

He seemed to feel it too. His hand dropped. He stepped back, cleared his throat, and stared at a fruit stall like it was fascinating.

"Apples," he said stupidly.

"Yes. Apples."

We both pretended that was normal.

*****************

We ended up at a quiet bridge on the edge of the town. A stream ran under it, clear and fast. Ryan leaned on the stone rail. I stood beside him, close enough to feel his warmth.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Always."

"Your father."

His shoulders tensed.

"Last night he put me in the Queen's seat," I said. "He said I had more right to it than I know. Then he announced a decree at the ball. About me." I turned to him. "Ryan, what does he want?"

"I don't know."

"You must have an idea."

"I don't." He rubbed his jaw. "I've been asking myself since dinner. He doesn't tell me things. Not anymore. Not since my mother."

"He looked at me like he knew me."

"Yeah I saw."

"Then why?" My voice cracked. "Why would a king I've known for a day do that?"

Ryan was quiet for a long time. When he spoke, he sounded older.

"My father is not a man who gives gifts without a price. If he's honoring you, there's a reason. And I don't think it's kindness." He looked at me. "I'm sorry. I should've warned you before I brought you here."

"You didn't know."

"I should have."

"You couldn't have." I touched his sleeve without thinking. "Stop carrying everything."

He stared at my hand. Then at me. Something soft and dangerous passed over his face.

"I'm not going to let him use you," he said. "Whatever he's planning. I promise."

"What makes you think he wants to use me?”

"I know my father better than anyone."

We stood there while the water ran beneath us. His arm brushed mine but neither of us moved away.

We were halfway back through the market when I heard a voice. 

"Selene?"

I turned. An old woman sat behind a stall of dried herbs, her white hair wild, her eyes clouded. She stared straight at me. Her hands shook on the table.

"Selene," she whispered again. "Oh, Goddess. You came back."

"I'm sorry, you've mistaken me," I said gently.

"No." She rose, knocking over a basket. Herbs scattered across the stones. "No, no. Those eyes. I'd know them anywhere. Princess…"

Ryan moved in front of me. "Okay…That's enough,."

But she wasn't looking at him. She was looking at me like I was a ghost. "They told us you burned," she breathed. "They told us the whole house burned."

She tried to push past Ryan, but he gently pulled her away. 

“Keep walking, I’ll keep her steady,” he instructed. I didn’t move at first until he turned again. “Margaret,” 

I flinched, snapping out from the shock. 

“Yeah…yeah, sure.” 

***********