The morning sun shone bright through the linen curtains of the inn's common room, scattering wavering patterns across oak tables and flagstone floors. Roland Farter blinked against the light as he sat nursing a cup of weak tea. After yesterday's brush with forbidden wards, he had expected a quieter day—perhaps a simple patrol or routine drill. But Fenwood's color—and danger—seemed determined to follow him.
He rose and stretched, muscles still tingling from the treacherous Darkwood foray. Slipping on his cloak, he made for the door… only to collide with something soft and silken.
"Oof!" He staggered back. Before him stood a young woman, no older than twenty, her wide eyes the color of storm-tossed seas. She wore a gown of pale blue trimmed with silver embroidery, and a slender circlet of spun mithril rested atop her loosely braided hair.
Roland's heart thudded. "I—apologies, Your Highness," he stammered, bowing so low he risked toppling over. "I didn't—"
The woman caught his arm with surprising strength. "Watch where you're going," she said, voice gentle yet firm. "You're not the only one allowed to walk these halls."
Roland's face burned. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. I'm… Roland Farter, scout." He managed a wobbly half-bow, careful not to jostle her dress.
She regarded him coolly. "Scout, is it?" A beat. Then she sighed, releasing his arm. "I am Princess Althea of Ardenia. I meant no harm—only seeking a private moment away from protocol."
Roland swallowed. "Your Highness, it's an honor." He forced himself to meet her gaze. "If I can escort you—"
"Escort me?" She raised an eyebrow. "I am perfectly capable of walking unescorted."
He reddened. "Of course. I… I only meant if you wished safe passage. This town can be… dangerous."
Althea's lips quirked. "Thank you, Roland the Scout, but I fear danger less than I fear idle chatter. Will you excuse me?"
She swept around him, gown whispering on stone. Roland watched her go, heart pounding so hard he thought she might hear it. After a moment, he shrugged off his shock and hurried out into the street.
---
Fenwood's market district was alive with mid-morning bustle: merchants hawked cured sausages, bright cloths fluttered in stalls, and children chased stray chickens. Roland wove through the crowd, replaying the princess's cool tone. I nearly knocked a princess over. A princess. His mind reeled.
Turning a corner, Roland nearly collided with a pair of guards escorting Althea herself—helmeted men at port and star-emblazoned surcoats. The princess paused beside a flower stall, where blossoms of every hue spilled from baskets. She lifted a pale rose, inhaling its fragrance.
Roland hesitated… then stepped forward. "Your Highness," he called softly.
She looked up. "Scout. I did not expect to see you again."
He bowed. "I… noticed you paused. If you seek privacy, I can—"
She tucked the rose behind her ear. "Privacy?" She laughed lightly, surprising Roland with its warmth. "In a market? Hardly possible. Yet…I find comfort in small things. Will you help me choose a flower?"
Roland blinked. Help choose a flower for a princess? He cleared his throat. "Of course, Your Highness." He approached the stall, inhaling the heady scent of petals. Althea held out the rose. "This one suits you," Roland said. "Its pale hue reminds me of early dawn—gentle, yet strong."
Althea's eyes softened. "You have an eye for beauty, Scout." She held the rose aloft. "You may stay a moment—if you'll tell me of life outside the keep."
Roland swallowed. This is really happening. He picked a deep violet bloom. "That one's hardy," he said. "Grows from cracks in walls. Reminds me that even in hardship, life finds a way."
She accepted it, pressing its stem between slender fingers. "Thank you." She paused, shadows flickering across her face. "I envy you, Roland Farter. You live by purpose—scouting, protecting. I live by duty and expectation."
Roland hesitated. Her Highness envies me? He found himself answering honestly. "Duty can be as heavy as any sword. But I choose mine every day. Perhaps you do too."
Althea considered him. "Perhaps." She tucked both flowers into a small pouch at her waist. "Shall we continue?" She nodded toward the narrow alley that led toward the outskirts.
Roland followed. Private stroll with the princess. His writer's mind churned—what would vendettas, assassins, or—no spoilers! Stay in character.
They walked side by side, silence comfortable between them. The alley's walls were lined with ivy and moss. A stray tabby lingered in a doorway, green eyes flicking at their heels.
Althea paused at a sunlit window, where a single violet spilled onto the sill. "My mother planted these," she said softly. "In memory of my father."
Roland's voice was gentle. "He must have cared for you deeply."
She looked at him, a flicker of sorrow in her gaze. "He did. He taught me that a bridge between worlds—royalty and ordinary—could be built on understanding."
Roland swallowed. "Then let us build one now." He offered a small nod. Smooth. He hoped it sounded natural.
Althea smiled, the lantern-like warmth of it illuminating her features. "Thank you, Roland."
---
They emerged onto a small plaza, where a drift of fallen blossoms carpeted the stone. A fountain whispered in the center—water trickling over moss-coated tiers. Althea paused, pressing her palm to the cool edge.
"I rarely see Fenwood from this vantage," she said. "My guard insists I remain within the keep—or in lavish carriages."
Roland glanced around. "It suits you—simplicity among the simple. The common folk love the princess who walks among them."
Althea laughed softly. "I do it for the children—smiles light as petals. But sometimes I wonder if I'm trivializing my station."
Roland met her eyes. "I think you're showing strength. To be seen, not hidden. That takes courage."
She studied him, head tilted. "You grant courage to others, Scout. You tend wounds and hold vigil at walls. You face danger to keep us safe." She paused, stepping closer. "I wish I could offer you more than gratitude."
Roland's chest tightened. "Your gratitude is enough." His voice caught. He fought to keep calm.
From the plaza's edge, a cry rang out—a woman's shrill alarm. Instinct seized Roland. "Your Highness—stay close."
Althea's eyes widened. Roland whirled toward the alley where the cry came from. A hooded figure sprinted away, holding something small and swaddled. A merchant woman pursued, shrieking, "Thief! My child! Guard! Thief! Guard!"
Roland's heart raced. A stolen child! He surged forward, grabbing Althea's hand. "Run this way!" He dodged through the blossomed fountain's spray and up a side lane. Althea followed, cloak swirling.
They reached the alley mouth just as the figure darted out, clutching a crying babe. Roland leapt, grabbing the thief's cloak. The figure twisted, nearly breaking free—but Althea appeared beside him, raising her hand.
"Stop!" she called. Her voice echoed off the walls, clear and commanding. The thief froze, glancing at her beseechingly.
Roland addressed the thief quietly. "Return the child. No harm will come." His voice was firm, steady. The thief's shoulders slumped. With one trembling hand, he handed the baby to Althea.
The merchant flung herself around the fountain, tears pouring. She scooped up the child, cradling her. "Thank you—oh, thank you!" She bowed to Althea and Roland. "You saved my daughter."
Althea pressed the babe to her chest, rocking gently. Roland exhaled, chest heaving. The thief, a ragged boy of thirteen, sank to his knees. "I—I was starving. Please—"
Roland's heart clenched. He knelt beside the boy. "You stole to feed her?" The boy nodded, tears tracking down grimy cheeks. Roland looked at Althea, whose eyes shone with compassion.
Althea stepped forward. "No child should suffer. Roland—" She turned to a nearby stable boy, borrowing a sack of oats. She knelt beside the merchant. "Use this to care for her."
The merchant blinked. "Your Highness—"
Althea shook her head. "No titles here—just two mothers." She held out the oats. The merchant accepted them, trembling.
Roland stood, looking at the kneeling thief. "Are you alone?" The boy nodded.
Roland Gave the boy a pouch with a few coins. "Use these to feed your family—and stop stealing. If you do, you'll face darker consequences than hunger."
The boy nodded, stacking the coins. "Thank you, sir."
Roland turned to Althea. "Your Highness—you might wish to return to the keep."
Althea shook her head, tucking stray hair behind her ear. "No. I needed this reminder—that even in small places, compassion matters." She smiled at Roland. "Thank you—for protecting more than flower markets."
Roland swallowed, feeling warmth flood him. "Always, Your Highness."