“...What?”I asked.
“Our example,” he said.
“Our example of visiting town?”
“No, ha!” He grinned. “That’s a good one. Sheisfunny, Cyrus. I suppose I was wrong. No, of our love, Svana.”
“...Our what?”
Sam turned to his friend. “The carriageisready, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Aye. Go. I’ll be on shortly.”
“Good.” Sam offered me his hand, which I ignored until he retracted it. “This way.”
“Your Highness, I told you that I had plans for the day last night,” I said.
“Yes. You mentioned them.”
“I believe I also disclosed plans for the days after, as well,” I added.
“Sure, but now you have these plans with me.”
“You—”
Evergreen cleared his throat. “Your Highness, it’s quite alright. A ride into town will be fun.” His friend thanked him for it, quietly, and he went on, “It’ll give me a chance to shop the blades.”
“People or actual blades?” Sam asked. He coughed then waved it off.
“Daggers,” Cyrus said.
Sam nodded. “Brilliant. See, Savy? Fun.”
The carriage ridewasn’tfun. It was whatever the officially determinedoppositeof fun was, and watching the men I rode with share their flawless, comedic flow of banter over me the entire way, felt like a punishment rather than delight.
The road was rough and I rocked back and forth between the two of them, as Sam had suggested I sit there to see both sides of the journey, so that he could point things out about the way. He didn’t.
“All I’m saying is, he had no business in that pub!” Cyrus said, reminiscing through a story with his friend.
I pressed myself into the leather seat, to avoid interfering.
Sam, equally into the cantor, came back with, “Oy, but there he was, the very next day!” He moved, forcing me to lean forward, a new way to allow them to speak.
Cyrus made a snide remark next, then Sam, then Mr. Evergreen again, and soon they became what seemed to be a singular personality. It was unsettling. WheneverIasked a question, like what sort of pub was a ‘gentleman’s pub,’ or why they had been there so late into the evening, I received no direct answer. Then they appeared to adopt a code, using words that didn’t fit where they were placed and everything was incoherent really.
By the time we arrived to the square and left our carriage, I felt petty and had designed myself to stalk around the market as unhappily as possible, stomp my feet whenever possible, and complain about everything, but as soon as we’d made it past the actual gate, a group of children flanked me.
My hands came up, to deflect the ball they’d kicked; my distinguished flinch horrified at least one of them.
“We’re sorry!” he called, clambering to collect it.
“I think you—” I halted, adhering to the child’s sweet remorseful face. “Oh, that’s…That’s alright,” I said.
Reluctantly I relaxed, and, unable to resist the charm of such a tiny figure, I knelt, low enough to match the boy’s height. I collected and held the ball out for him.
“Are you thePrincess?”he asked with wonder. His eyes moved between Sameer and back. “That’s the Prince,” he said, more certain.
“Yes, dear,” I said. “I am she, that is he. What’s your name?”
