She giggled and covered his mouth with both hands. “I won’t tell.”
They walked hand-in-hand through the corridor toward the great hall. Servants bustled past carrying trays and armfuls of linens, and everyone they passed smiled at the little princess and dipped quick bows or curtsies. “Happy birthday, Highness,” gushed Marta, the laundress, as she hurried by with a basket of steaming linen. “Eight already! Oh, the years do fly.”
Shay liked how they looked at her, with simple fondness. She liked how the castle felt in the chilly mornings: fires crackling in every hearth, the air scented with baking bread and roasting meat, voices echoing as people called greetings across the vaulted space. She wondered about the cake she hoped they’d bake for her that evening and the music that would surely fill the hall before the feast.
All through the castle, servants had hung garlands of evergreen and pale winter berries along the pillars. Tapestries depicting ancient battles glowed with reds and golds in the torchlight. Above the high table, the royal banner drooped slightly in the still air: a large purple and black raven, flying over snowy treetops.
“Your mother insisted on extra candles,” Wilhelm said as they walked. “She says they make your skin look luminous.” He rolled his eyes fondly. “As if you needed help with that.”
“Where is she?” Shay asked. “Mama promised she’d braid my hair before we go outside.”
“In her chambers,” he said. “No doubt arguing with her mirror.”
Shay laughed, because that was what he always said, and because it made her feel grown-up to joke about the things adults turned into whispers.
“I want to see the horses,” she said. “Can we, Papa? Before breakfast?”
Wilhelm’s expression softened. “Impatient, aren’t you?” He pretended to sigh. “Very well. I suppose we can let the cooks wait a little longer.” He led her through a side door, down a narrower corridor lined with portraits.
Shay skipped ahead, reading the plaques under each frame. “King Erich the Iron,” she recited. “King Roderick the Wise… King Alaric the Cruel.” She made a face at that one. “Why would they keep his picture?”
“So we don’t forget what not to be.” Turning, he added, “Come, little scholar, I’m getting hungry.”
As they reached the turn toward the courtyard, a familiar young man stood—tall, broad-shouldered, barely twenty and dressed in the dark livery of the royal guard. His hair was thick and curly brown, and his muscles bulged out from under his light armor.
“Captain Hunter!” Shay called, delighted.
He bowed with a smile that creased the corners of his eyes. “Your Highness. Happy birthday.” His stance was easy, confident. He reached into his belt pouch and drew out a small object wrapped in cloth. “For you,” he said, holding it out in his palm.
Shay unwrapped it with eager fingers. Inside lay a tiny wooden raven, no bigger than her thumb, wings spread as if in flight. The carving was simple but careful; someone had taken time with the feathers.
“I made it on night watch,” Hunter said, and smiled. “Thought every princess should have her kingdom’s bird close, even when she’s not in the great hall.”
“It’s beautiful,” Shay smiled. “Thank you, Hunter.”
Wilhelm clapped his friend’s shoulder. “Glad the night watch is on such high alert,” he teased.
“Nobody would dare while I’m alive,” Hunter joked back.
Wilhelm chuckled. Captain Hunter was the finest swordsman in all the land. Years ago, in a skirmish on the northern border, he had dragged King Wilhelm from beneath a fallen horse and taken a spear meant for the king in his own shoulder. Wilhelm liked to tell that story at feasts, smacking Hunter on the back and calling him “brother.” He had named him captain of the guard not long after, making him the youngest to have lands and a title. Hunter had earned the king’s trust a dozen times over.
To Shay, he was simply Hunter—her father’s most trusted swordsman, the boy who had taught her about horses, who gave her riding lessons while he told her tales of far-off battles. She grinned up at him now, clutching the little raven. “We’re going to the stables before breakfast—since it’s a special day,” she informed him. “Come with us, please.”
Hunter turned. “I’m afraid I have other duties this morning, your Majesty.”
“Come along, then,” Wilhelm said, winking at Hunter.
Wilhelm and Shay stepped out into the courtyard. Snowflakes kissed her cheeks and melted in her hair. She tipped her head back, laughing, and stuck out her tongue to catch them.
“Careful,” Wilhelm warned, though he was smiling. “If you slip and break something, your mother will say it’s my fault and forbid you horses forever.”
“She wouldn’t,” Shay protested.
He didn’t answer. Shay chose not to notice.
They crossed the courtyard and ducked through the larger of the stable doors. The smell of hay and warm animal musk enveloped them. Horses snorted greetings from their stalls, ears flicking forward.
“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” called the stablemaster, bowing awkwardly with a pitchfork in his hand.
