I am still reeling.   

  

Since speaking to Prince Hayden, I have found Sebastian and secluded myself in a corner, laying low until Giddeon shows up. The ball can’t officially start until Duke Rasiel arrives, and the duke is currently very late. Not that I mind. People are beginning to whisper, sending pointed looks in my direction, but it doesn’t bother me. When Giddeon finally does arrive, that’s only gonna get worse.   

  

The main reason for my seclusion is to give myself some time to reflect on what just happened. After days of hearing nothing back from Prince Hayden or Sir Uri, I had prepared for the worst. I have been working on the assumption that Duke Virfain would not be attending the ball, and I would have to figure out some other way to get the duke’s attention. This meant toeing the line. I had to find a method that would make enough of a spectacle at the ball without worsening Lyra’s reputation to such an extent that I am prevented from being able to leave the palace, let alone speak to the northern duke. I have a trump card, but it is somewhat risky and relies on several assumptions. The goal is to have nothing to do with Giddeon, but I have no idea which method will work, if either, if any, so I don’t want to close off any route while working with such little information.   

  

The duke being here advances one plan, but having met them changes nothing. In fact, watching them interact with Prince Hayden was awe-inspiring, but also very worrying. The duke seems to have no interest in respecting royal authority. They were not rude in any obvious way, but to purposefully not use the crown prince’s title (which became obvious as a choice when they chose to use mine), means they are powerful enough to ignore the royal family altogether. Prince Hayden was right; the duke is unlikely to be tempted by an alliance without good reason. Judging from their appearance and actions, I don’t think marriage will work at all. I’m pretty sure an appeal to ‘tradition’ will fall on deaf ears. And pressing Prince Hayden again for what constitutes a ‘good reason’ to the duke seems like a dead end. If he knew, I’m sure he would be using it himself considering how defeated he looked earlier.   

  

I need more information.   

  

I curse at the author in my head. Why the fuck was the northern duke not included in the original story? In all the other transmigration stories I have read, the transmigrator has the edge because they know things no other character knows; plot developments, secrets, character histories, and a myriad of other things. But no, not me. My author is a lazy piece of shit, so I have nothing, except pages and pages of Evangeline’s forced confinement used as an excuse to live out every sexual fantasy she has ever had. I guess it’s partly my fault for being drawn to smut, but I did DNF it for a reason.   

  

I sigh, loudly.   

  

‘That is a heavy sigh for such a festive evening, sister.’ Rakan materialises beside me, dressed in a dark red suit that, rather than clashing with his long, flaming locks, seems instead to compliment them. He bows in my direction and gives Sebastian a subtle nod of his head. I smile, appreciating Rakan’s awkward attempt to be respectful because he knows I would prefer him to, not because he must. Since my initial meeting with Prince Hayden, he has begun visiting me in my personal drawing room. Again, we don’t talk much, but I appreciate his company more and more. Even now, I feel myself relaxing, knowing that conversation is less important, and the silence will be comfortable.    

  

‘Indeed. I just met the elusive duke of the north.’ Rakan raises an eyebrow questioningly.  

  

‘And did the individual live up to their mystery?’ Unfortunately, a little too much.   

  

‘I know less about them now than I did before.’ I confess.   

  

‘A man of mystery, or lady perhaps?’ When researching the duke, Rakan and I made a bet one afternoon while Lord Aster was elsewhere (I have no idea where, and frankly did not and do not care). I bet the duke was male, and Rakan bet the duke was female. The loser would take over Rakan’s administrative duties for a week. Rakan loses nothing either way, but it was endearing watching him come up with the parameters of the bet as if he had never had a friend to make bets with before.   

  

‘Neither of us win that bet I’m afraid.’ I sigh again, remembering the duke’s startling looks and red eyes.  

  

‘I don’t understand how that would be possible.’ Rakan frowns.   

  

‘I'll explain tomorrow.’ I rub my left temple, trying to prevent the beginnings of a headache. Looking around me, I lower my voice before asking, ‘where is your boyfriend?’ His ears immediately go red.   

  

‘I wish you wouldn’t...’ he begins, before sighing himself. ‘He is fetching drinks.’  

  

‘Your highness, what an honour it is to be able to witness your exceptional beauty this evening.’ Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. As if summoned by the mere thought of him, not even by his name, Lord Aster appears out of the crowd. He is dressed in a black shirt and dress pants with a red tailcoat that matches Rakan’s, his hair slicked back and, rather annoyingly, he looks more beautiful and refined than usual. He is holding two glasses, one of which he hands to Rakan, before taking my hand and bowing very low in a rather theatrical manner, placing a kiss on my glove. I hate it but I don’t say anything. Causing a scene with Rakan so close will hurt more than just my reputation. I catch Lord Aster watching me carefully throughout his performance as if he knows this as well and is testing me. My hatred intensifies.   

  

‘Lord Aster, a pleasure.’ I know by now that he not only knows sarcasm but is proficient in it. Helpful, as it means I can insult him without Rakan knowing. It also means I can hear every insult hidden behind his compliments.   

  

‘It seems your beauty has already attracted the attention of an important guest, your highness.’ This is another reason I don’t like Lord Aster. There is something unsettling about the thought of him sneaking around my conversation with Prince Hayden, but there is nothing I can say after having it in a very public ballroom. And while it is likely he knows I met Duke Virfain because he’s a nosy little fucker, I can’t help but think maybe he knew all along and was hiding it from me.   

  

I often forget that Juke Aster has another name; Master of Secrets. The reason I forget is because in the original story, this plays absolutely no part. It sat somewhere in the back of my mind, barely remembered, until the day I saw the other side of him. He has been nothing but his usual cliché, overly flirtatious self since, but that one moment has plagued me since. He is hiding something, and he spends so much time with Rakan that I can only think he wants something from the prince. I don’t know what it is, but I’ve had Amelinne keep tabs on him since. As far as I know, he’s done nothing suspicious, so either the author has been lazy as usual, or Lord Aster is a very good Master of Secrets.   

  

‘You flatter me, Lord Aster, but I believe the important guest was far more interested in the crown prince.’ Before he can reply, I turn to Rakan. ‘Could I ask for a favour, brother?’ I think I see Lord Aster’s smile falter for a second, but his façade is almost unbreakable.   

  

‘I think it would depend on what that favour is, sister.’ I take the drink Lord Aster gave to Rakan and steal a sip, knowing I won’t be able to get one any other way. ‘Was that the favour?’ That ghost of a smile makes an appearance for about a second before it disappears.   

  

‘One of them.’ I smile at him. ‘The other involves my dance card.’ In keeping with the Georgian period, all the ladies in the ballroom have been given a small piece of card and a pencil hanging from a small cord bracelet to keep around their wrists. Mine has five spaces, and I am hoping that filling only two of them, both with Rakan, will be enough to make the king happy. Rakan doesn’t reply, just takes the offered pencil and writes his name in the first slot and, after I press him, in the second as well.   

  

‘If you are looking for dance partners...’ But I am not paying attention to what Lord Aster is saying, because over his shoulder I spot something through the crowd, on the other side of the ballroom. It is only a splash of blonde and purple, but it’s enough and before I can stop myself, I am already making my way over.   

  

‘My apologies, brother, but something urgent has just come to my attention.’ I don’t hear what Rakan says in response. I hand his drink back and start making my way through the crowd with purpose. Sebastian doesn’t miss a beat and is beside me despite my sudden movements.   

  

‘That man, in the corner by the window, stood next to the young lady, do you know who he is?’   

  

‘Yes, your highness. That is Marquess Fairfield from the west.’  

  

‘Do you know the young lady?’ She is currently standing facing the wall, with Marquess Fairfield towering over her, so neither of us can see her face. Sebastian shakes his head.   

  

‘No, your highness.’ I watch them as I cross the ballroom. It’s obvious from the young lady’s posture and body language that she is extremely uncomfortable. The marquess is very close to her, his lips at her ear, his hands not visible from where I am. At this point, both Sebastian and I figure out what is going on.   

  

‘Please take the lady to my private waiting room, Sebastian. I will follow you once I have dealt with the marquess.’  

  

‘Your highness...’   

  

‘Don’t fret, Sebastian. I only meant I would distract him.’ And, if no one’s looking, maybe kick him in the bollocks.   

  

Crossing the ballroom takes more time than you would think, with so many people milling around and me unable to force my way through them London underground style. At least no one stops Lyra to introduce themselves (that bad reputation is actually paying off, thanks Lyra) and after a few excuse-me's I am basically next to Marquess Fairfield and his unfortunate prey.   

  

‘Marquess Fairfield, I see you have met my very close personal friend, Lady Evangeline Whitecrest.’ Both the lady and the marquess turn to face me as I approach, and for the second time this evening, my brain just stops.   

  

It’s Evangeline. It’s the female protagonist of ‘A Romance of Thorns’. And everything about her just seems right. She is small, quite literally, at least a whole head shorter than I am, with honey-coloured hair and eyes the colour of amethysts. Her dress is in a deep purple with white detailing and gold beading. The word I would use to describe her is delicate. But most importantly, she looks like she has walked straight out of a shojo manga. I guess she has, or to be more accurate I have walked into one. It’s just strange. I feel an intense need to protect her, and I barely register the marquess as I insert myself between them without so much as a nod of my head, let alone a curtsey. I’m a princess. The marquess can just get over the impoliteness.  

  

‘I have been searching for you everywhere, Lady Whitecrest.’ I take her hand in mine and meet her gaze. There is a question there and I try my best to answer it silently. The marquess is definitely tipsy, if not drunk, and doesn’t even bother to greet me. He is simply smiling in a way that makes my skin crawl.   

  

‘My apologies, your highness.’ My reputation precedes me, and Evangeline already knows who I am. Her voice is quiet but firm, not to be spoken over. She looks a little unsure, and I can see the cogs turning in her head as she tries to figure out who to trust, the lecherous marquess or the violent princess. With a small curtsey in my direction, it seems she has come to a snap decision. ‘I was detained by the viscount here, I never meant to take so long.’ I smile.   

  

‘No bother, Lady Whitecrest. Sebastian shall escort you to the waiting room.’   

  

‘Yes, your highness.’ Evangeline moves to follow Sebastian, but I stay put. As Sebastian looks over his shoulder at me, I dismiss him with a wave of my hand, a show of indifference in front of the marquess that I do not like performing but will be necessary for the next bit. ‘Go without me, Sebastian. I would like to speak with the marquess for a moment.’ Sebastian nods, still seemingly worried, before escorting Evangeline from the ballroom.   

  

‘Your highness.’ The marquess finally bows. ‘I do not believe we have been officially introduced. I am Marquess Fairfield.’ He is sober enough to offer a formal introduction at least. As he does, he takes a few steps closer to me. I can smell the brandy or wine or whatever it is on his breath and, with no regard for etiquette or decorum, he gets very close to my face. ‘I was unaware she was one of your father’s.’ My whole body stops.   

  

‘What?’ Either the marquess is much drunker than I thought, or he simply doesn’t care, but he smiles and leans in closer.   

  

‘She’s a nice find, eh?’ I do not wait for him to say anything else. I take a stray glass of red wine that has been left on a table to my right and pour it over his head.  

  

The marquess exclaims loudly and draws the attention of everyone standing nearby. A deathly silence settles over our corner of the ballroom. The music is still playing, and voices can still be heard, but at least fifty people are now looking at me, unsure of what happened but terrified and amazed that they are witnessing one of Lyra’s episodes in person.   

  

The marquess wipes the wine from his eyes and face with a stained handkerchief, doing little to clean the mess. I can see the anger on his face, and it only makes my own anger worse. The audacity makes me sick.   

  

‘How dare you..!’ But before he can raise his voice any louder and shout, I get very close to his face and whisper in his ear.   

  

‘If you touch Lady Whitecrest, or any lady, ever again, I will cut off your hands and make you wear them like a necklace.’ At this moment in time, it is an empty threat, but the marquess looks at me with a mixture of shock, anger, and maybe even a little fear on his face. It is not enough. I want to hurt him, but right now I’m alone. Sebastian is gone and Amelinne is not here. And if what he said means anything, then the king is involved in whatever lecherous routine this man has going on. Right at this moment, there is nothing else I can do.  

  

Barely able to contain my anger, I leave the room.   

  

*  

‘Your highness!’ Sebastian makes short work of the distance between us as I round the corner to my private waiting room. I stop walking, hand against the wall to steady myself, taking a few moments to calm my breathing. I am angry, but my heart rate is running a mile a minute and I can feel myself slipping. Breathing is becoming difficult. I don’t know what to do, about the marquess, about Evangeline, about the duke, and it all overwhelms me at once.   

  

‘Your highness.’ It is Sebastian again, his voice softer. When I look up, I see his outstretched hand, palm up, and place mine on top. He taps it like before, in a slow and steady rhythm, and after a few moments, I am able to catch my breath.   

  

‘Thank you, Sebastian.’ He nods.  

  

‘What happened, your highness?’ I don’t know what to tell him, if there even is anything to tell him, so instead I ask him a question.   

  

‘What do you know about Marquess Fairfield?’ Sebastian’s face turns to stone.   

  

‘Only rumours, your highness.’  

  

‘Rumours?’ He nods.   

  

‘Yes, your highness.’   

  

‘Well known rumours? He hesitates before he nods. ‘Do these rumours involve the king?’ I watch him closely, but Sebastian will not say anymore. There is no one else here, but to accuse Marquess Fairfield of something, anything, as a Viscount, as an attendant, would not be taken lightly. To accuse the king in his own palace would be treason and probably death. I don’t know if Sebastian is being careful, or if he doesn’t fully trust me. I imagine it is a mix of both and it hurts me a little.   

  

My thoughts are running a mile a minute. What exactly have I just found out? What kind of ‘rumour’ is this, to make Sebastian react in such a manner? This story is quickly getting out of hand, and I’m only just beginning to realise how much of it is hiding in the wings. I try to remember how old Evangeline is, definitely not older than Lyra, and then I think about how old Marquess Fairfield is, how old the king is. Who knows about this? Does the crown prince know? Does the duke? Would they help me if they did, or would they be loyal to the king?   

  

And then a dark thought creeps in. If the king won’t listen to me, this could be my silver bullet. This could be my get-out-of-jail-free card.   

  

But I bury that thought almost as soon as it surfaces. This is not simply a story anymore. These are not just characters that I can use to prevent my own death; they are people. Even Lord Aster has something hiding behind his cliché, a little something extra backstage. I think about Annie, the young handmaiden who was abused by Lyra and then abandoned into the outside world with no prospects, no way to earn a living and feed herself. Her name never appears in the original story, but I remembered her. After a great deal of effort, I remember her face and the bruise Lyra left there, and I could no longer pretend that this place isn’t real. At times it has been easy to act as if nothing matters because I am inside someone else’s story. It seems that is fast becoming impossible.  

  

But first, I have to talk to Evangeline. I collect myself, compose myself, straighten my skirts and take a few deep breaths.   

  

‘Is she inside?’ I glance at the door to my private waiting room and Sebastian nods. ‘Would you wait outside while I talk to Lady Whitecrest?’ He nods again before walking back down the corridor and opening the door for me. I smile and thank him as I enter. The door clicks as he closes it behind me.   

  

‘Your highness.’ Evangeline stands as I enter and curtseys. I hold my hand up to stop her.  

  

‘You do not need to do that, Lady Whitecrest. Please, sit.’ There is a moment between us when neither is sure what the other wants or what they are thinking. Evangeline looks a little restless and definitely not comfortable, but eventually, she perches on the edge of one of the small sofas in the middle of the room, hands folded in her lap. I don’t want to make her feel even more uncomfortable, so I sit in one of the armchairs opposite her, putting her between me and the door, trying to let her know I’m not trying to trap her.   

  

‘Would you like some tea, Lady Whitecrest?’ Evangeline doesn’t answer me. I wait a few seconds, then I call Sebastian in. ‘Would you bring some tea please, Sebastian.’  

  

‘Yes, your highness.’ Sebastian glances at Evangeline, then bows before leaving. There are a few moments of silence. I don’t quite know what to say.   

  

‘Lady Whitecrest, I know there are many rumours about me and my... behaviour.’ I pause, unsure if I am saying the right thing, but decide to carry on. ‘But I do not intend to harm you. I asked Sebastian to escort you here because I thought you might be in some trouble.’ I trail off but Evangeline stays silent. I wait a few more minutes and eventually, she meets my gaze. Her eyes look darker in this room, smaller somehow, and I am a little taken aback at how beautiful she is.   

  

‘How is it that you know my name, your highness?’ Ah, shit. I completely forgot that I wasn’t meant to know this. Quick, think. Just say anything.   

  

‘My attendant, Sebastian, informed me of your name. I apologise for the lack of etiquette, Lady Whitecrest, but I hoped that the fake familiarity would make my interference smoother.’ Evangeline looks me dead in the eye for a full ten seconds. I resist the urge to look away. I’m not exactly sure how to not look guilty, but I know that avoiding her gaze now would be the same as a confession. A confession of what, I don’t know, but right now I need to build some kind of trust.   

  

After a few more seconds of silence, Evangeline speaks again. ‘You do not need to be so formal with me, your highness. I am a commoner, not a lady.’ I frown.  

  

‘It is merely a sign of respect, not a formality, I apologise if I have made you uncomfortable.’ She is silent again. I don’t know what to say and I sit there, a little lost. At that moment, a knock comes at the door and Sebastian enters with a tea tray, followed by my handmaiden, Lizzie.   

  

‘I have bought a pot of green tea, your highness.’ A wave of relief floods through me at seeing his familiar face.   

  

‘Thank you, Sebastian.’ No one speaks while Sebastian sets the teapot and two teacups with their saucers down on the table between me and Evangeline. He prepares two cups of tea before placing a tea cosy over the pot. The sounds are familiar to me, and I find them calming. After a few minutes, Sebastian collects the tray and bows, before leaving the room.   

  

We are alone again, and I am still without words. I don’t know why, but I want Evangeline to trust me. There is something about her, the way she sits across from me, the way her eyes meet mine, that draws me to her. I don’t understand it. She is beautiful, perhaps one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, but it’s more than that. It’s as if my whole body, down to my very bones, is telling me to be kind to this woman. If this is the power of the protagonist, then I am a little shook.   

  

‘I do not mean to insult you, Miss. Whitecrest.’ I say her name like a question, and she gives me a small nod of her head as if to say she prefers this method of address. ‘You mentioned you are a commoner. How did you end up at a royal engagement party?’ I was not particularly shocked to see her. In the original story, Giddeon meets Evangeline at this ball. But, without being told exactly how she ends up at the ball in the comic, I assumed she came with Giddeon. It is only now that I realise how stupid it would be for a girl Giddeon has never met, a commoner at that, to arrive at a royal engagement ball as part of his ducal party.   

  

Evangeline looks down at her hands as if contemplating her answer.  

  

‘I was bought to the ball by Earl Whitmore.’ I remember the name Whitmore. His land is in the west and he was referenced many times in connection with Duke Rasiel.  

  

‘Is the Whitmore earldom sponsoring you, Miss. Whitecrest?’ I ask the question more because I hope it’s true, not because I actually think it is.  

  

‘No, your highness. I was bought as a…’ she pauses, unable to get the word out at first. ‘As a gift. I was a gift from the earl. I wasn’t sure about the recipient until I was introduced to the marquess.’ Evangeline is quiet again before she meets my eyes and continues. ‘When your highness came, I assumed there had been a mistake and I was a gift for the king.’  

  

To busy my hands, I get up from my seat and hand one of the teacups to Evangeline. She accepts with a small nod before I pick up the second one and resume my seat. For a few moments I just look down at the amber liquid, then I take a sip.   

  

‘The mistake was allowing the earl and the marquess into the palace.’ I lower my voice as I continue. ‘Unfortunately, this is where the king resides, so I can’t do much about that at this point in time.’ I raise my voice again back up to its original volume. ‘Do you know if any other… gifts were bought here this evening.’  

  

‘There are rumours, in my hometown, of other girls, but I never saw anyone else.’ More silence.  

  

Something has been pulling at the back of my mind, a half-remembered plot point from the original story. The issue is, when I read the comic back in my previous life, I read until around chapter seventy before getting bored and skipping to the end, reading the last five chapters and the epilogue. The last chapter was number one hundred and fifty four. That means there are over eighty chapters from this story I haven’t read. At the point I stopped, there was some sort of buildup happening, but I thought it was slow and clumsy and not particularly smart and so I skipped it. The king was Baldwin Venvaris in chapter seventy, but by the end the king was Hayden. Perhaps this is why. It seems Lyra’s father might be involved in some kind of sexual exploitation ring. I have no hard evidence, except Evangeline’s words, but it is unlikely anyone would listen to a commoner over an earl, a marquess, and the king. This is the worst position to be in. I know what is happening, but there is practically nothing I can do about it.  

  

But I am not quite as alone as I was at the beginning of this journey. I have Sebastian and Amelinne, and although Amelinne is quiet and keeps to herself, there must be other people she trusts who can help. There is also Rakan, his wealth of knowledge making him an invaluable ally. And if I can convince Rakan to help, I might also be able to get Lord Aster on side. I may not be able to convict these people in a court of law, like in my old life. I’m not a lawyer or a politician, but here I am a princess. I have some measure of power, and I’m sure I can find a way to make good on my threat to the marquess.  

  

‘I apologise if I have scared you, Miss. Whitecrest; please believe me when I say that was not my intention. I merely wanted to provide help and to see if you are feeling ill or need assistance after such an ordeal. You are more than welcome to remain here for as long as needed, and I can also summon a carriage, or perhaps a handmaiden, who can escort you home.’ I place my teacup back on the table and meet Evangeline’s gaze.   

  

‘However, now that I know there is a weed growing in the palace, there is another option. You can stay here. I will protect you until I am able to find a way to uproot the ugly plant in my garden, roots and all.’ There is an internal battle happening behind Evangeline’s eyes. Her face remains impassive, but she is quiet for quite some time before she finally asks me the question.   

  

‘Why?’ A humourless chuckle escapes me.  

  

‘Because it is the right thing to do, Miss. Whitecrest. What is the point in being a princess if I cannot help a person when they are in need?’ Evangeline nods her head at my response, her eyes now on my hands that are currently folded in my lap.   

  

‘This may be improper of me, your highness, but may I hold your hand?’ The question surprises me, and I feel a sudden blush creep into my cheeks. It is a schoolgirl reaction to what is most likely an innocent request, but I can’t help it.   

  

‘O-of course.’ I stutter my words slightly, but I rise from my chair and take a seat next to her on the small sofa, holding out my hand.   

  

‘Would it be okay to remove your glove, your highness?’ Now what could’ve been mistaken for a reaction to the warm room is very obviously a blush. I have no idea why she is making such a request, but I see no reason to say no, so I remove my glove and place my hand in hers.   

  

A strange feeling begins at the tips of my fingers, working its way into my bones, up my arm and spreading throughout the rest of my body. It feels like a kind of warmth, the kind of warmth you get using a hot water bottle on a cold day or taking a sip of whiskey. The comic very rarely mentions the fact that Evangeline is a saintess and so I had forgotten that she is described (only once, so very easy to forget) as having holy powers. The original story also doesn’t specify exactly what having holy power means but considering the cliché nature of the rest of the story, I assumed it would be something like healing powers. So, I assume that is what Evangeline is doing right now. What I don’t understand is why she is showing me this, revealing what is essentially her trump card. Does she want me to know she is valuable? That I can use her? The pieces aren’t fitting together in my head.   

  

‘This is...’ I don’t know if Lyra would know what this is based purely on its sensation. Magic exists in this world, but by no means is it common or well-known. Fuck it, this is likely the only opening I will be given. ‘Are you a saintess, Miss. Whitecrest?’   

  

‘Some people have called me that in the past, your highness.’ I nod as she says this, a little amazed at her being so honest to someone she is unsure she can trust. My brain is also working double time again. Is there a temple or church in Lycium? I don’t remember any of the books I read mentioning anything of the sort, or any kind of centralised religion. A mage tower perhaps? I make a mental note to ask Rakan. An institution like that might help me uproot some of the lecherous weeds rooted in the palace.   

  

While I’m distracted, my eyes drift and I notice a large bruise on Evangeline’s wrist. I frown.   

  

‘Miss. Whitecrest, you’re injured.’ Without meaning to, I reach out and trace the hand-shaped bruise with my finger. ‘Sebastian.’ He enters the room so quickly after I call his name I can only assume he has been listening in on the whole conversation. ‘Please summon Lizzie and have her attend to Miss. Whitecrest’s injuries. She has a monstrous bruise on her wrist.’ There is a moment, so minuscule I almost miss it, when Sebastian does nothing and looks at me with a strange expression on his face. Then he nods.   

  

‘I shall attend Miss. Whitecrest myself, your highness. I will be back momentarily.’ As Sebastian opens the door to leave, I start a little, freezing him in place.   

  

‘Ah, my apologies, I did not wait for your response, Miss. Whitecrest. Have you come to a decision?’ I turn round to face her, and she lets go of my hand, placing my glove very neatly on the sofa next to me. Something in her face has changed, relaxed almost, and for the first time since I met her, I see her smile. For a brief moment, I am taken aback by the beauty of it. And I blush. Again. Jesus, keep it together woman.   

  

‘I shall stay, your highness.’ I smile back, flustered again  

  

‘Then to save Sebastian a journey, would you allow him to escort you to a guest room in the princess’ palace?’ She nods. Sebastian bows. I become flustered again. I’ve had two months to get used to these kinds of interactions, but it’s still strange. Evangeline rises from her seat and curtseys.   

  

‘Thank you, your highness.’ With those words, she leaves the room. Sebastian hesitates before following her.   

  

‘Do not fret, Sebastian,’ I say, ‘I shall not leave until you are able to escort me.’ I watch as the tension leaves his shoulders before he nods and then turns to leave.