Being forcefully woken to royal guards breaking my door and rummaging through my things is not something I planned on doing this morning. Neither is being shoved into a merchant’s carriage without so much as an explanation. It’s not really something you can plan for.

Brooding though, that is something I can do, and so I do, occupying my time with glaring at the bloke in front of me. He must be new, his chain-link armor seeming too shiny for an experienced royal guard. His helmet covers his eyes, but by the way he kept making noises as he shifted spots, it’s obvious I am making him uncomfortable. Serves him right.

It doesn’t take long to realize where they are taking me-a fool can figure it out. The smell of actual fresh food, the clinking from the blacksmith, all of them ten times louder than at home. The unmistakable feeling of cool, sea-salt air tops it off, and I know where I am... King Jonathon’s castle.

Last time I was here, I was half my age, struggling to balance a basket of desserts in my arms while keeping up with the crowds of people. The baker had promised me a warm meal for my help in delivering pastries to some lord in the castle.

I don’t have time to stop and enjoy the view, to see if things look different compared to my nine-year-old memory. The guard from the carriage finds his masculinity and shoves me forward, through the passerbys, winding halls, and eventually to the big man himself.

His hair was once dark brown, if I remember my history correctly, and he was said to have looked like a god from the heavens above. If that were true, time has not been kind to the King. His hair and beard now have matching strands of gray mixed into the brown, and he has enough wrinkles so that the word “young” can never be applied again. The portraits don’t do this man justice; he is even uglier in person.

The guard, though, stiffens at the sight of him and salutes. He tightens his grip on my arm and starts to pull me forward, so I stomp on his foot.

“Hand’s off, y’ Nix.”

Using a vulgar name that tarnishes the royal Phoenix, in front of the king, is far from ladylike. As was breaking a poor man’s toe. If Mother were alive, she’d drop dead in shock. 

The man does nothing in retaliation, but I bet my life he’s chomping on his tongue, thinking of what he could do if he was allowed to hit back.

“Talitha, I presume.” The King’s voice matches his face; the voice of a man who’s seen everything. The blue in his eyes look like it’s faded with age from the bright color shown in his paintings.

“It’s Tali,” I make sure to curtsy, despite the lack of a dress, with an excess of hand flourishes, “Your Majesty.”

Mother just rolled around in her grave, I’m sure of it.

“I don’t suppose I’m here for an arrest, then?” I cross my arms in front of my chest-a habit I picked up long ago-while scanning the room for possible escape routes. The window to my left is too high up for my short legs; guards would be on me in a second. With the way we came in, perhaps there’s enough people outside that I can merely blend in without much effort.

I turn my attention back in front of me, “Unless you plan on giving me a tour of this dusty old place, then, I’ve got to say, Johnny, a girl prefers courtship before such intimate activities.”

“Mind your tone! You speak to the King!” Oh marvelous, Broken Toe Man hath returned.

I place a hand over my heart in feigned shock, and glance between him and the King, “I do apologize, my good sir. One tends to be cranky when woken at such early hours, especially by men who are breaking into one’s home.”

The King laughs, the old man laughs at me, and leans forward in his seat “I am afraid it was a necessary precaution, treating you like they did. I did not want rumors as to why I had a thief brought to me instead of prison.”

“I’m a bit confused on that myself, actually.”

“We’ve heard many a tale of mysterious disappearances in the kingdom. Nobles reporting their jewelry stolen, peasants suddenly having enough coin for loaves of bread rather than slices. You, my girl, are very good at what you do.”

“Clearly, not good enough.”

“It took a week of scouting from my men to find you,” He says it like that’s some feat, that seven days seems outlandishly long to find someone like me, before adding, “They are trained for such things, of course.”

That isn’t going to stop me from beating myself up about it, though. I stick to the shadows for a reason, to avoid detection. If I could be tracked by a few royal guards, it seems my strategies aren’t working as well as I thought.

“That still doesn’t explain why I’m here.”

“As, yes, well...” The King sits forward and there’s a look on his face, like he’s mulling something important over in his head. The mood in the room got dark fast as the guards shut the doors behind me.

“I have reason to believe one of my generals is.. conspiring with the enemy. Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Sir Drake?”

“I know of him.” Smug b****** is what he is. He and his men drink at the tavern, and end up nearly destroying the place every time they visit. If I had to guess, a quarter of the scars on that banged up face of his is due to the bar fights he’s caused.

“He’s to stay here at the castle during the Month of Eve.” He moves to tug at his beard, and I wish he’d just get to the point. I want to be on my way; fools tend to leave their personal effects unattended during meals, which leads to me getting the most loot during mid-day.

“And?”

“I want you to steal from him. Anything that could be used to incriminate him: plans he wishes to sell off, signed letters proving he has been corresponding with enemy scouts.”

“Why do you need me?” Secrecy and crime at court isn’t unheard of, even from the King, but they have people for that, like men who will trade coin for their work in less-than-legal activities. What was the point of searching me out to do something that there were men available for here at the castle?

“There have been recent attempts, though all of them foiled by Drake himself. He is under the impression that there are thieves after an heirloom he’s recently acquired. If I keep sending men out, he’ll start to get suspicious. I want someone who can get in and out without so much as an overturned ink vial.”

“If I remember correctly… Sir Drake has quite a taste for young, plump women. That.. wouldn’t have anything to do with this request, now would it?” I’ll be the first to admit I’m far from the petite, quaint ladies that society reveres. Well, petite, maybe; I’ve seen to inherit my short height from Mother, but I’m far from little. Live in an isolated treehouse like I do, and see what happens to food without proper storage. It gets spoilt, and a day’s earning’s gets thrown out to the birds. If adding a few extra pounds means staying nourished and frugal, then so be it.

“Your abilities in remaining discreet are what originally caught my interest, and only that.” It seems that royals know better than to bring up weight in a proper setting. Such manners.

“This plan, it’s great and all. I mean, truly, you’ve put a lot of thought into it. But if I was to do this, what would I be getting? What’s in it for me?”

Broken Toe Man sputters, as if he can’t believe what I am asking, “The King requires your assistance. Is helping your ruler not payment enough?”

“Listen, Nix, if I’m pulling my neck out for a few pieces of parchment, it’ll be because I’m getting paid, not due to some backwards notion of worship to the King.” I turn my head to him, “No offense, Your Highness.”

“The king could have you thrown in prison instead of offering you a place in his castle-”

“Enough,” King Jonathan interrupts the two of us, with good timing too. I’m ready to retort, followed by a string of curses and actions that will most definitely have me in shackles. His voice is the kind of loud, fatherly voice that I had lacked as a child, but it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. “If you are successful, you will receive a full pardon for your crimes.”

That’s... not a bad trade. I do a job, and in turn I get a clean slate and the ability to be more lax in my future thievery. I mean, come on, I’m not expected to go straight just because the King was nice to me, was I?

“What happens if I turn up empty handed? If I find that Sir Drake has been nothing but a kind, saint-like general?”

“Then you will have enjoyed a month of festivities at the castle, something few have the privilege of claiming.” He gives me a cheeky smile, one that I have no doubtedly dealt out before, and I let out a huff. It doesn’t feel good to be on the other side of that, I’ll tell you.

Now the King and Broken Toe Man are watching me expectantly, along with whomever else in the room with us, waiting for an answer. I let his offer resonate in my head. It was an interesting plan and all, but court politics had nothing to do with me. It’s not like he gives me much of a choice; I give it ten minutes after refusing that I'll find myself locked up. The b****** King knew it, too, he was just giving me the courtesy of making my own decision.

I huffed. "Alright, alright. Fine. Fine."

He settles back into his throne, mighty proud of himself. “You’ll be presented to the court as a lady to keep attention from you. You have the whole month of Eve to finish the job. I wouldn’t want to rush genius.”

“Uncle?” Our conversation is interrupted by a knock.

A girl slips into the room, not much younger than I, and I recognize her face after a minute. The King's niece, Duchess of Arlnot. What is her name again?... Liara? Leena? Regardless, she's dressed in riding clothes with her hair braided up out of her face, ready to leave the castle. That's probably why she's in here, but her reddened cheeks tell me the King is suppose to be alone.

“Oh, I… I beg your pardon, Miss, I assumed His Majesty-”

“Worry not, Lyanna.” Lyanna. “We were finished. I shall get changed and be back in a moment.”

I assume Broken Toe Man is to show me where to go next, and I follow him, but not before sending a wink towards the Duchess. What can I say? I’m a sucker for beautiful women.

“The library is right next door... Privy chambers are down the hall. The kitchens are down the stairs and to the right; of course, the serving girls are here to ensure you have everything you need.”

Lady Teresa is an old woman who’s been with the royal family for nearly a quarter of a century. Her blonde hair is pulled tight into a bun, and when she smiles, the wrinkles around her eyes deepen. She also loves to talk. Since starting my little tour, I don’t remember the last time she stopped to draw breath.

From what I can tell, this small woman is what keeps the castle afloat. Not in the literal sense, I know there are many of servants and maids that do the dirty work, but if Teresa was ever to just stop what she does, it’d take less than a day for the place to be in ruins. She must know that, but there’s no sense of vanity in her.

She turns a corner, ushering me into a rather large room, “This is the Lady Lyanna’s apartment. The parlor is where we do our needlework, and there are rooms for us in the back behind the Duchess’ suite.”

I think I’m the first thief poor old Teresa has been tasked with giving a tour to; she’s looking around at the valuables near us, like she might need to take inventory after I’ve left.

“The tailor has been made aware of your need for proper attire, and is on his way now. I suggest you inspect your room while you have a moment. It’s a bit small, I apologize.”

I walk past her to let myself in, and I can’t believe my eyes. The people here think this is small? I could fit my whole treehouse in here and still have enough room to walk around without trouble. It really puts in perspective how cramped my living space is; I need a new place to live.

Obviously that’s not important right now, because I’ll be here for a while and if I’m going to be here, I need to be aware of my surroundings. There’s a bed off the wall, with silk sheets the color of the royal crest. In front of it is a dresser and mirror, but I don’t think I’ll be getting much use out of that. The only way out is the way I came in, through the apartment and past anyone in the room… not exactly ideal. A stained glass window is emitting blue light onto the floor, and I move to get a look outside. We’re a few floors up, so jumping isn’t an option, but there does seem to be some places I could use as a foothold if I ever wanted to climb out and leave. I’ll save that for a worse-case scenario.

I barely have a moment to breathe before I’m pulled to my feet again; Lady Teresa is back, and this time with a string-bean of a man behind her, his supplies in hand. He seems none too pleased to have to do this.

“This is Cailan. He will be measuring you to ensure you are presentable before the festivities begin.”

“Undress.” He doesn’t even give me a chance to greet him before he barks out the command, not once looking up from his pile of wonders.

Teresa has me into a tightly strung corset before I even have a chance to completely undress. I didn’t know that there was that much strength in such a small woman.

Cailan wastes no time and begins his work, pricking me with a pin in a matter of moments. I let out a string of curses underneath my breath, but he just shushes me.

If Lady Teresa heard me, she’d have my head, telling me to watch my tongue and be wary of my manners. There will be royalty here, lords, ladies, and ambassadors from neighboring lands. They will not have their festivities ruined by some country girl with the mouth of a drunkard. At least, that’s what I assume she’d say.

Standing like this, a doll unable to move lest her owner be upset, reminds me of the time I was forced to dress up for a party a year back.

It was to take place at a nobleman’s house, celebrating the promotion of his son in the military. I wasn’t invited, of course, but it wouldn’t be hard to bat my eyelashes and twirl my hair in hopes of bending the rules. I’d be just one in a sea of pampered ladies, and I would leave with stolen goods without anyone giving me a second glance. I sought the help of a few mothers from the village; a new dress in exchange for some coin. They, of course, assumed I was going to be meeting someone.

Was he handsome? Tall? Rich? How did I manage to catch a suitor without a dowry?

I spun a tale of love at first sight; meeting this man as he road horseback not far from my home... almost exactly the same story as the fairytales I would read as a child, but they ate it up nonetheless.

Dressmaking certainly isn’t their profession, so I stood longer on that day than I’m assuming I’ll need to for Cailan. They two knew what they were doing, though. Ms. Brown, the baker’s wife, has six children and knew how to manage to get a few more seasons’ worth of wear in their clothing. Anne is an old hag, about a century old, with faraway memories of forced needlework from when she was young.

The two were friendly enough to work together, seeing as I needed the dress in such short notice. There was a heated argument at one point, though, over what color my dress should be. Insults, half-joking but also half-genuine, were thrown back and forth across the room as I stood there in my under garments. They were debating on whether a lilac or blue gown would better accent my eyes. My eyes are brown and will still remain brown regardless of the fabric I wear for one night. So really, I didn’t have a say in the matter.

I eventually made it to the party, two hours late, in a gown the color of a burning ember.

For the next few minutes, Lady Teresa gossips about life at court to pass the time, and only now do I tune it in. I’m not sure to whose benefit she’s doing this for, her’s or mine. According to her, some servant girl with long blonde hair and a chip in one of her teeth managed to get pregnant out of wedlock. Lord Bradley has been thinking about getting himself a pet, but due to the way he neglects his own children, she’s not so sure it’s a good idea. There are concerns that the prince has been sick, and that’s the real reason he’s been sent to his estate. If that were true, and he was to die, Lyanna is now the only suitable heir to the throne.

Her name catches my attention, and I’m brought back to when I saw her not two hours beforehand.  The look on her face after I gave her a wink was worth the look I got from Broken Toe Man. “Is... Lyanna betrothed? Does she have some fancy prince or princess waiting for her hand in marriage?”

Same-sex relationships aren’t typical in society, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. The neighboring country is currently under the reign of two very capable queens, and from what I hear, they’re very good at what they do. I think they have servants whose job is to… have kids with them. Maybe? I’m not quite sure. They have to continue their dynasty somehow, and a b****** seems better than changing the line of succession completely by throwing the crown to a poor kid without any knowledge of his duties.

I don’t even know why I asked about Lyanna’s betrothed, because I really don’t care for the answer.

“There have been several attempts for the Duchess’ love, though they are often brushed aside by the girl herself. She’s a romantic and thinks that she’ll find a soulmate when the time is right. Well, being in the position she’s in, I’m not so sure she’ll find the one.”

I’m not sure why, but that answer makes me quite smug.

Another pin gets stabbed into my side, but this time I’m able to control myself; I only let out a hiss. It seems I’m learning to mind my manners. That doesn’t stop Teresa from shooting me a look before she walks in a circle, examining the tailor’s progress.

“‘Tis a wise choice, using blue fabrics, Cailan. It truly brings out her eyes,” Again with my eyes. “We must do something about this hair of yours, my dear. Short hair was very popular last year. Hats seem to be gaining popularity lately, perhaps we’ll put a hat on you...”

A commotion from the window tears me from her important observations on my attire, and I take a step down from my stool. Doing so pulls at a seam, to Cailan’s dismay, but I keep moving. If I crane my neck and squint, I can see the front of the castle.

There’s a carriage, donned with crests and decor meant typically for those close to the king. The two horses in front seem exhausted, as if they ran nonstop from wherever they came. The door opens with the help of a royal footman, and I push closer against the window, as if it’d give me a better view.

A man steps out, and his c***y stature is unmistakable even from as far up as I am.

The Duke is here. Sir Drake has arrived.