When the orange was stolen at the Ghurmace market, Kelen wanted to step in—but he froze. He just didn’t have the courage. All eyes were on Prince Qelmar, the center of the commotion, and by the time Kelen worked up the nerve, it was too late. The little girl was gone, and Princess Belara urged them onward to their tour of the Queen of Agility.

  Kelen’s own hesitation burned him alive. The shame gnawed until he swore he’d fix it, even if it was already far too late.

  The first day of the tournament was his free day. Qelmar was wrestling with puzzles from the Band of Saboteurs, Malgorn had an audience with the princess. Perfect time to set things right.

  At dawn he returned to the market, dressed in plain clothes that hid every trace of noble birth. Blending in made the long search easier.

  First he hunted for the orange-seller—no luck. So he started asking around about the little girl who’d swiped the fruit two days earlier. With a princess and foreign princes involved, it had to be gossip-worthy. He was right: plenty of people had heard the story, but no one knew a thing about the vendor or the child.

  He kept asking. At last a chicken merchant recognized the girl and gave him exact directions to her home.

  The house surprised him. He’d expected a ruin dripping poverty, but the place was neat and solid, the roof tight, windows intact. Smoke curled from the chimney and the smell of boiled potatoes made his stomach growl. The search had eaten the whole morning.

  He rapped the door knocker. An older woman opened, eyebrows shooting up at the sight of a well-dressed young man.

  “What do you want?” she asked sharply.

  “Good day. The chicken seller told me I’d find a girl named Dorija here.”

  “You look respectable—and not broke—but aren’t you a bit old for her?”

  “No, no,” Kelen stammered. “Nothing like that. I just need to give her something and be on my way.”

  “Come in, then. Someone might see you and people will talk—make a mountain out of a molehill. I’ll fetch Dorija; she’s in the yard playing some sort of puppet-show drama with her friends. That girl lives in her own world, forever spouting lines she hears at the marionette theater. Spends all her coins there. Talented and hardworking, sure, but neither I nor her father can talk that nonsense out of her. Sit at the table, I’ll call her.”

  The woman disappeared. Kelen stayed standing, pacing with nervous energy and wishing he’d just left the coins at the door.

  She probably thinks I’m here to propose, he thought grimly.

  Belara’s face flashed in his mind—wearing Qelmar’s clothes, which annoyed him, but looking breathtaking all the same. He remembered the moment he’d held her hand, the soft kiss on her knuckles. If only he could kiss her forehead…her lips were a dream too wild to imagine.

  All the while, Qelmar still held every card.

  “Here she is, young man,” the woman announced. Dorija entered, the little thief herself, staring at him wide-eyed.

  “Close your mouth before the flies move in,” her mother said with a nudge.

  “What are you doing here?” the girl whispered.

  “You know each other?” the woman asked, startled.

  “That’s Prince Kelen,” Dorija blurted.

  “Prince!” The woman gasped. “By the grace of King Velen the Third and Queen Asarda, long may they live! Girl, what were you thinking tangling with a prince? That’s the gallows you’re courting. Your Highness, if she’s muddled your head, forgive her. She has nothing. We are poor.”

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  Kelen trembled with nerves but found the whole thing almost funny. “A moment ago you didn’t seem so opposed to the match—given a few years,” he teased.

  “Oh, don’t mind me, Your Highness. I chatter like the market gossips.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not here to marry anyone. I came only to give Dorija this.” He pulled a small pouch of coins from his cloak. “I don’t know why you stole that orange, but here’s enough so you’ll never need to steal again.”

  “You stole?” her mother gasped. “Wretched girl! We may be poor but we’re not starving.”

  “Why did you?” Kelen asked. “You were dressed like a beggar that day.”

  “It was…” Dorija hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t tell too much. “…a job.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kelen said. “Explain.”

  Silence.

  “Dorija, you can trust me.”

  “I don’t know if I should. She told me not to say anything until the tournament ends. But you found me…”

  “She? Until the tournament’s over? This has to do with the contest for Tal Namaréa, doesn’t it?”

  A reluctant nod.

  “The ‘she’ is Princess Belara?”

  Another nod.

  “Tell me everything. From the start.” Kelen’s voice carried a trace of command he didn’t intend.

  The girl explained: the princess needed someone to play a part. Dorija was to snatch the orange, look pitiful, then flee.

  “So it was all staged.”

  A small nod.

  “By Princess Belara’s order?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “She wanted to see how we’d react,” Kelen muttered, smacking his forehead. “Idiot! Now she must think—gods know what. I just stood there and did nothing. What a chance to prove myself.”

  He slumped at the table.

  “Prince, I should tell the princess you know,” Dorija said gently. “If you like, you can come.”

  “Of course.”

  “But after lunch!” her mother cut in. “No one leaves this house hungry. And you too, Your Highness, though we’ve only boiled potatoes and milk—not fare for a noble.”

  “I’ll gladly eat,” Kelen said, sliding a chair for Dorija.

  “That won’t do! Dry potatoes? I’ll kill a chicken—”

  “Enough,” he said, calm but firm. “Potatoes and milk will do. I’m hungry.”

  Soon a plate of potatoes in their skins and a mug of milk sat before him. He salted each bite and drank deeply. When he finished, he set the coin pouch on the table. “This is for you. Even if it was all theater and Dorija isn’t a beggar, it will help for a while. I’d give more, but I can’t empty my purse entirely. Supplies from Terres won’t arrive soon.”

  “We can’t accept that,” the mother protested.

  “I insist.”

  “Well…if you insist,” she said, clearly relieved.

  “You’re generous, Prince,” Dorija said.

  He waved it off. “Shall we go see the princess?”

  They walked through the city and into the palace. Normally a girl like Dorija would never get this far, but at Kelen’s side no one stopped them. They reached Princess Belara’s chambers. Unsure she was inside, Kelen knocked. A voice invited them in.

  Dorija stepped first, startling the princess. “Dorija? What are you—”

  Then Kelen followed. Belara’s eyes widened; she instantly knew something was wrong.

  “Princess,” Dorija said, “Prince Kelen found me.”

  “And why, by all the pearls of Ghurmace, were you looking for her?” Belara snapped at Kelen.

  “Don’t be angry,” the girl cut in. “He only wanted to give me money.”

  “Why?”

  “I felt ashamed,” Kelen said. “At the market I froze. Qelmar took the lead and I couldn’t speak up. Afterward I couldn’t stop thinking about the little girl. I wanted to find her, to help her so she’d never have to steal. I didn’t know it was a performance.”

  “He gave us the money anyway,” Dorija added. “But I thought you should know.”

  Belara blinked. “Wait—you were ashamed for doing nothing, so you hunted her down to give her money?”

  “Exactly.”

  She sighed. “This was never supposed to happen. It was a one-time scene. Dorija and the vendor were supposed to vanish.”

  “Forgive me, Princess, but if I’d known it was an act—”

  “You weren’t supposed to know. But what’s done is done. Dorija, would you wait outside?”

  When they were alone Belara said, “I’m sorry for snapping. I didn’t expect the secret to unravel. It was my deception.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t know I’d do something so unexpected.”

  “You are full of surprises, Prince. You know that?”

  “I hope good ones.”

  “What you did today—a gesture that noble—befits a king. I doubt the tournament will see anything like it.”

  “I’d like to stay a while after the tournament,” Kelen blurted before he could stop himself.

  “I’d like that,” Belara said with a soft smile. His heart hammered.

  Do something. Now or never.

  He stepped forward, knelt, and took her hands. “I look forward to every moment in your presence. The tournament itself hardly matters anymore.”

  “Don’t say that,” she smiled. “You haven’t faced a single trial yet. I can guess how Qelmar and Malgorn will fare, but you—you’re unreadable. If you hold to today’s nobility…” She stopped herself, almost saying more, something about her heart, but thought better of it.

  Silence stretched. Kelen still knelt, holding her hands. At last Belara gently withdrew, breaking the fragile spell.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, Prince. It’s just too soon for…such courtesies. The tournament has only begun, and you still have trials ahead. But from today on, I’ll be watching you more closely. You’ve earned that.”

  “Thank you, Princess. I’ll take my leave.”

  Belara nodded, and Kelen bowed before walking out.