“Do you know what’s glorious about not being at the palace?” Charlotte asked Regis as they walked from the breakfast room to the library, where the duke had promised she wouldn’t be disturbed, and where she could write her letters in peace.

“Variety?” he guessed.

“That, too,” she said. “Did you pick up my liking for it from how I wear an entirely different fashion or color every day, when I can?”

“Actually, it’s how the settings change every meal. I didn’t know there could be so many variations of silverware.”

“I’m thinking of ordering a new set,” she said. “We don’t have any strictly plain ones. But I’m unsurprised you didn’t notice fashion.”

“I did notice,” he said. “I didn’t know it was odd.”

“Really?” she asked. “Entire styles changing?”

“If you can circulate table settings on a whim for a week and I never see the same one of anything, why not dresses?”

“Table settings can last generations,” Charlotte said. “Dresses can’t. And I can go a year without seeing the same table settings. Except silverware. Apparently my ancestors liked embossed goblets more.”

Regis smiled at her lighthearted sigh. “So what’s more glorious than variety?”

Charlotte grinned, and stopped to open the door to the library.

“Are you coming in?” she asked when he hesitated.

“Am I allowed?” he asked. “You’ll be working, won’t you?”

“You’re quiet,” she said, “and I don’t mind you moving in and out if you like.”

So Regis stepped into the library with her and she shut the door.

“It’s a good thing it’s only circumspect guards who saw that,” she said as she walked over to the picture widows that made one side of the room. Other than the windows, it was bookcases wall to wall. They looked far more orderly than the palace library bookcases, and most were labeled in clear lettering. “Most would think I didn’t plan on getting any work done. But,” she grinned at him, “that’s the secret—I don’t have nearly as much work as usual. Shh, don’t tell a soul.”

Regis had been caught by surprise and was laughing. “I won’t. But why not?”

“Well in a day or two it will be different,” she said, “since the Addavian king will be here, but for today, at the least, I have nothing scheduled but letter-writing from now until lunch. Of course, the letters are important, but there aren’t many of them, and I am under no obligation to make them long. The Duke of Snowden is an added bonus. He likes things simple, clear, and to the point. No, I do not think transporting food in a month will be good enough, yes, I think the snows may settle in before then and they need it. I’d like him to speed the process up. Signed, sealed, and sent. I might not even need the last line.” She grinned at him before turning to the desk at the back—and sighing. “Dear Geo. He only wants me to be safe, but must I be so far away from the windows?”

“Doors seem more likely than windows,” Regis said.

Charlotte took her seat at the desk and started exploring the drawers before she answered. “I imagine he’s thinking that he has the doors covered well enough.”

“Not the grounds?” he asked. “Or is he worried about magic workers who can disguise themselves and fly?”

Charlotte sighed and looked up. “Probably. It’s his job to think of everything, and he tries. He probably doesn’t like how his men don’t know the grounds as well. It’s also possible he talked to one of my ladies in waiting, all of whom seem to be worried about my skin.” She laughed, but she was trying to cover a note of bitter. “Between my captain and my ladies I’m surprised no one’s offered to hold my hand while I walk down stairs.”

“Is it all really necessary?” he asked, not because he doubted it was, with how she put up with it—if nothing else, she’d otherwise have moved the desk herself—but because he wanted to know if she’d tell him.

She paused, considering him. Finally she gave one nod, and then chose a quill.

Regis read by the fireplace, and when that was too warm he moved over to a chair closer to the window. He finished the chapter and looked out the window to the famous Iles orchard, originally created by none other than the father of the two heroes of Irene’s war. It had probably originally been fairly small, but now it was vast enough he couldn’t see the end of it from the window. He wondered if it was true that there were only ever five of the same kind of tree in the orchard at a time. The orchard had many different fruits, from apples to peaches, but he still found it hard to believe.

Who would want to kill Charlotte?

The thought jumped from the back of his mind to the front the second he didn’t suppress it. Who in the world could want to hurt her family? They’d ruled well for fifteen hundred years. The people didn’t even know what war was—it was almost a fireside tale to them. No wonder knights were so admired.

Maybe he should become a knight. No, he didn’t want to leave Nem for so long.

Perhaps someone was jealous of them? Could it be a cousin who wanted the throne? Were they actually trying to kill Charlotte, or capture her—for ransom, or brainwashing, or some kind of marriage plot? He couldn’t think of any famously jilted suitors. That on its own was odd, actually, unless she was going out of her way to give him as much of her time as she could, and was usually too busy for anyone. Was there something he didn’t know about her family, that would drive possible suitors off? Unlikely. Maybe she encouraged all of the young men. If she really was queen, she’d have to find a husband sooner or later. If her life was in danger it would be important to marry and have children, wouldn’t it? Maybe she was secretly engaged—or he supposed she could be secretly married. The thought made him gloomier than he wanted to be, and reminded him that it was the last day.

He looked over at her, and then paused, trying not to smile, as he realized she’d been looking at him, and barely looked down before he could catch it in normal vision. She’d moved too fast for his peripheral vision to miss it.

Maybe she’d ask him to stay longer.

Regis banished the thought from his mind before it was more than barely formed. She was acting—if he read her right—at least a little like she liked him, but she was realistic more than she was romantic. It was especially impossible because of the security. He remembered Geo clearing his throat when Regis asked for the week. Still, she’d overridden Geo then. Regis shook himself and forced the thoughts away.

“There,” Charlotte said, and he looked up at her in surprise. “I saved the duke of Snowden’s for last, and now it’s done. I’ll have to sign them later, but from now until lunch I have nothing to do.” She looked up at the clock in triumph. Lunch was usually at one, and it was only eleven.

“So,” she said, coming over to join him in another chair closer to the windows, “now I don’t know what to do. I’m not sure I’ve ever had two hours completely to myself. At least, not for years.”

“What did you do then?” he asked.

“I practiced sword work. That was before it became a mandatory part of my day.”

“It is?”

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte said, and her voice had gone quiet and grim. “The same thing is true for magic—I used to practice in my free time, and now practice isn’t free time.”

“Did you read?” he asked.

“Reading was for school,” she said. “I didn’t fully appreciate books until I was too busy to read much. Though I loved reading with Mother. That was before she . . . got worse.” There was a pause where Regis wondered what she would do if he said he’d guessed why she’d hesitated. “What do you do with free time?”

“Read, talk to Nem, play chess with her in the evening—”

“Chess? That’s boring.”

Regis smiled. “It isn’t if you’re competitive. So yes, if we weren’t talking while we played it would be boring.”

“Are you actually competitive at all?” she asked. “I don’t get that feeling from you, but you did compete in the fighting for five years.”

Regis looked out the window at the orchard, knowing he was blushing. He’d only competed for one reason.

He hoped she didn’t ask.

“Have I broken the illusion badly?” she asked. “A shadow of some regal princess, the truth a complaining, troublemaking child who only looks like a princess because she has to?”

“That isn’t true,” he said. “You’re as much the regal princess as you are anything else. It’s just that you’re forced to show nothing but the princess so much that when you’re on your own you’re tired of it, and so the rest of your personality shines through all the more.”

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, and he looked at her.

“If you didn’t have to be a princess, what would you do?”

She smiled. “I’d be a soldier or a scholar, but either one I would work hard enough to get somewhere. As a soldier, I’d go to another country and work until I was a captain at the least, and my goal would be general. If I decided on a scholar, I’d work until Islentia let me in.”

“You sound like you’ve thought about it,” Regis said.

Charlotte’s smile disappeared. “I used to think about running away.”

“That’s understandable,” Regis said.

“Understandable or not is a moot point,” she said. “I can’t, and once I was capable of understanding what my absence would mean I can’t think about how much I daydreamed without feeling disgusted. Even now, I can’t help but sometimes wish—” she swallowed, maybe swallowing tears. “Sometimes I feel so trapped. My cage protects me, and I like knowing that outside of my cage I’m making a difference, but . . . it’s still a cage.” Then she blushed almost girlishly and looked away. “I shouldn’t be saying that to you. I’ve only known you a week. It just feels longer.”

Then she looked back at him, almost sharply. “I think it’s because you act like you’ve known me for years. You didn’t answer my question, Regis, about if the illusion’s broken.”

“I haven’t seen some complaining, troublemaking child,” he said.

“Oh?” she asked. “I have everything anyone could want and I complain about having to be a princess.”

“Princess means a lot of things,” Regis said. “You can’t be expected to like them all.”

“That might be denial,” she said, and Regis laughed before he realized she hadn’t meant it to be funny.

“I’ve never seen you complain about something you don’t have every right to complain about,” he said. “You put up with a lot that most people would never stop complaining about.”

“I haven’t complained as much around you the last week,” she said. “But what you have seen is how troublesome I am.”

“If you’re talking about the light fun you have stealing papers to get someone’s attention, or sneaking glances at unfinished texts, or even what you told me about riding ahead without your captain, calling yourself troublesome or a complainer is still going too far. Mischievous, mocking, and malevolence are different things, and you are only one of those. I don’t think you’re even capable of malevolence, and mocking isn’t in your nature—maybe after a worse day than I’ve seen you have.”

“Denial,” she said.

“Which one?” he asked. Charlotte looked confused. “I mean, which one of us is in denial?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Are you suggesting that I can see myself less well than you can?”

Regis gave that a moment’s thought. He was almost positive what he saw was the actual girl, but he might still be wrong. He might still be wrong. Maybe a week wasn’t long enough, but he didn’t consider himself a bad judge—nor had anyone ever accused him of being one—and he didn’t think it was likely.

“Yes,” he said, “I am saying that.”

Charlotte clearly didn’t know how to answer that. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open. Her posture was still perfect and her hands were folded neatly in her lap. She was both, he thought. The princess—or queen—and the girl.

“Does that mean,” she said, “that you’re still in love with me?”

Regis paused in surprise, but then looked away, feeling his cheeks burn. He hoped she’d go on, taking that as his answer, but she seemed to be waiting. “Well,” he said, “the illusion hasn’t broken—”

“I’ll have to do a better job of that,” she said. “Really, even if you know me better than I’d thought possible, you think too well of me. I’ve been acting more cheerful than usual—it’s been a good week.” She paused, then added casually, “Of course, I frequently find the Addavian king frustrating, so if you stayed for this week you might get a better idea of me.”

Regis looked at her, wondering if he’d heard right.

“You don’t have to accept,” she said, a little faster than usual, “I know Nem’s here, and she’s probably resenting me for taking you away for so long—”

“I’d like that,” he said, and she stopped to smile. It was a bright smile, her young smile.

“Did she now?” Nem asked that night.

“That will be two whole weeks,” Regis said. “An entire fortnight. Do you think she’s right, that I’ll yet see it break?”

Nem didn’t answer for almost a minute. “To be entirely honest? I don’t think you will. I think you have her right.”

Regis had been afraid of that. “Then . . . should I stay, or should I take what I have and go? If she acts like I think she will this week I’ll love her more—” he stopped abruptly at Nem’s understanding eyes. “Of course I don’t have to say that. But do you think I should stay?”

“I don’t know,” Nem said, and Regis stared at her. “I’d like to say yes, because I don’t think being a little more in love will hurt you any further. I’m only thinking of what happens if she asks you to stay another week.”

“She’s convinced I don’t see her well,” Regis said. “If I go another week realizing that it’s never been an illusion she’ll realize it’s useless.”

“I suppose she might let go of it then,” Nem said, “unless . . .”

Regis closed his eyes. “You’re going to ask.”

“I am,” Nem said. “Could she possibly like you?”

Regis stared at the fire wishing his cheeks weren’t coloring. He wanted to not answer the question, but he and Nem were always honest with each other. “She . . . might. I could be reading her wrong.”

“Is it either that or she’s acting?”

“She’s not acting.”

Nem sighed, and Regis looked at her. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Why?” Regis asked. He didn’t exactly know what to think about it himself, but—

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked.

Was he? For a moment he didn’t know what Nem was talking about.

“The security is so high I’m sure only someone harmless would be allowed with her,” she said.

“Geo knows I fight,” Regis said, but now he knew what she meant. “As for the other, that never has to come up. I’m not dangerous with it. I don’t even know if I’m right.”

Nem didn’t bother to answer that. They’d discussed it before.