White, fluffy meringue frothed in the mixing bowl like fresh snow. I cursed my big mouth for saying electric mixers were for ninnies. Now I was stuck with hand-mixing the thing.

“What happened to the caterer again?” asked Tem, who was mixing food coloring into gel. “And who the trout suggested macarons for dessert?”

“I really appreciate your help, guys.” Fabe piped perfect circles onto the baking tray. “Love how you’re not griping about it.”

Tem yelped as he added a drop too much to the mixture. “I just don’t understand why we couldn’t serve chocolate chip cookies,” he said.

“So what about the missing caterer, eh?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem like Barney and Tammy to hire someone unreliable.”

“No one knows where she went. Disappeared.” Fabe rapped the tray against the counter, and tiny bubbles rose to the surface of his piped masterpieces. “Her staff is dumbfounded.”

A loud voice came from the stairs that led from the main hall to the kitchens. Manny, one of the kitchen helpers, strolled in. “Fabe! I’m glad you found help. Working two jobs must be exhausting.”

Fabe’s hand jerked. Pink gooey batter squirted in a pile on the cookie sheet.

“Fabe, you didn’t tell us you got a second job,” I said.

Fabe looked like he had a mouthful of sour candy. “I have a lot of free time.”

Manny’s face went blank. “You didn’t tell them about all the money you lost?”

“Manny!” Fabe hissed.

“Yikes. Sorry, Fabe. I’ll be gone now.” Manny scampered back up the stairs faster than Fabe could yell, “Traitor!”

I put the mixing bowl on the counter, crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at Fabe. “Spill.”

Fabe sighed. “Before you jump to conclusions -”

“You gambled, didn’t you?”

Fabe bit his lip. “I might have.”

I sighed. “Fabe, you promised.”

“I thought it was a shoo-in,” he said.

“There’s no such thing in gambling,” I snarled.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” Fabe held his hands up like he was surrendering to an armed Knight. “I promise I won’t do it again.”

“Shame on you, Fabe,” said Tem quickly. Too quickly. “But you’re forgiven. Let’s move on.”

I scowled. Suspicion was creeping into my gut like poisonous snakes. “What did you bet on, Fabe?”

Fabe shifted his gaze to the ruined tray of macaron batter. The oozing pink liquid was slopped over the tray like cat vomit. “Card games.”

“You know card games are restricted here. The only way to gamble in Aragonia is by betting on something. You’re lying.”

Fabe sighed. “I placed bets in the Tournament.”

It took a moment for the truth to sink in. When it did, it felt like a thousand bricks.

“Fabe’s sorry, Ash,” said Tem. “We should all move on, try and salvage those macarons -”

“What did you bet on?” I repeated.

“Ash -” said Tem in a warning voice.

Fabe looked utterly defeated. “I bet on your win.”

Bricks melted into molten rock, searing my insides and suffocating me. I grabbed the counter as my legs folded.

“Stars, Fabe,” I said quietly. “What in the Realm made you do that?”

“Forget it, Ash,” said Tem. “You’re always a winner to us.”

I laughed with mirth, but had nothing to say. In the kitchen, a large pot of chicken soup boiled, and cuts of steak sizzled on the grill. The rest of the kitchen staff worked in silence, most likely eavesdropping on our conversation. After a long pause, I said softly, “I’m sorry you lost money.”

“Don’t be,” said Tem. “It’s not your fault he’s a gambling addict.”

A loud beep came from Tem and my WOT watches. It was a message from Makerholf, telling us to meet him at the entrance to the Shaper Wing.

“Leave, peasants, and do your duty,” said Fabe, rolling up his white cuffed sleeves. “I’ll handle this.”

We wished him luck and left the kitchen. The stairs leading to the main hall were made of smoothed cement and lit by firefly lamps.

“You feeling okay?” asked Tem, his voice tender.

I looked into his forest green eyes, framed by unruly chestnut hair, and smiled. “What will we do with Fabe?”

Tem laughed. My heart soared. I loved the sound of his laugh; it was like the sound of a gurgling river after a week in the Gongli desert. “You tell me,” he said with a playful grin.

“Get him a girlfriend to nag him, that’s what.” I regretted it the moment I said it. The G word was a dangerous word, and I’d just pushed us into dangerous territory.

“Fabe has the heart of a five-year-old,” he said, grinning. “But that would be nice. Then we can abdicate from our role of naggy-pants.”

I forced a smile, no longer feeling light-hearted. I looked at his grin, bright as the summer sun, and shivers crept down the back of my neck. My heart ached like it was squeezed by a giant’s fist.

When the time came, which prince or chancellor shall I marry? Who will best improve Aragonia’s standing?

The hated question was – when the time came, who’d be the lucky girl with Tem’s heart?

“Something wrong?” asked Tem, this time looking concerned.

I shook my head, my brown ringlets brushing my cheek. “Just nervous over this whole Shaper business, that’s all.”

He nodded, his lips pressed in a straight line.

We entered the grand hall, full of castle staff scuttering around preparing for the Shaper’s Welcome Ball. Tammy and Barney were busy instructing a group of stewards about the placement of the red carpet. “Our civilians need to feel like royalty,” Tammy called. “It needs to be el-perfecto.”

All civilians would enter the castle on that red carpet. Before the Abandonment, this privilege had been reserved for royalty and nobility. After the Dark Days, however, the new rule was enacted to promote a tight-knit community. At least that was what Tammy and Barney hoped to achieve.

The Shaper’s Wing was located in the back of the castle, linked by the Shaper’s corridor. When we arrived, we stood at the door to that corridor, hesitant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever touched this door,” Tem said, stroking the polished mahogany grain.

“I haven’t, either,” I said, noticing that his long, slender fingers were perfect as a concert pianist’s.

Tem pushed the door handle down and swung it open.

The corridor was airy, bright and magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined both sides, offering impressive views of the royal gardens with its coffered shrubs, elegant flower beds and bubbling fountains. Sunlight reflected off the marble tiles. I was so awestruck by its beauty, I only noticed Makerholf waiting for us at the end when he gave a light cough.

Tem exhaled. “I heard Cassandra was a brilliant architect and designer. I do not doubt that.”

“Hurry now,” called Makerholf. “Your disciple awaits.”

We made towards Makerholf and the doors to the Shaper’s quarters. The doors contrasted with the charming, idyllic design; they were metal with glowing strips running along the sides.

“Marylea is waiting inside,” said Makerholf. “Ready?”

A sudden flash of fear gripped my stomach. I straightened and drew a deep breath. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I whispered.

Makerholf swiped a card through the keypad on the right of the door. I wondered where that card had been since the Abandonment. Locked in a chest in Father’s room, waiting for the return of Cassandra? We waited, stock still. Time froze. Then a pneumatic whoosh came from the sides of the doors, and the heavy metal slid into the walls to reveal a cavernous room.

The first thing I noticed was a checkerboard. After my eyes had adjusted, I realized the tiles were made of stone, and water sloshed between each tile. Marylea sat on one of them, her feet swishing back and forth in the pool.

She looked up with wide eyes and her face lit up like mid-July. “Welcome!”

For a moment I thought she’d just had a spa day instead of being quarantined in the Shaper’s Wing. Then Keenan stepped in from an archway on the right and it all became clear. He was dressed in his midnight Caval, a cloak with a high neck collar, traditionally fashioned to protect the neck from arrows. A thick leather tome rested in his arms. His eyes widened slightly when he saw us.

“Keenan, you didn’t tell me I was sharing my tutor.”

His lips curled and he shrugged. “Your father’s orders.”

Marylea pushed herself to her feet and hopped off the stone tile. “Keenan’s been filling me in on Aragonia and the Realm’s history and culture. It’s all really interesting.”

She dried her feet off with a fluffy towel that had lain on the floor. What she did next stunned me speechless. She skipped towards Keenan, happy as a lamb, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

Tem chuckled. “It all makes sense now.”

I held a hand to my gaping mouth. “Keenan! How did you manage to keep this secret all this while?”

Keenan smiled so the corners of his eyes creased. “We thought we’d wait until the ball to go public.”

“But-” I chuckled. “It’s only been a week.”

Marylea leaned against Keenan, her right foot raised in the air. She looked like she was living in a fairy tale. “When you know it, you know it, Ash.”

Watching the two gave me goosebumps. I grappled with what lay before me. Keenan, pursued by dozens but rejecting all, was suddenly smitten with Aragonia’s new Shaper. Who would’ve thought?

“Wow.” I laughed again. “Congrats, love birds. Well, now we have another pair of eyes watching Marylea.”

Makerholf smiled and tapped the WOT device on his left wrist. “It’s almost time, young ones.”

“Sorry, Makerholf.” Marylea turned to me, bright-eyed. “Hey, Ash. Watch this.” Marylea held a hand out, and gold dust began swirling in wispy clouds. I watched, incredulous, as a blue gown appeared out of thin air. She did a little jig. “I never have to shop again! Give me a second to get changed. I’ll be right out.” She snuck another peck on Keenan’s cheek and bounced through the archway.

“I see she’s got that shaping thing down,” said Tem.

“No doubt with the help of the Kingdom scholar,” I added, giving Keenan a knowing glance.

Keenan shrugged lightly and smiled.

Tem crossed his arms and stared at Keenan like he’d murdered someone. “Keenan, should we be worried?”

“What’s there to worry about?” I asked.

“She’s a good person,” said Keenan, slowly folding his arms around his chest.

“I’m not worried for you,” Tem scoffed. He punched Keenan not-so-playfully in the arm. “All I have to say is don’t be a douche and break her heart. We don’t want a rogue Shaper in the Kingdom, swinging wrecking balls at the castle because the handsome Royal Historian made her cry.”

Keenan’s gaze lowered to the floor tiles. “Tem, you don’t need to worry about that.”

“I should hope not, lover boy,” Tem said.

I watched the conversation with barely concealed intrigue. My tutor of five years had never been in a relationship. This was going to be interesting.

Marylea came bounding out from her room dressed in the light blue dress she had shaped. The dress’ thin fabric glided in the air like snowflakes. She hooked her arm around Keenan’s. “Like it?” she asked.

“Mm. You’d make a great fashion designer,” said Keenan.

Marylea chortled. She held out a hand and a silver tiara appeared on her palm, which she popped atop her red curls, which she’d straightened into silky waves instead of dry frizz.

“You look beautiful, my dear,” said Makerholf. “As do you, Ash.” He winked. “Shall we go, young ones?”

The walk to the ballroom was like an iced lime drink. Watching my Ice King of a tutor flirt with a bubbly lass was like watching a cat groom a mouse, an out-of-the-world experience. Tem and I walked next to each other, keeping our eyes trained on the giggling couple.

The ballroom entrance was a regal archway lined with an ornamental gold design. We stepped on the velvet red carpet, and I couldn’t feel my heart, all too aware of the thousands of Aragonians staring at us from the sunken ballroom. Marylea gave a faint gasp.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

At our feet, the red carpet split and led down two flights of curved steps into the ballroom. The vast, circular room had its perimeter lined with round tables, dressed in shimmering linen and boasting intricate floral centerpieces. A long banquet table was set in the middle. I counted thirteen chairs. That was where the Royal Council would be sitting.

The dance floor was already abuzz with chatter. All Aragonian citizens who wished to attend were already here or mingling in the gardens, waiting for the arrival of their new Shaper. The faint aroma of fried potatoes wafted in the air, which instantly made me feel better. Fabe’s mantra slipped into my head: When in doubt, fry some potatoes, and all will be okay.

The announcer, a stout man in a bursting button-down coat, almost jumped out of his skin when he looked up from his roll of attendees and saw us approaching.

Makerholf nodded at him. “If you would please announce us, Larry.”

Larry forced a wide smile on his chubby face and bowed. “My pleasure.” Then he turned to face the crowd, a litany of ant-sized figures meandering around the dance floor. He cleared his throat, raised his trumpet, and blew a quick tune. The buzz quickly died down, and all eyes turned to us.

The announcer read each of our names and titles, one by one. “Ladies and Gentlemen of Aragonia. Ashling Dircourt, Princess; Makerholf Dunarthy, Royal Advisor; Templeton Iorwerth, Head Knight Disciple; Keenan Sterns, Royal Historian, and Marylea Stone, our new Shaper.”

The Aragonian symphonic band plunged into “Aragonia Fighting,” a grandiose victory song. Makerholf waved for us to go ahead.

Marylea hooked her arm through Keenan’s and exhaled. “This is it, I guess.”

Keenan patted her hand. “You’ll do great.”

Someone lightly nudged my side. Tem offered his left arm to me, a dimple indented on his left cheek. I took it, smiling, and suppressed the quick surge of emotions so they wouldn’t show on my face.

We walked down the stairs coupled up, Makerholf ahead of us. My ensemble, composed of a breezy chiffon gown and heels, was a major threat to my traversing down the narrow steps safely. I found myself gripping Tem’s arm more tightly than I cared to admit so I wouldn’t cartwheel down the stairs. His arm was strong and steady. Hundreds of eyes, some curious, but most wary, followed us as we curved down the stairs. Jealous murmurs abound about Marylea pairing up with the Keenan by fans of the handsome, brooding academic. If I wasn’t a raging ball of nerves I would’ve chuckled at the thought.

We followed the red carpet through the vast ballroom to the podium by the Aragonian symphony. Father was already seated in a gold ornate chair. He sat straight as a rod, his right hand on his staff, his eyes sharp on the Shaper behind me.

King Dimitri stood as we approached the podium. We mounted the podium and stood in line facing the crowd. It was only then that I realized the balls of my feet burned in my heels like I’d stepped on hot coals.

My father stood to my right and began to speak. His voice was loud and sonorous; it bounced off the white walls and high arched ceiling to land on the ears of the masses.

“Citizens of Aragonia - today we welcome our newly arrived Shaper.”

Skeptical murmurs spread across the floor.

My father raised both hands, and the crowd quietened.

“Although she has come without notice, it is our responsibility to play a good host. I ask that every one of you put aside any displeasure still present from the Abandonment. It is a New Age. Forgive the Dark Days; they only made us stronger. From this day forward, we shall prove our strength and compassion by extending kind arms to Marylea. Eat, drink and be merry. It is our night. As your elected King, I thank you.”

The crowd applauded, their faces intrigued rather than cautious now. My father smiled, wrinkles forming in charming crow’s feet around the corners of his eyes. He only smiled when he was before his people.

“Now, I shall invite Marylea to say a few words.”

Marylea’s jaw fell, and I felt sorry for her. No one told her she had to make a speech. Keenan patted her hand, which then slid off his arm. Marylea stepped forward, swallowed hard, and smoothed the folds of her dress. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

The ballroom was still with dead silence.

I took a deep but slow breath, then whispered through the corner of my mouth, “People of Aragonia.”

Marylea took the cue as soon as I spoke. “People of Aragonia.”

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be here,” I continued.

She repeated my words, enunciating every word carefully.

“I am very grateful for your hospitality. Aragonia is a beautiful place, and the people even more so.”

Then Tem’s hand twitched in mine, and my mind went blank. Tingling crept down my fingers to my fingertips, and I imagined sparks flying.

Marylea waiting for my words that would not come, then coughed lightly, and picked up where I left off.

“Most importantly,” Marylea said, “I apologize for what my mother did to you. Whatever her excuse was, it wasn’t good enough for what you had to go through. I promise to live peacefully and amicably with you, and serve the Royal Council whenever they desire.” She bowed. “Thank you.”

The crowd stood in silence for a few seconds, then eased into applause. It was akin to a standing ovation for a crowd that had just been cool and apprehensive a minute ago. A smattering of people raised their glasses.

Marylea stepped back and wrapped her arm around Keenan’s. They turned to each other and exchanged tender smiles. That was when I remembered Tem’s hand was still on mine. I let it stay there, and snuck a sideways glance at Tem. He stood still and stared ahead into the crowd. His chest rose and fell like steady ocean waves.

My father stepped up to finish his speech.

“From tonight, Marylea will be one of us. I thank you for your graciousness. It pleases me to see Marylea welcomed with such warmth. Please, enjoy the ball.”

More applause. I eased my hand away from Tem’s to applaud with them, giving him a quick smile as I did so. I swelled with pride of being Aragonian. We were a forgiving people, and our kindness knew no bounds. That was what gave us strength.

We filed off the podium. Marylea was smiling, her arm looped around Keenan’s. Then something crazy happened: as they approached the floor, Aragonians trickled towards Marylea like moths around a lamp. Their faces wore warm grins; a few had hands outstretched for a shake.

“This is going very well, don’t you think?” said Tem. His breath tickling the side of my neck, sending goosebumps erupting all over. His shoulder bumped mine as we got compacted in the building crowd.

“It’s surreal,” I replied, keeping the star couple within sight. “I can hardly keep my head around it.”

Velamiere, the Head Chef, strode into the ballroom wearing a hat twice as tall as his head. He clapped twice, and everyone fell silent.

“Dinner is served.”

No further words were necessary. Everyone streamed to their seats. Marylea and Keenan, the two inseparable, sat at the Royal Council table next to me and Tem. Marylea commented about the beautiful star-lily centerpiece, Keenan noted that they were poisonous, possibly fatal to cats, and Marylea giggled. It was like they’d been dating for years. Then Marylea caught my eye, and she mouthed two words: Thank you.

I smiled and shook my head. Sorry I conked out halfway.

Her eyes twinkled; then Tammy, who sat on her left, commented on the exquisite glasses set across the table, and she agreed.

The Aragonian symphony kicked into “Joy of Harvest,” a staccatoed tune that made me want to get up and dance. Waiters streamed into the ballroom with lidded plates and set our appetizers before us. Chicken wings fried in shrimp paste; a Jin Long delicacy, served to signify our close bond.

Marylea stared at the wing laying before her. She swept the table with a blank expression, noting the lack of silverware. “I’m sorry,” she asked meekly. “Shall I use my hands?”

“Of course,” said Velamiere in his gruff, accented voice. “What’re we, cavemen?”

Then he sauntered off to the end of the table to ask my father how his meal, a large grin spread across his face.

“I think he likes me,” whispered Marylea.

Tem chortled. “Velamiere loves everyone. I wouldn’t take it personally.”

We finished our five-course meal as satisfied as a pigeon with a french fry. The band ended its staccatoed symphony and swung into a popular love ballad. The cellist started singing in a low, resonant voice.

Tem leaned in to me. He was so close his breath caressed my ears. “Look, they’re about to dance.” I shivered.

Keenan had stood and held a hand out to Marylea, who gave a squeal. Then he led Marylea onto the dance floor, and they swayed to the music with dewy expressions on their faces. The Dragon Squadron stood discreetly by the side, their hands clasped over each other.

“I’m not sure if Keenan is making our job easier or harder,” I mused.

“I’d say easier,” Tem said. “Especially with the ‘keep her happy’ part.”

More couples joined them on the dance floor. I strained my neck to see over their bobbing heads. “Um, now I can’t - I can’t see a thing with all the couples waltzing around.”

“There’s one way around it.” Tem held a hand out to me. His emerald eyes were deep as a wild forest. I pulled my eyes away before I got lost in them. Shove off, tingles in my belly. I’m only answering the call of duty.

“Sure,” I said, and took his hand. A wave of sparks travelled from our touching finger tips to my shoulders, and then to the tips of my toes. I took a slow, deep breath, and the tingling ebbed. A faint buzz remained.

I was determined to stay focused. Our waltz was awkward because we tried to stay close to the star couple, and ended up stepping on each other’s feet and bumping chins. We just laughed. In all our years of friendship, Tem and I had never danced before. We never had the occasion to. Now I saw what I’d been missing.

Then, like how a child learns to ski, our bodies started moving in sync. The rest of the ballroom faded into a blur. Soon only Tem, looking all regal and beautiful, existed in my world. My body rose and fell. I rode the steady, magical flow that was Tem’s energy and presence.

“Ash.”

I looked up at Tem, and saw his deep eyes looking into mine.

“I just wanted to say that was a great speech you gave on the podium.”

I grinned. “Yes, it was quite perfect, wasn’t it?”

We laughed, the easy, simple laugh that we always shared.

Our eyes met. He swallowed, and his eyelids lowered to shield his emerald eyes.

Maybe it was the soft music in the background, or the warmth of Tem’s hand in mine. A surge of desire rushed from my belly to my head, and I had an overpowering urge to kiss him. I squelched it right away, but it left me suddenly tired squashing my feelings. I wanted to throw everything to abandon, throw my arms around Tem and kiss him till tomorrow. But years of training as Princess would not allow me. Yet my gaze lingered on his lips, and slivers of pleasure crept up from my belly. Wouldn’t a kiss be nice? Then my Princess rationality crept in and killed the thought. No, not here, not now. Especially not in a ballroom full of Aragonians. Aragonians who looked forward to the day when their Princess would marry strong and join the Kingdom of Aragonia with another powerful Kingdom so we may all afford private airships and circumnavigate the Realm.

Tem opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see Prince Ralf, his gold hair styled like crested waves. Dread walloped me on the head when I noticed his outreached hand.

“Care for a dance?” he asked.

No! Nothing will pull me away from Tem right now.

Oh come on, said rational Ash. What reason would you have to reject Ralf?

I glanced apologetically at Tem, whose eyes reflected my feelings. “Of course, Ralf.” Our hands parted slowly, as if fighting a magnetic force. Then Prince Ralf had his hand on my waist, and he whisked me in the opposite direction.

“Great speech, Ash,” said Prince Ralf.

I pulled my head back in surprise. “Was it obvious?”

“Nah. Only to people who knew better.” He grinned to reveal a perfect row of snow-white teeth. “Some ball, huh?”

I nodded, glad to see he was in high spirits again. “Leave it to Nani to plan a ball in a week.”

He twirled me in a tight circle. “So,” he said, when I was facing him again, “You good friends with the Shaper yet?”

“No,” I replied. “Keenan seems to be, though.”

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell.” Prince Ralf sneered. “Never thought Keenan was the type. He’ll steal my lothario reputation if I’m not careful.”

I scoffed. “Keenan is no lothario.”

He smirked. “Evidence shows otherwise.”

I shrugged. “It’s none of our business, anyway.”

Prince Ralf twirled me again.

“Okay, Ralfie, I love you and all, but will you please stop doing that?”

“You really need to relax,” he said, smirking. “Have you no patience for dear ol’ Ralfie anymore?”

“I just don’t like to be spun. Makes me dizzy.”

The young prince chortled. For a second I caught a glimpse of the prince I’d grown up playing knights and thieves with. I had great memories romping around into the royal gardens with him, where we chased each other giggling like gremlins.

Then he was gone, replaced by the suave royal prince with his perfect, flashy teeth and his fondness of shiny things.

“I’m not sure I trust her yet,” Ralf said, holding my gaze. “The people took too quickly to her, don’t you think?”

“What can I say? She gave a great speech.”

He let out a bark of laughter. “Great job, Marylea. Well done.” His amused face grew serious. “Don’t you see, though? We’re all sitting ducks in a barrel. She could strike at any time. And when she does, we’ll all be goners.”

I gave a small sigh. “You’re being paranoid, Ralf. She would’ve struck by now if she had the intention. Besides, what can she do? Shape cannons and point them at the castle demanding Keenan’s hand in marriage?”

Prince Ralf raised an eyebrow. “It’s a possibility.”

My lips curled, but I fought the smile. “And do you think the Dragon knights too incompetent to protect us?”

We waltzed in silence for a moment, and my back began to ache from the heavy dress weighing on my hips. Then Ralf cleared his throat lightly and said, “Come. I want to show you something.” He led me by the hand off the dance floor and to the section of the ballroom where murals were painted on the walls. I immediately knew where this was going.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” he asked, looking up at the murals. We were standing before the first mural: a depiction of the Abandonment. A tall, willowy woman with fiery red hair ran from a burning castle. The sky was charcoal gray, and a large thunderhead loomed in the distance. How Cassandra had left the Realm, no one knew. No one had thought it was possible for a Shaper to leave the Realm.

“They’re great works of art,” I said.

“And to think, behind these murals are portraits of our past Shapers.” Prince Ralf gave a hearty laugh. “Like they deserved a spot on our wall.” He moved on to the next mural. This one was much more cheerful. Springy Codesworth stood in a Spriarweed field, her spry fingers harvesting the precious plant. Its jagged leaves were large, green, succulent. A ripe, orange sun rose in the horizon, beyond majestic hills and rolling meadows. It was so hard to imagine that’d happened only fifteen years ago.

“Remember when Spriarweed used to be yanked from the ground at first sight because they leeched our cotton crops of nutrients?” Ralf asked, grinning. “And now they’re our main resource. Kingdoms all over the Realm are vying for our organic gold. How far Aragonia has come.”

I let my Aragonian pride swell inside me. The murals were doing their job. I reached under my Caval collar to touch the white cotton undershirt that lay within. Aragonians all wore cotton undershirts, not only because they were breathable and comfy, but also because they were a treasured symbol of our humble roots.

“This,” said Prince Ralf, moving to the last mural, “could all be ruined.”

The last mural was of Aragonia, with its Spriarweed farms, crystal lakes, lush forests, and the resplendent castle perched atop a hill. Magnificent sun’s rays beamed upon the land of wealth and prosperity.

I cocked an eyebrow and shook my head. “Marylea won’t hurt anyone.”

Prince Ralf turned away from the last mural to look at me. His sapphire eyes were severe. “For the sake of this wonderful Kingdom, Ash, I hope not.” He gave a small bow. “I shall return you to Templeton, wherever he may be.” Then he merged into the crowd of ballgoers, leaving me standing before the panel of murals with a mix of worry and frustration churning inside me like whisked meringue.