Not wanting to show off her pigeon-conversational skills in front of her new royal pals, Ashley peered over her shoulder, confirming she was alone. All good. She opened a window, and the little bird abandoned the statue, flew inside, and landed on the stack of towels.

Still in her bathing suit, wrapped in a towel, Ashley knelt beside Domino, her bare knees pressing into the tile floor. "Domino, you're safe. Are you all right? What happened? I was so worried."

"Terrible times," Domino chirped. "Captured."

"Someone abducted you?" Ashley remembered Blanche's quip about hiring Domino away. "Was it Princess Blanche?"

"Don't know. Princesses all the same to me. I'm a pigeon. Hard to tell. We're different species."

"My hair is blonde," Ashley twirled a curl, demonstrating the concept of hair to Domino. "Blanche has dark hair. Like a raven," she said, hoping Domino might understand a bird metaphor.

"It was dark," Domino said, lifting one orange leg and then another, bobbing her head as she turned away from Ashley.

Ashley pressed her lips together. "Are you keeping something from me?"

"Course not. Look," she held up one leg, then the other. "See? They're empty."

"I don't mean a note. I mean, why are you avoiding eye contact?"

"I made all the deliveries, didn't I? Time for sleep now," Domino said.

"Wait," Ashley called, but Domino had flown the coop. So to speak.

Every muscle in Ashley's body whined, "the bedroom is too far. Let's sleep right here on the comfy Italian tile." But she forced herself to stand, knees aching, and put on her now-crumpled gown. Princesses don't sleep on the floor—even princesses who no longer had a reason to worry about being a proper princess.

Out in the hall, Valeria sat inside a profusion of skirts, snoring. "Your Highness." She stumbled up and curtseyed, unable to curtail a yawn.

"You waited for me?" Ashley said, also yawning.

"Yes, Princess. I worried you might not find your way back without me. I mean, I don't mean to imply that you have a bad sense of direction or anything. But it seemed ..."

"It's okay, Valeria. You speak the truth. I do have a terrible sense of direction. And I probably would've spent the night wandering the halls of the castle, like an exhausted, hollow-eyed ghost. A ghost who might've had too much chardonnay. I mean, if ghosts could drink, which they can't."

"Aye, they can, Princess."

"Really? I've never met a ghost."

"One lives behind the walls of Cornell Castle. And I think it steals wine from the royal cellars. Bottles go missing. The stewards are blamed, but I think it's the ghost."

"Interesting. Is that the cause of the scuffling and scritching behind the walls when it seems like no one's around?"

"'Tis."

"And all this time I thought it was rats."

"There are plenty of those too."

"Do you know whose ghost it is?"

Valeria glanced around the empty hall. "May I approach?"

"Of course."

Valeria leaned in, smelling of roses. "Some people say it's a queen from long ago when the castle was new. And that her husband ..."

"What?" Ashley held Valeria's shoulders, trying to force the words out through sheer will.

"Her husband ... he ... he murdered her. And ever since, she's been stuck wandering behind the walls, searching for him."

Ashley shivered.

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Back in her bedchamber, Ashley dropped onto the window-seat, still in her gown. She couldn't sleep in the bed ever again—the bed she'd shared with her Prince Charming. It still carried the smoky, rum smell of him.

Though a fingernail's sliver of sunlight had already touched above the horizon, Ashley had to sleep. Her body could not absorb any more stimuli. Too much. Too much. She tried to block the troubles swirling around inside her chardonnayed brain like leaves caught in a gusty wind. But they kept drawing her attention.

Who captured Domino?

Someone shot at me with an arrow and hit my unicorn.

Could the other royal spouses be trusted?

Or was it Marveloni who wanted to kill her?

Or her errant lady-in-waiting, Scarletta?

Dragons are kidnapping children.

The ghost of a murdered queen haunts the halls.

My fairy godmother didn't love me enough to stay.

My husband is not my one true love.

My husband is not my one true love.

My husband ...

To the tune of this mantra, she fell into a fitful sleep.

And once again, dreamt of Gerald.

His gentle touch.

His not-so-gentle touch.

Feathery touch.

Firm touch.

Languid touch.

Searing touch.

His curious touch, as if he was on a fact-finding mission. And, by the way, she loved it when he found her "facts," as the process often left her breathless.

Wow, the guy knew how ...

... and where ...

and how long ...

... to touch.

At least dream-Gerald did.

She woke with a sheen of sweat covering her body, head throbbing, and huge brown human eyes staring at her from six inches away.

"Argh!" Ashley cried. "Valeria, what are you doing?"

Valeria leaped away, curtseying. "I heard you call out, Highness. A lot. And I thought maybe the ghost got you or something. So, I came to check."

Ashley cringed, remembering how dream-Gerald had just been not-gently-touching her. Her cheeks warmed. "Uh, how long have you been here?"

Valeria's cheeks turned the exact shade of pickled beets. "Not long?"

"I see. I'm fine. Though I appreciate your concern." The breeze coming through the window was heaven on her skin.

Valeria picked at the buttons on her bodice. "Since Scarletta left, I thought you might need someone to take care of you."

"You thought Scarletta took care of me, and there was a job opening?"

"Yes?"

Ashley laughed and sat up. She held out her hand. Valeria wrinkled her brow, then took Ashley's hand, and they shook. "You're hired."

"Great! Thank you. You won't regret it. Can I bring you a breakfast tray?"

But food wasn't what Ashley hungered for. She was stricken with an overwhelming urge to see Gerald with her own eyes. Make sure he was alive and undented. Not for any touching whatsoever! Not even the searing kind. It made no sense that she kept lusting after a man she barely knew.

Part of her wanted to rip Gerald's clothes off and get revenge on Charming in the process.

But that part of her was clearly insane.

Because it would be entirely untoward to summon Gerald to her rooms, she'd go to the barn, check on his welfare, and come back to the castle in time to assist the other royals in planning Charming's demise. Hopefully, they'd all slept in as well after the late night.

"Highness?"

"Oh, sorry. I'll have breakfast in a while. I need a tad more sleep."

"Understood. I shall guard the door with my life."

"Hopefully, that won't be necessary."

"It might be. Borin has been asking for you since eight a.m. He looks like he might bite off the head of the next person who keeps him from you."

"Please ask him to have that report on the missing village children to me by dinnertime. Oh, and instruct him not to eat anyone. Or else!" While Ashley forced herself to sound confident, she couldn't help feeling like a fake princess.

"Could you 'or else' him in writing? It might hold more weight than a mere lady-in-waiting relaying an order."

"You got it," Ashley said.

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Ashley wobbled over to The Vault to find something to wear, not covered in sweat and smelling of crusted-on chardonnay. Something that would allow her to blend. The simpler the outfit, the less likely someone would recognize her and report to Borin. Her teeth clenched when she thought about that horrid man.

Near the entrance, she discovered a mannequin with a new outfit. Something that had never appeared in The Vault before.

Something it would be quite illegal for her to wear.

Could she put it on? It would be the perfect disguise, after all. But what if she were caught? Beyond that, would there be the cost for The Vault's magic? And even creepier—how does The Vault know what I'm thinking?

Weighing her options—perfect disguise vs. getting caught visiting a groom, Ashley donned the alien clothing, layer by layer. An eggshell-colored linen shirt. Green stockings, brown trousers, knee-length wool tunic tied at the waist with a strip of leather. Soft suede boots, and a wide-brimmed straw hat. The Vault had thought of everything. The fabric even smelled like hay, sweat, and woodsmoke. Broken pieces of straw escaped from the weave of the hat.

As the last step, Ashley braided her hair and tucked it under the hat. When she passed the full-length mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself in her peripheral vision and paused. Adjusting the cap to shade her delicate features, she smiled.

Ostensibly, nothing about Ashley had changed. She was still an orphaned servant who was suddenly made a princess. The wife of a cheating prince. But she stood straighter. The heavy wool coat was armor, protecting her from a world of men. The hose, tight around her legs, allowed her to feel each muscle, honed from years of hard labor. Ashley knew there had to be a word for what she felt. What an odd sensation!

For the first time, she had no limits. The rules controlling a woman's behavior fell away. If she'd held a sword at that moment, she'd have swished it like a swashbuckler. Perhaps she'd join a pirate crew and menace the seas. Or at least burp in public!

The word was empowered.

Ashley fashioned a rope of her frilliest gowns, tugging at the knots to ensure their strength. She tied the finished rope to the bed frame. Before her escape, she checked outside the window, making sure no one was around. Daylight meant the unicorns wouldn't be at their frolic. And gardeners rested midday to avoid the heat. Satisfied, Ashley shimmied down the side of the castle, her suede boots fitting perfectly in the mortar between the stones. Sneaking out of a tower as a man was far easier than as a woman.

She dropped to the ground and dusted off her jacket. The sun beat against the unicorn grazing field, and the jasmine hung heavy and pungent in the air like overripe fruit. With a pirate swagger, arms swinging at her sides, Ashley made her way to the barn.

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With her newfound costume courage, Ashley stomped up the stairs to Gerald's room and pounded on the door. Men tended to make noise as they navigated through the world, while women tiptoed, made themselves smaller, spoke in hushed tones.

Gerald opened the door, one arm in a sling and scratches on his lovely face. Ashley resisted the urge to caress his face and instead jutted her chin and planted her feet wide apart. She was pretty sure that's how confident men stood.

"God's bones! What are you thinking?"

Ashley squared her shoulders. "What ...?"

Gerald took her arm, pulled her into the room, one-handed, and shut the door. The room was small, with one narrow slitted window. Motes of dust danced beneath the low timbered ceiling. It was sparsely furnished, with a rough-hewn bed topped by a hay-filled mattress, an asymmetrical chest of drawers, and a makeshift washstand. The floor was strewn with hay. "Princess?"

She yanked her arm back and rubbed it where his fingers had compressed against her flesh, remembering dream-Gerald's 'firm touch.' But now wasn't the time to think about dream-Gerald because nothing would ever happen with real Gerald. "Come on; I fooled you a little."

"Not for a second. You're way too pretty to be a groom."

Ashley curled her lip. "I am not pretty. Just so you know, I climbed down the outside of the tower from my room to get here. That makes me strong."

"That isn't the point, is it?"

She tugged her fists into her hips. "What is the point then, groom?" she challenged.

"Gerald's the name! And the point is," he held up his fist. "One," he raised his index finger, "you are dressed like a man, which is illegal, even if you're a princess. Maybe I should correct that, especially if you're a princess. Two," he raised his middle finger, "you are visiting a lowly groom. In. His. Bedroom! Three," he raised his ring finger, "you are in my room, which means when the prince finds out, he will kill me too. Even though I did nothing wrong."

If the Royals' plan worked, she wouldn't have to worry about the prince much longer. But no way could she share the diabolical crusade with Gerald. Ever. "You pulled me in here," Ashley reminded him, unintentionally glancing at the bed. Wishing he'd pulled her there.

"That was so no one else would see your insane conduct."

"Look, no one recognized me on the way over. And I had to see with my own eyes you were okay after the crash. I was worried about you."

His eyes softened. "You were?"

"Yes, of course, I was. It was probably all my fault."

"You mean you have the ability to fire an arrow in midair and instruct it to whirl around and hit a target you were sitting on?"

"That's ridiculous."

"Then how was it your fault?"

"Because the shooter had to be after me."

"Most likely. There isn't much money in the groom-hitman trade. Much better compensation for royal hitmen. And the benefits! Medical, dental, flex hours, travel, and see the world!"

"Your arm. Is it broken? How is Louis?"

"Louis's fine. Healed up already from the arrow stabbing. And my arm is only sprained. I should be in flying shape in no time."

Ashley exhaled. "Glad it's only a sprain. But you should know, I'm officially hanging up my riding boots. Never doing that again."

"Can't blame you." His face grew serious. "We must figure out who fired that arrow."

"It could have been any of the kingdoms. They all had entourages that included archers, and they were climbing the mountain at the time of the shooting. But they all claim ignorance."

"Could be true," Gerald said. "It may have come from the castle."

"Why do you think that?"

"As we fell, I saw someone running along the battlements."

"That person could've been anyone."

"Not quite anyone," Gerald said.

Ashley cocked her head. "What do you mean?"

"The person I saw up there was a woman."

Outside the window, the castle battlements loomed in the distance. And something else loomed in the distance. Something vaguely Borin-shaped. "Oh, no!" Ashley cried, her heart galloping in her chest.

"What is it?" Gerald joined her at the window.

"How did he find me?"

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