Author's Note: Hi, hello, absentee writer again. I hope everyone is doing well and that you enjoy this chapter :)

She was so tired.

All Naomi wanted to do was lay down and close her eyes. It felt like it had been years since she had rested.

But something in her, deep down, cautioned her against it. If she slept, she wasn't sure that she would ever wake. So instead, she gathered all of the strength she could muster.

When she wasn't cursed, when she was awake, she was telekinetic. She had always liked her power. It might not have been as unique or impressive as Lydia's healing. But it was fun, occasionally helpful. Iris had bestowed it on her when she was a baby, so young that Naomi couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been able to move things with her mind.

In some ways, it made sense to her that she could still use her telekinesis, to an extent. She was, after all, trapped in her own mind, the center of her power. It worked differently than it did when she was conscious. Instead of bringing things to her, she could keep them away, though only briefly.

Today, she needed something good. Her tolerance for her miserable situation was waning. An increasingly large part of her wanted it to end, whatever that meant.

But there was a tiny resistance within her fought back. She wouldn't give up. But she would allow herself this small indulgence.

Usually, she hated remembering. She could tell that something about her curse tainted her memories, poisoned her against people she loved, though it was becoming more difficult to discern what was the curse and what she had actually felt at the time. But on rare occasions, she could gather all of her telekinetic power to keep the curse from touching her memories, keeping the poison away. It took a lot out of her, but sometimes, it was worth it.

This was one of those times.

When the scene burst to life in her mind, happy tears rushed to the rims of her eyes.

It was strange to see herself in the memory, like she was watching a movie. But there she was: lightly tanned skin, green eyes, petite frame, wavy brown hair hanging loose around her shoulders, and the biggest smile she had ever seen lighting up her face. "You're back!" she exclaimed in the memory, throwing her arms around Ben.

He was considerably taller than her, and she had to jump for her embrace to fully encircle his shoulders, but he seemed to have expected it and caught her, spinning her in a circle like something out of the black and white Old Hollywood movies that she loved to watch. "I promised you I would be," Ben pointed out, his Italian accent making her melt like always.

He released her but pulled her back a moment later, leaning down to catch her lips in a kiss. Giggling as she pulled away, Naomi replied, "Well, when you said 'soon', I didn't expect you to fly back around the world in less than two weeks."

"You're worth it," Ben declared. He released her and fell onto her bed with a sigh. Naomi kicked her shoes off and cuddled against his side. He wrapped an arm around her.

"I wish we could do this forever," Naomi sighed, closing her eyes as she savored the moment of closeness. When he left Illéa to return to Italy, she always missed him terribly. She would steal one of his shirts before he left and sleep in it every night until she couldn't smell his cologne on it anymore. They talked frequently, both by phone and the sweetest love letters that Ben insisted on sending her. But it was nothing like having him right here beside her, to be able to kiss him whenever she wanted.

"We can."

Naomi gave up, the memory fading to black. She desperately wanted to remember what came next, but it was too hard, too much work. Besides, even when she managed to muster a good, untouched memory, they reminded her of what she was missing, what she might never get back.

And sometimes, that pain was even harder to bare than the curse.

In the week that followed the ball, Lydia fell into a new friendship with Castor. He was an easy person to get along with, evidenced by the fact that she often noticed him in the Men's Room or wandering the grounds with the Selected as well. Even Hazel had curbed her hostility towards him—somewhat.

But for all the easiness that she felt with Castor, Lydia still couldn't find a way to explain to him why she had really invited him and Uriel to the castle. "Hey, I accidentally let an evil curse loose on my sister, and now she's dying" didn't quite roll off the tongue.

So, she tried to ask as much as she could without giving up too much in return. "What do you know about the Schreave curse?" she asked one afternoon as they laid side by side in the gardens, staring up at the fluffy white clouds that floated across the sky.

Castor was quiet for a moment, and Lydia wished she could see his facial expression. The more time she spent with him, the more she realized that his face often gave him away. "I know that it supposedly started with your great-great grandfather," he finally answered.

Lydia frowned. She knew that, too. Her great-great grandfather, King Michael, her grandmother Helen's husband, had ended the fairy conflict. But it was also rumored that the curse began with him.

"Do you know why?" she tried.

"I wasn't there, Lydia," Castor chuckled.

She sighed in defeat. "Well, do you know how to break a curse?"

"I suppose generally," Castor admitted. "Either the fairy that cast it retracts it, or you frustrate its purpose."

Getting Agnimitra to end the curse was an impossibility. She hadn't been seen for decades, and from what Lydia knew of her, forgiveness was not her strong suit. Her eyebrows furrowed as she considered the second part. "So, if you stop it from doing what it accomplished, the curse will end?"

"Yes," Castor confirmed. "So, say I cursed you."

"Gee, thanks," Lydia mumbled. Another curse was the last thing she needed.

"Hypothetically," Castor emphasized. "If my curse said that you would die before you reached twenty-five, and you somehow turned twenty-six…"

She got the point. "There's no loop holes?" she frowned. "No true love's kiss?"

Castor laughed. "Unfortunately, that's just for stories."

She thought about Naomi's curse—an everlasting sleep. If she didn't wake Naomi up, the purpose would be fulfilled. If Naomi's body quit before they could break the curse, well, then she'd be stuck in a different kind of everlasting sleep. Either way, Lydia and Naomi lost.

So, frustrating the purpose of Agnimitra's curse was Lydia's only chance.

She felt nauseous just thinking about it.

Castor interrupted her thoughts. "Come on, Lydia," he chuckled, "Don't you think you would know if you were cursed?"

"Well, theoretically," she supposed. Did Naomi know that she was cursed? Bile rose in her throat as she considered it, and she had to swallow it down. Then, she thought about the fairies' spell. "What's the difference between a curse and a spell?"

"Intention."

She sat up, surprised to hear Uriel's voice answer her instead of Castor. "Forgive the interruption," Uriel added. "Your aunt is looking for you."

"Uriel really is the one you should be quizzing about all of this anyway, Lydia," Castor chuckled as he sat up too, smiling at his brother. "I doubt anyone knows more about curses than him."

"Really?" Lydia directed her question towards Uriel. His face was unreadable as ever to Lydia, but something about the set of his mouth looked displeased.

"I suppose they held some interest once," Uriel admitted, "Long ago."

Lydia scrambled to her feet. "Do you think I could ask a couple of questions?"

"I don't think Mistress Hazel would be very pleased if she knew we were talking of curses," Uriel declined. Before Lydia could protest, he added, "Your aunt. She's waiting on her balcony." Without another word to Lydia or Castor, he turned and started across the lawn at a brisk pace that made it clear he did not wish to be followed.

Feeling defeated, Lydia said goodbye to Castor and made her way back to the palace. Aunt Avery always stayed in her childhood bedroom when she visited the palace, located next to what used to be Naomi's room. The fairies' spell had taken care of every trace of Naomi. Even if Lydia wanted to go sit in her sister's bedroom, she couldn't, because the door had simply disappeared.

Lydia ignored the spot where she knew the door used to be and knocked on her aunt's door instead. A maid brought her to the balcony where her aunt was brunching and reading a fashion magazine. "Lydie!" Avery beamed, standing to give her niece a hug.

"Uriel said you were looking for me," Lydia explained.

"What a polite young man," Avery noted. "I ran into him on my way to the kitchen for breakfast, and we got to chatting." From what she had seen of Uriel and how friendly Avery was, Lydia had a feeling that it was more likely that Avery had just talked at him. "I mentioned I hadn't seen you all morning, and he thought you might be with his brother."

"I was," admitted Lydia.

"Don't you have some Selected to be spending time with?" Avery admonished playfully, giving Lydia a playful wink.

"I am," Lydia insisted defensively. "I just wanted to take a little bit of time to myself this morning."

"I understand, Lydie," Avery waved her off, "I remember what Ezra's Selection was like."

Though she knew that her aunt meant well, Lydia had to resist the urge to snap that her aunt didn't really understand what the Selection was like. While the Selection was only mandatory for the heir, any prince or princess was always given the option as well. Avery had declined, instead choosing to date celebrities and socialites and leaving a trail of broken hearts in her glamorous wake.

Lydia had never wanted a Selection. She had always thought she'd leave the palace, if not Angeles, for a while. She had thought she would fly, see if she could do it as a profession. It had been an idea that made her stomach flutter with excitement. A royal had never had a profession before, and she had been so excited to be the first.

How things had changed.

"Uh, so what's up?" Lydia prompted. "Did you just want a Selection update?"

"Oh, no," Avery countered, "We need to talk about the Helen Schreave Charity Polo Match."

Lydia groaned loudly. "I still have to go to that?" she lamented. "Doesn't the Selection get me out of anything?"

Avery shot her a cautioning gaze. "It's for a good cause, Lydia. All you have to do is present the trophy."

"And suffer every pompous, ridiculous, egocentric trust-fund brat in the entire country for a whole afternoon," whined Lydia.

"Well, we could always just tell the hospital that you wanted to cancel it this year," shrugged Avery. Lydia glared. Her aunt knew she would never agree to such a thing—and that her parents would never let her even if she tried.

"Well, I at least get to bring some of the Selected with me," she bargained.

Avery shrugged in agreement. "So, as far as planning the match—"

"Can't we just do what we did last year?" Lydia asked. Planning it once was painful enough.

Avery glared. Lydia decided to change tactics. "You know, Auntie, you are really so much better at these things than me," she declared, "Honestly, you just always have such amazing visions and execute them perfectly. I wish I was as artistic as you."

Avery preened under the praise, as Lydia knew she would. Feigning exasperation, her aunt declared, "I suppose I could help out. You have been pretty busy, after all."

If only her aunt knew the half of it. Lydia thanked her profusely, grabbed a gluten-free croissant, and then slunk out of the room before Avery could change her mind. She knew that she had dodged a bullet by managing to pin the planning for the polo match on her aunt, but she was still annoyed that she would have to show up and convince some of the boys to come with her so she didn't die of boredom or have to listen to people comment on how she never spent time with the Selected.

She stopped by Bex's room to give her friend a heads up that she would need an outfit for the event. Bex was overjoyed by the news, as always, and made Lydia pause long enough so Bex could test different swatches of fabric that she had recently against Lydia's skin tone.

"Oh, definitely not this one," Bex remarked as she discarded a chartreuse. "So, who are you taking as a date?"

"I thought I'd bring a couple of people," Lydia replied, "You know, make it a fun group thing and take some of the pressure off."

"Of you or them?" snorted Bex.

Lydia glared in response. Was it so wrong to not want to feel pressured by public, one on one dates? She didn't think so. Especially since, she reminded herself, it wasn't like she was going to end up married to one of them anyway. Because Naomi was going to wake up—especially now that the fire fairies were here to help.

"Speaking of the boys," Bex continued, either not picking up on her friend's irritation or choosing to ignore it, "I heard the most devastating rumor."

"Oh?"

"That you've given the Viking the boot," Bex declared, clutching a paisley fabric to her chest like she was in physical pain.

With a roll of her eyes, Lydia explained, "I haven't given anyone the boot. Leif is still here and will be for a while. We just don't think that we really have that romantic vibe. And it's mutual, so he's given me the boot just as much as I have, or whatever you want to call it."

"A man that gorgeous and you couldn't try harder?" lamented Bex.

Lydia pulled the different cloths that were draped over her shoulders off, crumbling them into a pile and tossing them onto Bex's floor. "I am doing my best," she snapped. Bex looked surprised, but Lydia didn't stop to apologize for her outburst or try to explain why she couldn't handle Bex's criticism right now. Instead, she moodily stalked from the room, though she refrained from slamming the door behind her, which she counted as a win for the day.

Her bedroom was far too close to both Avery and Bex to serve as a proper retreat, and since she still felt like she was on the outs with Hazel, she couldn't go to the tower. So instead, she headed back outside into the hot, summer afternoon.

The heat did little to alleviate her bad mood as she stomped through the gardens, arms crossed firmly against her chest. She paused, noticing a croquet set that someone had neglected to put away. Without thinking too much about it, she grabbed a discarded mallet and swung it vigorously at the poor croquet ball. It sailed across the lawn, not remotely in the direction of any of the wickets, but Lydia felt better as she watched it sail into a thick band of bushes at the edge of the lawn.

That is, until someone yelped in pain.

Lydia's eyes widened into saucers as she dropped the mallet and rushed towards the hedge. "I'm so sorry!" she called through the thick branches. "Are you alright?"

Rowan Dagwood looked embarrassed as he emerged from the hedge, a few leaves sticking out of his hair. "You have an impressive shot, Your Highness," he chuckled. He gave his leg a shake to try to alleviate the pain from the croquet ball.

"I'm so sorry," Lydia repeated. "I didn't realize anyone was around." She paused as she considered the situation. "Wait, what were you doing in a bush?"

"Oh." Rowan grabbed a pouch from his pocket and held it open for Lydia. "Thymus vulgaris argenteus," he declared. When Lydia's face showed no recognition, Rowan flushed deeply and explained, "Silver thyme. It makes a wonderful tea. You have a bush over there, and I didn't think anyone would mind if I just…"

Lydia laughed as she remembered that Rowan was an herbalist, famous in his home province of Belcourt for his concoctions. "No, of course. Help yourself." She gave him a final smile before she turned to start picking up the forgotten croquet pieces.

"Do you want to play?" Rowan called before she could yank the first wicket from the ground.

Lydia paused. She hadn't spent much time alone with Rowan yet, and she supposed that hitting the croquet balls might help her alleviate some of the irritation that had boiled up within her throughout the day. She turned back towards Rowan and smiled. "I'd love to."

He looked excited as he pocketed his thymus and picked up one of the other mallets. "Do you play much croquet back in Belcourt?" Lydia asked, entertained by his enthusiasm as he approached the first ball.

But then the ball completely missed the first wicket, and Rowan gave her an apologetic smile. "No, not particularly. I sort of just wanted an excuse to hang out with you."

Lydia blushed and changed the subject. "What do you like to do back home?" she asked as she lined up for her shot. The ball easily rolled through its target.

"Mostly, tend to my plants," Rowan admitted. He sounded a little embarrassed.

"Well, from what I hear, you've been very successful at your work," Lydia noted. "What is it they call you? A magician?"

He laughed. "Just newspapers trying to make it sound like something exciting is going on in Belcourt," he countered.

Briefly, she wondered if any of Rowan's plants could help heal Naomi's body. But how did she, the person with a healing power, ask about that without it sounding suspicious? "What types of plants do you deal with?" she tried instead.

Rowan shrugged as he tried to focus on his second ball. "Just about anything I can get my hands on, really." His second attempt went much better, and as Lydia moved to take her turn, Rowan swiftly diverted the conversation from himself. "So, is having a Selection living up to your expectations?"

Lydia snorted. "I'm not sure I had any expectations, to be honest." It was true. Even before Naomi and Ben had started dating, Lydia had never even imagined her sister having a Selection, let alone herself. Truthfully, she and Naomi thought the Selection was a strange concept, even somewhat antiquated. While her parents' marriage had been successful, Lydia had always insisted that she would never marry anyone other than her soulmate. How did you find that in a random selection of thirty-five men?

Rowan was too perceptive though and asked, "Did you not want to have one?"

"It's not that," she lied, "It's just hard to imagine what this is going to be like until you're in it, I guess."

"Yeah, that's for sure," he agreed. "What did you like to do before the Selection? It seems like you're quite busy these days."

Since she couldn't honestly answer 'try to save her sister's life', she thought back to before Naomi was cursed. "I loved to be outside," she admitted, thinking of all the days she'd spent in the sun on some adventure or another. "And I used to fly."

"Fly?" Rowan looked confused.

"Planes," Lydia added with a laugh. "Though that would be an excellent power."

"I think the one you have is pretty awesome," Rowan countered. "The best I can think of, actually. Much better than flying, which doesn't really agree with me."

She never took her healing power for granted, but since Naomi's accident, its limitations had served as a constant frustration, so she didn't agree. Luckily, Rowan went on. "Do you get a say in your powers?"

"No. We get them when we're babies," she explained. "Well, except for my mom or other people that marry into the family without powers. But even they don't really get a say, exactly. Hazel told me once that your power is generally based on the type of fairy that gives it to you or some quality in yourself that is more prominent or something like that."

"So, you're a natural healer?" Rowan asked.

Lydia laughed as she took her next shot. "I don't know about that," she countered, "I think Hazel is just a very strong earth fairy, so I ended up with something like healing."

"Is it a common power? I think you're the only one I've heard of," Rowan noted.

"It's not," Lydia admitted. "It takes a lot out of the fairy that casts it, so it would be hard for the average fairy to do it without…" She trailed off. She didn't want to talk about fading.

She swung the mallet at her next ball. "Tell me more about your home," she requested. It almost felt like she and Rowan were playing tennis instead of croquet: each hitting the conversation back to the other, neither wanting to be the one caught with the ball on their side of the net. "Do you have any siblings?"

Rowan's next shot skewed off to the left, missing the wicket by a long shot. "I have a younger brother."

"Are you close?" Lydia asked.

"He's my favorite person in the world," Rowan admitted.

Lydia smiled, but a pain ripped through her chest. She used to describe Naomi with the same words. She took her next turn in silence, even though it meant risking Rowan throwing the topic back to her.

He didn't, though. "He and Cohen are about the same age," he continued.

"Is he as much of a troublemaker as Cohen, or did I just get particularly lucky?" Lydia asked.

Rowan chuckled. "Well, he can't turn himself invisible, so I think that automatically gives Cohen a leg up on him."

"The Selection makes me feel guilty when I think about the fact that I've taken you all away from your families," Lydia admitted, the confession slipping out before she even realized what she was saying. She knew how much it hurt to miss someone you loved. She felt it every day with Naomi, and because of her, the Selected felt it, too.

"Hey." Rowan put a comforting hand on her small shoulder. "Don't feel bad. We all chose to be here."

"Why did you enter?" Lydia asked. "I've been a little curious since this whole thing started about what makes people want to be here."

There was hesitation, like he knew what he wanted to say but was afraid to say it. He eventually shrugged, gave her a warm smile and said, "I guess the chance to meet the princess was something I just couldn't pass up."

She wasn't sure that she completely believed him, but it was better than 'money' or 'to be king', she supposed. "Hey, do you think I could try some of that thyme tea sometime?" she asked, nodding at the pouch that hung from his belt loop.

"Of course!" Rowan agreed excitedly. "We could go now, if you wanted. I think I've failed enough at croquet for the day."

Lydia laughed but agreed, and together the two headed to the kitchen. It was bustling when they walked in, the staff busy with preparing lunch, but Rowan led her to a quiet corner and nodded at Tom from across the room. "You seem comfortable down here," Lydia noted.

"Tom's been great," Rowan replied as he went about putting a kettle on. "I've been keeping up with some of my herbs and products. He lets me do whatever as long as I don't get under foot too much."

"He is pretty great," Lydia agreed, trying not to roll her eyes as Tom gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up from behind Rowan's back.

A few minutes later, Rowan presented her with a steaming mug. It smelled amazing, but Rowan nervously cautioned, "Please let me know if you don't like it, I really won't be offended."

She wasn't sure to expect, but she found that she enjoyed the earthy but sweet flavor. "Wow."

Rowan looked excited. "Tiny splash of honey is all it needs, but it's also great with lemon or orange," he explained. "I actually brought a bunch of teas and herbs from home for you, if you were interested."

Lydia paused, setting her mug on the preparation table that she was seated at. "You brought stuff for me? All the way from Belcourt?"

"Yeah," Rowan confirmed, like it was nothing.

"Thank you," she replied, a warm smile spreading over her face. "That's really nice of you. Maybe you can tell me all about them sometime?"

"I'd love that," Rowan agreed.

"We'll add it to our growing list of things we need to do," Lydia noted, thinking of the hike that they had discussed at the masquerade. "It would've been a perfect day to show you around Angeles today, but I got sidetracked by my aunt and this silly charity polo match."

Before Rowan could reply, Tom stopped by and delivered two freshly prepared sandwiches, clearly interested in facilitating their afternoon together. Lydia laughed at the chef's ridiculousness but asked Rowan, "Uh, well, do you want to have lunch together?"

He agreed, and the two spent their lunch discussing Rowan's work. While he had seemed nervous to share too much earlier, Lydia found that once he got on the topic of plants and herbs, he was more than happy to impart as much knowledge as possible. She tried to ask a couple of questions about things that might aid wellness, masking it as an inquiry for her health-conscious mother, and while Rowan suggested a few different things, she doubted any of them would bring Naomi back from the dangerous precipice she was teetering on.

They parted after lunch, and Lydia decided that she would try to round up the Selected she was planning on bringing to the polo match. A few names had popped into her head while she was talking with her aunt, and she headed outside to track down the first. She had noticed he preferred loitering around the palace grounds rather than staying indoors.

Her guess proved correct, and she found Fallon lounging against the trunk of a large tree with his face buried in a book and Baloo at his side.

Baloo noticed her first, his tail wagging excitedly against the ground but otherwise not breaking his stoic, seated position at his master's side. The second time the fluffy tail hit him in the foot, Fallon looked up from his book, smiling when his gaze landed on Lydia. "Hello," she greeted him.

"Your Highness."

"What are you reading?" Lydia asked, craning her head to try to see the cover of the book.

"A new medical journal that came out recently," Fallon explained. "I'm… well, I was going to be a medic before… this." He nodded at his prosthetic leg.

"You still can be," Lydia pointed out.

Fallon laughed. "Has anyone ever accused you of being an optimist?"

"Maybe once or twice," Lydia admitted with a smile. Truthfully, her positivity had taken a hit since Naomi's accident, but she found it much easier when she focused her encouragement and idealism on other people.

"I have a feeling you're here for a purpose," Fallon noted.

"Guilty as charged," Lydia smiled as she sat down beside him in the grass. "Are you busy this weekend?"

With a snort, Fallon replied, "Terribly. Between doing this, and avoiding the other guys, and whatever etiquette lesson your aunt dreams up for us, I'm swamped."

Lydia rolled her eyes as Fallon chuckled—at either his own sarcasm or her reaction—and gave him a tiny shove. Being twice her size, he didn't even move. "Well, I thought it was polite to check anyway," she explained, "because there's this charity polo match thing that I have to go to, and I was hoping you and some of the other guys might be willing to come with me?"

"Charity polo match, huh?" Fallon looked skeptical, probably wishing he had put more work into his answer about whether he was busy.

"Kind of my reaction too," Lydia confessed. She turned on her sweetest smile, the one that occasionally convinced her dad to allow her real sugar when they were outside the palace and Collette couldn't catch them. "But it would be a lot better with you guys there!"

"Well, how can I say no when you put it like that?" Fallon finally sighed.

"There's one more thing…"

"Well, now you've taken it too far."

When she had originally thought of it, the idea had seemed perfect to Lydia. Even though she and Fallon hadn't talked about his military service since she had asked if the palace's accessibility was okay for him, she'd had an overwhelming feeling since she'd read his entry form that Fallon needed to be recognized or thanked somehow. But now, she was nervous about how he would react, so in a rush, she explained, "I want you to present the trophy with me."

His playful expression morphed into confusion. "Why?"

"Well, because you're a hero," she pointed out, "and I'm just a princess who hasn't really done anything special, so I think it would mean more to people to get a trophy from you."

He visibly tensed. Baloo set his chin on Fallon's knee, like he was comforting him. "I'm not a hero," Fallon tried to argue.

"Fine," Lydia rolled her eyes, "You're a person who did something really brave and saved people's lives and paid an unfair price for it. Better?"

The hard set of his mouth said no.

"Regardless of how you want to phrase it, I would really love it if you did this with me," she continued. "It benefits a hospital in Angeles that sees a lot of wounded active duty soldiers and veterans, so I think it would be really great for you to be involved and for your service to be acknowledged."

Though he let her sweat it out for a minute or two, eventually, Fallon relented. "Alright."

Lydia's face lit up, and she momentarily considered hugging Fallon but decided not to push her luck since she was already asking for a lot. Instead, she gave Baloo a small pat on the head and changed the subject. "Have you seen Joey?"

"We're really not friends," Fallon reiterated.

"Right." Lydia winked at him conspiratorially.

After a long pause he added, "But I think he said he was heading to the barn."

"I should've known," Lydia laughed. She gave Baloo a final pat. "Get excited about this weekend!" she called encouragingly to Fallon over her shoulder as she started towards the horse barn.

Joey wasn't hard to locate, as he sat perched atop a large black horse that was taking a slow lap around the training circle. Lydia didn't want to scare Joey or the horse, so she climbed up on the railing, sliding between them so that she could sit and wait for Joey to notice her.

He looked completely transformed on horseback. His typical scowl wasn't fixed so deeply on his face, and the frown line that usually sat between his eyebrows had vanished. He was talking to the horse, his mouth moving quickly. Though he sat in the saddle, the stirrups were pulled up high like he was ready to lower into a crouch at any second. He looked at ease, giving no indication that one of his legs was injured.

He noticed her as they started rounding the backside of the track. "Hey, Peach!" he called, and Lydia smiled, waving back. She found she liked this version of her latest nickname best, not missing the "princess" part at all. He didn't hurry to meet her, so she watched him a while longer until he was close enough to chat.

"You come to yell at me for that scuffle the other day?" Joey asked.

A small spark of irritation ignited in her as she remembered Joey and Alistair's ridiculous behavior. "Well, now that you've reminded me," she began, "What the heck?!"

Joey dismounted, leading the horse over to Lydia. "Guy sucks," he shrugged, "He's just like all those uppity rich people that own the horses that I race."

She frowned, feeling self-conscious. "Am I an uppity rich person?"

"Well, you do live in a castle," Joey pointed out. Lydia's frown deepened, and he added, "But you're not that uppity. You can be an oblivious rich person."

"Oblivious?" she squawked, insulted.

Joey simply laughed at her. "Peach," he asked, raking a hand through his unruly hair, "how much does the average Illéan make in a year?"

"Make…?"

He barked out a laugh. "Money, Peach. How much money?"

She wracked her brain. She had to know this, didn't she? She thought of the budget reports that landed across her desk, the tax statements she was supposed to read but generally skimmed. Yet somehow, she didn't think they mentioned the average income of an Illéan, and if they did, she had glossed over it. Part of her wanted to huff that this was unfair. She didn't need to know this information, because Naomi would be ruling as soon as she woke up.

"Well, if I'm oblivious, then you are judgmental," she pointed out.

"Have I ever told you how perceptive you are, Peach?"

"And infuriating," she added, sliding off the railing.

It must have been obvious that he was skating on thin ice, because Joey laughed and declared, "Alright, truce, Peach. You come all the way down here just to holler at me?"

The black horse must've been bored of their conversation, because he hit the back of Joey's shoulder with his nose. Joey started stroking the horse's nose absentmindedly, but his dark eyes remained focused on Lydia. She cleared her throat, slightly nervous all of the sudden. "Do you want to come to a horse thing with me this weekend?"