Liam's POV
Chapter Five:
As soon as that 'Princess of Thieves' ran away, I half-heartedly chased her out of the room. But I knew that it was useless. I might know the halls of the palace better than she might, but she would be faster and more experienced with being chased. She probably gets chased a lot at home, anyway, said the sentimental part of my mind.
Awww, I didn't know you cared! said the cool, sarcastic part. Well, if you want to meet up with her, you should find her in the main square, since it is market day.
Thanks, but no. Wait a minute, I thought. Market day? It's been ages since I went to one of those!
When I was younger, I used to dress up as a peasant and go to the main square on market days. I hadn't done it for a while because people used to suspect that I was the prince. I mean, the whole point of going to the square was to pretend that I wasn't. And if that girl was really the "Princess of Thieves" like she said, then she probably would be there, trying to steal something.
I found myself replaying those gray eyes turning to look into mine. Over and over and over and-
I wrenched my mind awake. Enough, I thought. Now let's find some clothes.
I was able to find something by looking in the washing room. I silently apologized to the person who's tunic and shirt I was 'borrowing'. I stuffed them under my arm, silently hoped that no one was coming, and ran down the hall. I was heading towards my room, when I heard a scream.
"The Queen's portrait has been stolen! AAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
Oh, damn, I thought. I'm in for it now.
Since it wasn't Mother's most valuable and fanciest portrait, the fuss was relatively small. But there still was a fuss, and I was caught right in the middle of it.
When I finally reached my rooms, I had to hurry to get into the old breeches, tunic, and shirt, and mess up my hair. And I discovered that the servants had come in and dusted my room while all the commotion was going on, because I had to find places that I didn't even know existed in my room so I would have enough dirt to make me look... common enough. Judging by the state of those places, the servants probably didn't know about them either. At last, I was ready.
You've probably heard stories of princes and princesses dressing up like commoners to escape the hassle of the palace. And it happens a lot. So if I got caught, all I had to do was tell the catchers that I was just following an age-old tradition.
Well, my disguise worked. On my way out of the palace, I got yelled at three times by noble women that wanted me to do this or that. Finally, when I was almost to the palace gates, I got the hang of it, and put a look of meekness and humbleness of my face. It helped that not very many people had ever seen my face up close.
When I got to the marketplace, I wasn't sure what to do. I was jostled this way and that and no one noticed that I looked like the Crown prince. They all had only seen me from a distance, when I was parading through the streets on some celebration or another.
Finally, I managed to break free of the flow of the crowd. I sat down on a pile of empty sacks beside a baker's stall for a rest. The baker and a fishmonger were talking.
"Did you hear that the Princess had a run-in with the Crown prince?" the fishmonger asked.
"No, I didn't. What happened?" the baker replied.
It took me a few seconds for me to realize whom they were talking about. My younger sisters have run-ins with me every day. No, you dolt! I thought. They're talking about that Princess of Thieves. I shivered at the thought. That I would be gotten the best of by a common their! It is unthinkable!
"-And she almost bumped into Derrick's stall!" the fishmonger was saying. "She was so angry. I thought that she was going to turn over every stand in the marketplace! If she's that careless, she's going to get caught by the Provost."
"That wouldn't happen to our Rosalie." the baker said. "She's too good."
Unfortunately, a customer came up to the baker's stall, and the conversation ended.
I slumped back on the bags. So her name was Rosalie. If that is whom they were talking about, that is. If Rosalie wasn't her name, than I had yet to figure it out.
A/N: haha! Do you see? GRAY eyes? GRAY? If you don't, you are not true Sherwood Smith lunatics. I'm sorry, I mean fanatics. I should be nicer– I'm one too.