When I was little, the fairy tales my nurse would read to me in her kind, creaky voice from the limited Eldorne library always frustrated me. They always seemed unfinished to me, ending as soon as the hero or heroine had overcome her first major obstacle. I knew from observation of my family that life offered not one challenge but an infinite supply, and I hated how the fairy stories ended in 'happily ever after', assuming that the heroes would skate through life without any more trouble.

Now that I find my life at court so much like a fairy tale that I could write it down and sell it as fiction, I begin to wish for my own happily ever after. But it is not to be.

I am awake but ensnared in the arms of the sleeping prince of Tortall, held prisoner in my own bed which is covered in nothing but the country's finest satin and silk. My plight is not one to rouse a great deal of sympathy, but I am loathe to wake the prince and engage in awkward conversation (it occurs to me that I have known him all of two days), and yet restless and anxious to get up. Finally I take my chances, peeling his arm carefully off my shoulder and sliding out of bed. Jonathan sleeps on.

It is my third day at the palace, and yet I have seen very little of it. I decide to explore. Donning a plain dress that Abigail has not yet transformed into a ball-worthy gown, I leave my room quietly.

Jon's squire Alan runs up to me wide-eyed as I head for the kitchens to request breakfast.

"I can't find Jon anywhere! He wasn't in his room last night. Have you seen him?"

I roll my eyes at Alan's obvious naivety. "Relax, Alan," I say comfortingly. "He's asleep in my suite."

Alan looks at me like a kicked puppy. Is he jealous of Jonathan? Surely he doesn't wish to sleep with me. He has an odd way of showing it, if he does.

"The prince can't afford to sleep in," he says coolly. "You'd better wake him up."

I press my room key into his hand. "You do it," I say. Facing the prince I barely know after making love to him is something I plan to avoid at all costs.

As I seat myself at an outdoor table to eat breakfast, I am joined by a tall man dressed in cobalt. I glance up, annoyed. I have no wish to talk to any men. I want to be by myself.

But I do not think Roger of Conte will take kindly to being dismissed.

"Good morning, Lady Delia," he says pleasantly.

I sigh pointedly. "Good morning, Your Grace."

I am quite sure that he is aware of my desire for solitude, but he does not show it. Instead, the duke shares a piece of gossip with me. "Word has it that the prince woke up in your bed this morning, Lady Delia. You certainly are ambitious. Ambition is a quality that I admire greatly, you know."

"Really."

"Have you considered at all how much you have accomplished? In three days you have won the hearts of many court men, the enmity of all of the court ladies, and the bed of the crown prince. Not to mention that everyone at the palace knows your name."

I massage my temples tiredly and do not say anything. Perhaps if I stop talking he will go away.

"A headache, Lady Delia? I have the most excellent cure in my rooms. Perhaps if you come up with me, I could help you."

The Duke has hit a nerve. "Just because I slept with the prince," I seethe, "Does not make me a whore. Torment a girl who is interested in you, Roger. Although, I can't imagine such a girl. You might have to pay her."

His eyes flash, but it is with amusement and not anger. "Touchy, touchy. Not having regrets about Jonathon, are we?" To my great relief, he stands up. "If you ever change your mind about me, love, just say the word."

As he breezes past me, the button of his shirtsleeve catches on my hair, yanking out several strands and sending the rest tumbling down around my shoulders. He smirks. "You ought to wear your hair down more often," he advises. "You look positively ravishing."

I am more nervous as I descend the staircase in the ballroom than I was on my first night. In a pale pink creation with white lace trim and only traces of makeup, I look especially innocent in hopes of discouraging the circulating rumors about my affair with the crown prince. I know that the ladies will be spreading the rumors as determinedly as the men will be denying them, and such rumors are hard on a young lady's reputation.

There are several people I wish to avoid: Roger, who is both irritating and frightening, Jonathan, who I am not sure how to act around after last night, and every court lady who is interested in the crown prince of Tortall and angry with me for claiming him. That is, all of the ladies at the ball. This remaining population is men who will spend time glancing down the front of my dress and competing for attention, which will not do anything to improve my reputation. As I step down from the staircase, I make a beeline for the table of alcohol.

After three glasses of the strongest liquor, Jonathan catches me. "I thought you told me about a particularly bad hangover from this stuff?" he asks. "Stop drinking, Delia."

I set down my glass hesitantly like a toddler giving up a piece of candy. "Is that a command, your highness?" Suddenly talking to Jonathan does not seem like such a feat, probably because I am fully intoxicated.

"Yes," he affirms. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you all day."

"I went to Corus," I say truthfully. "I had to do some shopping for tonight." My newly bought pregnancy charm hangs on a sparkling gold chain that dips under my neckline, hiding it from view. I am not certain that I wish to continue this affair with Jonathon, but I am positive that I do not want children.

Jonathan slips his arm gently around my waist and guides me outside. The balcony is where couples hide from the public, and where gossiping ladies venture to see them. Jonathan takes me to a far corner and kisses me gently. "I missed you today," he whispers. "I couldn't stop thinking about you." Another kiss. "All day."

His hands glide down from my waist to my hips and I bring my own arms around his neck, linking my fingers together. It is I this time that melts from his kisses, closing my eyes and letting his lips touch me where they will.

Someone clears their throat from behind me, and Jonathan takes his lips reluctantly from my collarbone to survey the interrupter with annoyance. The annoyance turns to a look that is almost apology, and I turn to face whoever has joined us.

It is Alan, beet red from interrupting us and eyeing me untrustingly. "Jonathan, your father wanted to talk to you."

Jonathan tucks a curl behind my ear. "I have to go Delia. I'll see you later?"

I nod in agreement, and give him one more long, sweet kiss before he leaves.

A reviewer commented that this story is going unrealistically fast. Yes, I suppose it is. But Delia is impulsive and doesn't wait around for things to happen. Also, I don't like to waste chapters where nothing really happens to make it seem like time is passing more slowly. If nothing happens in my stories, I get as bored as the readers and stop writing.

I just saw Superman Returns (definitely worth seeing), and I like to think that Duke Roger looks a bit like Brandon Routh, only more badass. Personally, I think that Duke Roger is the most appealing guy in Tamora Pierce's books. What can I say? I always go for the bad guys. And he's pretty smart, too. It defiantly takes an Einstein to come close to stealing the crown from under the noses of about a million people.