Wow, so, that took forever. Sorry for this wait, guys. This one spiraled into something totally different than what I'd originally intended, and it almost got me. But I prevailed! Many thanks to usa123 for fabulous beta-ing, and a big shout-out to formerlyIR and linascribbles for encouraging me every time I got stuck.

So, yet again, we're in another fandom's playground. This one is very loosely based on the BBC show Merlin. Basically, we're in Camelot in the Middle Ages, and magic is outlawed. Peggy is the secret magician, Steve is the prince. The only actual Merlin character who made the transfer over is King Uther Pendragon (as played by Anthony Head). Everyone else is from the MCU.


Peggy clutched her cloak a little more tightly around herself to keep it away from snagging branches as she moved deeper into the woods. She was keeping an eye out for a small cabin—she used to know the place well, but the brush had grown up over time, obscuring the pathway. This was where she had learned medicine and magic, training under Abraham Erskine, one of the greatest magicians of the age. Of course, her training had been done in secret after the Great Purge, when magicians had been wiped from the land at the king's decree. It was how Peggy had lost her own parents—long enough ago now that she could barely remember them. How Erskine had kept his identity a secret through it all—especially living under the king's nose in the palace!—she had no idea.

Peggy had been living in one of the smaller villages outside the capital of Camelot for several years now, making a name for herself as a skilled healer. If anyone suspected there was magic involved from time to time, they said nothing. She'd been surprised to hear from her old teacher, as well as curious. His message had been rather cryptic, saying nothing of why he wanted to meet her here, only that it was important. She was uncomfortable with the idea of being within sight of the palace, but she trusted him.

She soon broke through the bushes and into a familiar clearing. The cabin was still there, though there were holes in the roof now and vines growing up out of the well. Still, it felt like coming home, in a way, and Peggy smiled briefly at the memory of herself and Erskine's other students running around and playing in the yard.

Erskine opened the door of the cabin as she approached, and he nodded in greeting. "Good to see you," he said, smiling warmly. "Did you have any trouble getting here?"

"None at all," she said, smiling and shaking his hand, noticing as she did so the slight tremors running through his fingers. "It was you who taught me how to skirt palace patrols undetected, remember?"

That earned her an amused snort, and he pulled back to usher her inside.

"I imagine you're wondering why I had you come all the way out here?" he said. "I've got someone who'd like to meet you. A business proposition I think you'd find interesting."

Her interest piqued, Peggy followed him inside. Being well-known as a local healer was all well and good, but an extra source of income was always welcome. Peggy stepped in, then gasped as her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light and the figure waiting in the corner coalesced into a recognizable shape.

"Are you mad?" she hissed, grabbing Erskine's arm. "That's the prince!" What the hell was he thinking?! Prince James Pendragon was the last person she had expected to see here or wanted to. "You're going to get us killed!"

"Um," the prince said, taking a step forward and raising a hand. "The cabin's not very big, and I can hear you."

Oh.

"I am the prince," he confirmed. "But I promise, I'm not here to hurt anybody."

Peggy squared her shoulders back, trying to regain a bit of her composure. "You'll forgive me if I find that hard to believe, Your Highness," she said as coolly as she could muster. She shot a quick sideways look at Erskine. Had he set her up? She would never have thought it, but maybe after years of living in the palace, he'd changed sides?

"I suppose that's fair," the prince allowed. He moved for his belt, and Peggy stiffened as he pulled out his sword. He laid it on the table in the middle of the room, then stepped back, hands raised. "There," he said. "How's that?"

"It's a start, I suppose," she said, casting a quick glance to the door, trying to see if she could catch the sound of soldiers. She looked back at the prince. "What's all this about?"

"I need help," the prince said. He gestured to Erskine. "Healer Erskine recommended you."

"I see," she said. "And what sort of help could I possibly give you?"

"The kind that I can't exactly extend a formal invitation to the palace to ask you about," he replied with a charmingly disarming smirk. "I need magic."

"Magic?" she replied, calmly as possible. "What makes you think I know about that?" Was this some sort of elaborate ruse to get her to incriminate herself?

"Erskine says you do," the prince replied matter-of-factly. "He says you're the best, and that's what I need."

Peggy shot a quick glare at Erskine, but he just smiled back. "Magic is outlawed, Your Majesty," she reminded him.

"It is," he agreed.

"Punishable by death," she added.

He nodded. "I know. Why do you think we're meeting out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"It was outlawed by your father, Sire," she went on.

"I know," he said again. "But seeing as I wasn't even two years old when he made the decree, I didn't have a lot of input."

She almost smiled at that, but she caught herself. He was dangerously charming. "So, you're asking me to believe that Prince James Pendragon, son of Uther, leader of the Royal Army and heir to the throne, would be for allowing magic in Camelot?"

"I'm a smart enough man to know there are three sides to this story," he told her, serious now instead of smiling. "My father's, yours, and the truth. I've always been open to knowing the truth. And if the truth is that magic can give me what I want, then, yes; bring it all back."

Peggy was surprised, but smirked internally at the statement. The acceptance of magic was unexpected, but the demand for what he wanted sounded more like what Peggy knew of royalty and made her feel on a bit more level ground. She clicked her tongue in mock disapproval. "Sounds a bit mercenary to me, Sire."

He huffed an unamused laugh. "I think 'desperate' would be the more appropriate word."

"Desperate, is it?" she asked. 'Desperate' could mean anything, even something as trivial as winning a jousting tournament. "And what could make someone like you so desperate as to seek out a magician?"

"My brother," he said, with such conviction in his voice that it brought her up short.

"Your brother?" she repeated. The king did have another son, though hardly anyone knew much about him. He was rumored to be an invalid, and was rarely seen outside the palace. Peggy couldn't even think of what his name was.

"Yes. He's sick," the prince said.

Well, that was certainly a sort of 'desperate' that painted him in a better light, but still… "He's the son of the king," Peggy pointed out. "Doesn't he already have the best healers money can buy?"

"He does," the prince replied. "Whatever they're doing isn't working anymore. He's dying. I can't—" His voice wavered and he broke off abruptly, looking away. "If magic can heal my brother," he said more steadily, looking back up at her. "Then you'll never hear me say a word against it."

Peggy considered. To say she hadn't been moved by the prince's obvious worry for his brother would be a lie. She didn't think he was here to trap her anymore, but agreeing to work with him was a hell of a leap of faith. She looked over at Erskine curiously.

"I trust him," Erskine said softly. A small smile crossed his face. "He knows about me, and I'm still alive."

Peggy looked at him in surprise. "Why don't you help the prince, then?" she wondered. She was a good magician, but Erskine was better, with years of experience beyond her own.

Erskine held up his hands. "I'm getting old," he said. She saw the tremble there in his fingers that she'd noticed before. "My hands aren't suited to that sort of fine work anymore."

Peggy nodded. She looked curiously over at the prince, who was waiting patiently. "And what about the king?" she asked. "Does he know about this?" Was he desperate enough to save his son that he would turn to the magic he so despised?

The prince shook his head. "No. He doesn't know I'm here. If you come back with me, I will present you as a skilled healer and nothing more. No mention of magic."

Peggy chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully. It was dangerous, certainly. But Erskine thought she could do it, and she did trust him. And if this worked…Well, Uther wouldn't live forever. A new king with a favorable outlook towards magic would be a good thing. And barring that, a commission from the palace ought to set her up well enough to move somewhere that she could practice her magic without punishment.

"I promise I will keep you safe from my father," the prince said. "And as to payment…If you heal my brother, you can have all the gold you can carry."

Peggy smiled, both because she was certainly going to take him up on that offer, and because he was clever enough to know how to barter with a magician and specified payment in money. Peggy had no ulterior motives, of course, but those that practiced darker arts often took advantage of phrases like, 'you can have anything you want', or, 'name your price'—very often to the detriment of their customers.

"Alright," she said. She held out a hand. "We have a deal."

A relieved smile lit up the prince's face, and he shook her offered hand. "Now that it's official," he said. "May I have your name? Erskine wouldn't give it to me in case you said no."

"Oh," Peggy said. "Yes. My name is Peggy."

"A pleasure to meet you, Peggy," he said. "We'll need to set off for the palace right away. Is there anything you need to take with you?"

"If you want me to do a proper healer's work, I'll need my things," she said.

He agreed to accompany her back to her home to get them, while Erskine was going to ride on ahead back to the palace. Thankfully, the prince's travelling cloak disguised his royal clothes—it would be rather alarming to her neighbours if she showed up at home with the prince of Camelot in tow. Somewhat to her surprise, he gave her a hand up to ride on his horse with him, instead of making her walk alongside.

"It would be very poor manners to make a lady walk while I rode," he told her when he saw her surprised raise of the eyebrow. She knew about the royal court and the rules of chivalry, of course, but she hadn't thought they applied across classes like that.

At her home, she gathered all her healer's gear and magic supplies into a small trunk, and the prince loaded it onto his horse while she packed some clothes and told her neighbour she was going away for a bit. They rode off again, keeping a brisk pace, and soon the gleaming white walls of the palace were in view.

Peggy felt a shiver of apprehension as they rode through the gate. She was welcome enough now, seated alongside the prince, but if they knew who she really was? She shuddered. She would just have to be careful. Erskine managed it, somehow, so she could too. Inside the courtyard, the prince helped her from the horse and called a footman to take her things to Erskine's quarters, where she could send for them later. He directed her to the main hall, giving her hand a quick squeeze as though he sensed her nervousness. "Don't worry," he whispered as a page announced them. "It's going to be fine."

They strode quickly down the length of the hall, having evidently interrupted some sort of business meeting—papers rustled and several weathered heads turned to watch from a table in the centre of the room.

"Ah, James!" the king said, rising to his feet. "There you are. Where have you been? I trust you have an explanation for missing inspection this morning?"

"Yes, father," the prince replied, stepping forward with a small bow. "I do apologize for my absence. I was attending to an urgent matter."

"And what matter would that be?"

James gestured for Peggy to step forward. "I had heard talk of a skilled healer who lived in a village on the other side of the Grey Mountains," he said, and Peggy appreciated that he had named somewhere nowhere near to her actual home. "I thought perhaps she would be able to help my brother."

"Your Majesty," Peggy said, stepping forward and dropping down into a curtsy. She wasn't quite sure of the etiquette, but she thought perhaps she should stay down until told to get up.

"I see," the king said in a mixture of exasperation and fondness. He studied Peggy for a moment, long enough for her to start to worry she might topple over with the way she was balanced and wondering if she could shift to lean on one knee under her skirts without being noticed, then he waved for her to stand. "Please stand, good lady. You are a healer?"

"Yes, Sire," she said.

"And one of good enough repute to attract the attention of my son?"

"I'm honored to hear so, Your Grace," she replied. "I did study hard for my skills."

This seemed to be a good answer. "You are an educated woman, then?"

"Yes, Sire."

He studied her a moment longer, then nodded. "Very well." He looked at the prince. "Show her to Prince Steven's chambers, find her a place to stay, and then go out and attend to the inspection you should have done this morning."

"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," the prince replied. He bowed again, Peggy curtsied, and they left.

Feeling better now that she'd passed the first test, Peggy found herself growing curious. Perhaps the king was simply better at hiding his emotions than his son, but she would have expected more of a reaction at the news that someone was here to help his son, nevermind the fact that in the face of that, his focus on the prince's shirked duties seemed a touch callous. That seemed rather a personal question to ask, though, so she didn't.

The prince led her up a few levels and down a long corridor. They stopped in front of a set of double doors, he took a moment to draw in a breath, then stepped inside. Shutting the doors behind them, he then hurried over to the bed by the far wall. Peggy followed at a slower pace, looking at the figure lying under the blankets in some surprise. He looked nothing like his brother. Where James was large and muscular, he was small and thin, fair-haired where his brother was dark.

She could hear his breath wheezing from here.

The prince sat down carefully on the mattress, resting a surprisingly gentle hand on his brother's hair. "Hey, Stevie," he said softly.

Prince Steven's eyes flickered open, and there was the resemblance to his brother, that same soulful blue. "Buck?" he rasped. He smiled as he came more awake. "You're back."

"Yeah, I'm back," James replied. "How are you feeling?"

A cough wracked Steven's small frame. "About the same."

If the look on James's face was anything to go by, that wasn't good. "Well, hopefully, that's about to change." He motioned Peggy closer. "I found someone who's going to help you."

Steven's blue eyes went wide. "You mean you…" Peggy caught him mouth the word 'magic' as James leaned in.

"Yeah," James replied. "Magic." His eyebrows furrowed in concern. "You said you were okay with that."

Steven coughed again. "I am. I just…" He looked over at Peggy in wonder. "I didn't think you'd find anyone."

This was all turning out to be rather unexpected, but Peggy smiled and stepped forward. "Good afternoon, Your Highness," she said, dropping into a quick curtsy.

"Hello," he said with a nod. "What's your name?"

"Peggy, Your Highness."

He nodded again. "I'm Steve."

"So, can you help him?" James asked eagerly.

"You'll have to give me a moment, Sire," she said with a small smile. "I can't diagnose by sight." She caught a smile from Steven at that. "I can tell you, though," she went on. "That he would breathe a lot easier if he were propped up at an angle." That wheezing of his was making her own chest hurt.

James quickly moved to help his brother sit up. "Better?" he asked, once he had him situated.

Steven nodded. "Yeah." He looked over at Peggy. "Thank you. My usual healer doesn't like me sitting up. He said it did something about draining the humours out of my brain and down into my stomach."

Peggy snorted. "That is a load of absolute rubbish."

Steven smiled, then looked up at his brother. "I like her. I told you all that humours stuff was no good."

"I know," James replied, with the air of someone launching into a familiar argument. "Why do you think I went to all this trouble to find you a new healer? Those other guys were stuck in the Thirteenth Century with their humours and balancing elements."

A servant came in with Peggy's medicine trunk, and James held up a hand for her not to say anything. "Don't talk about magic in front of the servants," he said after they were alone again. "Or really in front of anyone but me and Steve."

Peggy smiled. "I'm hardly an amateur, Sire. I have lived to twenty-five without being caught, after all."

Steven smiled, then looked over at James. "Are you in trouble for missing whatever you were supposed to do this morning?"

"A little."

"Then go ahead and do it," he said, nodding towards the door. "We'll be alright here."

James nodded and stood. "I'll be back in a little while." He looked at Peggy. "If there are any supplies you need or anything, let the servants know. There should be someone waiting outside."

"I will, thank you," she said, and he smiled at his brother and left. "Right," Peggy said, turning to her patient. "I'm going to need a look at you. Can you manage to get your shirt off?"

He seemed a little surprised by the request, but acquiesced, though Peggy ended up having to help him with it. He had hardly any strength at all. She rather thought he might fall back over if the pillows weren't holding him up. "How long have you been ill?" she asked. He looked dreadful—far too pale even for someone not expected to work outdoors for a living, eyes watery with fever and ringed with dark circles.

He chuckled at that, though it turned into a cough. "My whole life, pretty much," he said. "Although, if you mean this particular bout, about four weeks."

Peggy nodded. His ribs and collarbones were much too visible, but she didn't see any discoloration, nor did she feel any knots or swollen spots under his skin, which was good. "Right," she said. She cast a look back at the door and lowered her voice a little. "I'm going to do a bit of magic here," she said. "It makes the diagnosis go much faster."

Steven nodded. "Okay. What do I do?"

"Just sit there," she said. "Try not to cough." He nodded, and she placed her hand on his chest. His skin was soft and warm to the touch, and she could feel the flutter of his heart beneath his ribs. She closed her eyes and called up a surge of magic, letting it flow out through her fingertips and into his veins and then back to her.

She stood up, and he was staring at her in awe. "Well," she said. "Your heart and your lungs are in dreadful shape, and you've had this fever for far too long."

He nodded, clearly used to receiving bad news.

"I don't think you're beyond saving, though," she said, and surprise flickered across his face. He'd evidently been hearing otherwise from his healers. "Let's see what we can do. First off, why don't you tell me what your other healers have been having you do."

"Absolutely nothing," he replied. "They don't let me get out of bed. I used to try when they weren't looking but…" He sighed. "To be honest, I haven't had the strength in a while. Even sitting up like this wearing me out."

Peggy frowned. "One of the reasons you're feeling so weak is probably because you haven't moved in a while. Light exercise is always helpful for keeping stamina up. We'll have to work up to that." She spotted the table beside his bed, littered with half-empty vials of medicine. "Let me set some things up, and then I'll have a look at that."

She helped him back into his shirt, then set to laying her things out on the table by the fireplace, where she ought to have the best light. She set up her stands and equipment, laid her medicines out in orderly rows, and set the magic ingredients out inside her trunk so she could see what they were but could also close the lid to hide them. When she turned around, she saw the prince had fallen asleep again.

She set a kettle of water on the fire to start heating, and picked up his medicines and set to testing them, trying to figure out what he had been taking, and what she should continue or change. After about half an hour of work, he coughed himself awake again. "Are you alright, Sire?" she asked, moving over beside the bed when the coughing didn't stop. He nodded to the pitcher sitting on the bedside table, and she poured him some water.

"Thank you," he rasped after he drank it.

Peggy's eyes widened as she took the glass from him—a faint red color tinted the remaining water. "You're coughing up blood," she said.

He didn't look surprised at that. "I know," he said. "Have been for a week."

"I hope you don't think me impertinent, Your Grace," she said, moving towards her medicine kit. "But your previous healers were absolute charlatans. I'm normally against capital punishment on principle, but whoever has been treating you thus far could certainly do with some flogging."

He let out a surprised chuckle at that. "What makes you say that?"

Peggy held up one of his vials of medicine. "I assume you've been taking this one for your heart?"

He nodded.

"Not only does it have no effect on your heart whatsoever, it's got nettle extract in it, which is very inflammatory when not distilled properly—which this isn't—and it's actually aggravating your throat and making the coughing worse. I would bet good money that it's irritated the inside of your throat all the way down, and that's where this blood is coming from."

The prince considered this. "I did start taking it about a week ago."

Peggy chucked the offending vial over her shoulder and into the fireplace. "That's just the start. Some of this rubbish is making your symptoms worse, some of it has given you new symptoms, and some of it is slowly killing you."

He took a moment to take that in. "Good thing we called you in, then," he said with a small smile. He coughed again, then nodded towards the vials she was disposing of. "Does any of it work?"

"Yes," she admitted. "But none of it at a strength that would actually save your life. It's just sort of prolonging your suffering at this point." He nodded with interest as she threw away the last of it.

Prince James returned then. "How's it going?" he asked.

"She's throwing out my old medicine," Steven replied cheerfully. "Apparently, it was killing me."

"What?!"

"Some of his old remedies were making things worse," Peggy said. "I believe I can correct that," she added, seeing how thoroughly alarmed the declaration had made James. She looked curiously over at Steven. "You seem oddly chipper about this, Sire, all things considered."

Steven smiled. "I'm used to being sick. And, hey, you're going to fix me now, right? So it's fine."

James snorted. "When you say it was making him worse," he began, looking over at Peggy.

"I mean it would have killed him before too much longer," Peggy replied, seeing no need to sugar coat things.

"Do you think someone was trying to kill him?"

"I think it was just incompetence," Peggy said. "There are more efficient ways of poisoning someone if that was their goal."

James did not look comforted by this fact, and Peggy reached out to rest a comforting hand on his arm before catching herself and remembering her place.

"It's going to be okay, Buck," Steven said. "I'm not dead yet."

"You say that every time."

"I'm always right."

James snorted and shook his head, and Peggy smiled to herself at their easy banter. It seemed oddly…informal for royalty, but it was nice to see. "As long as you're awake, Sire, I think this would be a good time for me to get a sample of your blood."

"His blood?" James asked.

"Yes," Peggy replied. She poured a cup of water from the kettle and set one of her silver knives inside to sterilize. "I'll get a bit of the blood, and I'll run some tests on it—both magical and not. There are some diseases that are carried in the blood, you know."

James still looked skeptical. Steven looked curious.

"Your old healers never did anything with your blood, did they?" she guessed.

"No, they did," Steven said. He paused to cough. "It mostly had to do with leeches."

Peggy sighed and shook her head. "Barbarians," she said. "If these are our most learned men, I despair for the future of Camelot."

"Well, they're pretty old," Steven said. "Future's probably okay."

James let out a surprised snort of laughter.

Peggy smiled as well. "One only uses leeches," she said as she uncorked a vial, not wanting to pass up a teaching moment. "When dealing with bruises, or other sorts of swelling where there's too much blood. Otherwise, one generally wants to keep all of one's blood inside one's body."

"You know, I read something about that," Steven said. He smacked James weakly in the arm. "See, Bucky? Fourteenth Century medicine. We're moving into the future here."

"Well, as long as you stick around for that future, I'll buy it," he replied. He looked suspiciously at the knife Peggy removed from the hot water. "How much of his blood are you going to take?"

"Just enough to fill this up," Peggy said, holding up a tiny glass vial. "It really only takes a few drops for each test."

Peggy took his left hand and made a small cut at the base of his thumb. He winced, but held still, and she pressed against the sides of the cut and coaxed the blood into the vial. Then she set the vial aside and picked up his hand, hovering two fingers over the cut she had made. "Behlíd," she whispered. The wound knit back together, leaving a small, pink scar that looked days old instead of minutes.

"Wow," Steven breathed. James was staring at his brother's hand in awe, then looked up at Peggy with an evaluating expression. He nodded at her, and she smiled.

"It will take me some time to test this, I think," she said, picking up the vial of blood and setting it by her equipment. "But for now…" She rummaged through the medicines she'd laid out and set three vials on the table by his bed. "These are fairly generic—I shan't use any more serious magic until I know what precisely I'm looking at, but this will help with the fever. You should take it with food." She looked out the window at the setting sun. "I imagine it's coming up on time for dinner. I also imagine you're not particularly hungry these days?"

"Not really," Steven replied, prodding curiously at the spot on his hand that she'd healed.

James called one of the servants in, and Peggy ordered a bowl of beef broth, some fruit, and some bread.

"That sounds like a lot," Steven said.

"You'll eat it all," she replied.

James chuckled again. "Well, as much as I'd like to see her force you to eat dinner…" He stood up, patting Steven's leg as he rose. "I'd better get dressed for dinner in the hall." He grinned at Peggy. "Watch out for his puppy-dog eyes," he warned her. "He can charm his way into almost anything."

When the food arrived, Peggy helped the prince up into a somewhat more vertical position, then explained the purpose and the nutrition of each thing she'd called for as she helped him eat. It seemed to distract him from the fact that he didn't want to eat, though it did slow the process down as he asked questions. He was terribly inquisitive.

When he finished, she gave him the medicine and helped him lie down a bit—though not completely, so he could continue to breathe easier as he slept. "May I ask you a personal question, Your Highness?"

"Sure," he said.

"How old are you?"

He smiled at the question, though there was something a bit guarded in his eyes. "Twenty-five. Why do you ask?"

"I was expecting you to be a lot younger," she said. "Based on the way your brother spoke about you as we rode in."

He chuckled, and the guarded expression left his face. She wondered if he'd been worried she thought he was young because of his size. "He's a tad overprotective."

"Older brothers often are," she said with a smile. "He's terribly fond of you, though." She'd learned that in the cabin, and the way he'd spoken as they'd ridden and how she'd seen them together had only cemented that knowledge in her mind.

Steven's smile softened. "Yeah."

His eyelids were starting to flag, so Peggy made sure the blanket was secure around him, then turned her attention to her tests, absent-mindedly eating the dinner the servant had brought for her as she did so. She lined up several vials and poured a bit of blood into each of them. She mixed in various herbs, tinctures or potions, set up a couple over candles on her little metal stands to heat through the night, and whispered a couple of spells over two of them. Once everything was set up for the night, she checked on the prince once more and adjourned to the hallway to ask the servants about the quarters that were to be arranged for her. As per Prince James's instructions, she had been given the room just down the hall from Prince Steven's. It was above what someone of her station should have been granted, but evidently he wanted her close at hand. Peggy didn't complain—the chamber was bigger than her entire home back in the village, and the bed was the most luxurious thing she'd ever touched. She fell asleep immediately.

It took her a moment to remember where she was when a servant knocked on the door the following morning with breakfast for her. The pastries were delicious, the fruit was fresh, and there was even cream. "Oh, I could get used to this," she said to herself. She used the end of the last pastry to mop every drop of cream from the bottom of the bowl, then dressed, pinned up her hair, and went to attend to her patient.

It didn't surprise her that he was still asleep, so she set to examining her blood samples. The results could have been better, but as she'd thought last night, it was nothing she couldn't fix. She set to mixing up the first couple of remedies, pausing when the prince awoke to summon a servant and order breakfast for him.

"I feel like one of those geese that you fatten up by shoving food down their throats," he complained as she forced him to eat again.

"It's one piece of bread and half a pear," Peggy retorted calmly. "Food gives your body energy to fight the illness—you've got to eat something. And you could do with some fattening up," she added. "I can count your ribs through your shirt."

The prince scowled, but finished his breakfast.

She went on with mixing up her remedies, and he watched her curiously as he took a very long time to drink a cup of tea. "You…" he began. "Please tell me you didn't sleep on my floor last night," he said, eyeing the blanket draped over the chair by the fire. "Bucky remembered to give you a room, right?"

"He did," Peggy said. "The blanket was on top of the chest there, and I just wanted the space to spread some of this out on."

"Oh. Okay, good."

"If you don't mind, Sire," she said curiously. "May I ask why you call him 'Bucky'?"

The prince smiled. "Oh, that. It…I just started calling him that when I learned to talk. I'm not sure why. I was bad at the letter 'J', and our nurse thought maybe I was trying to say the word 'brother', but…" He shrugged. "I don't know. But it stuck."

Peggy smiled. "That sounds rather sweet."

Prince Steven smiled, though his cheeks colored a little bit. "Thanks, I guess. It's just sort of a thing between the two of us—Father always gives me this look if I do it out in front of other people. It doesn't sound particularly royal."

"Well, perhaps not," Peggy agreed. "But it's nice. My brother used to call me 'Pip', you know."

"Yeah?"

"He was a lot bigger than I was. It was short for 'Pipsqueak'."

The prince laughed at that, and Peggy smiled, though she felt bad when the laughter made him cough.

"Sorry," she said, handing him a glass of water.

He waved the apology away. "I cough all the time. At least this time I got some amusement out of it."

"Speaking of that," Peggy said. "I've got a couple of things worked up for you after the results of your tests. This will help with the coughing," she said, turning to the table and picking up a vial. "It's not actually going to cure anything, because the problem is with your lungs, not your throat, but it will ease the pain in your throat until I can work something up for your lungs."

"Okay," he said. He took the vial and drank it down. He made a bit of a face, but swallowed the whole thing. "Wow, I wasn't expecting that texture. Is there honey in that?"

She nodded. "Coating the throat a bit helps with the pain."

"Huh."

"I'm going to leave the larger vial of it here on the table," she said, placing the large vial and a small glass next to his bed. "Drink it whenever you start to cough, or even feel like coughing."

"Okay. What's wrong with my lungs?"

"You've got a condition the Greeks called asthmaíno," she said. "Everyone, when they breathe, the pathways into the lungs expand and contract as air comes in and out," she said, gesturing with her hands to demonstrate. "Yours will contract and then sometimes get stuck, and there's not enough room to get enough air."

He was looking at her thoughtfully. "That's exactly what it feels like," he said. "No one ever knew what to do with that."

"Let me guess," she said, nodding to one of his old medicines she hadn't thrown out yet. "They had you drink a lot of frog bile?"

His eyes went wide. "That's what was in that?" He grimaced and put a hand to his stomach. "I didn't need to know that."

"Sorry," Peggy replied, smiling a little. "I promise, there will be no frog liquids in the remedy I give you. I've found it to be quite effective, but I need to track down some henna first. I was going to see if Healer Erskine had any."

She had some other remedies for him as well, for the fever and for the illness which had put him in bed for four weeks in the first place, which was just a general ague that had gone on too long. "Right," Peggy said, clapping her hands together. "The morning's got off to a good start, and we've got lots to do today."

"We do?"

"We do. First of all, you're going to have a bath. I'll have someone bring a bath and fill it while I go and see about the henna, then I'll come back and help you bathe."

The prince's cheeks went scarlet. "You're going to help me?"

"Yes. You can't sit up by yourself; I don't want you to drown."

"That's thoughtful, but that's not—I mean, I—" he stammered, and Peggy suddenly realized that he was embarrassed.

"Shall I see if there's a manservant who can do it?" she suggested.

"Yes, please," he said quietly.

She went to see about the henna, and was incredibly pleased at the variety of supplies Erskine had. As he was no longer using them, he told her she was welcome to take them anytime, and he promised that once she had the prince a bit more settled, he would take her out and show her the best places to find herbs she might need.

She returned to the prince's quarters and decided she'd best knock first. "It's Peggy," she said.

"Come in," called a voice that she recognized as Prince James. She came in to find him helping his brother into a clean shirt. His sleeves were damp, and she realized he'd been the one to help Steven clean up.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"I suppose," Steven replied a little unhappily. "Being clean is nice, but it's tempered somewhat by having to be bathed by my older brother."

"I did offer to get Mansfield to do it," James pointed out.

"I know," Steven snapped. "That's not better."

Peggy supposed that when faced with the indignity of being unable to wash himself, having his brother help was the lesser of a choice of evils he'd been faced with. "Well, we shall soon have you strong enough to manage this on your own."

Steven scowled and didn't seem entirely convinced, but she supposed he was entitled to be in a bad mood after being embarrassed like that, so Peggy would let it slide.

"Well, the bath is one thing off the list for today," Peggy said, and Steven's scowl deepened.

"What else are you going to make me do?" he grumbled.

She smiled. "We're going outside. You could do with sunshine and a bit of exercise, and we can have the room properly cleaned while you're out."

"What's wrong with my room?" he wondered, though he did seem to perk up a bit at the promise of sunshine.

"It's just dusty," she said. "Freshening it up will help you breathe better."

"Sounds good to me," James said.

"You're just enjoying watching her boss me around," Steven said.

"Well, sure," James allowed. "It's fun to watch you make those faces at somebody else. But you breathing better sounds like something I can get behind."

They talked for a bit before settling on a plan to get Steven outside—after the bath, Peggy thought it would be better to spare him any further indignity for the day, and she didn't think he would approve of being carried out by his brother. Fortunately, they did have a wheeled chair that he had used a couple of years ago, so James helped him settle into that and got him a blanket, then started moving him toward one of the private gardens. Peggy stayed behind to instruct the servants on how exactly she wanted the room cleaned, set up the first part of the remedy for Steven's lungs to steep over the fire in her room so it would be out of the way of the cleaning, then set off to join them.

It took her a little while to find the garden, but she stopped in the entryway and smiled when she did—James was sitting on a long bench with cushions on it, one arm around Steven, who was leaning against him. His brother was the only thing keeping him vertical, but he was smiling, looking out at the plants and blue sky around him and soaking it all in.

"How is the air out here treating you?" Peggy asked, stepping forward to join them.

"I can see what you meant about the dust in my room," Steven said. "It's nice out here."

"I'm glad," she replied. She joined them a little tentatively, not wanting to get too far from her patient, but a little unsure if she was supposed to sit on the floor or something. So far, the two of them had been a great deal less formal with her than she had been expecting, so she still wasn't quite sure of what the boundaries should be. No one seemed to object when she sat on the edge of the bench, however, so she stayed.

They sat in silence for a little while—silent except for Steven's coughing, that is, but even that was starting to sound a little better. She was pleased to see that James had brought along the throat remedy she'd made, and Steven drank some of it and his cough eased. Peggy suspected that he would be falling asleep shortly—he'd been awake for over an hour at this point, which was the longest she'd seen him keep his eyes open. She would let him get some rest before trying out any exercise.

He did fall asleep not too much later. James smiled down at him fondly, and after he was sure he was asleep, he moved to lie him down on the cushions, doing so with the skill that came from a lot of practice. He motioned for Peggy to stand, took the cushion she'd been sitting on to prop Steven up a bit so he could breathe better, then walked with her to the next bench over and sat down again, far enough away that they could talk without waking Steven.

He asked her what she had discovered with her tests, and she told him, laying out the remedies she had planned and what they should do. The fever and ague she could cure in time, and she could take measures to strengthen his heart, but the lung condition was inherent. She would never be able to cure it, but she could fortify his lungs somewhat and make a medicine that would ease the symptoms and make it manageable, sometimes even to a point he wouldn't notice it, as long as he took the proper precautions.

She worried at first that James wouldn't be pleased with the news about his lungs, but he almost seemed relieved.

"You've got to understand," he told her. "Steve's been having trouble breathing almost since the day he was born. Several healers have told us that he's lucky to be alive at all after twenty-five years of it. If you can get it to where it's just an annoyance instead of something constantly threatening to kill him, that's miracle enough for me." He looked over at his brother thoughtfully. "He seemed so much healthier when we were kids, you know? He'd get sick a lot back then too, and we did always have to be careful with his breathing, but he and I would play and run around the castle. I mean, you're seeing him at a pretty bad point right now, but even when he's healthy enough to get around the castle on his own, he's got less stamina than he used to."

Peggy nodded. "That will happen, I've found. Children's bodies are more resilient than a lot of people give them credit for, but there's also the fact that your brother's body has been fighting very hard for a long time. He's wearing out."

James nodded. "How long do you think he has?" he asked carefully.

Peggy smiled at him sadly. "You're used to being told your brother's going to die, aren't you?"

James nodded. "It's the first thing I ever remember being scared of. I was too young to remember much of when my mother died," he said. The Queen had died nearly twenty-five years ago, just before magic had been banned from the kingdom. Peggy remembered him saying he'd been not yet two at the time. "But it didn't take long for me to understand that dying meant someone went away forever." He shook his head. "I was three, and Steve was one, and he'd just started walking. He would hold on to my hands, those tiny little fists of his wrapped around my fingers," he reminisced with a soft smile. "And we would walk around, and he would laugh, and it was one of the best things I'd ever seen. That's one of my earliest memories. And then he got sick, with a bad fever, and people started talking about him dying. That's one of my other earliest memories," he said. "Worrying that I was going to lose him."

He was looking across the garden, but his eyes were miles away, and he looked so much older than his twenty-seven years. Death was something everyone was accustomed to, whether through disease, or wars, or famine, or old age, but three years old seemed very young to have to come to terms with the harsh realities of it.

"I'm not sure why some people have to fight so much harder for life than others," Peggy said. "But with the proper care, your brother's fight can be less difficult. He may yet live to be an old man."

Prince James looked at her dubiously at that.

"What?" she asked. "I would have thought you would have wanted to hear that."

"I do," he said. "But I'm the prince. People have a tendency to try to tell me what they think I want to hear. I'd much rather have the truth."

"That was the truth, Your Highness," Peggy said. "I've never been one to sugarcoat things. If I say something like that, I mean it."

James looked back over at Steven's sleeping form, then back at her in wonder. "Really?"

She nodded. "That's not to say it will always be easy. As I said before, he'll have to take certain precautions, but if he does, he could still have a full life in front of him."

He nodded at that, looking thoughtful, and they said nothing for several minutes, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Eventually he looked up at the sun, sighed, and stood. "I should go. I've got training this morning, and it sets a bad example for the new guys if I'm not on time." He nodded over at Steven's sleeping form. "You're good here?"

"We are," Peggy assured him. He left, pausing near his brother for a moment as if making sure he was still breathing. After a moment, Peggy got up and sat down at the foot of the bench Steven was on. He was still wheezing, but his color had improved, and the fever was going down. She sat back for a bit and enjoyed the chance to simply sit and not have to do anything.

It was another half an hour before the prince awoke. He blinked groggily, confused for a moment as Peggy helped him to sit up. "Everything alright, Sire?" Peggy asked.

He nodded. "I just forgot for a minute that we came out here. It's been a while since I left my room." Faint color rose in his cheeks. "Sorry for getting snappy with you earlier."

"You're far from the most difficult patient I've had," she said with a smile. "But thank you." She looked him up and down. "How do you feel about moving a bit?"

"Depends what you have in mind," he said.

"I'm hardly thinking of having you run laps around the garden," she said with a smile. "That will come later. For now, I thought we would work on standing."

Considering that he still struggled sitting up alone, it was little wonder he looked skeptical, but Peggy wanted to get an idea of his strength, and she wasn't just going to stand him up and let go. "Here's what we'll do," she said, positioning herself so she was sitting behind him. She ran her arms underneath his and grasped his hands. "I'm going to stand and bring you up with me. I'll support you until we're steady, then I'll shift so your legs are taking your weight, but I won't let go. Lean on me as much as you need, but see how long you can keep yourself up, and then I'll catch you as soon as it starts to look like you might drop. Alright?"

"Okay," he said. They stood, and he was ridiculously light, though that made him easy to get up on his feet. Once he was up, Peggy realized that if he could manage to stand straight, he was only a couple of inches shorter than her. He leaned heavily into her, but shifted his feet some to take his weight, still grasping her hands tightly. It was only a few seconds before she felt his arms start to tremble against hers, but he just gripped her hands tighter and kept at it. He made it about thirty seconds, though he was shaking badly as he dropped back against her.

"That was very good, Sire," she said, lowering him back down onto the bench. She poured him a glass of water, and rubbed a hand up and down his back as he drank it. He was breathing heavily, but he was controlling it, slow and deep, and his trembling muscles seemed to ease a little bit under her hand. "Longer than I was expecting for your first go."

"Felt kind of pathetic to me," he said.

"Considering how long it's been since you've gotten up, I disagree. And as your physician, you'll find it's my opinion that counts here," she added, and a smile turned up one side of his mouth.

"I think it's about time for lunch," she said. "After that, we'll let you rest a bit, and I'll show you some exercises you can do sitting down to strengthen your arms and legs."

"Okay. I am actually a little hungry," he said.

"Wonderful," Peggy replied with a smile.

"Just a little," he clarified. "That doesn't mean you can go ordering me a huge lunch or anything."

Peggy laughed, and she sent for bread and fruit as he'd had for breakfast and a bowl of soup. She asked one of the servants to wait with him while she went and checked on how the cleaning of his room was coming along and made some adjustments to the mixture she was making over her fire. Then she returned to the prince, helped him with his lunch, then ate her own lunch after he fell asleep.

"Sorry I keep falling asleep on you," he told her later when he woke up.

"It's quite alright, Sire," she said. "You're ill and you need rest. I wasn't taking it personally."

He smiled at that. "Still, it has to be pretty boring for you just sitting there watching me sleep."

"Not really," Peggy said. "It's nice to have the chance to just sit for a bit and relax. Back at home, it seemed as though I was always going and doing something."

Intrigued, he asked her what her life was like back home. He hadn't seen much of life outside the castle, which he seemed a bit embarrassed by, and was interested to learn more about what it was like in a village. She told him everything she could think of, adding more as he asked questions.

"But we're letting time get away from us, Sire," she said after a while. "Let me show you some of those exercises I was talking about. These are things you can do sitting in bed, and they'll help build your strength back up to where you can start moving about on your own again."

She walked him through several simple exercises, and, as he had with standing earlier, he found them a challenge, but was determined to get it done.

"If you don't mind me asking, Your Highness," Peggy said, watching as he worked his right leg. "Why are you so interested in village life? I shouldn't think it was something you'd ever have to try."

"Maybe not," the prince replied, keeping his eyes on the muscles he was trying to move. "But I don't think a ruler should be removed from their people. I mean, I know I'm not the one who's going to be the king one day, but that doesn't mean I don't have responsibilities. I can always serve my people better if I know what their lives are like."

Peggy blinked at him in surprise for a moment, not having expected such an answer, then smiled and moved in to adjust the angle at which he was bending his ankle.

They worked a bit more until Peggy was satisfied that he knew what he was doing, then she helped him back into his chair and they returned to his chambers. It had been cleaned to Peggy's satisfaction, and he took one of the potions Peggy had mixed up for him, then fell asleep again. She returned to her own room to finish up the mixture she was making for his lungs, and the rest of the evening passed quietly. His appetite still wasn't very large, but his complaint about being forced to eat dinner was a token protest, and Peggy smiled. Progress.

Over the course of the next few days, a routine was established. Peggy would come by in the morning to check on him and make sure he'd eaten. She would supply him with the appropriate medicines, and they would spend some time in the garden. His strength was returning, and by the end of the week, he was standing on his own power (for a little while) as long as he could lean on something. Peggy was making sure he bathed at least every other day, but now that he could sit up on his own, he was allowed to do so alone and he didn't mind so much. Prince James was frequently in to check on him, and Peggy was pleased to see that he didn't just worry about his brother, but seemed to genuinely enjoy his company—now that he was able to stay awake longer, the two of them would sit and talk, sometimes about kingdom business, and sometimes about nothing in particular.

Peggy enjoyed sitting and talking with the Prince as well—he was doing better at keeping himself upright and staying awake, but he was not yet what one would call well, so Peggy stayed close at hand. Once he was able to stay awake long enough to have a proper one, Peggy discovered he was a very pleasant conversationalist. He was well-read, as one would expect a prince to be, but he didn't look down on her less formal education, and was eager to learn from her about medicine and magic. He was thoughtful and clever, and Peggy found it very refreshing to hold a conversation with a man who didn't feel the need to talk over her or disregard whatever she was saying.

His lungs were making excellent progress now that Peggy had mixed up that Greek remedy for him. There was something for him to drink every day, as well as a powdered version to mix with steam for him to inhale when he was having a particularly rough go of it. She had yet to come up with something he could carry with him, though, in case of emergencies when he was away from his chambers, like what had happened this afternoon.

Upon later reflection, they decided that the cause of the attack was the servant passing by with an armful of flowers for the dining hall—certain types of pollen could easily trigger a contraction of the airways. There wasn't time to puzzle that out in the moment, however, since the prince began to wheeze almost as soon as the servant had walked by on their way out of the garden.

"Your Highness?" Peggy asked.

He had stopped talking and was staring at the ground in front of him, drawing in what were probably supposed to be deeper breaths.

"Try breathing a bit slower," she said, recognizing what was happening and placing a hand on his back, feeling how he was straining to breathe.

He tried, then gasped as he failed to do so. "I can't get enough air," he rasped. He started opening and closing one of his fists in a gesture Peggy recognized as mimicking her explanation of how the passages to his lungs opened and closed. "Stuck," he coughed.

For a moment, Peggy found herself paralyzed with uncertainty. The powder and kettle for inhaling the medicine were back in his chamber—she couldn't get him back to the room in enough time to help, and if she ran alone and fetched them, time would be lost reheating the water after taking it off the fire, even with magic. She wasn't sure what to do, but as his lips started turning blue, she decided saving his life was more important than worrying about doing magic out here in the open.

She put one hand behind his back to steady him, and pressed the other hard against his chest. "Fulfielde," she commanded, feeling magic flow out of her hand with enough force to jolt him back a bit. He inhaled deeply and started to cough, deep coughs that shook his body, but they settled back down quickly into breathing normally.

"Wow," he breathed.

"Are you alright, Sire?" Peggy asked, pulling her hand away.

He nodded, staring at her in awe. "Yeah." He rubbed thoughtfully at his chest where her hand had been, then looked back up at her. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Peggy said, looking him up and down and deciding that he really was breathing better.

"I don't know if I'll ever get used to you doing that," he said. She hadn't done that particular spell before, but he'd seen her do some magic in the days since she'd arrived (all in the safety of his room, thus far).

"It's not that much," she protested, more out of habit than anything else. All things considered, that had been a smaller spell.

"I'm pretty sure you just saved my life," he pointed out. "It's a lot to me." He kept staring at her curiously. "Did you know your eyes glow when you do magic?" he asked her. "Sort of a…a golden color."

Peggy nodded. "All magicians do that, as far as I know."

He nodded, looked as though he wanted to say something more, but turned instead back to the exercise he'd been working on before. He was really making excellent progress. Peggy imagined he would be walking on his own again by the end of the next week.

"Can I ask you something about magic?" he asked her, and Peggy didn't think that was what he'd been about to say a minute ago, but she nodded. She was always happy to teach.

He cleared his throat. "Now, I can't…I can't figure out how to ask this without sounding ungrateful for everything you're doing," he said, faint color rising in his cheeks. "Which I'm not. I'm very grateful, and I—maybe I just don't know enough about magic, and this is a really stupid question, but…"

"What's your question, Sire?" Peggy asked with a smile.

"Well, you hear all these stories about magic, you know?" he said. "And you never really know what's real and what's fabrication—some of the things magic does in legends can be pretty fantastical. So, I guess I was wondering—and I'm sure there's a good answer!—but I was wondering why your magic can't just—" He clicked his fingers. "And heal me." He winced, as though he wasn't sure he should have asked that, and kept going before Peggy could answer. "Again, I'm not ungrateful, or saying you're going too slow, or anything like that. Actually, this, this is the fastest I've ever had any medicine work on me before, and I'm feeling a lot better already, and I don't want you think I'm insinuating—"

"You should pause to take a breath, Your Highness, before you have another attack," Peggy interrupted with a small smirk.

He blushed and did so.

"I wasn't offended," she assured him. "It's a very common question—people who don't do magic aren't aware of all the nuances to it, and I've been asked something along those lines several times. And I have picked up by now that you're terribly curious," she added with a teasing smile. "I've been wondering how long it was going to take you to ask me that."

"Oh," he said. He didn't seem sure what else to say to that.

She chuckled. "To answer the question," she said. "I'll tell you that the thing about magic is that the whole thing is a system of checks and balances. It's basically a sort of energy in the world, and when you use magic, you're moving that energy about and repurposing it. But when you do that, it leaves a void where it was, and you've got to balance that back out. Do you follow me so far?"

"I think so," he said, and she could tell he was already thinking of questions, so she went on.

"There's a great deal of magic where that exchange is fairly negligible," she explained. "Your everyday magic, like lighting a fire or mending a hole in a shirt, but even some of the more complicated things, like potion-making or scrying, are on that lower end of the scale. Actually, everything I've done to heal you so far falls into that category. Generally, the exchange is reckoned with the person doing the magic, and in these cases, it just makes me a bit tired. Not a lot, though," she clarified. "Like what I did with your lungs just now, that took about the amount of energy it would to walk up a flight of stairs a bit too quickly. I would have to be doing magic all day to really feel the effects of it."

He nodded, still following along.

"But the more powerful the magic gets, the bigger the balance you've got to pay back. Dark magic really gets into that—by default, the energy for a spell comes from the caster, but that's easy enough to get around. Sometimes, power can be drawn from magical objects, but you can also make someone else pay the price for your magic. That's where the advice to be careful making deals with magicians comes from. If you aren't careful with your wording, a dark magician could draw that energy from you or your environment."

"How do you mean?"

"Well," Peggy said. "Maybe you have a sick child, and the magician heals them, but then your well dries up, or your garden dies, or something like that."

He nodded.

"That depends on the magician, of course, because for someone accustomed to working with that sort of power, it would be just as easy to draw that power from an empty patch of forest, or a chicken or a goat or something like that. Not all magic that strong is dark, of course—it depends what you do with it and its after-effects, but the more powerful magic is, the more…unscrupulous the sorts of people it tends to attract. Dark magic does tend to be quite strong, because the people who practice it are more willing to pay the price that sort of power demands. It takes more energy to curse someone or make them sick or kill them than it does to heal," she said.

"I think I follow you," he said. "But that actually makes it sound like you're saying it would be easy to heal me completely. Unless I'm missing something."

"I was coming to that," Peggy said. "All of what I just said is true on a smaller, everyday sort of scale. But, if you'll pardon me saying so, there is quite a lot wrong with you, Sire. Some of it is curable, but some of it, like your lung condition or the weakness in your heart, is inherent. Curing that isn't small, it's rewriting the very makeup of your body. And because that is how you were created, it would take an enormous amount of power to overrule that. Power that's getting into life and death sorts of balances."

His eyes widened. "You're saying someone else would have to die for that to happen?"

Peggy nodded.

"That's terrible."

Peggy's smile didn't have a lot of humor to it. "Magic is a terribly logical, terribly unfeeling sort of force."

He nodded. "I can see why you don't practice that sort of magic." A small smile turned up one side of his mouth. "I don't think I would like you nearly as well if you did."

She did smile at that. "I don't know that I would like myself much either." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I think it's those sorts of magicians, Sire, that your father was afraid of when he made the law about magic. That kind of magic can turn the tide of wars, reverse natural disasters, and almost anything else, but the havoc it causes is rarely worth it."

He nodded again. "Thank you for explaining," he said.

He seemed deep in thought, and Peggy said, "I am sorry I'm not able to heal you any faster, Sire," not sure if he was disappointed in her answer or if it was something else.

"Oh, don't be," he said, sincerely enough that Peggy believed him. She wondered what it was that was bothering him, then. He smiled apologetically. "Like I said, it was a poorly worded question. What you've done is amazing, and I truly am grateful." He grinned mischievously. "Even if I do complain about the food and the exercise sometimes."

Peggy laughed. "People who are dying seldom have the energy to complain," she said. "I see it as a sign of progress."

He laughed at that. "You know, my brother always says he knows I'm feeling better when I start complaining about things."

"He's a wise man," she said with a smile.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Of course, Sire," she said.

His smile got a bit larger. "Would you feel comfortable just calling me Steve?"

She blinked in surprise. "What?"

"The whole 'Sire', 'Your Highness' thing gets really old really fast," he told her. "And with as much time as you and I spend together…" He shrugged. "Of course, if it makes you uncomfortable, we can stick with titles, but I generally prefer for my friends to call me by name."

Peggy continued to blink in surprise. "Um…" she said. "I don't…I don't think any of that was what I was expecting you to say."

He smiled at that.

"Alright," she said after a moment. "I can give it a try…Steve." It felt very odd to say that, and yet, it didn't feel wrong, either. She smiled at him. "I've got to say, I never imagined myself in a position to be on a first-name basis with royalty."

He laughed. "Well, I never imagined myself having a friend whose eyes glowed, but here we are." He paused. "You probably shouldn't call me Steve in front of my father, though."

"Noted," she said. "Although, seeing as I haven't seen the king since the day I arrived, I don't see that being a problem."

He inclined his head in agreement, and Peggy almost asked why she hadn't seen his father yet, considering how often Prince James came to visit, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was calling the prince by his first name. That was probably familiar enough to be getting on with.

After taking him back to his room to get some rest, Peggy decided to go and have a talk with Erskine about the problem of creating some sort of portable remedy. They spent a very pleasant afternoon at his work table drinking tea and discussing magic. It was like her old school days. She left in the end with the idea of drying some of the herbs out and putting them in a little sachet that he could carry in his pocket. The proper spell on the sachet ought to keep it potent enough for a while that she wouldn't need to constantly be making new ones for him.

The next morning, Prince James came by for his usual visit while she was sorting through the best herbs to use for the sachet. "Morning, Steve," he said. "Peggy," he added, giving her a friendly smile. He sat down on Steve's mattress with a bounce, dropping several rolls of parchment onto the blanket. "You feel like working today?"

Steve arched an amused eyebrow. "Considering you've already made yourself at home on my bed; sure."

James grinned. "Tell me what you think of these," he said, handing three documents to his brother.

Steve was quiet for several minutes while he read over them. "Well," he said at last. "Sounds to me like Percival is still pretty pissed off about last year."

"That's what I thought," James agreed. He shook his head. "He loses tournaments all the time; you'd think he could let this one go."

Steve arched an eyebrow. "Well, you could have been more gracious about your victory."

Whatever had transpired at last year's tournament, James had the grace to blush at the pronouncement. "Okay, yes," he allowed. "But I already apologized. And I did it the way you told me to—it was a good one."

Steve nodded. "When are you going up there?"

"Next week."

Steve studied the letters again. "And it also looks like Percival's really been getting cozy with King Rufus. You should go sooner—if you want Rufus on our side, you need to cut into his time with Percival."

"That's what I thought too," James said. "I was thinking I should go tomorrow, take maybe eight or nine of the knights—"

"No," Steve interrupted. "No, that's too many. This is a trade negotiation, not a war council. That many guys, you're going to look like you know Percival's mad and you're scared of him, or that you're trying to intimidate Rufus into coming around to your side."

"Dad always takes that many when he goes," James pointed out.

"Yes, but Dad's the king," Steve countered. "There's different rules for that. You want enough people for protection on the road and to show some status, but not so many as to look threatening. And no matter what Percival's been saying about you to Rufus before you get there, a smaller entourage will make it clear that you don't think you need protecting from him, which makes you look like you can handle yourself. That makes him look bad if he's been trash-talking you, and makes you look like the sort of competent adult Rufus would want to do business with."

James considered. Somewhat to Peggy's surprise, he didn't argue. "Okay," he said. "How many?"

"Four," Steve said. "Make Dugan take a bath and force that mustache into some semblance of order, but he's big and scary enough to keep Percival from doing anything stupid. You'll want Gabriel too—if Percival's guys start talking to each other in Celtic, he can tell you what they're saying."

"When did he start speaking Celtic?" James asked.

"Over the winter," Steve said. "I think that brings his language count up to eight."

"He does have a head for them," James agreed. "I didn't realize he'd learned a new one. Okay, so, Dugan and Gabriel; who else?"

"I'd take Morita. He's one of your best fighters, but he's small enough, you can sit him at the table next to Dugan to kind of soften up how big he looks for Rufus's sake," Steve went on. "And I know he gets on your nerves sometimes, but I'd take Jack as your fourth."

"I have three knights named Jack, but I'm guessing by the comment about my nerves, you mean Thompson?" James said.

"The man has a silver tongue," Steve pointed out. "You're there to win a trade negotiation; you could use all the charm you can get."

"I'm charming," James protested.

"Yes," Steve agreed, smiling. "I'm just saying some extra couldn't hurt."

James frowned, though he didn't press the point—the look on his face told Peggy he knew his brother was right. They discussed James's trip a little longer, noting points to remember to bring up and strategies to try. Peggy went out at one point to fetch some more herbs, and James was coming out as she came back.

"Take care of him while I'm gone," he told her.

"Of course I will, Sire," she assured him.

"I don't mean," he began, realizing how his words might have come across. "That is to say, you've been doing fantastic work so far. I've never seen him recover this quickly from anything. I just…"

"You worry," Peggy finished for him. "I understand." She smiled warmly. "I shall take very good care of him for you."

"Thank you."

Steve was looking tired when she came back in, but he was still awake. "Busy morning for you?" Peggy asked.

Steve smiled. "Not too far off from usual, actually," he said. "When I'm not bed-ridden, anyway," he added.

"Is this James's first negotiation?" she wondered. In all her interactions with Prince James so far, he'd always seemed very self-assured, but there had been an undercurrent of nervousness as he sought his brother's council this morning.

Steve chuckled. "No. Far from it, actually. He's been doing this for years. This is just his first solo negotiation. Our father is usually there too. Buck knows what he's doing and he's been trying to get Dad to let him do it on his own for a while now. And now that he's got the chance, he just wants to make sure it goes really well."

Peggy nodded. "The king isn't one to offer second chances?" she guessed.

"No," Steve agreed. "He messes this one up, it'll be a while before he gets another shot."

"Well, it sounds as though you gave him good advice," Peggy said.

"No need to act so surprised," Steve said with a little smirk.

"What? I didn't—" Peggy began, though she had been wondering where Steve had gained that sort of wisdom from a sickroom.

Steve chuckled. "You were thinking it," he said. "I don't live in my room, you know." He moved to readjust his pillow before continuing. "I've been hanging around the royal court for twenty-five years—when I'm not sick, anyway. And for the years I was too young to be expected to contribute, I watched. Learned a lot that way."

Peggy nodded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply…"

"It's alright," Steve told her, and he looked like he meant it. "I wasn't offended." He grinned. "You don't ask as many questions as I do, so I figured I would just take my chance to go ahead and answer the one I could see you working on."

Peggy did laugh at that.

"Actually," he went on. "Once Bucky leaves, I'll be expected to sit in on some of the court stuff that he normally would."

"Are you well enough for that?" Peggy wondered. He'd been improving greatly, but he was still sick.

"I'm expected to be there," he said again. "And it's not every day," he added. "A couple of hours a day, three or four times a week…I should be alright." He eyed her a little uncertainly. "Actually, um, I was going to ask if you…I thought it might be prudent if you were there too."

"Me?"

"In case of, you know, medical things."

"You mean like if you stop breathing in the middle of a council meeting?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling a little self-consciously.

"And that wouldn't be…" Peggy paused, searching for the word. "Presumptuous?"

"For you to be there? No. People frequently have aides in with them, and Erskine has been there a few times when Father was ill and still had important business to discuss." He gave that self-deprecating little smile again. "And I'm the castle invalid, so, no, no one would be surprised to see you with me."

Peggy nodded. "Alright. If you want me there, I'd be happy to."

He smiled. "You'll have to sit kind of back away from the table, and it will probably be really boring, but…"

"So I'll just watch," Peggy said with a little grin. "Perhaps I'll learn a few things."

He laughed at that.

Peggy could see the morning's brainstorming had tired him out, and when she suggested he rest some after lunch, he didn't argue. After the servants cleared the meal away, one of them stayed behind, as though she was waiting for something.

"Peggy, this is Angela," Steve said, pointing to the other woman.

"My Lady," Angela said, giving her a curtsy.

"Oh, no, I'm, I'm not a Lady," Peggy said quickly. "You don't need to do that."

"I thought, um," Steve said. "I thought since we were going to be in court and everything, I thought maybe Angela would be able to help you—I mean, I don't really know anything about ladies' dresses and stuff…"

A light came on as Peggy figured out what he was trying to say. "You think I should look nicer before going in front of a bunch of nobles," she finished for him. She supposed he did have a point. The dresses she owned were good quality, but plain and rather worn, and not exactly royal council attire.

Steve blushed to the roots of his hair. "No! I mean, I—you look very nice. Already. The way you…You look great. I just, you know it—I'm sorry. I—"

Peggy chuckled to herself, and she noticed Angela biting her lip to hide a smile. "I wasn't offended," she assured him. "I would be very happy to update my wardrobe."

"Are you sure?" he asked, still very red.

"I am," she said. She smiled. "It was very thoughtful of you to think of it. Thank you."

He still looked a little uncertain, but he nodded. Peggy heard Angela suppress a giggle behind her.

"Why don't you get some rest," Peggy told him. "I'll go with Angela and see what we can find, then I'll come back and we'll see about taking a walk around the garden."

Steve nodded and Peggy adjourned to her room with Angela. "If you'll just come stand over here by the window where the light's good, Ma'am," Angela told her, pulling a measuring tape from her pocket. "I'll take some measurements and see what we need."

"Alright," Peggy said, stepping over closer to the window. "But, please, I'm really not a Lady or anything like that. I would much prefer if you called me Peggy."

Angela grinned. "Alright. You can call me Angie."

Peggy smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Angie."

As Angie took her measurements, she asked Peggy about herself and where she was from, and upon discovering that she was a village girl like herself, any remaining formality of Angie's fell away.

"I've gotta tell you," Angie said. "I am so excited to finally get somebody to dress up. All the men around this castle…" She shook her head, then nudged Peggy's arm to the side to get another measurement. "Not that I wouldn't mind the chance to get to dress Prince James," she added with a grin and a slightly indecent noise. "I have yet to see the man wear something that didn't flatter him. But all these men, it's just tunics and capes and armor. There's no variety. Not like when we have ladies come to visit the court—that's my main job, actually. I'm the lady-in-waiting for any visiting countesses or duchesses or what have you. When there's no visitors, then I'm in the kitchens." She sighed. "I would love it if there was always a lady around the castle I could work for."

"So there's no one?" Peggy said. She knew King Uther had never remarried after the queen died. But James and Steve were certainly of marriageable age. "No suitors for the princes, or anything like that?"

Angie grinned. "Oh, Prince James has certainly had his share of hopeful fathers come calling with eligible daughters in tow. And he's enjoyed the attention immensely, let me tell you, but between you and me…" She leaned in with a conspiratorial whisper. "The Earl of Marlowe has been invited back five times since the winter with his daughter, the Lady Victoria. And there was a bit of a scandal last time when she and the Prince were both quite late arriving to dinner in the hall together."

Peggy laughed.

"Okay, I think I have what I need," Angie said, straightening up. "Let me go get some things, and we'll get started." She left and returned promptly with her arms full of clothes, pins, needles and threads. "Try this one on," she said, tossing one to Peggy and setting the rest down on the bed. Peggy went behind the screen to change, and Angie picked up their earlier conversation as if she'd never left.

"Now, Prince Steven doesn't get many visitors of that sort," Angie continued. "Younger sisters, or cousins, maybe, of some of the ladies that come to see Prince James. They're usually not keen to come back. It's a shame, really, because he is a sweetheart," she said. "Oh, that looks good!" she declared as Peggy stepped out from behind the screen. "A little too long, but I can fix that."

"You don't think it's a bit much?" Peggy wondered, smoothing it down uncertainly. The dress was a deep blue with red around the wrists and neckline—a simple enough design, but the material was far finer than anything Peggy had ever worn.

"Oh, honey, around here that's an everyday dress," Angie assured her, selecting a series of pins. "We'll find you something really fancy later, once you start going to dinners in the hall and everything."

"Oh, I don't think I'll be doing that," Peggy said. She couldn't imagine why she ever would.

Angie hummed and inclined her head. "We'll see," she said with a little smile. "Anyhow, like I was saying, Prince Steven is a sweetheart, but I guess on account of him being sick so much and all, he has a hard time keeping girls' attention. And he's sure not as smooth as his brother is."

Peggy huffed a laugh, thinking back to him trying to bring up getting her some new clothes. "I suppose that's true," she said, stepping up onto a stool so Angie could pin the hem of her dress. "But I find it's best to be wary of men who are too charming."

"Amen," Angie told her, not looking up from her pins.

"And Prince Steven certainly has his good points," Peggy went on. "It's a shame they won't give him a chance. I find him very pleasant company."

Angie did pause in her pinning then, looking up at Peggy with a grin.

"What?"

Angie chuckled. "Nothin'."

The next hour passed very pleasantly as Peggy tried on a few more dresses and Angie made her adjustments, chatting amiably all the while. By the time they were done, Peggy was up to date on the latest gossip around the castle, Angie's favorite places to shop in the village, and the trials of working for an irritable cook when what you really wanted to do was sew.

"Well," Peggy said as Angie gathered up her things to leave. "I don't know how long I'm going to be around, but I suppose I could always request some new clothes from time to time if it helps you get out of the kitchen."

Angie beamed. "Oh, Peggy, you're a doll! I would love that!"

Still grinning, she left, promising to have at least one of the dresses ready for her to accompany the prince to court tomorrow. Peggy went back to check on Steve, who was just waking up as she arrived. "Did you have a nice time with Angie?" he asked while she performed her usual checks of his pulse and breathing.

"I did," Peggy said.

Steve nodded. "Yeah, she's nice." He paused in leaning down carefully to get his shoes. "I really am sorry if I was being rude about your clothes earlier," he said.

"You weren't," Peggy said. "It's an occasion that requires something more formal than anything I have, and it was very practical of you to think of it." She cut him off as he started to open his mouth. "I wasn't offended. Don't apologize for it again."

He blushed a little, but smiled. "Okay."

He could walk all the way to the garden now if she kept hold of his arm, and their usual routine was to walk there, sit for a bit so he could catch his breath, then do a turn or two around the garden before sitting some more and coming back. Prince James was waiting for them when they got there, so Peggy decided to leave them to let James help him with the walking and give them some time together before he left. She finished up with her herbs for the sachet, had a bit of a rest herself, then went to fetch Steve and bring him back to his room.

Steve sighed as he dropped back down into the chair by his bed. "I'm so ready to be able to move around on my own again," he declared, letting his head drop back against the back of the chair.

"You really are doing well," Peggy reminded him, checking his pulse. "Considering that two weeks ago, you could hardly move at all."

"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "I just…I hate being sick."

"I don't know of anyone that enjoys it," Peggy said, and that got a smile out of him.

"No, I know," he said. "It's just…Sometimes I feel like, like that's all people really see about me. Like my illnesses are what define me. And when I can't even get around on my own, that just solidifies it even more."

Peggy rested a hand on his arm, empathy swelling up in her chest. She knew what it was like to have people settle on your most visible trait and build their expectations around that. In her case, it was the fact that she was a woman—throughout her training, she'd had to fight with almost everyone besides Healer Erskine to prove she even belonged there in the first place. Even now, she often thought that while her skills should speak for themselves, if there had been a male healer in her village, she would have had a harder time keeping her business. It was a different battle that Steve was fighting, but not really that different.

"I'm sorry, Steve," she told him. "But, I promise, you'll be well again soon." She went on as he looked up at her. "And by the time I'm done with you, you'll be getting sick far less often. You'll have time to show them yet what you can do."

He smiled at her, soft and warm and a little bit awed, and he really did have a lovely smile. "Thanks, Peggy," he said. "I…Thank you."

Steve went to bed early that night, in preparation for his busy day tomorrow, and Peggy decided to use the time to take a good bath and get her hair washed. Upon returning to her room, she found that Angie had evidently appointed herself as Peggy's maid—she'd brought back the dress she'd altered, tidied up the room, and when she heard Peggy wanted a bath, she jumped to get things ready for her.

"Oh, no, Angie, you don't have to do that," Peggy told her. "I can do it myself."

"Well, of course you can," Angie replied, hanging up the new dress. "But you don't have to. You're in the palace, honey—and the Prince's personal physician. That's status enough to have a lady-in-waiting, and really, they should have called me as soon as you got here." She smirked. "And I think I know what you're worried about, so, don't. I get paid for this."

"Well, that's good," Peggy said, feeling a little better about the situation. "Still, it's a bit odd. I'm used to looking after myself."

"Well, just think of me as someone who's helping you fit in to palace life, then," Angie said. She batted her eyes in a mock pout. "Please don't make me go back to the kitchen."

Peggy laughed at the face she was making. "Alright," she agreed, and Angie grinned. "But you will tell me if I overstep, won't you?"

"Yes, My Lady," Angie said with an exaggerated bow.

"You are going back to the kitchen if you keep calling me that."

Angie laughed merrily. "I like you." She gestured to the little room off to the side of Peggy's. "Your bath is all ready. I'll set a few things out in here for you, and then I'll leave you your space for the night. Just leave the water when you're done and someone can empty the tub later. Do you want me to come back in the morning to help with your hair?"

"Maybe?" Peggy said. "I was just going to pin it up like I normally do. Do I need to do anything special with it for court?"

"Not necessarily," Angie said. "Especially since you're not participating. We'll see what we think once you get that dress on."

"Thank you, Angie," Peggy said, heading for the tub room

"You're welcome, Peggy," Angie replied. "Good night."

Peggy was still feeling a little odd about officially having a maid, but as she sank down into the tub, she found it hard to hang on to any of that guilt when the hot water felt so good. She gave her hair and her self a good, thorough cleaning, then stayed soaking in the warmth until the water started getting cold.

After drying off, she moved back into her room and saw what it was Angie had been setting out—a silky, soft nightdress that Peggy slipped into immediately and never wanted to remove again, and a tray with a fine set of combs and brushes and a little jar of lavender water for her hair. She sat down in front of the mirror and combed out her hair, working the lavender water through it with the brush. It smelled heavenly, and Peggy could count on one hand the number of times she'd been able to afford such a luxury before. She really could get used to living in a palace.

Angie came by the next morning, approved of Peggy's dress and declared herself a master seamstress, then decided pinning her hair up would probably work, but it wouldn't hurt to dress it up a tad. She braided Peggy's hair but left some hanging on the sides, then pinned it up and used the leftover part to make two tiny braids that she wound around the rest of it, creating a deceptively intricate effect.

She'd also brought a bag, thinking that Peggy would need something to carry any medicines the prince might need, but wanting her to have something nicer than her leather satchel. Peggy was able to fit the mixture she had made for his cough and everything she needed for the asthmaíno, with space for a couple more things besides.

She went to Steve's door and knocked and waited in case he was dressing.

"Come in!" he called. "Wow," he said when she walked in. "You look really nice." He frowned. "I mean, you looked nice before. Really nice. This is just—you know—it's different, and—"

"Thank you, Steve," she said with a smile. Angie was right, he certainly wasn't smooth, but there was an earnestness about it that was very endearing. "You look nice too." This was the first time Peggy had seen him in clothing that looked at all princely, and it suited him. The dark fitted trousers and boots accentuated his slender legs, the boldness of the red of his tunic brought out the brightness of the blue in his eyes, and the gold thread embroidered in a pattern across the shoulders complemented his hair.

"Oh. Um, thanks," he said, blushing a bit. He smoothed down his tunic uncertainly. "It's all still a little looser than it should be."

"You do have some weight to gain back yet," Peggy agreed. "But it really does look nice." She offered him her arm. "Shall we?"

They had talked it out the night before, and Peggy was going to walk with him as she usually did as far as the meeting hall, but then she would pull back and let him walk in on his own. It was a distance he should be able to manage, and he was afraid no one would take him seriously if they didn't think he had the strength to walk into the room himself. He did manage it in the end, though the table was farther from the door than he had anticipated. Walking in behind him, Peggy could see the effort it took him to make the last few yards unaided, but he did it, and inclined his head in greeting to the men around him who were saying how good it was to see him on his feet again.

Spotting where the other aides were waiting, Peggy stepped back to join them in the wings. The king arrived and everyone stood up, then took their seats again after he greeted them. "You're looking well, Steven," he told the prince.

"Thank you, Father," Steve replied.

"I wouldn't have expected to see you up and about so soon," said one of the men next to him.

"I have my new healer to thank for that," Steve replied, nodding to where Peggy was sitting. "She truly is a miracle worker."

A few heads turned her way curiously, and Peggy wasn't sure what she was supposed to do, though she thought she should suppress the urge she felt to wave. She inclined her head serenely at them, and they nodded and returned to business.

Steve had been right earlier, the whole affair really wasn't that interesting. The first part seemed to be going over various reports, everything from military briefs to census notes to inventory. It was after the reports were finished and they started working out what to do about them that things got a bit more interesting. One really could learn a lot by listening, and it was interesting to see how the minds that ran the country worked. Peggy was able to form impressions of each council member fairly quickly—the majority were fair-minded, if tedious; a few were sticks in the mud; a few seemed to enjoy debating more than actually coming to any conclusions; one or two were clearly only in this for the money; and there was one who was smug and charming in an oily kind of way that Peggy didn't like at all.

Discussions occasionally turned to debate as the morning went on, but it was kept civil for the most part. This was, well, it really was quite dull except for when the arguing did happen, but if you could look beyond the dullness, there was a very complex, orderly machine ticking away.

Steve hadn't said much, especially at the beginning of the meeting, and Peggy wondered if he wasn't really supposed to be talking, or if he was just listening and getting his bearings after being away. He did start chiming in later, and his suggestions were generally well-received, though every now and then, Peggy picked up a touch of condescension that made her bristle.

The meeting did end on an exciting note, with Steve and the smug, oily one (who Peggy had worked out was named Alexander) getting into an argument. It got very heated on Alexander's side, and Peggy was surprised he was so bold as to shout at the prince, but Steve kept his head and replied calmly and levelly, though Peggy noticed the angry way he kept tightening his jaw. His calmness only seemed to anger Alexander further, though he stopped when the king stood up and declared that was enough for the day.

There was silence for a moment, then everyone nodded and got to their feet to leave the room. Alexander nodded, and he gave the king and the prince a bow, but he did not apologize. Peggy came forward to help Steve up, but was stopped as the king held up his hand.

"If you would give me a moment with my son, good lady," he said. Peggy nodded, not sure if she should leave the room, but Steve nodded for the door, so she left. She stayed near the door, leaving it open a crack in case Steve needed anything, though she quickly wondered if she shouldn't have gone farther, since she could still hear what they were saying to each other.

"What was that?" Uther asked unhappily.

"Grand Duke Alexander was wrong," Steve replied.

"Yes, you made that very clear."

"What he was proposing was against the law!" Steve pressed. "I shouldn't have been the only one to point that out."

"You shouldn't have pointed it out at all," Uther said. "It was a law whose breaking would not have hurt anyone, and the Grand Duke's family is one of the oldest in Camelot's court. His station deserves to be treated with respect."

"No one's station should make them above the laws," Steve argued. "Otherwise, what's the point of having them? And since we're speaking of respect, if he won't respect the laws for their own sake, shouldn't he respect the person telling him to follow them? He might be a Grand Duke, but I'm the Prince."

Peggy thought he made a good point, but evidently Uther did not agree.

"A Prince you may be, but the Grand Duke has contributed far more to this Council over the years than you have," he said.

"If I'm not expected to contribute, then why have me attend?" Steve demanded.

"You are only here because your brother can't be," Uther snapped. "And that is all. You would do well to remember that."

Peggy hurried farther along the hallway as she heard footsteps approaching. The king strode out into the hallway, his cloak flapping behind him as he walked. "See the prince back to his chambers," he told Peggy as he walked by.

"Yes, Your Highness," she said, dropping into a curtsy, but he was already gone. She returned to the hall, hurrying to the table where Steve was still sitting, staring red-faced at the table with his jaw clenched. "Steve?" she asked carefully. He didn't say anything. "Do you mind if I…?" she said at last, stepping closer. She wanted to check his pulse and his breathing after all of that and make sure he hadn't overworked anything. He nodded and shifted a little so she could do it.

She performed her checks in silence, and though his heart was going a bit fast, it was already coming back down to normal. "Your medicine has been working really well," Steve said, as if confirming what she was thinking. "I keep expecting to feel that weird flutter in my chest, but my heart actually feels pretty good."

"I'm glad," she said, not sure what else to say.

"You heard all that, didn't you?" he asked.

"I did," she confessed.

He nodded.

"Can I help you up?" she asked when he didn't say anything else.

"No," he said. At first she thought he was angry with her for overhearing, but he pushed himself up into a standing position and looked at her. "I can do this." Peggy nodded and fell into step beside him. She had an inkling what this was about.

They made it all the way out of the hall, down the corridor and up the first flight of stairs before his breathing started to sound pained. "I've got it," he snapped when Peggy reached out a hand to help him.

"You don't have to do this to prove yourself, you know," Peggy told him.

The glare he shot her told her she was right but should probably have been more delicate about it. "And what would you know about it?" he snarled.

Peggy folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow. "There's no need to discount my advice the way your father did yours just because you're embarrassed," she told him sharply.

Steve colored, but he continued to glare. "Leave me alone," he said tightly.

"If this is the sort of treatment I can expect, then I shall do so with pleasure, Your Highness," Peggy said, emphasizing his title with a deep bow before stalking away.

After splashing some cold water on her face and taking a few turns of her massive room, Peggy felt her ire start draining away. She also felt guilt start seeping in as she remembered how exhausted Steve had looked and how far he still had to go to his room. She could at least make sure he got there without hurting himself.

She didn't see him anywhere as she went down the stairs, so she went back up and knocked carefully on the door of his room before sticking her head inside. He was there, sitting in the chair in front of the fire with shaking legs, wheezing and trying to inhale the steam coming from the boiling pot of herbs that was meant to clear his airways. Peggy's twinge of guilt deepened, and she closed the door and walked over to him.

"I'm fine," he said as she reached out a hand for his chest.

Peggy ignored him, as she should have done when he'd insisted on walking all the way up here on his own. She placed her hand on his chest and said the spell before he could back away, and he gasped and started breathing smoothly again.

"Thank you," he said, not looking at her. He pushed the pot of herbs away.

"You're welcome," she replied.

He drew in a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he told her, finally looking up to meet her eyes. His cheeks were still a deep red, but it was from shame, not struggling to breathe. "You were right; my father…I let him get to me, and I just threw that back all over you. There was absolutely no excuse for that, and I am truly and deeply sorry."

"Thank you," Peggy said. She felt her own cheeks coloring a little. "I should apologize too. I shouldn't have said what I did."

Steve shrugged. "You were right."

"Perhaps, but I could have been much kinder about it," she told him. "I'm sorry, Steve."

Some of the tension relaxed out of his shoulders when she said his name. "Thanks," he said softly.

She sat down in the chair across the table, not sure if she should say something or not. After a moment, she reached over and rested her hand on top of his, making him look up at her in surprise. "Your father shouldn't have said what he did either," she told him. "Even if you'd been wrong, he shouldn't have spoken to you like that, but you weren't. You were right in what you said, and he should have backed you up."

Steve was quiet for a minute. "Dad's never…" he finally started, his voice quiet. "I've never felt like he's had much faith in me," he said softly. "And I think other people see that and…" He shrugged. "I know what I'm doing, but who's going to argue with the king? And I feel like it gets worse every time I get sick, like all the progress I made before gets erased and I have to start over again." He sighed deeply. "I'm so tired of having to keep fighting my way up the same hill."

Peggy nodded, understanding, but not sure what there was to say to that. "Well," she said at last. "You're certainly more than just a placeholder for your brother. This was my first view of royal politics, but even I could see that."

His eyes shone with awed gratitude, and a tiny smile lifted his lips. "Thank you," he said softly.

She smiled back. "You're welcome. I'm sorry your first day back to work was so unpleasant."

He chuckled a little bit at that. "Yeah, well, it can only go up from here, right?"

"Let's hope so," Peggy agreed.

The day's business, never mind the walk up the stairs, had worn him out, and he had trouble staying awake all the way through lunch. He slept for a longer part of the afternoon than he usually did, and was quieter than normal when they took their walk later in the garden.

Peggy suspected he had a lot on his mind, and she was growing ever more curious about his relationship with his father. Prince James had been a near constant presence through his brother's convalescence, but Peggy had only ever seen the king on the day she first arrived and at the council this morning. She assumed someone was keeping him updated on his son's recovery, but it struck her as very odd that he hadn't visited. Then there was how harsh he'd been with Steve this morning…She had a lot of questions, but even if it wasn't a clearly sensitive subject for Steve, it was hardly her place to ask.

After their last turn of the garden, they sat down on one of the benches along the wall. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees, then, "You want to ask about my father, don't you?" Steve asked.

Peggy was a little startled, but she didn't deny it. "I suppose I should stop being surprised at how perceptive you are," she told him, earning a small smile. He looked at her like he was waiting for something, so she carried on. "I have to admit, there are things I would like to know. But your relationship with your father is your business, and I don't want to pry."

He studied her for a moment. "You mean that, don't you?" he said at last.

"I do," she replied. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable just to satisfy my own curiosity."

She was a little surprised that he smiled at that. "Thank you," he told her. "I…That's very thoughtful of you. But if you want to ask, you're someone that I wouldn't mind sharing with."

Peggy flushed a little, but he looked too sincere to just be flattering her. "Whatever you would like to tell me," she said at last. "I'm happy to listen." For all the questions she had, given the opportunity to actually ask them, she wasn't sure where to start.

He nodded and took a moment to gather his thoughts. "I guess in some ways it's kind of expected as far as being the second son of a king goes," he said at last. "Bucky's the heir, and he's always been Dad's favorite. When we were kids, he kind of gave up on teaching me how to do things pretty quick when I'd get sick or couldn't keep up." He smiled ruefully. "I probably owe most of my royal training to Bucky, actually. He'd come back and show me what Dad had taught him. In some ways, it sort of makes sense—Bucky's going to be the next king, you know? So, he gets the, the additional training, and the attention and everything. He's got to be ready."

Peggy reached over and rested a hand on his arm, interrupting him. "Steve, please don't do that to yourself."

"Do what?"

"I am truly sorry that your father treated you like something less, but the fact that you aren't the Crown Prince doesn't mean you deserve that."

Steve smiled softly. "Thank you. And I, I know that. Most of the time. I don't know that I would if it hadn't been for Bucky."

"I have to admit," Peggy confessed. "Hearing all of what you just said, it does rather make one wonder that you and James are so close."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he caught up with her. "Oh, you mean like I should be jealous of Bucky?" he asked as if it were a truly preposterous idea.

Peggy shrugged. "It wouldn't be unprecedented. History books are filled with royal family rivalries."

Steve inclined his head in agreement. "Fair enough. But it was never like that with me and Buck," he told her. "Dad may not think much of me, but Bucky's never treated me like anything but an equal. He hates the way Dad brushes me aside." He huffed a semi-amused laugh. "That's the one thing he's never been able to get Dad to listen to him about. But he's my brother and he loves me, and I love him. It's not his fault Dad likes him better," he finished, and Peggy could see that for him, it really was as simple as that.

"I'm glad to hear that," she told him. "I didn't mean to imply it should be otherwise. I suppose I just meant that from the outside, it might seem surprising. But I've seen enough of the two of you together to know how much you mean to one another. A bond like that is something to be treasured," she said, her thoughts drifting briefly to her own, late brother.

Steve smiled. "Yeah," he agreed. He sighed. "But we were talking about Dad." He sighed again. "I'd always kind of felt like Dad was disappointed in me," he said. "And I used to think it was just because I was so small and sick all the time—maybe he just wanted another son like Bucky, someone big and strong."

"And you don't think that anymore?" Peggy wondered. It was unfair, but she could see the logic in Steve's reasoning.

There was very little humor in the smile Steve gave her. "No, I still think he's disappointed in me. Just that there's more to it than that."

Peggy waited, sensing that what Steve was working up the nerve to say was very important.

"I never met my mother, you know?" he said after a moment, surprising Peggy with the turn in the conversation. "I mean," he corrected. "I suppose I did—she died when I was three weeks old, and I imagine I was around her a lot for those three weeks. But I don't remember her."

Peggy nodded.

"I'm sure it comes as no surprise," Steve went on. "But I was born sickly. I've heard bits and pieces over the years, and I've gathered that by the time I was on my third week, I wasn't expected to last much longer."

"What happened?" Peggy wondered. Had Erskine and his healing magic saved him?

"I don't know," Steve said. "But I made it. And my mother didn't." He drew in a deep breath, then looked up at her, his blue eyes shining. "Then I talked to you. You remember you told me how magic worked, and balancing it out and everything?"

Peggy nodded.

"I think my parents made a deal with a magician to save me. And like you said earlier, big life and death stuff…If I was supposed to die from the start…"

Peggy gasped. "You think your mother's life was the price for saving you?"

Steve nodded. "I do. And I think that whoever that magician was, that they didn't tell them that. I don't know much about my mother, but I know she was the love of Father's life. He would never have sacrificed her. If he had known it was a life for a life sort of situation…I don't know, I wouldn't necessarily put it past him to have found some random person he thought wasn't important to die in my place. Maybe he would have been okay with letting me die. Or maybe he would have even volunteered himself—he could hardly have had time to dislike me at three weeks old—but he never would have agreed for it to be her."

Peggy was silent, unsure of what to do with that.

"It makes sense," Steve went on. "The day Mother died was the day magic was banned from the kingdom and the Great Purge started. And Father hates magic. It's not that he just thinks it's something dangerous, he despises it."

Peggy found herself nodding. It was awful, but it did make sense.

"And I think that's why," Steve said. He swallowed. "I think that's why he's had trouble ever loving me. I think he resents me for being alive when she isn't, and I think he's disappointed that she was killed for someone so…" He trailed off and gestured at himself.

"Steve," Peggy breathed sadly. "Steve, I'm so sorry."

He nodded. "Thanks," he said softly. "In a way, it kind of helps, though, knowing that."

"How?" Peggy wondered.

Steve gave her a tiny smile. "I've spent my whole life wondering what I did to make him feel that way about me," he said. "Ever since I was a little kid. I've tried so hard to prove to him that I was good enough. I always thought that if I could just find that one thing he wanted…" He shrugged. "This will probably sound weird, but it's a relief to know that I'm never going to be good enough. It was never something I did, so it's not something I can fix."

"You're right; that does sound weird," Peggy said.

Steve smiled. "It's just a load off my shoulders—I can't do anything, so I don't have to keep trying. It's freeing. And I've still got plenty of other people whose minds I can change about me, so I can focus my energy on the fights that will actually do me some good."

Peggy nodded, understanding what he meant. "I see what you're saying," she said. She put her hand back on his arm. "I'm still sorry, though."

Steve inclined his head in agreement. "Yeah, it still kind of sucks. But, thankfully, for as much as I've tried to please him, I haven't based my self-worth off of what my father thinks of me for a long time."

Peggy did smile at that. "That's probably wise."

He smiled back. "Thanks. And I've still got people in my corner."

"James is certainly a good ally to have," she agreed.

"So are you," Steve said, and though color was rising in his cheeks, as though he was worried he'd been too bold, he didn't break her gaze.

Peggy opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say to that. "Thank you," she said at last. Knowing just how much he thought of his brother, being placed in that same trusted category was an honor, and while it might have been a bit forward of him to say so, Peggy found she didn't mind at all.

They sat in companionable silence for a little while, each busy with their own thoughts. "May I ask you something else?" Peggy wondered. Having processed what he thought had happened to his mother, she realized that left another question hanging rather ominously between them.

"Sure," he said.

"If, as you say, magic really is responsible for your mother's death…" She looked at him uncertainly. "That doesn't change your feelings about magic at all?"

"You mean am I suddenly on board with Dad's burn-all-the-magicians campaign?" he asked with a little smile that told Peggy what his answer was. "No. One magician killed my mom. Nobody else had anything to do with it. It would be stupid to hold one person's crime against everyone."

A little knot of tension uncoiled in Peggy's chest at the proclamation. "That's very gracious of you."

His smile widened. "Well, I might be biased," he admitted. "All the magicians I've met are pretty great."

Peggy smiled at that, though she felt a bit of heat rising in her cheeks.

That evening, Angie knocked on her door with a couple more dresses she had fixed for her. "My goodness," Peggy said, holding them up to examine them. "How many of these should I be expecting?"

"Well, you're going back to the council tomorrow, right?" Angie said, hanging the new dresses up. "Can't wear the same thing two days in a row."

Peggy laughed. "It certainly is a different mindset than in the village," she said.

"Oh, I know," Angie agreed. "But around here, how you look is just as much a part of the game as anything else." Angie turned around and gave her a thoughtful look. "Can I make a suggestion?"

"Of course," Peggy said.

"I think tomorrow, you should walk with Prince Steven all the way to the table—helping him walk like you've been doing," she said.

"Why?" Peggy wondered.

"Like I said, how you look is part of the game," Angie replied.

"That's why he walked in on his own today," Peggy pointed out.

"No, I know," Angie said, waving a hand. "But listen. Things have totally changed for tomorrow. That dust up with the Grand Duke Alexander, first of all, and then the King getting after him for it afterwards."

Peggy's eyebrows shot up. "How do you know about that?"

Angie shrugged. "Oh, everyone knows. The aides talk about what happens in the meetings, and as for afterwards…" She shrugged again, a little more uncomfortably this time. "King Uther is…not exactly a quiet man. People were around."

Peggy felt herself growing deeply embarrassed on Steve's behalf, but Angie carried on.

"Now, what he was actually yelling at Prince Steven, nobody heard too well, but it was easy enough to pick up that he didn't like that the Prince called out the Grand Duke," Angie said, and Peggy felt a bit better—the more personal nature of the confrontation still seemed to be a secret.

"Aides talk, guards talk, and servants talk, so all the council members are going to know that that happened," Angie went on. "Everybody's going to want to see how the Prince reacts."

Peggy hadn't thought of any of that, and she felt a stab of frustration for the scrutiny Steve was constantly under. It had to be exhausting. "And you think showing physical weakness is the best way to do that?" she wondered. Steve wasn't going to like that at all.

"Not showing weakness, no," Angie said. "Because you're going to help him all matter of fact-like. Neither of you are making a thing about it; you're just helping him to his chair because it's practical. He can say something if somebody asks, but otherwise, just act like it's the most natural thing in the world."

"I still fail to see how this will help," Peggy said.

Angie looked toward the door, like she was worried someone might be listening, then looked back at Peggy and lowered her voice. "Okay, here's the thing," she said. "King Uther is fine as far as kings go—I've got no complaints about living in Camelot. But he's…Well, he's not a very nice guy."

"I'd gathered that," Peggy said.

"And Prince Steven has been out of commission for a while. He's kind of got to re-establish himself."

"Right," Peggy agreed, not quite sure how these pieces joined up.

"Everyone already knows what Uther's like," Angie said. "And everyone's expecting Steven to be doing that tough-guy thing men do when they're embarrassed. So if he goes in there not afraid to admit he needs help—especially when everyone knows he needs it—that's a breath of fresh air right there. That's someone who doesn't think he's better than everyone else, and that's someone who's more focused on the job he has to do than on worrying about what he looks like."

"I think I see what you're getting at," Peggy said. It might rankle Steve's pride, but Angie's suggestion would display a certain level of maturity that would make a good impression, especially if he conducted himself in the same calm and collected way he did this morning. "Do you really think it will work?"

Angie grinned. "I do. I may not be a noble, but one thing all those high and mighty boys on the council and I have in common is that they're not royalty either. I know how palace people who aren't royalty think about people who are. And palace people who aren't royalty are who he's going to have to impress."

Peggy smiled. "That's a very astute observation."

"Thanks," Angie grinned. "I'm more than just a pretty face."

Peggy laughed and Angie told her good night and left. Peggy washed up and went to bed, wrapping her braids up carefully so they wouldn't come undone and it wouldn't take as long to fix her hair in the morning.

When she went in to check on Steve the next morning, he was already awake and dressed, writing something at the table.

"Good morning," Peggy said. "You're up early."

He nodded at the parchment in front of him. "Just working on what I should say to Grand Duke Alexander this morning."

"You're not backing down, are you?" Peggy wondered.

"No," Steve said. "Just smoothing the waters a little. I suspect Dad's going to make me apologize to him, and I figure if we're going to get anything done today, I probably shouldn't go in there and call him a rat trying to drag Camelot down into the sewer with him so he'll be more comfortable living there."

Peggy snorted. "Perhaps not. Although, it is very descriptive." She cleared her throat. "Listen, about this morning…" She laid out what Angie had suggested last night, and, as she'd expected, Steve didn't seem to like it, but he gave the idea his full consideration.

"Alright," he said after thinking it over.

"Really?" Peggy said, surprised he'd agreed so readily.

"I'm not a lot like Dad, but pride does run in the family," he admitted. He scrunched up his face as if preparing for something unpleasant. "I should work on that." He opened his eyes again and looked at Peggy. "And I was sort of getting tunnel vision on how to represent myself to Dad after yesterday, but the Council is where I should be focusing." His eyebrows furrowed quizzically. "You really think this will work?"

"I think so," she said. "Angie's seen enough of palace life from that angle to know what she's talking about. I trust her." She did wonder if part of the reason he was hesitating was because the advice was coming from a servant.

He nodded. "Well, if you trust her and I trust you, then I guess that's settled." He stood up and smoothed his tunic down. "Let's go."

Peggy moved her bag to her hip and took his arm. His steps were growing steadier, and she imagined that he would be back to walking on his own again in about a week. They made it down the stairs and took a break for him to breathe before going the rest of the way to the meeting hall. Several people were already gathered there, though they hadn't started yet, and they looked up when the two of them entered.

"Is the table farther from the door than it was yesterday?" Peggy whispered.

Steve snorted softly. "Yep. Thanks, Dad." He shot a quick glance at Peggy. "Good thing you're here."

She smiled and patted his arm, thinking uncharitable thoughts about the king, and they made it to the table without any trouble. Peggy helped him into his seat and stepped away.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Steve said. "I trust you're all well this morning?"

"Well as can be expected, Your Grace," the man next to Steve said. He shot a quick glance at Peggy before looking back at Steve. "And yourself?" His voice held polite concern, but curiosity simmered under the surface, as well as in the eyes of everyone else at the table.

"Very well, thank you," Steve told him. He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "I don't move very quickly in the mornings of late, I must admit, but I hated to delay the rest of you on my account when there was work to be done. Actually, since we have a few minutes, I was hoping to speak with you about that land reform bill you proposed yesterday to clarify a few points…" Approving nods and glances rippled around the table, and Peggy smiled and sat back as they restarted a conversation from yesterday about corn that was incredibly boring, but probably important.

The king arrived not much later, Grand Duke Alexander trailing behind him. Everyone stood until the king was seated, then Steve reached across the table to shake Alexander's hand as the rest of them sat down. "Good morning, Grand Duke," Steve said. "I wanted to apologize to you for yesterday. The law is rather a passion of mine, and I'm afraid in my attempt to correct an honest mistake, I got carried away. Please forgive my over-zealousness."

Peggy arched an eyebrow, impressed. She'd seen enough of court politics to know it was a game she was loathe to play, but that had been quite the move. By apologizing before being forced to do so by his father, Steve had removed any insinuation that he was a child who needed reminding of how to act in polite company. Referring to the Grand Duke's earlier argument as an 'honest mistake' allowed Alexander to save face in the whole affair, while effectively ending the discussion at the same time. Any attempts to change the narrative would make Alexander look defensive and foolish. "Oh, well done, Steve," she whispered. The murmurs circling the council table seemed to agree with her.

"No harm was done, Your Grace," Alexander replied, the pained smile of a man backed into a corner on his face. "Think nothing of it."

"You are too gracious, Grand Duke. I thank you," Steve said with a smile. He settled back into his seat. The look the king was giving him told Peggy he knew exactly what his son was doing and wasn't happy about it, but there wasn't really anything he could do about it but nod and start the meeting.

The meeting continued much as it had yesterday, the discussion about the land reform bill and corn playing a chief role. Peggy had never expected corn to be interesting, but even so, she was having trouble staying awake until a very familiar coughing roused her from her lethargy.

Conversation around the table was quieting as Steve's coughing continued. Peggy jumped up and rushed to the table, murmuring her apologies to the man seated beside Steve, who backed out of her way. She pulled a bottle and small glass from her bag and gave it to Steve to drink, and the coughing stopped almost at once.

"Thank you," Steve told her, then he cleared his throat and turned back to the rest of the table. "I apologize for interrupting, gentlemen," he said. "Lord Edwards, please continue with what you were saying about the irrigation problem in the valley."

Just like that, they were back on course, Steve clearly having taken Angie's suggestion of playing everything matter-of-factly to heart. Peggy sat back down, making a mental note to run a diagnostic spell of Steve's chest again when they were back in his room. His cough ought not to be returning, and while it was likely the presence of all the dusty rolls of parchment on the table that had triggered the coughing spell, she couldn't be too careful.

The meeting adjourned before lunch. As Peggy and Steve were leaving the hall, one of the younger council members stopped them. After apologizing for interrupting and for what he hoped wasn't going to be an impertinent request, he finally got around to his question. He'd been impressed with the way Peggy's medicine had stopped Steve's cough so quickly, and he had a daughter at home who had been suffering from a cough for some time.

"If it would be permitted for me to ask the good lady, Sire…" he finally said.

"Of course," Steve said. He caught himself. "That is, if it's alright with her."

"I would be happy to mix something up for the child," Peggy said. "Come by this afternoon and I will have something ready."

He thanked her, apologized again for interrupting, and left.

"Is that alright with you?" Peggy asked Steve when they started walking again. "I know I was hired to take care of you, not the whole castle, but it won't take long to put the mixture together."

"No, it's fine," Steve said, waving her worry away. "I just didn't want to speak for you when he asked."

"I appreciate that," Peggy said with a smile. "Are you feeling alright? I wasn't expecting you to start coughing like that."

"I think it was just the dust," he said. "But you're welcome to check when we get back to the room."

"I will," she said, and once they were settled back in, she did so. It seemed to have been just a result of the dust, so she called a servant and ordered him some lunch.

"When do I get to order my own meals?" he wondered after the food arrived.

Peggy laughed. "Once you've put on a bit more weight," she told him. "I don't quite trust you yet to eat enough if left to your own devices," she added, taking a bite of her own food.

He laughed at that but didn't argue, and they spent lunch talking about the morning before she left him alone to rest. It had gone well, they both thought, and though Steve hadn't enjoyed letting people see he needed help, he agreed that Angie had been right about it.

Peggy mixed up the cough remedy for the little girl while Steve was sleeping. The councilman insisted on paying her for it when he came to fetch it, which she accepted though she hadn't been expecting it.

"Well, sure," Steve told her when they were walking later. "Technically, you were only hired to take care of me. Anything else would be extra. It's nice of you to be willing to help, but you should be paid for your work." He paused thoughtfully. "Speaking of which, I think Bucky is supposed to pay you for what you've been doing with me when he gets back. Dad put him in charge of paying the staff a couple of years ago, and he usually does it at the end of the month. Is that okay? I should have asked earlier if you needed money before that."

"The end of the month is perfectly fine," Peggy said. Having her meals and lodging taken care of meant she had very little in the way of urgent expenses to worry about.

They walked a bit more, and after an early supper, Steve went to bed, tired from another long day. He was getting frustrated with being so easily tired, which Peggy assured him was a good thing—his body was getting ready to operate at its earlier, healthier stamina instead of capitulating to his illness and sleeping all the time. His mind was just ready faster than his body was. She also pointed out that he was sleeping less throughout the day than he had been when she arrived, which he conceded, and that seemed to cheer him a little.

The next two days were free of meetings, so they spent more time walking and sitting in the garden. Peggy told him about the medicinal purposes of the different plants that grew there, and Steve taught her how to play chess. She was terrible at it, but she appreciated the strategy of it.

There were another couple of days of council meetings, some quiet days, and another day or two of meetings. Peggy was still attending the meetings with Steve, though he seemed to be needing her help less. He'd started the beginning of one of his asthmaíno attacks during one of the meetings, but he took the sachet she had made for him and held it up to his nose, breathing deeply, and the attack abated. She was pleased that it worked so well, and that he seemed to be breathing easier in general. His stamina was increasing too, her regular checks showing that with the tonic she'd had him taking, his heart seemed to be gaining strength. And he was walking on his own now. He still tired quicker than he liked, and he was still too thin, but he was improving in leaps and bounds.

One morning, Peggy came in to do her usual checks and found he was already up and dressed. "Are you going somewhere?" she asked, after satisfying herself that everything was in order. He seemed to be dressed for the outdoors, in boots and plainer clothes, and was fastening a cloak around his neck.

"I'm going riding," he told her. "I have the whole day free, and it's the first time I've felt up for it."

"Riding?" she asked. "Isn't that a bit strenuous?" While he was getting better, Peggy didn't know if he was up for that much exertion yet.

"The horse is the one doing all the work," he told her with a smile.

"Cheeky," she replied. "You know what I mean."

"If you're worried I might collapse or something, I guess you'll just have to come too," he said, still smiling.

A day outside the castle did sound nice. "I'm afraid I don't know how to ride," Peggy said.

Steve shrugged. "We're both pretty light. My horse can handle us both. What do you say?"

"It sounds lovely," Peggy said. "Though perhaps I should change first. I'll meet you in the stables."

Peggy returned to her room, thinking one of her old dresses might be suitable for riding in. Angie was there, tidying up, and she squeaked in delight when Peggy told her what she was doing. "Oh, no, you can't wear that old thing," Angie told her, snatching the dress out of Peggy's hand. "Here." She dug through the wardrobe and pulled something out. "I went ahead and made you a riding dress just in case."

The dress she was holding out was a dark green, thicker in the skirt to protect her legs from briars and sticks, and of a thinner, looser material on top to allow for more freedom of movement. Of course, like everything Angie had sewn for her, it fit like a glove.

"This is lovely, Angie," Peggy told her. "But why did you think I would need a riding dress?"

"I wanted to have you prepared for everything," she said, unfurling a rich brown cloak to accompany the dress. "And Prince Steven loves to ride. It seemed only natural that you'd be going."

Peggy nodded in agreement. "I suppose. I'm not sure he's quite ready for exercise that strenuous on his own."

"Uh huh," Angie said. "That's why he invited you."

Peggy turned around, halfway through fastening the cloak. "And what does that mean?"

Angie was smirking. "Nothing."

"Rubbish."

Angie laughed. "Honey, I'm just calling it like I see it." She refused to say more, and Peggy sighed, changed into a pair of sturdier shoes, and left for the stables.


What's this? We've reached the end with no declaration of love? Nope; because it's not the end yet! This one got pretty long, so I decided to split it. Tune in next week to see where it goes!