Disclaimer: I don't own Shrek.

Chapter 2

The early morning sun woke Fiona, filtering in through her silky curtains. She grumbled, carefully sitting up. Her hangover was wretched. When she opened her eyes, she saw the first ray of light touch her emerald skin. The change washed over her; she radiated light all around the room, and then everything was still. She was human again. Normal.

"Fiona," her mother called outside her bedroom door. "Hurry and get ready—your riding lesson is starting soon." She took a deep breath, realizing that she felt better after the change. I always do, she thought.

She took her time getting ready, leaving her hair down; it was easier to braid it back, but it was prettier this way. She placed her tiara on top of her head, and misted herself with her favourite perfume. She stopped by the kitchen to grab a scone before heading outside, smiling brightly at the chef. He appreciated the fact that Fiona ate everything he put in front of her, even some of the late-night experiments he concocted . . . she was always the taste tester. And every time there was a new dish introduced, there was no need to tell him, "It needs more salt," or, "There isn't enough flavour," because his dishes were perfect. King Harold found him a few years before Fiona was born, so he was like family.

"Fiona, Lillian's waiting for you with your new instructor," one of the waiters called out to her. "You'd better go now." Fiona nodded, finishing up the last of her scone. When she made it to the stables, the lawn was still a bit damp with dew. She kicked off her shoes, welcoming the cool feeling of the grass between her toes. Lillian was petting a white horse while the instructor, who had his back turned, adjusted another horse's saddle.

"Thank you for joining us, Fiona," her mother said in an irritated tone. Fiona stopped herself from rolling her eyes . . . though she wanted to, she knew it was rude. "Good morning, mom," she said instead.

And then the instructor turned around. His hair was a curly, dark mess on his head … but Fiona liked it. Gives him character; she thought. He wasn't unattractive, either—broad shoulders, green eyes. Green. Fiona cocked her head to the side. Maybe the colour isn't so bad after all. "I'm Simon," he said, introducing himself. His voice was deep, smooth. Fiona smiled charmingly, overwhelming him for sure. He swallowed, and Fiona could tell he was nervous. They all were—especially the new ones. He probably doesn't spend all of his spare time with a princess, she thought.

"Shall we get started?" Fiona asked, before Simon swallowed his tongue.

"Of—of course. Your horse is ready, Princess." She nodded, hoisting herself up and onto her sandy brown stallion. Simon led her into the trees, showing her a few techniques she might need if she ever went into battle. She didn't tell him that she already knew all the tricks—and more; she simply obeyed him, enjoying the satisfied smile on his face whenever she got a move right (which was every time). She hoped he didn't notice that—while he reached for his canteen, or stopped to bring out different weapons for her to try—she was sneaking peeks at him. His muscles were defined; they would be intimidating if he wasn't so warm and kind.

"If I may ask—where did you learn these tricks?" Fiona smirked.

"My dad hired a trainer when I was very young. Just recently, he decided to travel . . . his highness still thinks I'm not ready for anything," she said sourly.

"Well, you seem pretty ready to me," Simon said. Fiona blushed. When they returned to the stables, Fiona turned to him shyly, leaning her back against one of the wooden doors. When his green eyes met hers, she felt like she was melting on the spot. He's so handsome, she thought. Since she turned seventeen, her friends were already falling in love, planning weddings—Fiona just . . . couldn't. She assumed that, when the time came, her and Prince Charming would meet and immediately arrange the rest of their lives together. They're share true love's kiss, and it'd break this spell . . . the only thing keeping her from having a life.

She never admitted to anyone that she doubted he was even real.

"Do you . . . I mean, today's lesson wasn't very long. Do you think maybe you'd like to come back later? We can take a trail that's become a favourite of mine. It would be nice," she said in a rush. Her words embarrassingly jumbled together, and she broke into a sweat. Simon smiled, obviously catching the signs that she was just as nervous as him, and visibly relaxed.

"I would like that very much," he said quietly. There was a fire burning in his eyes. Fiona hadn't ever seen anything like it.

"Good," she said. Before she turned to go, he spoke again. "Fiona, you're bleeding!" It took a moment for her to register what he'd said; she liked the way her name sounded when he said it. This was the first time he called her by something other than "Princess," and she didn't want it to be the last. When her brow furrowed, she felt a sting above her left eyebrow. He rushed over to her, placing his hand on her cheek, and turned her face gently to the side so he could examine the wound. Suddenly, she felt dizzy. She had a feeling it wasn't from the gash.

"Oh—probably from one of the weapons. I thought I felt something graze my forehead . . ." Her voice trailed off. Simon wasn't looking at the cut on her face anymore. He held her gaze intensely; it was like he was trying to see into her. Part of her felt like he succeeded.

"You should get it cleaned up, Fiona," he said softly. They were standing so close, now. Inches apart. If she moved the slightest bit forward . . . .

"I'll see you around six, alright?" he asked. She nodded, and he turned to polish the saddles. While she walked back towards the castle for her afternoon tea, she planned out the evening in her mind. If they hurried, they could make it back before sunset.

She packed a cloak in her bag just in case.

After dinner, Fiona fidgeted nervously. In a few minutes, she'd be riding through the forest with Simon. The trail wasn't too long—it wouldn't take more than an hour to get back home. But she was still panicking; what if something happened? If getting back took longer than expected, she could . . . expose herself. The part of her that was . . . an ogre.

She shrugged it off, collecting her things and heading out to meet Simon. She'd changed into a different dress: her favourite green one. The only one that didn't remind her of the spell. It was a beautiful, rich shade of jade, and there were crystals sewn into the bottom. When she walked, it glistened in the sunlight.

"You look lovely," Simon gushed when she arrived at the stables. "Thank you," she said, flashing him a smile. She watched his reaction; every time she smiled at him, it looked like he went into a nervous breakdown. She'd give anything to know what he was thinking.

"Follow me," she said, after they mounted the horses. He stayed right behind her while she found the trail, and then they rode side-by-side, pointing out animals and birds in the forest. After a while of companionable silence, Simon spoke.

"What are you doing tomorrow night, Princess?" Her chest contracted.

"Tomorrow night? Sleeping," she said quickly. She hoped he'd change the subject.

He chuckled softly. "I meant before then. Isn't the king having a ball? I figured you'd be going." She grimaced. Every year, her father hosted a masquerade ball, and this year was no different. It was supposed to start at nine . . . an hour after sunset. There was no way she'd be able to go. King Harold knew this, and he hadn't invited her. Just like always.

"I don't think I'm going," she said. "I . . . I hate all the attention. It's not fun for me." She hoped that was satisfying enough of an answer for him.

"Oh . . . alright, well if you change your mind, I'm going to be there. I'll be part of the entertainment, actually," he said. She raised her eyebrows in interest, encouraging him to elaborate.

"There's going to be live music . . . I play the fiddle," he said shyly. Her heart warmed. He raised his hand to run it through his hair, and she felt a compelling need to make it to the ball.

"I'll see what I can do." It was out of her mouth before she could think. Panic roared in her chest, and her hands became sweaty. She didn't know how she'd be able to go without being seen and recognized. But Simon reached his hand between the horses and captured hers, grazing it with his thumb. It burned her skin, in a good way, and she forgot what she was so worried about.

"Okay," he said. "It would be boring without you there. Maybe you should just wear a veil, so no one recognizes you." An idea flickered in Fiona's head.

"Good idea," she murmured. She was already forming a plan; she'd make it to the ball. She'd be able to see Simon play. She would be out in public.

At night.

She let excitement wash over her. By night, one way, by day, another. For once, the rules of the spell didn't bind her anymore.

They made her feel free.

A/N: Ideas/predictions for the masquerade ball? :) Please review!

- UB