Disclaimer: I don't own Shrek. But Simon is mine :)

Chapter 3

"You can do it, can't you? You're an excellent seamstress," Fiona said. She was trying to convince Lillian to make her a veil for the ball.

"I think it's a terrible idea, Fiona," she said.

That wasn't a "no."

"Please? I really want to see him play . . . ."

"Well . . ." Lillian paused. "If you want this done for the ball, I can't have any distractions." Fiona beamed at her. "Take all the time you need," she said, skipping out the door to meet Simon for her lesson. "And thank you!"

It was sunny outside, matching Fiona's mood completely. She knew if she wore just the right dress that covered just the right amount of skin, she'd be able to get away with it. The veil would be long, and a thick material—Lillian even promised she'd make sure the lights were dim at all times.

"Gooooood morning, Simon," she sang, skipping into the stables. He grinned at her, shaking his head a bit—she was bouncing on the balls of her feet, anxious to jump on the horse and start going. "Morning, Princess," he told her. There was a gleam in her eyes—she knew as soon as she looked in the mirror when she woke up. It was subtle, but there was an obvious difference in her step; something motivated her to stay optimistic and take on the day. I'm happy, she thought. Something she hadn't truly felt in a while.

She knew it had to do with the way Simon was looking at her. How could it not? His dark, curly hair, messy but organized at the same time, glistened in the sunlight. His green eyes sparkled like gems, especially when his smile lit up his face. When they mounted their horses, she was still ogling him like—well, like a seventeen-year-old girl.

"Where do you want to go today?" he asked. Blinking a few times to come out of her daze, Fiona thought about the paths and trails she knew so well.

"It's up to you," she said sweetly, waiting for him to pick a direction.

"Which one's your favourite?" he asked. Fiona scrunched up her face, thinking about all the times she ventured out on her horse alone—something she wasn't allowed to do very often. She made sure she enjoyed it when the time came.

"Vernon Peak," she answered after a moment. It came off her tongue easily; sometimes, when Harold was busy or she was able to sneak around it, she went out to Vernon Peak at dusk and didn't return until morning. Not many people chose to hike there, so there was less of a chance of being caught as an ogre and recognized. She even found an old cottage and set up blankets and firewood to make it easier when she decided to stay there. A river was nearby, giving her easy access to bathe or wash her clothes. If she could, Fiona would live there—it felt a lot homier than the palace. She was never entirely comfortable there . . . she couldn't figure out why, but she didn't like the extra space. She preferred the snug atmosphere of the worn-down cabin.

"Why Vernon Peak?" Simon asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. Why Vernon Peak? For a moment, she panicked. Well, I can take my time when I ride through Vernon Peak. I know I won't scare any hikers going for a stroll in the forest, because there aren't any. But if there were, my green skin would probably freak them out.

"It's pretty," she told him aloud. He nodded briefly, giving her a squinty, lopsided grin in the afternoon sunlight.

"Vernon Peak it is, then."

After following the trail for a while, Simon suggested they stop to eat lunch. Fiona remembered the cottage, and told him it was only a few minutes north. When they arrived, he set up a blanket and the picnic basket he'd brought with him.

"I had the chef make the sandwiches this morning," Simon said. Fiona nodded weakly, glancing at the cabin. Something was out of place. She knew it looked different from a usual cottage, but she couldn't tell why—she had memorized every log, every crevice . . . but now that Simon was here, she was afraid he'd notice something out of place. She felt like bringing him into a piece of her . . . other half was revealing. Like he could see right through her human façade. "He said he used a new cheese this time," Simon muttered. "Some kind of original creation—Fiona, are you alright?"

She wasn't alright. It was a mistake to bring Simon here. He'd figure it out for sure.

"I'm fine," she said quietly, anxiously glancing at the cottage again.

"Huh," he said, his brows knitting together.

"What? What is it?" Panic bubbled in her chest. He knew. He had to. It was obvious, wasn't it?

"The windows—look. They're broken. There's glass all over the ground . . . ." His voice trailed off.

Fiona gasped. A distant memory tumbled back to her for a split second; she remembered that, some time ago during her stay in the cottage, she overslept. When she woke up a while after dawn, the windows were smashed through to the outside of the cabin. She never bothered cleaning up the mess.

"Oh—right. That's . . . that's weird." She nodded quickly—and then immediately regretted her response. She needed to stop being so jumpy, or she'd give something away for sure. Change the subject, she thought to herself. "Oh! I meant to tell you," she said excitedly, "I'm going to the ball tonight." She grinned widely at him, and her heart skipped a couple beats when he beamed back.

"That's great! At least I'll get to see you—actually, I might try to fake an injury so I don't have to embarrass myself . . . I haven't been able to practice lately." He was blushing. How adorable, she thought. I bet he'll sound amazing. "You should bring some earplugs, anyway," he told her.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. When they finished eating, they rode back to the stables and talked about the ball. Simon would be performing a solo at midnight. That gave her three hours to stay away, putting her at even less of a risk.

"I'll be there," she promised him. Before she turned around to leave, he grabbed her hand, kissing it softly.

"If it isn't already obvious, I'll be really disappointed if you don't come," he said. She smiled at him, and he lowered her hand.

"I'll be disappointed if you don't play," she said. Strolling toward the castle, she ravished in the lingering sensation of his lips on her hand.