"On behalf of your engagement, the Castle Wendbury shall throw a celebration tomorrow evening," Warwick mentioned as he picked clothes out of Jaythen's wardrobe for the young lord to wear. He must have felt like doing his duty that morning.

Jaythen was sitting on the edge of the bed in a night shirt and breeches, stretching all the sleep out of his muscles. It had been only a week or so since he had brought Avalyn to Castle Wendbury, "What? So soon?"

Warwick shrugged, "It must have been the Count's idea."

Jaythen nodded, knowing his mother seemed to purposely delay preparations for a wedding that his father had been ordering for. His mother was still bitter about her son choosing a girl with less prestige over Vitoria. Vitoria was at least known in many courts while no one had ever heard of Avalyn—and rightly so. She was also taken aback at the news that Avalyn's dowry was stolen while she traveled, since her parents were both deceased and didn't have a hold of it. It mattered not to Jaythen if her dowry was gone, he had enough for the both of them—that is if they really were to be married. Thankfully though, his mother still believed Avalyn to be a noble of Prition.

His valet presented a blue doublet for Jaythen to wear that day—his second favorite color.

"Then I should buy her a gown—she's been wearing nothing but simple, informal dresses since she's been here." Which doesn't please Mother at all.

"Would you like me to accompany you to market?"

"What better things have you to do?" Jaythen smirked as he slipped off his night shirt and replaced it with the doublet. Warwick only gave a slight, compliant nod of his head.

He passed the chamber Avalyn had been staying in and crunched his fist to knock and bid her a good morning but he stopped short of it. She had barely spoken to him since that first evening. He only heard her talk when she answered inquiries from other people. The questions were simple enough, and the ones that required her to fabricate truths for, she answered quickly and then took leave.

He was often told that she took walks in the evening. At least once, he had tried to join her but she insisted to be left alone. He turned from her door and cared not if Warwick noticed the very unusual state of their relationship—nonexistent.

He was glad to get out of the castle, at least for awhile. Being pent up with his mother, who often subtly insulted the green-eyed girl, was a nuisance. Avalyn's silence didn't help matters either, and it made for an unconvincing engagement. At least his father hadn't bothered him, although he was getting worse and worse in his health, and hardly had the strength to.

The citizens of Wendbury were already up and about, going about their morning business. They showed proper respect and greeted him when he passed them, and he would reply with a polite nod. He was going to the dressmaker's to find Avalyn a suitable gown to wear to the engagement celebration.

A young lady was already standing in the front room, being fitted for a new dress by the dressmaker's apprentice. When Jaythen entered, the apprentice glanced up, and dropped his jaw in surprise, losing all the pins that were kept in his teeth as he fitted. The girl, whose back was turned, kicked the apprentice from atop the platform, calling him a 'clumsy fool.'

When she saw he was trying to bow properly because of a customer, she whirled around. Jaythen's skin prickled when he saw her to be Vitoria.

"My Lord," She made a deep curtsy but it was apparent she wasn't pleased to see him either.

Jaythen nodded toward the apprentice, "Is your master in?"

"Just in the back gathering fabric," the boy replied and then set off to fitting Vitoria once more. Warwick wandered off to admire the dresses in the front of the shop that were hanging off dress-forms.

"My Lady," Jaythen made a shallow bow before he continued toward the back to talk to the dressmaker. She huffed and crossed her arms—just as a spoilt child would who had not gotten their way.

The dressmaker was pulling flats of fabric off of the high shelves. Wendbury was noted for housing one of the finest dressmakers in all the realm—the Queen herself owned quite a few. "Master Devlin, I see you are well?"

The middle-aged man looked over his shoulder and spotted Jaythen, "Ah, my Lord—what brings you here this day? A new gown for the Countess? She usually sends one of her ladies to place the order."

"Nay, I require a gown for my fiancée for an engagement celebration tomorrow night."

Devlin raised his eyebrows, "That's right! I must congratulate you and must say you've gotten quite a few citizens up in arms about your announcement. In fact, Lady Vitoria just in the other room was ranting to poor Edwin about it not too long before you arrived."

Jaythen stifled a laugh, "Yes, I suppose she is sour about the news for she had her eye set on me."

"Just as all the other young ladies in my clientele."

He pulled out a flat that had a deep blue, thin, soft-looking fabric wrapped around it, "How about a dress of this? I had Edwin pick it up last week from the port at Tierbo—it's manufactured from across the sea."

Jaythen knew next to nothing about dresses, only that they looked pretty on the female form. "I am comfortable in whatever you decide to make, I just want her to shine."

Devlin winked knowingly, "Yes, I have just the design for her. If you would tell me her size, I'm sure I can have it done by the mid afternoon tomorrow. I shall close shop and have Edwin help me in order to finish in time and then he will deliver it."

"Excellent," Jaythen smiled, described Avalyn's body size, and tossed the man a small but substantial pouch of gold coin for his troubles.

He motioned for Warwick to follow as he crossed the front room to the door.

"Farewell, until the engagement party tomorrow evening," he regarded Vitoria who tensed and glowered, not replying. He knew she was probably invited and if she didn't go would be accused of being sour—which no girl wanted to be the center of court gossip.

The two lads walked through the market on their way back to the castle but Jaythen stopped suddenly, realizing something, and was surprised no one had mentioned anything about it. He was staring through a window at a display of jewelry, and the many silver and gold rings setting on black velvet cushions.

"What's the matter, my Lord?" Warwick inquired, seeing they had stopped.

"I haven't bought her a ring yet."

His eye was on a particular ring, a beautiful pale-colored band with an emerald set at the center. The jewel was an extraordinarily close match to Avalyn's eye color.

Without another thought he entered the shop. The jeweler looked up sharply from examining a precious stone but smiled at the sight of such a wealthy customer. "What can I do for you, my Lord?"

"Tell me about that ring in the window," he demanded. The jeweler removed the velvet cushion and Jaythen pointed to the one.

"The band is carved of white gold from the Evening Isles, and inset is a viridis emerald cut in the mines of the Northern Mountains."

"How much?"

"The going price for such a fine piece of jewelry is 2200 gold coin."

Warwick whistled from behind him, even impressed with the steep price. Jaythen eyed the ring—so wanting to buy it for her—although it was inane to buy such an expensive thing for a girl he hardly knew and one he wasn't going to marry anyway.

"I'll take it, but send the cost to the castle under my name."

The jeweler nodded with a sure smile and placed the ring into a kerchief of semi-heavy fabric, folding it neatly. He handed it to Jaythen who had Warwick put it in his pocket for safekeeping.

Now that they were done shopping, they could return to the castle.

---

"You're the princess." He replied, not asking for a confirmation from her but confirming it to himself. Everyone knew of her, and he never had met her before so he couldn't be expected to tell her apart from any other lovely maiden at court.

"Aye," her lips were still close to his ear. He needed to remove her, she was causing him to feel unlike anything he had felt before. Girls were always trying to catch his attention back at home, so why was this girl any different? She was acting on her attraction toward him, and he could do nothing about it since he was below her.

He took a step backwards and studied the princess. Was she merely playing games with him? He suspected her to be the sort of lady to do such a thing. Then he took a good look into her eyes and saw the right amount of mischief but not that look of cunning or deceit that was so common on the girls of the court at home.

"What are you looking for?" She gave him a puzzled grin.

"Truth."

Her grin widened, "What truth?"

"The truth to why you wanted to meet me here."

"That's an easy answer."

She didn't say anything more but filled the space between them, raised herself on her toes once more and kissed him. He was surprised but it was a pleasurable feeling, the warmth of her, the closeness and he didn't stop her—in fact he kissed her back but with much more spirit than he even thought to possess. She was something different, the princess.

Nicolette and Jaythen met many more times over the months during his time in the King's court. He would be taught the proceedings of ruling as a count by day, and by night he was Nicolette's entirely.

They met in many places, but never in her room for there were guards set about that area of the palace that would report her frivolities to her father. They met in the stables where she stole kisses and fond embraces from the young lord, and afterward they collapsed in the hay where he told her about his life in Wendbury and she listened intently all the while twisting an auburn curl around her finger.

He learned about her as well, how she lived and what she loved. She enjoyed going riding and did so every Friday. Her favorite food was salmon that was shipped from Tierbo. Her dreams were to travel the realm, and see every city, and all of the countryside. She made jokes and he laughed, and he made her laugh even when he didn't try. The weeks seemed to fly by when he was with her. Nicolette was an intelligent, wonderful girl and soon enough he forgot altogether that she was the princess—that is—until the day in September she did not meet him where she had said to meet.

Why was he thinking of Nicolette again? The thought had suddenly unleashed upon his poor mind, so sudden his heart took to beating faster within him. He could feel it thump against his chest with each step he took toward the castle. He looked back to Warwick, who was swinging his arms and breathing heavily as they climbed the steps toward the gate. The ring, it made me think of her.

He now furrowed his brow, unexpectedly in a heavier mood. He had bought a ring for a girl who was not the princess, and even if he had bought the princess a ring she would not have married him. The only girl he could have wanted to marry could not have him. He demanded Warwick to hand him the kerchief, and he did. Jaythen took it to his chambers, hiding it in his a wardrobe drawer. He would not give it to her until before the engagement celebration—so others could see it and think their charade was true.

He did knock on Avalyn's door the second time he passed it, for this time he intended on speaking with her.

He heard the latch click and the door cracked open—a pair of extraordinary green eyes staring back at him, "Yes?"

He entered despite not being given permission, "Do you know how to dance?"

"What do you mean?"

"Allemandes, gavottes, waltzes, do you know the proper steps for any of those?"

"What are you speaking of?" her eyes were wide as usual and she seemed to regard him as though he had lost his mind.

He sighed, "They will never believe that you come from the court of Prition if you do not dance."

"How so? If need be I can say I don't dance."

He considered her remark but shook his head, "The court of Prition is known for having the best dancers. They throw an unusual amount of balls or festivals every year."

"Why do I need to dance anyway?"

He sighed, realizing no one had told her about the engagement party. "They are throwing a ball for us tomorrow night on behalf of our engagement."

He saw her eyebrows rise in alarm, but it just as quickly furrowed, apparently not pleased with the new development. "And I must dance?"

He nodded solemnly.

"I must dance the way that your kind does."

What does she mean 'my kind'? Nobles? He nodded, remembering peasants weren't so learned in the formalities of the higher class. "I can teach you."

She crossed her arms, looking elsewhere and frowning—considering his offer. Finally she straightened up, having made her decision, "Fine."

He led her to the castle ballroom, it was empty and the sunlight reflected off the tiles in the floor through the large windows. "It's very spacious," she noted and her voice made a small echoing off the high ceiling.

"To accommodate many people," he explained and held out his hand for her to take so he could begin his lesson. She hesitantly took it and he twirled her in closer, under his arm and caught her with a hand placed on her lower back. She seemed struck with astonishment at the sudden movement but then to his surprise grinned ever so slightly but gave no vocal explanation to why.

"Gavottes are usually the most popular dance played at these balls. It's a 4/4 time beat, so you step—" he had a hold of her and stepped backward, creating a space in between them, "You are supposed to follow my lead."

She stepped forward after him and then he told her to take a step back so that he could follow. He counted to keep time.

"There will be music though right?" she seemed confused and stepped back. It threw his counting off so that in her next movement she stepped backward again, pulling him after her. He stumbled into her a little, let go and straightened his posture. "Yes. Why do you ask—do you think everyone will be counting as they dance?"

She didn't answer but bit her lip instead, and didn't meet his stare—indicating she was suspecting such activity.

He gave a small chuckle and took her hand once more, "If you feel that way about my counting—" he started to move again but this time began to hum the tune of a gavotte. Their court composer always had the particular tune played after the feast. Avalyn seemed to dance better with the music. He grinned through his humming, leading her around the ballroom—she didn't even step on his foot. He did notice that her body held an unusual amount of tension beneath his hold.

"Why are you always so stiff?"

She stopped concentrating on her foot work and met his gaze, "I'm not used to—people touching me—unless—"

He repeated her last word, with a concerned frown, "Unless—"

She seemed reluctant to share the information but sighed—with tiredness, and when she finally did speak it was quiet, "Unless they aim to strike me."

He recalled her saying that her foster family did not show her any care, and figured that the lack of human touch had caused her to be apprehensive—especially if all the contact she had ever known was out of violence.

He halted their movement—though it was going well and she was learning the dance. It caused her to stumble into him this time and she let go, stepping away hurriedly. She was looking away, off to somewhere and withdrawn into herself. He took her hand gently, and of course, her body tensed.

"Avalyn," he said but she was glancing at his hand that was holding hers, so he lifted her chin. She braced herself for something, but there was no need to. "I would never hurt you. You have no reason to fear me."

She blinked, perhaps slow at comprehending his words—or not sure whether to believe him. Or perhaps her mind was gone altogether—still involved in other thoughts. She finally took a breath of ease and nodded, "Thank you."