Royalbook

Glen | The Stables

Glen pushed his lips to one side, lightly swatting at the prince's cheeks. It never once occurred to him that really, he had no place to be smacking royalty's faces- all that mattered was that Ferris didn't pass out. Because, in a way, it would be Glen's fault, and he didn't want to have to live with that on his shoulders.

"Ferris? Ferris, what do you think spiders make their webs out of?"

Maybe if he kept him talking...

"Butt-silk, obviously." He seemed to perk up substantially. Glen exhaled through a pocket in his lips, sending his bangs fluttering. "It gets stronger when they drink... when they drink goat's milk."

All Glen could do was nod slowly, sliding an arm under Ferris's arms and wrestle him to his feet. He didn't loosen his grip, fearing for Ferris's ability to support himself, or lack of thereof. The boy was looking a little dizzy, if Glen did say so himself. The stable boy's eyes did a quick scan of the room, landing determinedly on a stool that he used to milk goats.

"Just take really careful steps, okay?" If Ferris had responded, Glen hadn't saw his lips move. He was too busy wrapping one of the other man's arms around his shoulders, carefully making his way towards the stool.

At least they knew his back wasn't broken. Or his neck. That would be downright terrible. Actually, the thought that any part of Ferris's body could be broken or blemished in any way because of that fall made Glen's stomach twist a little. Things like that weren't supposed to happen in his stable- and especially not to the prince. What if he had a wound inside? The doctors and healers wouldn't even be able to fix something like that- oh God, what if Ferris died? And it was all his fault?

Glen helped him ease onto the stool, adjusting a saddle cloth on its tack on the wall for Ferris to lean on. "Uh, I'll go get you some water." He turned quickly, headed for the basin in his loft.

Isaias “Smithfield” | Duke Lawrence’s Chambers, Eccleston:

Isaias stood against a wall in his father chambers, watching the old man laying on his deathbed while his advisors hovered over him. The family physician had told him his father wasn’t dying, but Smithy knew different. The way his father peered past him as if not really seeing him one moment and then staring at him with sharp clarity the next told him the physician was lying--to appease them, probably. Isaias didn’t care. His father’s skin looked grey beneath the old man’s lingering tan, his expression one of annoyance and slight pain.

“Where are your brothers?” Duke Lawrence demanded, right as Octavian walked into the room. The old man shook his head, pausing to consider his words and then said, “Where is Cadis?”

Tavian looked towards Smithy, who shrugged and leaned back against the wall, gaze focused on the ceiling. Their youngest brother was only the gods knew where, and it was quite ridiculous. Cadis should have been there already; their father was dying, and yet, the boy was off doing Smithy knew not. And he had had enough.

“I’ll look for him,” Smithy announced, dropping his gaze and pushing away from the wall. He’d gotten no more than two feet away from it when the brother in question appeared in the doorway. Isaias grew angry. “You are late, Cadis,” he snapped, folding his arms across his chest and glaring down at his youngest brother. Cadis shot him a sheepish grin. “Where were you?”

“I was...busy,” Cadis replied, apparently evading his brother’s question.

The trio of brother began to argue with one another, the two eldest seeming to gang up on the youngest, berating him for not being punctual and wasting their father’s precious time. They grew louder and louder, and Smithy was about to grab for Cadis when their father interrupted.

“Enough!” the Duke managed to roar in between coughs. “That is enough!” He forced himself upright in the bed, sparing each of his sons a glare. The trio separated, Cadis moving to their father’s left while Smithy and Tavian stood to the old man’s right. The four of them ignored the presence of the many advisors lingering in the corners of the room.

“You had something to ask of us, Father?” Smithy questioned, head tilted to one side. Octavian and Cadis glanced towards him, but the eldest ignored them.

Duke Lawrence coughed a couple of times before speaking. “There is something I would like to speak with you about, my sons.” He looked from Smithy to Tavian, to Cadis, and back to Smithy. “There is a certain young lady in Haven I would like you to retrieve. I have it on good authority that she may be the lost Solyrian Princess who was rumoured to have died eleven years ago. I’m giving you three an ultimatum; go to Haven, find the princess and bring her back to me. Take some men with you, but retrieve the girl. At any cost.”

Smithy exchanged glances with his brothers and then returned his gaze to their father. “And what do we do with her when we return?” he asked, frowning slightly. Duke Lawrence fell into a coughing fit and the three could only watch as it passed.

“He who finds her,” the old man said, “marries her and takes the Solyrian throne.”

Isaias raised an eyebrow, keeping a steady gaze on his father. Now is my chance, he thought. This could be my chance to gain power, to rule. He smiled. “Very well, Father,” he said, glancing again towards his brothers. “We shall do as you ask.” He turned and stormed out of the room, leaving his brothers and anyone else who cared to follow by the dying man’s bedside. Let them follow. I will find the girl first and take what I desire for my own.

Spoiler

Not my best, and I'm not a fan of it, but hey. It gets the Eccleston trio moving! Enjoy~

Ferris | Swails | The Stables

Glen was trying to hoist me onto the goat milking stool, but I had no idea why. I was okay; I didn't need to sit down. In fact, I was so okay, I was telling him about spider's butt-silk. I would've loved to have been able to produce butt-silk because it looked like a joyous thing to do, not that producing silk from anywhere else wouldn't have been... uh, wouldn't have been fun, and I, uh... I'd forgotten what I was thinking about.

Lord, my head hurt.

"Uh, I'll go get you some water." Glen snatched my attention and with that, he was gone.

Oh, yeah! Butt-silk. I was thinking about butt-silk. Speaking of spiders, I could still see the smug fellow hanging on the stable door. Or it might have been some dirt. Or possibly some form of dark mould with legs... I wasn't sure and everything was spinning in on itself in that moment, so I probably shouldn't have trusted my eyesight. Plus I didn't think mould could grow legs.

"See you soon!" I called to Glen, though he'd left a good few minutes ago.

I leaned back against the wall--no, against a saddle cloth? I turned my head. Yes, a saddle cloth and shut my eyes, but all I could concentrate on was the pain in the back of my head. I opened them again and turned back to what I thought was the spider I tried grabbing five minutes ago.

"I hate you, spider. You're mean to me and you're ugly and stupid and nasty and, and, and you smell really bad, you... you thing."

I didn't think the spider heard me.

"Spider? Hello? Don't just ignore me! I'm talking to you. The least you could do is be, uh... be polite and apologise or something, or... or, yeah, be polite. Mother says politeness is important."

"Here." The sound of Glen's voice stopped me form insulting the spider further. He neared me and handed me a glass of water. "I'm so sorry, Ferris, I shouldn't have let you climb onto the fence. I knew it wasn't very stable."

"Don't worry about it, I like being semi-conscious. The world's more fun when you can have conversations with flies... I mean, spiders." I started laughing. "Sorry, I forget things."

Glen's expression made him appear even more concerned than before. His eyebrows were furrowed and he had started rubbing the back of his head. I didn't like it when Glen worried about me, especially if it was because of me acting rashly and getting myself into trouble... even if I do believe it was the spider's fault, not mine. With a sigh, I took a sip of water and turned my eyes to the stable's doors. It was awfully light...

"Oh Lord, Mother's going to kill me!"

I sat up straight. Mother must have realised I wasn't in the palace. After James's disappearance, if I left the palace for five minutes without her knowledge, she'd start assuming the worst. I never stayed in the stables for this long either, especially not at this time of day. This was bad. Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad.

Cadis | Duke Lawrence's Chambers, Eccleston

After Smithy stormed out, Cadis and Octavian turned back to their father. The old, grey man coughed and spluttered in a heart-rending manner. The brothers put their arms around his back and shoulders and helped him lower his torso back down to the bed. His eyes closed, and his laboured breathing stopped. "Father?" said Cadis, his voice cracking. Advisors and the physician rushed to the bedside. Cadis picked up his father's wrinkled hand and held it tightly. In the wrist, he detected a faint heartbeat. "He's still alive!" Cadis exclaimed.

The physician moved right beside him and started prodding at the Duke. "Move aside, son," he said, "I've got work to do." Cadis nodded and stepped back. He and Tavian stood at the foot of the bed, waiting for their father to regain conciousness. The doctor looked at them. "I'm afraid to say, he might not wake up." He took some water from a basin nearby into a sponge and squeezed it carefully into the dying man's mouth.

"I think we should get going," Cadis whispered. His brother stared blankly at the Duke and did not respond. Cadis looked indecisively between his father and the door. "Goodbye, Father," he finally said. He bowed, turned on his heel, and left the room to prepare for the journey ahead.

Tavian | The Stables of the Duke of Eccelston, Eccelston

The physician had been wrong, as usual. Even after both his brothers had left to prepare for their journey, not giving the man a moment more of time, Tavian had waited until their lord father had regained consciousness. The man had been too weak too speak, sure, but he had opened his eyes, and Tavian had at least imagined a smile.

"I'll see you when I return, Father," he had said, in gentle request to his father, and in command to the crooked physician hovering like a vulture nearby. And then he had left to prepare for the trip. He had orders to give to some of the men, things to pack.

That had been days ago. Now, in the stables, saddling his horse, he was ready, even excited. He would bring this princess back, to show his father, to sustain the old man's spirits. To show Smithy.

Head high, Tavian led his stallion out of the stables and into the yard. It didn't surprise him at all that Smithy was already there. He had probably been there since dawn, waiting. Their father's men had told them to leave together, in a show of unity, even if all it would ever be was a show.

Tiberius Barker | Baker's Bakery

Tim Barker the Baker backed up against a box of bran, bending backwards to break the bonds on the persnickety packs of Passion Pepper packed into petite pecks of postage paper. He struggled and jerked, but despite his great efforts, the ties on the bag would not budge. In a great surge of frustration, flustered and fuming, "Conflabbit!" he shouted and sent the pack flying.

On the table it burst in a cloud of red smoke, spreading dust through the air so thick, Tim began to choke.

The old man staggered out of the room, coughing and wiping his glasses. "Huff huff Alfie huff huff Coco, could you lend me a hand, ple-he-khe-khe-khease?" He walked from the workshop, covered in red, put back on his glasses and peered at the scene with a look of great shock and surprise. There sat a man, hardly clad in any decent amount of clothing, flanked by his own two shop lasses. "Good lord!" he exclaimed, chest huffing out. "Surely you two have not brought home another beggar." He fixed his glasses and stood forward, peering at the half-nude man curiously. "Indeed, he has a beggar's shoulders, weak hands that haven't worked a day in their lives...the face, though." He squinted, blinking several times. "Yes, yes. The face is quite beggaresque as well." Clearing his throat, he stepped back and crossed his arms. "You simply cannot keep him."

Coco made quite the face, huffing up just like the old man. "Grandfather, he's not a beggar!" She gave him a once-over. "Sure, he may seem...rough around the edges...but he's quite nice!" She hesitated, "I think."

The man cleared his throat very softly before interrupting the two. "If I may?" He rested back on his arms, seawater still dripping from his mouth. "I may not know exactly where I am or when, but I do remember that I am no beggar, and I believe that should account for something."

Alfie drummed her fingers on the wall and fidgeted with her other hand.

Coco persisted. "He certainly is not a beggar! He is a prince!"

Alfie scoffed, tossing her hand out and letting it droop. "Silly Coco, royalty doesn't just come rolling in with the breeze!"

Tiberius held his glasses up to the light, cleaning them again with a handkerchief. "Sure, darling, whatever you say."

Coco balled up her fists hopefully, clutching them against her chest. "Grandfather, may we keep him? Pleeeease?"

Tim stared at the man warily before sighing. "You know how hard it is to say no to you, Coco..." He gave a glance to Alfie as well, hoping for an expression. And then he sighed. "Fine, he may stay. But he works in the shop to earn his keep!"

Eberhard Caspar | Royal Palace

Caspar stood in the Queen's antechamber, the smile he kept only for Charlotte waiting beneath his mask. The chamber itself was lavish, several comfortable chairs sat along the left wall – for any guests who lacked the manners to stand. There were at least two dozen tapestries and paintings along the walls, each one depicting an important event in Swails' history. The most recent showed the Battle of the Gasping Pass, a day Caspar remembered well.

The might of Swails and Solyria united against Eccleston, if only for a short time. Eight thousand men had died in the mountains, Duke Lawrence's brothers among them, along with most of the mercenary army they had hired to finally break the stalemate. They said the death of his brothers was the final blow to Lawrence's already fragile health. Caspar himself was responsible for the death of Conn, the youngest, a simple spell being all that was needed to bring the side of a mountain down upon them.


“The Queen will see you now, m'lord.” Called one of the Royal Guards. Caspar snapped out of his memories and dusted himself down. The six guards all wore bright yellow surcoats, the black raven of Swails upon their chest. They carried halberds in their armoured fists and rapiers at their sides. Four of them were Caspar's, three were ex-soldiers Caspar had rescued from poverty, the fourth a gutter rat Caspar knew from his youth. Men who's loyalty went to their Prime Minister first and their Queen second.


The doors to the Queen's solar slid open, revealing a room that put the antechamber to shame. A portrait of every King or Queen of Swails hung from the walls. The curtains and carpets were of the finest materials, straight off the boat from Solyria. The Queen stood by the fireplace, a golden gown gracing her strong shoulders. She looked as beautiful as ever, Caspar considered, well save for obvious signs of tears around her eyes.

“Your Grace.” Caspar let the smile surface as he bowed deeply. The Queen did not so much as glance at him but instead alternated between staring into the flames and out the window into the great sea beyond.

“Have you come to convince to send my other son to his death, Eberhard?” Charlotte spoke as if she was discussing what to have for breakfast.

“I would do no such thing, your Grace.” Said Caspar as he walked closer to the queen. “Ferris is not yet ready for war, he must be taught the art of ruling first.” He said, hoping for some form of response but he received none. “My men in Eccleston have sent word.” Still no response. “The Duke is hanging by a thread and his sons have ridden into the wilderness with almost the entirety of the royal bodyguard.” The Queen moved to goblet of water on the table and took a sip but still said nothing. “Now is the time to strike, your Grace. With the Duke gone there are no veteran commanders left, only those green boys of his and they are god knows where. Its army will be leaderless and the nobles will fight amongst themselves if you strike now.” Caspar pleaded as he moved closer than protocol would usually allow.

“My son is gone, and you would have me charge into battle?” Demanded the Queen, responding at last.

“He was my son too.” Caspar's smile was gone, replaced by a snarl. “But we cannot pass up this opportunity, your Grace. If we strike now Swails will be more powerful than every before. Ferris marrying the Aurelia girl will bring the Molten Shore into the fold and with Eccleston under our control Solyria will have to accept whatever terms we dictate.”

“And?” Asked the Queen.

“It will create stability and safety.” Caspar informed her. “Stability and safety for Ferris, for your grandchildren.” He said, stressing the last part. Charlotte looked up from her glass, the same calculating look in her eyes that made Caspar follow her to the bedchamber in the first place.

“No.” She decided, shooting down Caspar's hopes, though he hid the fact from his face. “I will not put my only remaining son in danger.” Sighing, Caspar took a step back and bowed deeply.

“As you command, your Grace.” With that he spun on his heel and stormed from the royal quarters. This was a setback but Caspar would do as he always did, adapt and find a way.

Coco Harwick | Barker Bakery

"You'll like it here," Coco said as she and Alfie helped their new guest into a spare bedroom where he could continue to rest until he was well enough to pull his own weight in the shop. "Haven is a quaint little place. Not much happens here, which can get tiresome, but the people are lovely and there's hardly a truly bad day here if you keep a positive eye. Tomorrow maybe we can--"

"Coco, he's tired, don't talk his ear off," Alfie scolded lightly, though keeping a smile on her face. "You can chat all you want once he's well again."

They helped him to the bed and ensured he had everything he needed before Alfie had Coco by the shoulder and was steering her out of the room again. They returned to the bakery kitchen to help Grandfather with some of the last baking for the night.

Coco, though, for all she tried could not keep focused. "Oh, Alfie," she said, her voice taking on a slightly dreamy tone. "Imagine our luck, running across a strange and exciting stranger just like that. Our lives could become full of adventure, now! This could be the change we've been searching for!" She swung around, a tray full of unbaked breads in her arms and nearly wacked Alfie right in the head.

"I'm perfectly content here in Haven, Coco," she said, giving her a wink and steering her around toward the ovens so as to avoid any more Coco-induced pan-havok. "And you ought to be too. Haven is the loveliest town, and any lady would be perfectly pleased to live our her days here."

"Oh, it doesn't hurt to dream a little," Coco insisted as she slid the tray into the oven and latched the heavy metal door over it. She sighed and leaned back against the flower-covered table where they were preparing their baked goods. "Just imagine..."

James | Barker Bakery

James swallowed the last scrap of fluffy white bread with regret. All his meals had been as good as this one, making the whole recovery business quite pleasant. His breakfast always consisted of a small cup of a bitter, dark green liquid which he had thankfully been able to down in one go—"You'll heal faster if you drink it," Alfie had insisted—a much larger mug of milk with the cream floating on top, and several different warm pastries and buns with a variety of cheeses and condiments, which were all delicious.

Today was to be the first day his caretakers would allow him to get up, and it was a beautiful day for it. It had rained the last few days, and now everything was sharp and clear and bright. Coco entered with her characteristic grin and a bowl full of cloth bandages.

"Alfie is working on a batch of highly disobliging tartlets," she explained. "She said I can come do the dressings, then we can all go for a walk."
James rolled up his sleeve obligingly and Coco started with the first of the many bandages enclosing his various injured limbs.
"This one has healed very nicely," she chatted effortlessly as she worked. "It'll leave a very dashing scar, though."
James laughed. "Maybe if you put some more of that pungent orange poultice on it, it will go away."
"Maybe," she said, moving on to the next wound. "Look at this one! Alfie tried some of that new stuff from the apothecary on it, and look how well it is coming on! She should ask him what is in it."

James rolled his shoulders in anticipation. "Perhaps we can ask him when we go on the walk. Then he can also see the mystery patient."
"Are you sure you don't know where you come from? I'm sure you would be able to remember something if you really tried."
"No luck, I'm afraid," he sighed. "It's all gone."

Spoiler

Sorry for the extremely late post. Please don't fry me. ^^'

Chuck | Behind the nobleman's house

"How do you think she'll take it?" asked Kingsley, looking across at his friend and partner Luck. He was referring, of course, to the mission they had been assigned to that morning - to find the lost Princess.

He'd known the man next to him for a long time, and could understand his thoughts very well for most part, but he'd never managed to fathom his relationship with the young lady Pollyanna. How a level-headed, fun guy like Luck ever fell for Polly was beyond him.

Luck pondered the question for a moment, dropping his cigarette and crushing it with his boot. "Being stuck with you? Well Chuck, she may just throw a fit."

Kingsley favored him with a highly suspicious look, which clearly showed that he was convinced his best friend was actually being blackmailed into keeping up the relationship.

The whole Chuck-Puck thing was another reason he thought Polly was a hare-brained duck. When she met Kingsley for the first time, she thought it would be cute if the friends had rhyming nicknames. And for some reason, she'd picked them to rhyme with Luck. Worse still, they had stuck. Puck and Chuck's agency was where a lot of people went for solutions to their everyday mysteries.

"I love her to death, Chuck." Luck said, correctly interpreting the other's look. "I'm gonna go meet Princess, tell her what's going on." Kingsley watched him leave, then pushed off from the wall to go find a jug of ale and his other best friend Wiser.



Sir Callum Theodore Seymour Johnson, more commonly known as Wiser, was a flying turtle. He'd met Ch-Kingsley around four years go, on an island overrun with pirates. The turtle had been stranded on shore, caught in their nets, and was found and freed by Kingsley, but the real damage had been done. The pirates had been after the voice of a flying turtle, which was coveted and rare.

Sure that he would die there, the flying sea-dweller was surprised when Chuck decided to take him along for the ride and take care of him. The turtle, though he'd lost his voice, still had great charisma and personality, and was incharge of bringing the trio to line.

Right now he listened attentively as Chuck, sitting across from him at the bar, outlined their new mission. He shook his head once the man was done, finally understanding why the partners had left in such haste in the morning. His brown eyes sparkled with intelligence, and Chuck smiled, toasting the success of their mission.

Puck|Father's Home

My mother died three years before I'd found my father. In his word, it was too much for her, so she decided to go so she could be happy. My sisters, Destiny and Fate, were still lost to us. We have no knowledge of their whereabouts, whether they were free or imprisoned as slaves, or even as simple as alive or dead. My brother Love, according to my father, walked off the day our mother died. He didn't come back.

I now sat in my father's kitchen, my hand cupping a mug of ale.

"So," my father declared, "You're leaving."

I looked up at my father guiltily. He'd lost everything in the past few years, and only recently did he find out that I was alive. In fact, when I first presented myself to him, he screamed and declared, "You're dead!" My father was like that - he declared everything.

"Dad...I'll be back. And I'll be with Kingsley and Polly."

Hearing this, he let out a bellowing laugh that rung through the house and managed, "Kingsley? Pollyanna? My dear boy, maybe you won't be back!"

This earned a laugh from me, my own laugh blending with my father's. Downing the rest of my ale, I picked out a cigarette. I put it to my lips, but thought better of it - if I saw Princess, she sure would be upset that I'd gone and done it again. Putting the cigarette back, I rose, and my father copied.

His eyes glittered, and he wrapped his arms around me in a hug, "Good luck, son. I know you'll find her - your mother and I didn't name you Luck for nothing; you're lucky!"



I packed the last of my things into my bag, and then looked around my room. Who knows when I'll see this place again.

I couldn't wait to get started.

Princess 'Polly' | Meeting Puck and Chuck
There were four things bothering Polly this morning. One, Chuck hadn't contracted a fatal illness, as she had been praying since Puck had left her in the garden. Two, it was early, so early, the sun hadn't even risen. Three, she was cold. Four, Puck was smoking again. All these things were obvious hints to how miserable this whole trip was going to be. I walked up to Puck and dropped my bag on the ground. A loud clunk issued from it. "Holy-- Pollyanna, what do you have in there?" Chuck snorted, looking at me with one eyebrow raised in what he obviously thought was a comedic expression.

I was not amused. "Zip it, Chuck."
Puck grinned. "Hi, Princess." He said, leaning forward, hoping for a kiss. He wasn't getting one. I put my hand up and pushed his face back. "Until that smell of cigarettes is gone from you, and the taste along with it, you will get no kisses from me." Puck sighed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever you desire, my queen." He dropped the cigarette on the ground and smashed it with the toe of his boot.
"That's more like it."
"Yeah, yeah." He mumbled.
"Now give me the rest." He looked at me, his face pulled into a frown that clearly spelled Christmas has been cancelled. I ignored the begging puppy dog eyes, the dismayed lips and took the cigarettes from his outstretched drooping hand. I stuck them in my bag. "Now, carry my pack."
"But I have mine!" He protested, heaving said pack onto his back. I fixed him with a icy stare. "You will carry my pack. I am not in a good mood, he is with us, and it's early. You will carry my pack!"
"Yes, Princess." He said dully, swinging my pack over his other shoulder.
Chuck mumbled something to him like, "She has you trained like a dog," and he got his daily dose of an icy stare. Shrinking back, he stuck his tongue out at me.

...This was going to be a long adventure.

Puck|On The Road

It was nearly noon, and I was itching for a cigarette, which Princess had conveniently thrown into the gutter. Kingsley seemed to find this hilarious.

It wasn't that I was addicted to cigarettes - it was just my habit; talking with a cigarette in the corner of my mouth, using my hand to remove and replace it, etcetra.

"Shut up, Chuck!" Princess demanded.

They were at it again.

"Oh, get off your high horse Pollyanna." He shot back, rolling his eyes.

"Why don't you get back on a ship and just leave!" She yelled.

Flustered, I yelled, "Both of you shut up! It's nearly noon, I haven't smoked since two in the morning, we haven't eaten, and we've barely covered any ground! Shut up, stop bickering, put a smile on your face, and just keep walking!"

I was returned with a look from Princess that made me instantly regret saying it - she looked hurt.

Grabbing her by her waist, I drew her close to me and kissed her.

"I'm sorry, Princess." I whispered, letting her go.

I reached out to Kingsley, I gripped his shoulder. With a nod of his head and a smile, I knew he understood I was sorry.

"Let's eat." I muttered, "It'll put us all in a better mood."

Spoiler

This post really turned into nothing but filler. Oh well. Enjoy!

Alfie Cale | The 'Barkery', Haven

"Tiiiiim," Alfie whined when she pulled the tray out of the oven again.

"What?" Tim grunted, looking over from where he was deep in thought over some well-kneaded dough.

"My crusts have collapsed. Again."

Tim groaned and, wiping his hands, went to look at her handiwork. "You put too much milk in. Again.."

"I didn't put any milk in. Again."

"You put too many thoughts of milk in then. AGAIN."

"That - I- what?"

"Don't argue. Do them over."

"But how am I going to do them over if I keep getting them wrong?" Alfie asked. It wasn't that she was quick to give up, but this was the fifth time she had attempted to get the architecture just perfect for these tartlet bases and this was the fifth time that they had come out with perfectly formed, circular bottom parts and gloopy sides.

At that moment, Coco and James appeared from the back and Coco looked sadly at the crusts. "You were thinking about milk again, weren't you?"

"No." Truthfully, she hadn't. She had been thinking about James and what would happen when his memory came back, wondering if she should in fact tell the others who he was. But how could she do that without revealing her own identity?

"Here," Coco said, grabbing the tray. "I can fix these easy enough, make new edges and glaze them on. It shouldn't take more than half an hour. You do the dressings. James can watch, then we'll walk over to the apothecary."

Alfie grabbed the fruits and syrups she needed and sat at a table with James. "You know it's a sad day when someone seven years your junior has to do the difficult job for you."

He grinned. "So I'm assuming baking doesn't run in the family."

"We're not really sisters. I'm like you, I'm not quite sure who I am." She caught his eye and smiled, even though it was a lie and she knew exactly who both of them were.

"You're just the girl who thinks about milk too much," said James.

"Perhaps one of my parents was a cow."

"I don't think that's possible."

"I didn't think it was possible to make pastries collapse by the strength of milk-thoughts but there you go."

"I hear they're stronger than normal thoughts unrelated to dairy."

"I wonder if you could besiege a castle with thoughts of milk. Break the walls down."

James laughed. "Next time I find myself besieging a castle, I'll try it out and let you know."

At first, they giggled. And then the thought made Alfie solemn again, because Prince James of Swails might easily have been sent to besiege a castle.

Coco managed to remedy the cases and they filled them, the girls showing James how to spread a custard base, arrange fruit on top, drizzle the whole thing with caramel. Then they set the whole batch in the window, said goodbye to Tim and went on their way.

Coco sighed as they went past the window. "Does it worry you that we'll end up eating half of those ourselves?"

"Half would be optimistic," Alfie said. "Have 'n' Eat Your Cake puts chocolate on theirs."

Coco sighed wistfully. "Chocolate?" James asked.

"It's from the Molten Shore. This dark brown stuff, it's delicious."

"Why doesn't Tim buy some for your tarts?"

"Because it's horrendously expensive," said Alfie.

"How do you know it's delicious?" Coco asked. "I've never been able to afford any."

Alfie bit her tongue, she was usually more careful than that. "Um... Gerry."

"Gerry Geraldson?"

"Yes. Gerry Geraldson. Gerry Geraldson bought me a tartlet from Have 'n' Eat Your Cake and asked me to the Harvest Ball." It was half-true. He had asked her to the Harvest Ball.

"You never told me that!" Coco gasped. "Did you say 'yes'? Oh you must have, if he bought you a tartlet!"

"No," Alfie said. "Because before I could eat it, it burst into flames due to the large volume of milk-thoughts I was having at the time. And I haven't spoken to him since."

"In that case, we better go to the apothecary's the long way around," Coco said, turning them in nearly the complete opposite direction. "Oh, poor Gerry. I'm sure he's wasting away of a broken heart."

"Do you tend towards heartbreaking, Alfie?" James asked slyly.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Alfie said, rushing ahead and pushing the door to the apothecary open.

Lia~Her Bedroom in Swails’ Castle


Lia had woken up, the only thought on her mind revolving around the engagement dinner that night. Her parents, everyone, was going to be there. And the dress that hung in her cupboard simply did not do her justice. It was sky blue, a colour her mother insisted fitted Lia’s pale skin. Lia found any shade of blue slashed horribly with her hair. She was twenty. Old enough to dress herself. She changed into a light day dress of a deep burgundy, grabbed the offending dress from her cupboard and set out to find her mother.

She walked to the rooms her parents were granted, across the castle. She kept her head down, focused on the floor beneath her feet. She was almost dreading the dinner that night. She knew Ferris wasn’t interested in her, or any girl for that matter. She wondered why they had to keep up the charade. She wondered how it would be different if it James.

Lia didn’t like to think about James much.

She rapped angrily on the door leading to her parents’ bedroom. Her parents’ maid, Yael, opened it.

“Yael, tell my mother that I am twenty and engaged. I’m sure I could choose a dress for myself. Give this back to her and tell her I stormed away angrily.” Lia said quickly. She handed the maid the dress, turned and stormed off.