SOPHIE LIKED THE GARDENS. Particularly the servant's ones, something that they had cleared out for them to spend their time in when their quarters felt claustrophobic. It had been Sophie's idea—though no one had expected her to start coming here too.

They made her feel more herself after what may be the most convincing performances she ever put on.

After the feeling that the walls would close in, that she was sure to suffocate and die, (though that would have been mercy in her current situation,) she felt the need of fresh air and flowers and life, albeit life of the bumblebees and butterflies.

Hours of shaking hands and smiling had taken their toll, leaving her rumpled and exhausted.  Sweat was beading on her upper lip, and it was a trial to escape.

Pushing her sweaty ringlets off of her face, she couldn't help wishing that Silveny--her horse--would be here for her. She couldn't muster the courage to walk all the way to the stables, not at this very moment, when she'd just returned from the feast. She didn't want to be cornered by dignitaries and diplomats or even the prince.

She just wanted to be alone.

And so, it was with these thoughts that she exited her prison of a palace, settling on the grass amidst the scattered petals.

She heard a rustle in the bushes. Frowned.

So much for alone.

Smoothing her hair, she stood. "Who goes there?"

A blond mane peeked from the leaves.

What the hell?

Then, a man stood to his full height—one that Sophie couldn't match even in her heels. Of the million thoughts that should have leaped to her mind, only one stuck through.

He has pretty eyes.

She would have rolled her eyes at herself, but this was true—they were the blue of ice, of the sky, of a sparkling pond and-

Why the hell was she so obsessed with a stranger's eyes?

Forcing her thoughts to become coherent again, she asked, "Who are you?"

She inwardly cursed herself. Why hadn't she asked what he was doing here? Why didn't she care about that?

The man's eyes sparkled.

Heavens above, those eyes...

"I trust you are Princess Sophie?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Good. At least you know who you are speaking to. Though you have some nerve asking that."

He laughed. "Forgive me. I was looking for confirmation—it's unlikely a princess spends this much time in the servant's gardens."

Sophie realized that she could have his tongue removed for much less—but she didn't want to. She was rather enjoying herself, she realized. This battle of wits was making her feel more alive than she could remember.

"Well, now we have settled who I am, maybe it's time you introduce yourself. I could have you executed for trespassing, you know."

He tilted his head. "I am Prince Fitzroy's companion, so I doubt that would be fruitful to your alliance."

She scoffed. "Companion? Is he a prince or a fine lady?"

"The prince acts more like a lady than anyone realizes," the man assured her. "You may confirm my identity with him if you wish."

"That won't be necessary." She hesitated before adding, "It was a pleasure to meet you."

He bowed, picking up her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. Sophie tried to ignore the jump of her pulse. "The pleasure is most definitely mine."

He turned.

"Wait," Sophie called, struggling to organize her brain. This interaction had been disorientating. "I still don't know your name."

He laughed. "I dare you to find out."

✦❘༻☆༺❘✦

Keefe Sencen hid on the outskirts of the palace.

He had messed up. Badly.

The princess was never supposed to see him—although he couldn't say he regretted it.

He remembered her warm eyes, flecked with gold, as though a paintbrush dipped in gold had spread over her irises. It had been a pleasant change—he couldn't remember a single brown-eyed person in Draconia.

He shook his head violently. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about this.

He sighed and began to dictate the message to his father.

Change of plans.