The rest of the day passes uneventfully. I follow Eero's schedule to the letter, alone and unbothered by the rest of the palace. While he eats lunch in the back gardens, I clean his study and try not to touch the books. Then, he leaves for the city, and I clean his bedroom. Not that it really needs cleaning. The man is meticulous about making his bed and picking up his clothes. All I have to do is switch out the bedsheets and pull the heavy velvet curtains closed again.

While I wait for the prince to come back, I help Madam Amaia wash clothes and polish some of the statues that line the hallway of the second floor.

Above all, I hope and pray that Eero was kidding about needing me at the training grounds after dinner. Between him and a horde of guards is the last place I want to be. I'm supposed to be finding him alone, not surrounded by his armed friends.

Dinner rolls around, Eero returns, and I start to think I've dodged an arrow. Surely he would have called for me as soon as he finished eating. By now, he's already down at the training grounds. I help myself to some of the stew Josef prepared for our dinner and sit at one of the tables in the room adjacent to the kitchen, where we always eat our meals.

"How did it go today?" Madam Amaia asks as she joins me with her own dinner.

"Well, I'm not quitting," I tease.

She laughs. "And Prince Eero didn't find me to complain. So you must've done alright."

"I followed the schedule and did everything I was supposed to," I say with a nod. "The only big issue I had was when I ran into King Soren at breakfast, but I haven't seen either of them since."

Madam Amaia hums a little as she lifts a spoonful of stew to her mouth. She blows on it for a second, eyes glued on me. "Best you stay away from the king," she mumbles before eating the bite. "He's never bothered any of the maids, but... his comments have been edging towards improper, and with Master Ursus around." She pauses and sighs. "It wouldn't surprise me anymore if the king tried something."

That's the second warning I've gotten today about the king and his advisor. I start to ask her why she doesn't like the man, but the door swings open behind me. I expect to hear the soft footsteps of Britta, who sometimes joins us to eat, but heavy boot steps greet my ears instead. My heart sinks.

"I'm looking for the maid named Ari?" the guard says gruffly, proposing it as a confused question. He's probably wondering why in the world he's here.

Me, too.

Madam Amaia looks at me with narrow, warning eyes. I purse my lips closed and duck my head. Maybe I can avoid it. Maybe he'll leave if no one answers.

"Why?" the matron says, pushing up from the table. "What business do you have with her?"

She swells up like a pufferfish as she places her hands on her hips. The guard looks down at her with a soft smile, the softest I've seen from one of the men in armor. That's when I recognize him—the blond guard who was with Eero the first night I met him and then at his study door this morning. He's one of the prince's inner circle.

"Don't worry, Mama Bear, I'm not going to hurt her," he says with a laugh. "The prince is asking for her. I'm just here to escort her down to the training grounds."

Madam Amaia whips her head around so fast that I'm surprised I don't hear the bones snap. Her eyes darken as she glares down at me. Like I've invited myself down there. Like I've committed a sin.

I want to tell her that I've done nothing of the sort, but there isn't time. As the guard steps around her, he's able to follow her line of sight straight to me. Recognition flashes across his face.

"Are you Ari?" he asks, jerking his chin at me.

I swallow. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Come on, then. I'll be in a load of trouble if I don't make this quick."

With a sigh, I push up out of my seat. Dread fills me. What is the prince going to do—show off in front of me? Intimidate me? Embarrass me? Why in the world does he actually want me down there in the first place? Surely, it's not just to keep up the appearance of the lie he told King Soren. I could've just hidden myself for the rest of the night.

Maybe this is my opportunity, though. I'll be able to see how Eero fights, to find his weaknesses and how I can overcome him. If I think of it as research, maybe I'll stop dreading it so much.

As I'm about to walk out the door, Madam Amaia grabs my elbow. "What is happening?" she hisses. "Are you okay? What did Eero say to you this morning?"

"I'm fine," I reply, tugging my elbow out of her grasp. "The king invited me for a walk with him and Master Ursus." I grimace to show her how nefarious the offer really was. "Eero told him I'd be busy helping him at the training grounds. I assumed—or hoped, I guess—that it was a lie, but..." I shrug.

Madam Amaia sighs heavily. "Great gods, I thought the boy was—"

A hand on her shoulder cuts her off. I look to find Josef wearing a deep frown. Worry is evident in the canyons of his forehead.

"It won't happen again, Amaia," he whispers to her, probably assuming I wouldn't hear. Again? What's he talking about? To me, he adds louder, "Go on, skatter. You'll be in trouble if you don't."

I nod and start to step out of the door, but he calls, "And Ari?"

"Yes?"

"It'll be okay. Someone's always watching out for you here."

"Thank you, Josef," I say.

I assume he's talking about himself, and the notion that he'll be there if I need him is reassuring, but in the end, I save myself.

Do he and Madam Amaia mean it, though? Would they step between me and the man they've served under their entire lives?

For some reason, I don't doubt they would.

"Let's go," the guard presses. I nod to both Josef and Madam Amaia one more time and then follow him out of the dining area.

The guard stays quiet on our walk, which suits me, but I do wish he'd slow down a little. We maneuver through the palace with ease, exiting out the main back door. For a second, it looks like we might weave through the gardens—an area I've not been allowed to just yet—but instead, we take a sharp left in the courtyard and head down a soft incline.

A worn, dirt pathway leads us away from the palace and towards a row of squat buildings closer to the outer wall. Each of them has the same flat-roof style of the building's of Lykke, but where those structures were stone, these are stained dark wood. Shouts rise up from the other side, so I assume this is the training grounds.

"Keep your wits about you," the guard warns as he stops at the side of one of the buildings. The construction blocks my view, meaning we're going to have to go through it.

"Why?" I ask, glancing up at him.

"Because the moment you step onto that field, a dozen highly trained and extremely lonely men are going to attempt to impress you." He laughs. "Don't let them, little maid."

I smirk. "Don't worry. I'm very, very hard to impress."

"Good," he says with a smile. Then, without warning, he wrenches open the door. "Don't touch any of the weapons, please. They're very real and very sharp. I'd hate for you to hurt yourself."

The condescension in his voice isn't lost on me. Maybe I'll touch all of them now.

Inside the dark of the building, it's hard to see anything. There's an open door on the other side and the outline of some shutters pulled tight, but otherwise, it's pitch black. The guard steps in behind me and places a hand on the small of my back.

I start to jerk away from him but reconsider. He's trying to be nice, right? Trying to lead me through the super scary dark room. I roll my eyes and stroll forward, out of his grasp and clear of any weapons that might be looming on the sides of the illuminated pathway.

Mama didn't raise me to be scared of the dark or the things in it.

This man, his weapons, the guards on the other side—they're not frightening in the slightest.

Head held high, I exit the armory and blink away the blinding sunlight. The shouts instantly stop, and the training field goes dead silent. I can't see yet, but it doesn't take a genius to know they're all looking at me.

"Good job, William," a familiar voice calls out. "You managed to find her."

My guide laughs heartily. "Like it was hard! The real challenge was prying her out of Amaia's claws."

My vision returns in enough time to see my slim-faced guard walk over and clasp hands with Prince Eero. My nemesis is sitting atop a wooden barrel, one leg stretched in front of him and the other bent at the knee against the side. They pull each other in and beat on one another's back, the sound echoing across the quiet field as it mixes with their shared laughter. A few more words pass between them, but Eero keeps his voice down this time.

He looks so... happy.

So unbothered and corporeal.

It's unnatural, really.

While they behave like two long-lost otter mates, I take in the field in front of me. It's massive—probably two of the royal dining areas put together. The grass has been worn to near nothingness and now grows in scraggly patches along the outer wall. We're nestled in a far corner of the palace lawn, squeezed in the place where two walls meet. The armory fences us in from behind. A single wooden bench lines the wall to my right. The men have their armor propped along it. Well, armor and shirts because it seems like each and every one of them has stripped down to near-nothingness as well.

Most of the men, some of which are actually better classified as boys, have stopped to stare at me. Swords hang loosely at their sides; shields remain clutched in their hands. Sweat runs down their faces and chests, glittering in the dimming sunlight.

I give everyone a half-second of attention, looking for familiar faces. Some I've seen before, but others are strangers. I don't even know their names.

Why am I here?!

"Enjoying the scenery?"

I turn my attention to a smirking Eero. Luckily, he's not shirtless—yet. "Not at all, your majesty," I deadpan.

Annoyance flickers across his face. "I thought we were past titles and formalities."

"My mistake." I cross my arms over my chest, proud of myself for remembering not to apologize. "Eero."

That half-smirk pulls at his lips again. I'd give anything to smack it off of him.

"Have a seat, rød fisk. You'll be spending the evening with us," he says, kicking off the barrel and walking away.

"Why?" I blurt. It comes out as a shouted question. I don't even know why I asked; he isn't going to answer.

But my words must catch his attention. He stops and looks at me over his shoulder. "My father and his advisor don't come down here. Not anymore. You'll be safe from them." With a sad smile, he resumes walking and joins two men in the center of the field.

"Stop staring at the lady and get back to work!" he shouts suddenly, making most of us jump.

"Yes, sir!" they all chorus in response. Instantly, the training resumes, and I'm left standing at the edge of the wall.

He really brought me out here to protect me from his father and the advisor. Why? Why would he not want me around them? Why is he protecting me?

Still wrestling with this new "kind" version of the prince, I find an empty spot on the bench and watch the training unfold.

The longer I observe, though, the more jealous I get. It's been a long time since I got to spar with someone that wasn't Finn. Papa makes sure my training gets refreshed on the regular, but I've long outgrown formal lessons and trainers. Listening to the sounds of metal clanging against metal makes my stomach and chest ache with the desire to join them, to learn how to wield a sword on my new limbs, to have fun.

In order to distract myself, I focus on a particularly small boy nearby. He's working with William, who apparently was more than eager to leave me and join the fray. Neither one of them has a weapon in their hands, though. They're practicing hand-to-hand combat.

As I watch, William corrects the young boy's stance and mimes how to correctly throw a punch. The trainee plays through the actions, but his aim is off. Instead of hitting William's chest, like he should have, his fist ends up over William's shoulder. The trainer doesn't even need to dodge; that's how far away his hit lands.

William tries to correct him, but the next few hits hand even further away.

The issue is easy to trace. The trainee's feet are spread too wide. When they switch positions, William easily swipes the poor boy off his feet. I watch helplessly as William punches him once, twice, three times in the stomach. The boy curls up on the ground, groaning in pain.

Just when I think they're about to call it quits and give the poor boy a shield, William hits again—this time square in the nose. Blood gushes over the boy's chin and chest, splattering onto the ground.

I wince, but no one else on the field acknowledges the boy's cries. Not William. Not Prince Eero. No one.

Before I know what I'm doing, I fling myself up off the bench and storm across the field. William, screaming at the boy to get up and stand his ground, doesn't see me coming. I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but my magic is spreading around me like a golden haze.

I know I can't use it. It would be stupid and irresponsible to expose myself like that. But maybe using a little of the Divine's strength wouldn't hurt.

William swings at the boy again, and I throw myself between them. Instead of punching the fallen kid, William's fist slams into my palm. It's an incredibly hard hit, but the invisible gold soaks up the impact. I don't budge.

Rage and confusion pass across William's face when I close my hand around his fist and twist his arm. He's caught so off guard that his body follows, tilting sideways. I throw my knee into his stomach as he doubles over, and within a second, I've taken both of his legs out from under him and have one hand pinned against his lower back as I press him into the ground. He gasps for breath, scattering loose dust.

Twisting his head so that one cheek is squashed flat, William glares up at me.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growls, bucking against my grip.

"If you're going to train him, do it right," I snap. "He wasn't standing right, and you didn't even correct him! You just keep hitting. That's not training, that's bullying."

And I never let bullies win.

That's one lesson I learned from Papa.

Well, the king that Papa used to be, anyway, before these humans broke his spirit.

William wrenches his hand out of my grasp and shoves me off. I totter on my fee but regain my balance quickly. As he rises up off the ground, he never stops glaring. His face shifts into a deep red color, and he spits a mouthful of dirt at my feet.

"What are you—an expert in hand-to-hand combat now? When'd you learn your tricks—while scraping grime off the floors?"

I feel the heat rise in my cheeks and fight to squash it back down. I refuse to give him even an ounce of my anger. He doesn't deserve it. "Of course not, but I know more than you."

He squares up with me, but I stand my ground, despite the horrendous foot-and-a-half difference between us. Why couldn't Zula have given me more height?

"You—a fiery maid—thinks she knows more than me? Do you even know who I am, little girl?"

I open my mouth to tell him that, yes, I know exactly what he is, but a hand on my shoulder cuts me off. I reach up to wrench it off but am startled by the black ink tracing up the hand.

The prince.

"That's enough, William," Eero says calmly. "Shouldn't you be embarrassed that this little girl took you down? I'm pretty sure she'll do it again if you keep talking."

William flushes even redder but doesn't back down. "She caught me off guard, your majesty," he growls, glaring down at me. "It was just a fluke."

"It was not!" I snap, shrugging off Eero's hand. William snarls as I take a step closer to him. "I could do it again right now."

We stare at each other for a long minute, and I realize the noise around us has stopped. We've attracted everyone's attention. Again.

"Is that a challenge, rød fisk?" Eero whispers in my ear. I flinch away from his breath, but the goosebumps have already spread down my arms and back. The prince must notice because the breathy laugh that follows is infuriating.

Pure adrenaline fuels my answer. "Yes. Yes, it is."