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At first, Ciara and Eliza’s relationship had been marked by a sense of closeness and shared mischief. Eliza was the fun big sister who covered for her when she got into trouble and encouraged her to break the rules. She was the one little Ciara confided in, sharing her secrets and dreams. Eliza had even given her the Pixie ring so she could sneak away and fulfill her dream of attending the kingdom’s Knight School, keeping that secret from their father.
However, things began to change once the war ended and the crown princess was finally able to stay home victorious, ready to step into her role as future queen and act as a de facto mother with their father’s approval, given the absence of a maternal figure.
From then on, Eliza began to adopt attitudes more fitting of a mother toward Ciara, such as walking into her chambers without knocking or announcing herself, simply opening the door whenever she pleased. That might not have bothered the nine-year-old Ciara who had idolized her big sister and seen her as a role model. But now, at seventeen, things had changed somewhat. Eliza had stopped being her accomplice and had instead become an authority figure whose role was to direct and correct her younger sister, and Ciara no longer greeted her with a smile when she exercised that authority to enter places she otherwise would not have been allowed into. It had been going on for several weeks now, and Ciara still had not found a way to make her sister understand that she was no longer a child and should not be treated like one, and that it was rude to walk into her room without announcing herself first. What if she had been changing at that very moment?
“I used to change your diapers, Ciara,” Eliza had once said in her defense, brushing off her sister’s protests with a light laugh.
That was why, that night, Eliza did not bother to knock first or ask whether Ciara was presentable or available. As she had done so many times before, she simply opened the door and stepped inside—only to stop short at the sight that greeted her.
Ciara was sitting on her velvet sofa, wearing one of her everyday burgundy dresses with a sweetheart neckline that left her shoulders bare. In front of her, on a low table, rested a neatly arranged procession of tiaras: gold ones, silver ones, some set with sapphires, others with rubies, swan-shaped ones, floral-shaped ones, discreet ones and extravagant ones alike. She was polishing them with great care, speaking to them as if they could truly hear her and feel special because of the affection with which she treated them.
But that was not what made Eliza inhale sharply in surprise and frown in disapproval. She was no stranger to her sister’s peculiar habits, inherited from their father and his obsession with crowns. What she was not familiar with, however, was her sister’s apparent habit of having young men in her room at inappropriate hours. When had she picked that up?
Because there in the room with her was Sir Arc, the young man who was supposedly her friend and squadmate and whom Eliza had, until that moment, considered respectable and honorable. He was kneeling on the floor, several domino pieces scattered around him, which he was using with intense concentration to build some kind of castle. He was not wearing his vest; it was lying on her sister’s bed next to a saddlebag, and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone, with his sleeves rolled up.
Neither of them noticed her presence.
“Ciara!” she called out in a reproachful tone.
Ciara looked up abruptly, and when she saw her sister in all her regal presence, she let out a mildly irritated huff. Arc lost focus, and that meant his north wall collapsed, but when he saw who it was, he reacted as he should have: he stood up and gave the princess a nervous bow.
“Your Highness, it’s good to see you. Would you like a roll?” he offered, picking up a tray with the aforementioned pastries on it, which had been sitting on the floor beside him.
The crown princess declined the offer with a wave of her hand. Arc shrugged and took one for himself, then sat back down on the floor to continue working on his domino castle.
“Eliza, how many times have I told you it’s rude to come into my room without knocking?” Ciara pointed out. “What would you do if I did the same thing?”
“You couldn’t. My guards wouldn’t allow it.”
Her sister rolled her eyes and picked up the cloth she had been using so she could return to her task, ignoring her. Eliza’s gaze shifted from Ciara to the domino castle. To the boy building it. To the closed door.
Her voice turned to ice.
“Why is there a gentleman in your bedroom?”
“It’s just Arc,” Ciara said.
“That makes no difference,” Eliza shot back, more sharply. “There is a gentleman in your bedroom, looking entirely too disheveled to be in the presence of a princess. What is he doing here?”
“I’m making a replica of your castle with my domino pieces,” Arc explained, answering the princess’s question. “And I was hot.”
Eliza turned toward her sister, scandalized.
“You lecture me about ‘bad manners,’ and yet you have a boy alone with you in your room.”
“What’s wrong with that?” the boy asked.
The future queen fixed him with a steady look.
“I don’t know what the customs are like in Seagate, but here in Astoria, a respectable young lady does not remain alone in her private chambers with a man, much less at this hour. Without an escort. Without company. Without”—she made a vague gesture around her—“supervision.”
Arc looked at her, confused.
“We do have supervision. There are, like, six guards in the hallway.”
“That is not what I mean, Sir Arc.” Eliza turned her attention back to her sister. “Ciara, you know how bad this looks.”
Ciara set down the cloth and looked at her.
“Eliza, we are not doing anything inappropriate. Don’t exaggerate.”
Eliza pressed her fingers to her temples.
“The door was closed, Ciara.”
“Yeah,” Arc cut in. “Because a draft could knock down my masterpiece.”
“I understand it from him because he does not know our customs, but you, Ciara... This is Astorian etiquette. You know it perfectly well,” she pointed out. “You cannot be alone with a man in a private room. It invites speculation.”
Ciara resumed polishing.
“We’re in the castle, and the guards know Arc. Who exactly is going to speculate about us?”
“There are eyes and ears everywhere,” Eliza replied firmly. “If the wrong person finds out, it forces consequences.”
Arc frowned.
“Consequences?”
Eliza turned the full force of her severity on him.
“If someone were to see the two of you here with the door closed, without an escort, without a chaperone, it would compromise Ciara’s reputation.”
“Her reputation is excellent,” Arc remarked.
“Precisely why it must remain that way.”
Ciara rolled her eyes.
“Eliza, Arc is my squadmate, nothing more.”
The older girl raised an incredulous eyebrow.
“Then where is the rest of your squad? Why do I only see him here?”
“I’ve been here several times already.”
Ciara shot him an angry look.
“Arc!”
“Did I say something wrong?”
Eliza looked horrified.
“That only makes the situation worse. What if someone points it out?”
Arc tilted his head, looking at the princess in confusion.
“I don’t understand.”
“In Astoria, when an unmarried lady is found alone with a gentleman in intimate circumstances—”
“We are not in intimate circumstances!” Ciara interrupted, mortified.
“Society assumes impropriety on her part,” Eliza continued, ignoring her sister and looking at the knight, “and the honorable resolution is marriage.”
Her declaration was followed by absolute silence. The domino piece slipped from Arc’s hand and landed softly on the carpet. Ciara froze in the middle of polishing. Arc processed the information with visible effort.
“Wait”—he pointed to himself and then to Ciara—“marriage?”
“Yes.”
“You mean… a wedding. Cake.” He gestured with his hands. “All of that.”
“Yes.”
Ciara’s ears turned red. Arc frowned even more, as if trying to squeeze his brain hard enough to come up with an explanation for the idea.
“Just for being in the same room?”
“Alone in a bedroom. With the door closed. And looking disheveled,” Eliza added, looking them up and down.
Arc looked at the door. Then at Ciara. Then at Eliza.
“That seems excessive,” he concluded.
“It is decorum,” Eliza corrected.
Ciara shot to her feet.
“Eliza, this is absurd. Arc is my friend.”
Arc smiled.
“Yeah, we’re close friends.”
Ciara shot him a warning look.
“Don’t make it worse!”
“But we tell each other everything!”
Eliza crossed her arms.
“The intentions are irrelevant. Here, appearances are everything.”
Arc grew thoughtful.
“So if someone other than you walked in right now and saw us, we’d have to get married?”
“Yes.”
Arc nodded slowly.
“Oh.”
Ciara blushed even harder.
“Arc.”
“What?”
Eliza watched them with mounting exasperation.
“Do you understand what is at stake? Ciara’s future alliances. Her position. The dignity of the crown.”
Arc looked at her, baffled.
“But we didn’t do anything.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“So we could just be sitting here and—boom—married? Just because some old-fashioned person decided it was ‘improper’?”
“Yes.”
Arc looked at Ciara. She refused to look back at him.
The boy shrugged.
“Well. I wouldn’t mind.”
The words landed in the room like a catapult stone. Eliza went rigid. Ciara dropped the cloth.
Arc, oblivious to the reactions his statement had caused, continued sincerely:
“I mean, if that’s the rule. It wouldn’t be the worst outcome. Ciara is great. She’s brave and smart, and she yells at me when I’m about to do something stupid, which is very helpful. And she has good snacks.”
Ciara’s entire face burst into flames. Eliza watched him closely.
“You would not object to being forced to marry her?”
“Should I?”
Ciara made an unidentifiable sound.
“You are not helping.”
“I’m being honest,” he defended himself. “Better you than Sage or someone who can’t stand me. And you’re a princess.”
Eliza studied him with interest.
“You do understand that marriage is a lifelong commitment, correct?”
“I’m good with commitments. I committed to avenging my village, I committed to the Squad. I even committed to paying back the 2,000 gold coins that tiara I stole from you was worth,” he said to Ciara.
“You still owe me 1,500,” she reminded him.
“I have a lot of expenses.”
Eliza exhaled slowly.
“We are getting off topic. Just remember that if you want to avoid a forced marriage, the door must remain open. Understood?”
Ciara threw up her hands, exasperated.
“Fine. We’ll leave it open,” she conceded. “Is that enough for you to leave us alone?”
“Does the marriage thing also apply when we sneak off into the woods?”
Ciara whipped around toward him.
“Arc!”
The boy raised both hands in surrender.
“What? I’m clarifying the rules.”
Eliza pressed the bridge of her nose. She had been away for far too long, leaving her sister unsupervised for entirely too much time.
“Especially in that situation.” She looked at both of them and pointed a finger. “From now on, you will go with a guard or a lady’s maid. No more wandering off alone together.”
“But Eliza!” Ciara protested.
Those little outings with her friend were a relief from her daily obligations, especially now that everyone also knew she was the princess and nobles hovered around her endlessly, her popularity increased because of her strength and courage. She preferred it when she was just Ciara and did not require so much handling.
“What about our Squad friends?” Arc suggested, since he did not like the idea of a guard breathing down his neck every step of the way either.
“They are too close to you both, and it could be interpreted that they are complicit in the situation,” Eliza explained.
Both teenagers grumbled.
“I do not want to hear that the two of you have gone off somewhere secluded alone again,” Eliza declared.
“Is that really necessary? It’s Arc, and Dad likes him!” Ciara exclaimed.
Her sister gave her a dry look.
“Go tell him what I just discovered, and you’ll see how much he likes him once he learns about your little secret meetings.”
That seemed to frighten both teenagers a little. Arc went pale, Ciara felt a chill run through her, and both of them nodded.
Eliza exhaled slowly and smoothed down her skirt, as though regaining her composure, satisfied that she had clarified matters well enough to prevent future problems.
“I trust this will not happen again.”
The crown princess turned and made for the door, having already fulfilled her mission of educating them.
“Does that mean I can’t hang out with you like usual anymore?” Arc asked his friend innocently.
Ciara groaned.
Eliza, who was already nearly out of the room, stopped in the doorway and let out a deep sigh.
“I should also inform you that for an unmarried gentleman to spend a great deal of time in the company of an unmarried lady who is not a blood relative is considered courting.”
Arc’s eyes widened. Ciara buried her face in her hands.
“Courting as in...?”
“As in attempting to win a lady’s attention and affection,” Eliza concluded.
“I didn’t know that,” the boy said, bewildered.
“Now you do.”
And with that, she left.
Arc looked at Ciara.
“So, let me see if I got this right: hypothetically, if someone walked in...”
Ciara lifted her head just enough to glare at him through the fingers covering her embarrassed face.
“I would shove you out the window.”
“That sounds more logical.”
Out in the hallway, even with the door now open, Eliza instructed one of the guards to remain posted outside her sister’s door for the next hour. Just in case.