Cheddar Ashdown grinned at the trial officials, and he had no idea he was already breaking a rule. He wanted one thing: to win the courtship trials and be named the most sought-after suitor in Ashdown. He had the smile for it. Two women near the fountain giggled when he winked. A third dropped her fan on purpose. But charm was the only weapon he had brought, and the trials ran on rules he had never bothered to read. An official in gray blocked his path. "Registration token," the man said. "No token, no entry. And contestants do not address the judges before the first bell. That's a fault. Two faults, disqualification." Cheddar's grin froze. "One fault," he said. "Surely a handsome face counts for something." "It counts for nothing here." The official held out his hand. Cheddar reached into his coat. His fingers found the family crest his mother had pressed on him that morning, back at the manor with its pale stone and tall windows. He had almost left it on his dresser. He set the crowned shield in the official's palm, the four painted quarters catching the light. The man's eyes moved over it. "Registered. Good." He made a mark on his roll. "But you still owe a fault for speaking. One more and you're out." Cheddar looked around and saw his danger clearly. Other contestants stood in careful rows, silent, hands folded. They knew when to bow and when to hold still. He knew none of it. His charm had already cost him a fault. It would cost him everything before the trials truly began. Then he noticed the suits. The other men wore plain dark coats. But three of them wore green trim on the lapel, a green sash, a green pocket square. They stood apart from the rest, and the officials did not correct them. The green marked something. Cheddar had seen that trim before. He had it in his wardrobe. "I withdraw for one hour," he told the official, keeping his voice low and level this time. "I'll return properly dressed." The man frowned but nodded. "An hour. No more." Cheddar rode back to the manor and tore through his closet. He found the navy coat with the deep green trim, the matching green trousers, the green waistcoat his tailor had called ceremonial. He had thought it only fine clothing. Now he understood. The green marked a contestant who knew the customs. It told the officials, and every rival, that he belonged. He dressed fast and pinned the crest to his chest. He returned before the hour ended and joined the silent rows. No one giggled now. Three green-clad rivals turned to study him, and their easy smiles thinned. Cheddar had bought his place in the trials. But he had also drawn the eyes of the only men who knew the rules as well as their clothes claimed. They had marked him now, and they would be watching.

The three green-clad rivals still watched Cheddar from across the silent rows. He needed a way to shift their stares into respect before the first trial began. Standing there, he remembered something useful. Last night, unable to sleep, he had pulled an old book from his father's shelf. It recorded past courtship trials, year after year. He had read it as a joke, laughing at the strange customs. Now those pages came back to him. One record described a suitor who arrived with a trained dog. The judges had loved it. A well-groomed companion, the book said, proved a suitor could care for a household. Cheddar had exactly such a dog at the manor. He also remembered the timing detail buried in those pages. The book warned that judges counted lateness against a suitor. A watch, kept in hand, showed a man who respected the trial's order. Cheddar had one hour before the first bell. He slipped out, rode home, and returned fast. This time he carried his golden pocket watch on its chain. Beside him trotted his fluffy Golden Doodle, coat brushed to a shine, tag polished. The dog sat when Cheddar raised a hand, then offered a paw. Cheddar had taught it that trick years ago, never guessing it would matter. Heads turned as he walked back into the rows. The judges leaned forward. One old official in gray whispered to another and nodded. Cheddar checked his watch, snapped it shut, and stood calm. He knew, from the book, that this looked exactly right. The three rivals stopped smirking. Their leader stepped close. "That dog," he said quietly. "That's the Harrowgate trick. From twelve years back." "You read the records too," Cheddar said, grinning. He offered a wedge of golden cheddar from his coat pocket and fed a bite to the dog. The animal wagged its tail. The judges smiled openly now. The first bell rang. An official read the opening marks aloud. "For proper conduct and preparation, one suitor is noted with favor." He gestured at Cheddar. The rivals' faces went hard. Cheddar had won the moment. His fault from before now sat balanced by a mark of favor. He had climbed from suspect outsider to noticed contender, all from pages he'd read for fun. But the rival leader did not step back. He waited until the official moved on, then spoke low. "You copied a dead man's trial. The judges praise old tricks. But the next trials test what's yours, not what you borrowed." He glanced at the book's shape in Cheddar's coat. "And I know that record. Every page. I'll be watching which one you steal next." Cheddar's grin held, but his stomach tightened. He had bought respect with borrowed cleverness. Now the one rival who knew those same pages meant to catch him the instant he leaned on them again. His book had saved him once. It could not save him twice unseen.