Princess Ophelia woke to the sound of curtain rings sliding. She had been promised to the same prince since she was two years old. She had never met him. In two months she would marry him to settle a border dispute, and no one had asked what she wanted. Her mother stood at the window. "Ophelia my dear, it's time to wake," said Queen Rosalind. She pulled the heavy drapes wide. Light fell across the blue gown laid out for the day. The queen's red hair was already pinned neat, though the morning had barely begun. Ophelia sat up. She fixed the blue circlet on her brow and kept her voice soft. "Good morning, Mother." She had never once refused her parents. She did not plan to start now. "Your father waits in the great hall," Rosalind said. She smoothed a wrinkle from the gown with one hand. "He wishes to speak of the wedding." Ophelia's stomach tightened. "May I ask him something first?" Rosalind paused. She turned from the window and studied her daughter's face. For a moment her queenly mask slipped. "You may ask," she said. "But be gentle with him. He believes he is protecting you." They walked down together. King Alaric stood at the far end of the hall, dark robes trailing, a scroll spread on the table before him. He looked up and smiled. "There she is. Come, we have much to arrange." Ophelia stopped a few steps away. Her hands felt cold. "Father, I will do as you ask. I always have." She drew a breath. "But I want to meet him before the vows. I want to know his mind, not just his crown." The king's smile faded. He set down the scroll. "You would question the agreement?" "No," Ophelia said. "I would honor it. I only ask to ride to his kingdom and speak with him myself. If I must give my whole life to a stranger, let me at least learn who he is." Silence held the hall. Rosalind moved to her husband's side and touched his arm. She said nothing, but the king glanced at her and something passed between them. Alaric studied his daughter for a long moment. He saw the circlet steady on her brow and her chin held level. "You have never asked me for anything," he said. "Very well. You will travel to his kingdom at week's end. Meet him. Judge him." He raised one finger. "But the wedding stands, whatever you find." Ophelia bowed her head. "Thank you, Father." She left the hall with her heart pounding. She had won the journey. Yet the terms were plain. In seven days she would ride to a prince she had never chosen, to search for a mind worth loving in a man she was already bound to marry. If she found nothing there, the vows would come anyway.

Six days later, Ophelia found her father in the library. He stood among her shelves, touching the spines of her books. He drew one out and turned it in his hands. She recognized the cover. It was her favorite love story. "Love stories," King Alaric said. He did not look up. "You read a great many of these." Ophelia sat in the chair by the window. She said nothing. She did not understand why he had come. "Your mother and I were an arranged marriage," the king said. He set the book down and finally met her eyes. "I did not love her at first. I will tell you the truth of it. For a year I resented the whole affair." His voice dropped. "But Ophelia, I love her now. More than you can know." Ophelia held the book against her chest. Her father was proud and hard. She had never heard him speak this way. "I understand, Father," she said. And she nodded, though her throat felt tight. The king pulled a folded map from his robes. He spread it on the table. His finger traced a line where two kingdoms met. "This is why I called you here. The road to the prince's kingdom crosses the disputed border." He tapped a jagged mark. "Both sides keep armed men there. They stop travelers. They take what they want." He looked at her hard. "A princess riding alone would not reach the other side." Ophelia's stomach dropped. She had won the journey. Now she saw it could cost her life. "Then I will not ride alone," she said. "Send guards with me." "Guards in our colors would be a spark to that powder," the king said. "The border men would name it an invasion. The dispute is the very thing this wedding must end." Ophelia stood. She would not lose the journey now. She thought of the map, of the two watchful sides. An idea came. "Then I will not travel as a princess," she said. "Take off my colors. Take off my name. A merchant's daughter draws no soldiers." The king studied her. He picked up the love story again and pressed it into her hands. "You have your mother's stubbornness," he said. A faint smile crossed his beard. "Very well. You ride as a common traveler. No crest. No circlet in the open." Ophelia gripped the book. "And an escort dressed as merchants. Men who can fight but wear no colors." "Three," the king said. "No more, or you draw eyes." He set his hand on her shoulder. "Reach him. Learn his mind. That is all I can give you." Ophelia bowed her head. She had traded the safety of a royal train for a disguise and three plain men. At dawn she would ride toward a stranger with her name hidden and her circlet packed away.