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I yelped at Punk, “Easy on the joints!”

She slapped her feathers against my cheek, making me groan and swat her away. “All right, all right.”

We fled to the servant’s entrance. Right outside the door, yet another obstacle blocked me. A couple in lavish headdresses strolled my way, their heads bowed as they spoke in hushed tones. The noblewomen’s muffled teasing pegged them as lovers rebelling against the late hour.

I’d been moving so fast that I slid on my wool-covered soles, my arms wobbling for balance as I tried to stop. Before they glanced up, I dodged the pair, clambering over the training yard fence and landing in a cradle of target mannequins, cushioned amongst the bodies stuffed with straw or wrought of wood.

How degrading. It was all I could do not to wrinkle my nose.

Out of options, I collapsed my parts, slumping and staring ahead without blinking, my features hardening into a lifeless expression. Like a puppet, a marionette, a phony.

Punk fluttered to my thigh, letting me know when the couple had vanished.

Ahead, candles bloomed from hundreds of castle windows, the brick facades simmering. Atop the towers, a gust of wind whisked Autumn’s flags.

Horse hooves pounded the courtyard and came to a halt outside the fence. Leather straps shuddered, metal links clinking as the rider dismounted, a pair of boots lightly hitting the floor.

I peeked over the mannequins. And then I wished I hadn’t.

The wind swept beneath his cloak as he ran his fingers over the horse’s neck and murmured something.

Had it been two hours? Or longer than that? Long enough for him to rise from his stupor?

Though unhurried, the knight’s movements were deliberate rather than sluggish. I hadn’t given him enough credit, because he’d recovered well from the oiled cloth. So not only had he delayed me on the way in. It seemed that he would delay me on the way out, too.

Without warning, the solider called Aire tensed. And really, I should have known better. This man didn’t react to sounds as much as sensations.

I shrank back. His profile shifted, inching toward his shoulder, maybe listening orfeeling?

Then Aire turned, shards of blue prowling the yard, both of his sword pommels twinkling dangerously at his hips. All logic gushed from my mind at the sight of him: backdropped by the castle walls and the flaming windows, his face so flushed from the ride that I saw the color splashed across his skin even from here.

The fairytale’s third acorn trembled against my thigh. Could he hear it? Could he hear my clothes brushing over my woodskin?

What would he do if he caught me? Would he still believe me a figment?

Did I want him to?

I had no clue what to do with such a thought, so I tossed it away.

His attention paused on the mound of target mannequins. From the way he scrutinized them, I could have sworn that he’d located me. But he hadn’t yet.

“What are you?” he mused aloud, fascinated and embittered.

I dug my fingers into the grass. Now I couldn’t tell whether he’d believed me in the cemetery.

His question also did something wicked, causing a rift someplace inside. He’d spoken as if I were not a girl, but a thing. Or like a thing attempting to be a girl. Like he couldn’t decide whether to pity or resent that.

A scream launched up my throat but never came out.

I am a real girl.

I am real.

I am.

He stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. I braced myself, reaching for the axe at my calf.

The bells jolted us. From the center tower, a brass cry pealed into the night, rousing the kingdom.