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Unmistakable face. Green eyes. Royal Son. Missing.

Shadow puppets. The young man who’d seen me. The young man who’d wanted to join me.

My eyes flew to the back window, just as an emerald gaze widened from the other side of the glass, and brown hair ducked beneath the sill.

The alarm. The search.

The First Knight. On his way here.

And the Royal Son...snooping outside my home!

I gaped at the window, choking the tea cup handle, my arms suspended above the flames. I stayed that way until my nostrils flinched, inhaling smoke.

My pinkie burst into flames.

10

Fantasy

Shit, that hurt! Shit, shit shit!

My shrieks hit the ceiling. My elbows flapped so wildly, I resembled a demented pigeon.

Or a mad marionette.

Three curses later, and three shouts later for my mother to stay in her chair, I doused the flame by smacking my digit with a cloth. The odor of charred wood stank up the room. My pinkie had been roasted to cinders, leaving only a stub sizzling like Mista weed, the pain already beginning to fade.

“Aspen.” Unable to resist any longer, Mother rushed to my side. “Let me see.”

Absently, I let her take my hand, too busy scanning the back window. My eyes must have leapt from their sockets, because she misinterpreted. “Aspen, calm down.”

“Iamcalm,” I piped.

“No, you’re not. You’re squirming.”

“I’m squirming because you’re fussing.”

“I’m fussing because you’re hurting. There should be a replacement finger upstairs. I’ll get it.”

Mother stored extra parts for me, in case accidents like this happened. The accident had rendered me asymmetrical. Dammit it all, a spare digit would have to wait.

I shooed her away, sloppy words spilling from my mouth. “I’m-fine-I-just-need-some-air-I’ll-be-right-back-don’t-worry-about-me-just-relax.”

I hastened through the rear door, closing it behind me. In times of trial, Punk gave her beak an intense workout against the bark of her birdhouse. No lumber tapping meant that she hadn’t yet woken from her slumber.

My gaze landed on the wagon. The vehicle had felt heavier and clumsier during the drive home last night. With the darkness and my senses flustered, I hadn’t noticed the lump under the vehicle’s cover.

Marching to the wagon, I tore back the material. The young man popped up, his wide mouth agog as if he hadn’t expected me to catch him. But then his surprise melted, and he beamed as though I were a long-lost friend. Raising himself onto his knees, he shuffled toward me, an ambitious gleam in his eyes.

I stepped back, lifting my palm to stall him.

He sank onto his haunches. I recalled our silent show in the castle, tricking the guard with shadow puppets. The young man’s irregular elfin features stared back at me now, happy but nervous.

Oh, wonderful. A sweetheart.

I could not be weak or lenient with this one. I had to be stern.

With one exception: I couldn’t scare or insult the lad. With him being royalty, I wasn’t in a position to get on his bad side.