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Pulling away, I flicked the marshmallows through the gate and sent them to his feet. The one remaining treat vanished into the neckline of my shirt, the size of my bosom concealing it.

“If you manage to get yourself out of this, congratulations,” I said. “Come find me at home. I’ll be the one feasting on this marshmallow and wondering what took you so long.”

Stepping into a shadow, I jammed my fingers into my mouth and whistled. “Thief!”

The boy blanched. Behind him, people halted. The merchant spotted the stolen treats littered around the stonemason’s son and began crowing for a guard. As the commotion escalated and lookie-loos hustled over to watch, I used the crowd to blend in, turning and sidestepping bodies like an innocent bystander.

Some of the men and women from the training yard jogged near, their skin pebbled in sweat. They must have finished practicing and gotten curious.

The weight of someone’s eyes landed on me.

I paused halfway to the tree door, my hand in my pocket, grasping the stick key. My chin shifted toward the weight.

One of the men had slanted his head in my direction. A half-dressed whip of a body. Likely another knight.

Under a halo of golden hair, he stared. Not suspiciously, but intently.

The sun shifted, a rare beam of heat in Autumn. Still, the distance and the masses concealed my woodskin from view. I couldn’t see his face any more than he could mine.

He also couldn’t have witnessed what had happened, since he’d just gotten there. He saw only the makings of a girl. Only a maiden in a courtyard.

Yet his gaze flew into my chest, forcing me back a step.

Humph. I recovered, ignoring the push.

The best way to throw him off was the blunt way. I blew him a kiss, then strutted off, the feather in my hat slicing the air.

It took a while, but I felt his gaze lift. I checked over my shoulder to see that he’d disappeared into the crush.

I retraced my steps through the beech tunnel to the outside, to where my followers stood, wringing their hands. Out of guilt or nervousness? Who knew. Corrupting Autumn’s righteous youth took energy.

“He’ll live,” I said to them, strutting past the circle. “Go home.”

Back in the lower town, the scents of baked plums wafted from an open window at the Waddling Maple. People wheelbarrowed firewood and stacked hay bales into wagons. They thought as much as they spoke.

Pretty tame, as usual. Even the Radish & Tulip—a tavern rebelliously named after Spring elements—couldn’t make up for the staleness.

Passing the bookbinder’s shop and the mapmaker’s stall, I wrenched the image of that knight from my mind. He’d seen me, but he hadn’t seen anything else.

Instead, I thought of that pathetic boy in the courtyard, wanting to join my circle and then dubbing me a puppet. I pictured a marionette with strings, a red bow for lips, slits outlining its chin, and sightless eyes.

I imagined a girl with limp legs, controlled by others, told what to do.

A fake thing. A deformed thing.

I sure as hell wasn’t some disfigured creature. I was a ringleader.

Iwasreal.

Iwasa real girl.

Actually, I was more fortunate than that. I never got dark circles under my eyes, never suffered the indignity of pimples. I had smooth, hairless calves and arms. My teeth wouldn’t yellow or decay with age.

Over the years, my lumber figure had grown, bloating into hips and breasts. Size-wise, my body took up a substantial amount of space. I didn’t reach the branches, but nobody could have called me short. I had weight to me, curves that got attention, and a bust to match. Sometimes the hulk of my tits got in the way, but they fit my frame.

I’d been crafted to perfection. I wassymmetrical.

My mother had made sure of that. My mother had brought me to life from an Autumn tale.