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I Did Not Kill the King!
Chapter 3: The Princess

Chapter 3: The Princess

Now, perhaps this would be a good time to tell you what I did that day. The general rule of thumb, at least when it came to meal preparations, was for the understaff to stay as far away as possible so they couldn’t screw anything up. I was on the understaff, and I was great at not screwing things up. I usually went to the library and learned things I would not have had a chance to learn otherwise. That’s what I did on the day the king died.

Unlike most kids my age, I can read. My mother and grandmother are great readers, and they taught me the skill when I was barely old enough to talk. I was in the upstairs corner of the Fortenbare Manor library reading a fascinating book about the construction of our glorious king’s glorious castle. A slight cough distracted me.

I thought it might be Mollyanna coming in to tidy up. I saw a bunch of thick blonde curls and reacted accordingly, whistling over the rail to my cute little friend below. It was not my cute little friend below.

The girl who turned to address my whistle did not have the deep brown eyes of my friend Mollyanna. This girl’s eyes were bluer than the bay—big and bright and beautiful. Her skin was soft and white and delicate, like one who is simply not allowed to be outside or lift things. Her golden hair was held back with diamond-studded clips, and her pale blue dress was woven from the kind of silk merchants would kill or be killed to attain. Her cheekbones were high and perfectly formed, and her jawline was chiseled by a wizard. Even her fingernails were beautiful. That’s when you know you’ve found someone truly special—when you can look at their fingernails and feel your heart skip a beat.

“Well, hello,” I said.

“Hello yourself,” she said. “I thought I was alone.”

“You are very much not alone,” I said. “I’m not even a ghost. I’m really real.”

“Do you have ghosts here?” she asked. A partial laugh was running in circles around her beautiful face.

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“We most certainly do,” I said. “Scads of them. They are forever getting in the way—knocking books off the shelf, tumping over the pots and pans, and blowing in people’s ears. That’s the most annoying one. Why, it’s hard to walk fifteen steps around this place without a ghost blowing in your ear.”

“Interesting,” she said. “That is one fact about Fortenbare Manor I’ve never heard. I must add it to my notes on the place.”

A thought occurred to me. “Hey, I don’t know who you are,” I blurted. I do that sometimes. I try to use my manor manners most of the time, but I occasionally revert to being the son of a horse thief.

“I don’t know who you are either,” she replied. She did not look offended by my manners, which was good. She was smiling.

“Wait right there,” I said. “I’ll come down and introduce myself.”

I kinda stumbled on the stairs because I was in a really big hurry. She put her hand over her mouth, but she could not suppress the laugh.

“You’re making fun of me,” I said, with a rather perfect air of offense. “I don’t know if that is the proper way to start this relationship.”

“Who says we’re starting a relationship?” she asked, but I could tell she was okay with starting a relationship.

“I was certainly hoping to start a relationship,” I said, looking her square in the face. I was flirting.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said. Now, I should tell you that I have given false names while flirting before, but my internal voice shouted “Honesty!” There was something about this girl that just made me want to tell her the truth. I think I know what it was. She was delicate, that’s what it was. Being lied to might seriously kill her. I did not want to kill her; I wanted to kiss her. There’s more than just two letters difference in kiss and kill.

“My name is Sallivan Hatcher,” I said. “And, if it is not too much trouble, I should very much like the pleasure of knowing your name.”

“Alameda,” she replied. Alameda. It rolled off the tongue. It sounded so natural. It sounded so perfect. It sounded so...familiar.

“Oh, merciful Theo!” I shouted. “You’re the princess. I am flirting with the princess. I am so sorry. I had no idea. I thought you were like a member of the court or something.”

“So, you’re not going to flirt with me now that you know I’m the princess? That’s a shame. I guess I’ll just have to flirt with you then.” She grabbed my book and took off running. Nothing could have made me happier. It is an ancient and time-honored method of flirting—the ol’ steal-the-book-and-run method. I was in.