“So, Minna, do you have a favorite yet?” Prince Emrik asks as the Royal Family of Aethyrozia takes their places around the Royal Dining Table in a private room off the Great Hall. Much to Fifi’s dismay, the suitors are dining elsewhere, in another, larger room in the palace. She would have liked to mingle with them, but King Ansgar insisted that he and his family have some peace and quiet away from the competitors. It isn’t fair. Three days isn’t enough time for Minna to really get to know someone, to be sure she’s making the right choice, Fifi grumbles silently, but she knows better than to speak her thoughts aloud. Her father cares not for her opinion.

“That would be unfair, Emrik,” Minna tells her brother with unnatural calm. She won’t say what she really thinks here, unless a prince of Syazonia impressed her, Fifi guesses.

“That Viscount of Senthior is sooooooooo strong! He lifted more than 700 pounds, and he made it look easy! I don’t think he even broke a sweat.”

“Hardly the measure of a capable ruler,” King Ansgar points out.

“Or a good husband,” Queen Ingrid adds, so softly that Fifi would have missed it if she hadn’t been paying attention. Did Minna hear her? I doubt she was seriously considering the Viscount of Senthior anyway, but—

“But it was SO COOL! He totally showed up that swaggering Prince Casimiro,” Emrik argues. Fifi cannot help but smirk a bit; to her mind, Emrik’s scorn for the strutting Syazonian prince is far from misplaced. Prince Casimiro made a great show of displaying his muscles not only to Minna, but also to her and to every other woman in attendance, even the serving women who are meant to be invisible at formal gatherings. Worse, many of the noblewomen were fawning over him—and for what? With an ego like that, he’d be a miserable life partner. Were it not for Father’s wishes, I’d guess Minna would be sending him home straightaway, Fifi reflects.

“My favorite so far is that Marquis’s son who drew the scene from the legend of Saint Gustavus and the Dragon,” she remarks, eager to take the conversation away from Prince Casimiro so that Minna won’t have to say anything about him in front of their father.

“You’re welcome to the drawing,” Minna offers. “It’s far more to your taste than mine. But how can you have a favorite when none of them will speak to us?”

“It’s clear he and I would at least have something in common.”

“Mayhap, but today is not about you,” King Ansgar reminds his younger daughter coldly.

Fifi flinches at her father’s harsh tone. She is no stranger to his disfavor, but it still stings.

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“The suitors most likely to share interests with Minna will present their talents right after our meal,” Queen Ingrid reminds her family, sending Fifi a sympathetic smile. Minna gives Fifi’s hand a comforting squeeze under the table. At least they know I meant no offense, Fifi tells herself.

“What about Prince Adalberto, the swordsman?” Emrik asks. “None of the others stood a chance against him. Do you s’pose he might give me lessons while he’s here?”

“I can ask him for you, tomorrow,” Minna replies. “It wouldn’t be much, even if he agrees, but—”

“Please do ask him! Thank you so much!”

“He looks so sad, though,” Fifi murmurs while Emrik continues gushing. He’s not exaggerating about the eldest Syazonian prince’s prowess with a blade, but for the entire morning his eyes were dark wells of despair and emptiness, and not even a hint of a smile graced his lips.

“I noticed that, too,” Minna acknowledges Fifi, “and I mean to ask him about it tomorrow, if I can find the right words to do so with appropriate…sensitivity.”

“If you’re going to insist that your sister use a question to solicit one of our guests to tutor you, Emrik, perhaps the Grand Duke of Khandazar would be the best one to ask,” King Ansgar interrupts his son. “Your archery skills need more improvement than your swordsmanship, and Grand Duke Maksym was the best shot in the field.”

“Taut as a bowstring himself, though, wasn’t he?” Emrik protests. “Probably too uptight to agree.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to ask, all the same,” Minna smiles. I hope she doesn’t give up on asking them more meaningful questions just because Emrik wants attention from them, Fifi worries.

“But I don’t think it’d be any fun to work with him. What about jousting, Father? Prince Emiliano’s horsemanship was incredible, and—”

“Where did you get the idea that your sister’s Quest for Favor was actually a quest to get you new tutors?” King Ansgar demands. Back off, Emrik, Fifi warns her younger brother silently. Father’s getting angry.

“Let the boy have his fun,” Queen Ingrid chides. “There’s no harm in it, and if Minna’s willing to ask the suitors to spend a bit of time with Emrik, their answers will give us more insight into their character than their athletic prowess has.”

“But what other questions might she ask them instead, to greater benefit? And why should my heir be seen acknowledging that princes of other countries may outshine him in some way?”

“Emrik is only twelve and cannot be reasonably expected to match a prince of six-and-twenty years like Adalberto in any skill!”

Fifi sighs and looks longingly at one of the stained glass windows in their dining room as her parents argue. Would that I could leave, perhaps take a stroll in the courtyard or something before I’m confined to that dratted chair in the Great Hall again, Fifi wishes.

“Go,” Minna whispers to Fifi, tipping her head slightly towards the door behind them. “You won’t get a better chance than this for a reprieve.”

“I don’t want to leave you stuck with this,” Fifi protests softly.

“I have no choice in the matter. It’s my Quest for Favor. I must endure everything. You, though, aren’t bound by the same restraints. Be free while you can.”

Fifi hesitates for a moment, but their father’s icy words echo in her head: Today is not about you.

“Thank you, Sister.”

And thus, as King Ansgar and Queen Ingrid continue to argue and servants come to clear away empty plates and serve the next course, Fifi slips away from the table and out the door, eager for a break from life as a princess of Aethyrozia.