It takes a bit more finagling to get around Upper in the daylight with a wolf pacing behind, but we manage.

Sir Hans’ home is about one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen. It is both elegant and stylish in a simple square cottage style with white shutters on actual glass windows. It’s a three story home, but not a monstrosity like some we had passed.

A large rock boundary about twice my height surrounds the yard. Within is a beautiful array of ponds with fountains and ducks, sculptured statues of deer, horses, and a few lovely ladies and men hand in hand. There are mums and beautiful fall flowers I cannot name rustling at the edges of every walkway. The home itself is simplistically beautiful, with tall white walls and shapely stained glass windows.

I glide upon the brick walkway in a bit of a daze.

The black front doors are curved in a half moon fashion. Me and Sir Hans walk through and servants help him unfasten the chain mail.

A hand comes into view as I gaze around as the bustling interior. She begins to unfasten my cloak with well-practiced hands. I come to my senses and quickly back away with a startled gasp.

“It’s alright, Linda. Let her keep the cloak.”

Linda grumbles indignantly about lazy folks and horridly dirty clothes. I barely hear Sir Hans quickly berating the servant, saying something about being kind to guests.

The walls close in on me despite the size of the entranceway as the servants go about their daily chores and I'm left wondering why I followed a near-stranger into his home. My eyes dart to windows and doors—of which there are many of both, with stained glass windows decorating the small observatory above—as I catalogue escape routes and what should happen in an ambush. My fingers close on the hilt of one of my daggers for reassurance.

“Clam down, missie. No one is going to harm you here.” I startle again and snap around to see a lady of elegance straight from a painting. She glides down one of the two winged staircases that descend from the observatory.

Her shapely figure is accented by a lovely lavender gown that comments her pale skin. Stunning golden jewels accent the bodice and trail in swirls up the shoulders and out of the slit sleeves that barely brush her elbows.

A small smile curves her lips while almond-shaped eyes regard me curiously. I avoid her eyes, a shyness I thought I had overcome now enfolding me in its shaky embrace.

Facing criminals in dark back alleyways, getting stabbed for throwing myself between a woman and her man, battling vicious murderers and underground guild rings... no problem. Face a noblewoman in her home? Cue panic attack. It seems even vigilantes have to deal with the nerves of meeting new people.

I turn to Sir Hans for help. He grunts, a slight grin on his face, gesturing for me to respond.

I would scowl at him, could he see my face. Scratch that. I wish he could see my face, then he would see my scowl. He all but ignores me and my glare, only watching his wife.

With a gulp of air, I turn back to the lady who has stopped her glide and calmy folds her hands before her.

“My lady, I... I thank you for your hospitality and reception. But I will go now. This is no place for one like me.”

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

And I wonder—is this lady the gentlewoman she portrays or... not? The only reason I'm here is to get into that blasted prince competition so I can find the assassin and get back to my family. Perhaps, should I do that, I'll leave all this behind and truly be there for my family as they've needed. My conscience—ahem, Ran—won't leave me alone until I do something about keeping the prince alive. I'm not here to make friends with some noblewoman who could use this information against me in a thousand ways.

If you say she's probably a jerk because she's pretty, I am going to maul you in your sleep, Ran hisses, even as I feel her come closer as she sneaks past guards and nobles alike.

You haven't even seen her. She probably is—

Don't finish that. Don't have to see her. If someone is gutsy enough to deal with Hans, they are commendable. He pulled my ears and took my hearing with his screaming.

You are the one who kidnapped him.

Don't remind me.

Sir Hans grunts and brings me back to the present from my absent-minded conversation. Which could be very dangerous in this situation... but my anxiety is almost... gone.

You're welcome. Comes the smug voice of my bond.

A smile almost tips my lips. Gotta give it to the cat. She knows how to calm me.

Wolf, not cat, crazy two-legs, Ran grumbles in the back of my mind.

The lady holds a regal hand up, forestalling Sir Han's words. “Why is this not be a place for you, might I ask?”

I glance in her golden flecked blue eyes, but find only curiosity there with another emotion I can’t define. I look away and find my gaze drawn to the bustling servants who are giving us space by going about their chores. “The forest is my home, my lady. I am poor, undignified, and have blood on my hands. Should I disgrace a beautiful place such as this?”

She eyes me up and down, once again with that curious light of emotion bubbling from within. “Follow me.”

She abruptly turns, blond hair swishing in the braid halfway down her back.

I look at Sir Hans. He has a small smile and a smitten look in his eyes that tells me he will be no help whatsoever. I roll my eyes.

“Now you know why I dare not go against her,” he whispers.

“She’s formidable,” I whisper back.

“You coming?” she calls over her shoulder, pinning her husband with a stare as if she knows what he said.

Sir Hans nudges me in the back until I start after her.

“Yes, my lady.”

We bypass the stairs, entering a plain taupe door. We walk past gilded paintings of oceans. The carpet beneath my feet is plush ocean blue, and the walls are a sandy beige. Seashells as large as my hand grace pedestals sitting at intervals, and bright red flower sits in a vase of small sea-stars.

One painting catches my eye. A golden dragon flies free in the sky over an endless sea painted red by the rising sun. The peace and tranquility of the dragon doing what she was meant for is beyond words. I look closer and find a man upon her back. My breath catches. It's been many years... could it be the painting Momma cried when she sold?

It couldn’t be... could it? I’m reminded of what mother said about Da and his golden dragon. I need to ask her about that, but neither of us has had the energy for such a talk yet.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” the lady says.

“More beautiful than I can say. Where was this painted?”

“It’s said the painter used her imagination. They say dragons are no more. But I say it was painted not too far from here, just over the rise Castle Grace resides on, where Irisia ends and the ocean begins.”

She picks up a corkscrew shaped seashell. It's as big around as my hand. “Here, it’s said if you hold it just right, you can hear the ocean.”

I look skeptically at the shell, but humor her by putting it up to my ear. A rushing sound emits, and a small cry comes from my lips. I just manage to keep hold of the shell and not drop it.

Laughter like the twinkle of a bell comes from the lady beside me. “I take it you weren’t expecting it to work.” She gives me a small wink.

I giggle despite myself, then clap a hand to my masked mouth. I cough, trying to retain my composure. “No, I didn’t.”

She smiles gently at me before moving on. I follow in her wake, trying to figure out who this mysteriously kind woman is.

She's no jerk. Ran is triumphant and gleeful in being right.

She's not yet, I respond.

You're a good judge of character. You know she's not.

It's true. But I don't wanna admit it.

Ran's snickers follow me through the next door as the lady leads me from room to beautiful room.