"PUT ME DOWN!" The little voice shrieks.

It's coming from the nearby courtyard and I turn for the stone archway at full speed. The potted plants overflowing with greenery blur by, their leaves brushing against whitewashed stone walls as I run. A paved walkway winds its way through the maze of high sculpted bushes, leading towards fountains, statues, and a spacious sparkling pool.

The thick foliage obscures my view for a moment until I push through, and I see them - Prince Noadok and the little girl.

With brawny arms raised high above his head, the Prince tosses her up and down as light as a bag of apples, each time propelling her higher into the air. It's an effortless feat of balance and coordination, without so much as a sweat, she's back up, five feet above him, limbs dangling out as she tries doggy paddling through the air.

"Let me go!" The little girl's high pitched giggles echo.

Up. Up. Up.

She goes ten feet, then fifteen.

I feel my stomach lurch with hers when Noadok fakes a drop.

"Oh!" His speed is like nothing I have ever seen. She's inches from the ground, but then suddenly back in the safety of his arms and once again taking flight. With a couple spins and a powerful thrust, he releases her, and the wind whips through her hair as she flies across the entire courtyard.

My heart leaps into my throat.

But she pulls her limbs close together into a ball and lands perfectly into the deep end of the pool with a chorus of splashes. The little girl emerges from the water, sputtering and laughing, wet hair clinging to her face and eyes wide with exhilaration as she swims back as fast as her little limbs will take her.

"Again! Again!" she squeals, her voice filled with delight.

Prince Noadok's laughter bubbles as clear as a mountain stream, pure and refreshing. The girl's long hair, drenched and dripping, frames her beaming chubby face as she quickly waddles back to the prince.

He scoops her up once more and spins her around, "Put me down!" She laughs.

And Prince Noadok starts the tossing again.

Up. Up. Up.

Then she's soaring into the pool again with a joyful whoop as she resurfaces.

I watch from the edge of the courtyard, my initial fear melting away at the sight. My fingers twitch around the hilt of the dagger, hesitantly unclenching until my fist is back at my side.

The other children of the court gather to form a line, drawn in by the little girls' laughter, and each wait for their turn with Prince Noadok. He takes his time with them, lifting each up before launching them across the courtyard to land safety in the water. It's a flurry of motion, children squealing and splashing in the pool, Prince Noadok's figure spinning and tossing them inhumanly far. His large new silver necklace of geometric tassels jingles as he moves.

He's using just the right amount of strength, precision, and accuracy needed for the children to practically soar. They go as high up in the air I imagine they physically can without the drop hurting. Every child gets a different experience, the smaller, skinnier ones getting lighter tosses, while older, heavier children are hurled at the sky, every height, weight, and age perfectly calculated. My fingers tighten around the dagger's hilt once more as I try to swallow the lump in my throat. As gentle as he is with the children, I can't ignore the raw power evident in every motion. It's too easy to see the kind of abilities he has.

No wonder my father bowed.

His little time in our village has tanned him greatly. His clothing has changed too.

A dark, high collared vest leaves his midriff exposed, revealing taut muscles of bronze. The large airy sleeves of his light indigo outer garment billow in the breeze, and the matching fabric of his trousers seem loose-fitting and comfortable for the summer heat, styled with silver-threaded cuffs that shine with his every movement. The black, embroidered sash of white diamonds sways around his waist as he spins. Despite the water droplets clinging to his regal garments, his hair somehow still holds the same perfect loose waves, even as he plays with the children.

A women in a flowing cotton dress standing at the edge of the courtyard waves her arms, calling out to her children and the group of siblings, hair damp and cheeks flushed, nearly disregard their mother before a much sterner yell finally gets their attention. They leave the pool reluctantly, waving their goodbyes to the prince. Slowly, the children's line dissolves and they distract themselves playing with a ball in the pool, and I watch the Prince fade back into the shadows, and slip out of the courtyard on the other side.

He hasn't noticed me yet - this is my chance. Maybe I can find information, anything that could help me figure out what's going on, or who to trust.

The pounding at the back of my head starts again, I want to be able to tell Aunt Elora. She would know what to do, why my father wanted me to forget I even met the Prince.

I creep forward, sticking to the edge of the courtyard, hand twitching for the dagger with every step.

When I reach the back arch way, I only peak my head out first, using the greenery to my advantage.

The Prince's steps are unnaturally silent as I follow. He moves with a grace and purpose so calculated, I find myself trying to copy him as I advance. It's not quite the stance of a warrior, or someone who simply relies on strength alone. Almost like my father's, but the prince is much younger, more agile. It's deliberate, his every blink premeditated to the second.

Not a warrior, I remind myself again as I finally put together what the movements are so familiar to.

He's moving like a predator.

He turns a corner, vanishing behind ornate columns.

I hurry after, keeping my steps as quiet as I can, but they seem like screams compared to his whispers.

The village is quiet around me, it is still early, and shops are only now just setting up. The buzz of small activity from early birds fades into the background as I step through the shadows cast by the buildings.

My focus remains solely on the prince, his sparkling outer garment glinting in the sunlight with every move. The villagers part like a river before him, eyes wide with awe as he passes.

Princes have visited our village before, even kings. But everyone who sees can tell, Prince Noadok is more than just a prince.

Though I doubt anyone can quite put their finger directly on him being a Fae Prince.

I round the corner just in time to see Prince Noadok stopping in front of a small group of villagers gathered near a humble market stall. Unknowingly or not, his presence is drawing eyes to him like iron shavings to a magnet.

Pausing in the shadows, I simply watch.

I'm almost too far away to catch word of what they're saying, but it's obvious when that gleaming pearl white smile comes out, they're practically disarmed. The breath that escapes them all is nearly tangible.

It's like he knows to wait before speaking as the group blinks, like they can't believe their own eyes at the sight of him, before managing to control their expressions of reverence.

Prince Noadok gestures towards the stall, a simple display of fruits and trinkets, but there's a grace in his movement that makes it almost seem like he's unveiling treasures.

I wonder if the villagers can tell that when he speaks, they begin to lean closer.

I fall to the same fate, as I lean and strain my ears to catch snippets of their conversation, not daring to get closer. He introduces himself as a wealthy far away Prince here to speak with our village head, Orion. Then they speak of simple matters - the harvest, the weather, a recent birth in the village. Prince Noadok's voice is the easiest to hear, silky smooth and almost carried by the wind itself. A woman points at a ring of his, and immediately, Prince Noadok takes it off, and offers it.

"You speak too highly of me, perhaps if the ring interests you so much, it will be better cherished with you."

Her eyes widen in disbelief, arms crossing to deny herself the gift.

"No!" I hear her clearly say. "I couldn't possibly-"

But the silver coated band glints in the sunlight as he takes it off.

She flushes as he takes her hand within his own, and gently places the ring in her palm, then curls her fingers around it. Her eyes shine as she murmurs her thanks, overwhelmed by the unexpected gesture. Just like that, his other rings begin to be removed, one by one, and distributed among the small group of villagers. Each person that is given a piece of his jewelry is left speechless.

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It's the exact opposite of our myths of the Fae.

They are supposed to be greedy and self absorbed.

What does he get from giving away his precious jewelry? Gem and crystals that sparkle so greatly in the morning sun I am blinded by them even so far away.

As he runs out of jewels, then comes his bangles. Then his necklace.

Right when I think he has nothing left to give, his fingers find the sleeves on his outer robe, and to the surprise of everyone, he rips the beautiful glossy indigo fabric, freeing the expensive crystal cuffs.

I hear their audible gasps, louder commotion gaining the attention of more people from nearby stalls.

Prince Noadok knows no mercy with his expressions because they are astonished at the view of his smile glowing even brighter, as he gives the last two villagers the cuffs from his now tattered sleeves. When another family peaks out to see what the noise is, his white diamond sash comes off, and suddenly is being offered up to them as well.

Finally, the prince takes a step back, giving a slightly formal goodbye before turning and continuing down the street.

The villagers are left amongst themselves with the jewelry and cuffs, staring silently, clueless on what to do next. Our village has always been well taken care of, but these are jewels that would change lives. Enough to be rich in another village, travel to the inner kingdom and live the rest of your days in bliss.

I seize the opportunity to follow him further, my heart pounding in my chest.

Was it a trap? A trick? Cursed objects that would bring us mortals drought and famine?

But even as I think the words, I catch myself.

I guess I'm not a mortal anyway, am I?

Half Fae from my mother and my father is... I'm not even quite sure anymore.

I shake my head and focus on the prince, staying a few paces behind and using the bustling market stalls as cover.

Fae are known for trickery, not generosity. And certainly not bestowing gifts upon mortals. All Fae objects are so rare because they're so hard to come across.

At the thought of this, I stare down at my dress once more.

I always thought it's opulence was a result of it being made in the city, with far away unknown techniques and rare fabric and expensive crystals, maybe the memory of knowing it was my mothers made it seem somehow that much more beautiful. But the more I look, I can't believe how blind I could have been.

My fingers trace the delicate robin's egg stitching, feeling a sudden surge of realization. The crystals sewn in glint with the same unearthly iridescence.

It's Fae clothes. Princess Fae clothes.

My palms begin to sweat and I wipe them off onto the fabric. The beading begins to make my skin itchy. The stares of people around me begin to make my throat tighten. I wonder if they look too long they'll notice it too. My forehead beads with sweat, and I pat at it with the back of my hand as I continue walking. His predator pace is impossible for me to match, but at the very least I can keep him in my vision at all times.

He approaches a cobbler's stall at the edge of the marketplace. It's cluttered with tools and leather scraps, the floor covered in dust and bits of thread, with the cobbler, a much much older gentleman working quietly on a pair of shoes.

He looks up in surprise as the prince stops before him. Without a word, Prince Noadok bends down, unfastening his expensive leather shoes and placing them gently on the cobbler's wooden counter. The cobbler's eyes widen in disbelief at the sight.

He hesitates for a moment before reaching out and picking up the luxurious shoes, the cobblers rough hands trembling slightly as he examines them. It's hard to tell if he's more interested in the ethereal sight of the stranger or the shoes. I can see the intricate craftsmanship, the fine detailing that marks them as something truly extraordinary even from here.

"A trade?!" The old man's shout of astonishment is clear as crystal. "I don't have anything that could-"

But Prince Noadok is waving his hands.

"Nonsense! These right here will do." He picks a pair of simple leather and places them on his own feet.

The contrast between the old worn-out sandals and the prince's expensive exotic ones is stark, but instead of lessening his beauty, the way he wears them only adds to his humble grace.

The cobbler stands there, still in shock, as Prince Noadok gives him a warm smile, and with a handshake and a nod, continues on his way through the marketplace.

I can't shake the feeling his actions mean something more than generosity.

But what?

Trading his expensive fae shoes for mortal ones?

My mind races with questions as I continue to follow him, keeping my distance, but never losing sight of his figure.

As he approaches a weaver's stall. Her blonde hair whips out of her face when she finally looks up from her loom, and her mouth forms a simple 'o', unable to speak. Prince Noadok gestures towards his shimmering sleeves, intricately woven with threads of silver, worth more than her yearly wage even with it's tattered ends and now missing cuffs. The weaver's hands tremble as she reaches out to touch the delicate fabric, her eyes wide with wonder.

Prince Noadok swiftly unfastens the shimmering robe and drapes it across the loom's sturdy frame.

He smiles, his teeth gleaming like sunlight, and she becomes too enamored to express anything but stumbles. Her thanks are stammered, and as if he knows how much it's affecting her, he closes his grin for a smaller smile. But even that doesn't diminish the effects, because the weaver covers her face with a hand and flushes at what I can only assume must be his dimples.

He shakes her hand, before quickly moving on to the next stall. Taking off the outer garment has revealed a small dagger tucked into his back, and a hilt for a large dagger at his side.

I take note. I doubt he'll be as quick to ditch those.

Merchants pause in their transactions, children point excitedly, and even the vendors hush as he passes by. I'm sure word has already spread of a strange Prince's arrival.

The ethereal vibrance surrounding him remains untouched, despite how he's now begun to disregard his Fae materials.

Like the shedding of a chrysalis, the prince's outer layer of opulence falls away. But it's impossible to rid himself of it all entirely.

First his shirt, then his pants.

The silk thing, a shimmering marvel in the light of the marketplace, is bartered for a simple dark blue cotton tunic from a seamstress who can hardly believe her luck. She clutches the silk to her chest as if it were spun from gold itself.

The Fae Prince doesn't seem to notice the attention he garners at every turn, or perhaps he merely doesn't care. Or maybe he's simply used to it.

And I was right. When he emerges back out from the stalls tent with new trousers, the dagger's hilts still protrude from his belt - those, he kept.

My fingers nervously trace the crystals sewn into my dress, now glinting with unmistakable fae iridescence.

Was he trying to be in disguise?

He must be smart enough to know that wouldn't work. His height alone made him easy enough to pick out in the market. Let alone how unforgettable his features are to begin with.

Make some show of looking less powerful than he really is?

I don't have time to continue my thoughts when the Prince takes a sudden and quick turn away from the market. His steps quicken as he moves further from the village, away from the draw of curious gazes and gossipers. The buildings here are older, the cobblestone streets worn smooth from centuries of use, countless carts, horses, and feet. Towards the edge of our village, I recognize a small cottage, where a thatched roof sags wearily, and smoke curls up from the chimney. I can hear the babes cries far before we are near. The newest addition to our village.

A newborn baby girl, Liliana.

The prince slows, and I end up crouched behind bushes of a nearby cottage.

It's a desperate wail of exhaustion. Maybe the infant hadn't slept at all last night.

Blood curdling, my father would call it.

The cries grow louder as we draw closer.

Without another word, the Prince stops, right in the center of the cobblestone street. He takes a deep breath, eyes closing for the briefest of moments as his head lowers.

"You have been trained by your father," The Prince's thunderous honey voice unexpectedly breaks the silence. "I can tell you're familiar with the ways of the Fae."

I swallow, caught off guard. Had he really seen me this entire time? I shift uncomfortably, feeling exposed and silly in my hiding spot.

"Familiar, Kaia, but not enough. Did you really think you could follow me and I wouldn't notice?"

My cheeks flush violently as I stand to my full height. Prince Noadok turns, and perfectly faces me, his dark sahppire gaze meets mine and just like that, ice in my veins nearly freezes me along together. I have to remind myself to breath, that my chest can still move. Be honest or bluff? He let me follow him. He let me over hear his conversation.

"I don't know anything about the Fae." I admit.

In a blink, his shadow falls over me. His towering height is much more impactful up close.

"You should be with Orion." The low, voice now at a simple whisper startles me. His midnight blue eyes are somber and penetrating as they study my face just inches apart.

"What are you doing? Why are you here?" Despite the pounding of my heart, I manage my first question of many.

He tilts his head slightly, a lock of his perfect chestnut hair falling across his forehead as he regards me thoughtfully.

"I could ask you the same," he replies cryptically, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. I know to take a deep breath before his smile, so those dimples don't have as much of an effect on me, but that fuzzy faint feeling spreads through my chest anyway. Despite his casual demeanor, there is a sharpness in his eyes that tries to send a shiver down my spine. "Find your father. He will miss you," he adds, his tone gentle but insistent.

My brows knit together in confusion. "Miss me? ...You mean he's going?"

The quest.

A sinking feeling pulls my heart to my stomach.

The Prince nods, his smile faltering. "Afraid so."

I swallow hard, trying to push down the rising panic threatening to consume me, every question waiting to burst out of my mouth. "When will he be back?"

As if it were even possible, the Prince's eyes darken even more, "That depends on Orion."

I fidget with my rings, remembering all the details of everything that I already know. "But what does he have to do exactly? You received this prophecy to find him and now what? Kill that thing... Shivnook?"

The Prince's lips twitch in a half-smile. "Quite a prophecy, huh? I was thinking the same thing-

Adored in snow, the pelt of prides,

The stolen child, where tamer of the swift resides,

An eater of apples shining of gold,

The Only Prince must find the one not told.

-So obvious who it must be about, but no real clues as to Orion's whereabouts or what to do after... What do you know of prophecy, Kaia?"

I answer honestly, even as my cheeks burn. "Nothing."

"Ah! As much as the rest of us, then." He smiles wider, and his teeth flash in the sun. "In my realm, we have Seers. Extremely rare, powerful prophetic fae. The words they speak are... open to interpretation, and can be twisted. We fight over their meaning. Did they call for the rise of a morning sun or the rise of a mourning son? Should we prepare for a beautiful morning or the revengeful coup of the throne from a sorrowful prince?"

I run a hand through my hair, trying to understand. "So you think the prophecy is... wrong?"

"Wrong is a strong word," the Prince muses, studying me.

"But you don't believe it's about my father." I test my theory.

"Keeps things exciting, doesn't it?" His expression is unreadable.

"Exciting is one word for it," I mutter. "It's as good as a riddle then."

The stolen child, the tamer of the swift, the Only Prince. The prophecy offer no answers, only more questions.

Prince Noadok quirks his head. "You aren't fond of riddles?"

"Not particularly."

"Allow me to change your perspective. Three swordsmen must fight. The first swordsmen has no weapons. He will fight with his hands. The second swordsmen has a broken dagger. He is adequate enough with it, but not like he is with a sword. The third swordsmen has an average sword. His preferred weapon. Which is the most dangerous weapon?"

I know it is a trick question, as all riddles are, so I say my answer, despite knowing it must be wrong.

"The third swordsmen wins, with the average sword. That's the most dangerous one."

The Prince grins his secret smile.

"I would have guessed the same." He reassures before a humorous shrug. "But, it's the first swordsmen. He had a sword of great power hidden under his cloak."

"What? That's a lousy riddle. You didn't tell me he had a sword. How does that make any sense?"

"The most dangerous weapon is the one they don't know you have."