Damien wanted her to go to her cousin for help. She would probably have to marry that cousin, and it was another three weeks journey by foot. Or she could take the dreams as a sign. She closed her eyes, before opening them with a sudden flash of determination. She could take the dreams as a sign. It would ruin her. But wasn’t she already ruined, in a way? And she didn’t know her cousin would help her...

She bolted her porridge, and stood up. She shook out her skirts, and walked over to Damien, trying to ignore the fluttering in her stomach. “Sir Damien, may I borrow your knife please?” She asked politely. He handed it to her, looking puzzled. She walked a little away from him, looked east to the rising sun, and sighed. It was a good morning to start anew.

Without further hesitation, she gripped her hair, and sliced through it. The knife was sharp, and there was very little resistance. She heard Damien swear, but it was too late. She finished hacking at her hair, and turned to find him standing just behind her, staring at her as though he had never seen her before. Maybe he never really had.

“You’ve ruined your chances of marrying your cousin, you do realize.” He said dumbly.

She just smiled and nodded. “Do you have any spare clothes I can borrow?” She asked. “Just until we get into the next town. I have some jewelry we can sell. I don’t want it anymore.” She grinned determinedly. “I don’t want you to see me as the princess, Sir Damien, or as my father’s daughter. I want to just be plain Lena, and your squire, if you’ll have me.”

He stared at her for so long she was worried he would refuse, and then he just barked out a laugh. He walked over to his pack and pulled out a shirt and pants. He tossed them at her, and she caught them. “Being a squire is hard work, princess.” He warned. “And I won’t go easy on you, if this is what you’ve decided.”

She nodded once. “Good. Will you teach me to fight?”

“I think if I don’t, you’ll find someone else who will, and they’ll probably not do it as well.” He sighed, looking down at the hair at her feet, then smiled ruefully. “Lena, then.” He ruffled her messy hair. “Give me back my knife, squire, and I’ll see if I can fix your hair.”

They left shortly after, leaving behind them a pile of hair, the cold, damp remains of their fire, and the title of “princess”. Lena never had the dreams again, although she would tell the story of them and that day many years later, to her children and grandchildren.

It always made Damien smile.