Margaret was beaming with pride. "My tutor shared with me again today one of the cases he handled," she boasted to her friend, while waving a small notepad containing her notes.

The boy crossed his arms, partly out of envy. "I am sure; he has to be breaking a law by doing that. So what if he is the Chief Magistrate of the kingdom?"

The girl's face turned smugger, her smirk broadening. "I am above the law so I'll give him the protection he needs. I'll say it's..." she paused for emphasis, then added with a flourish, "'essential for the princess' education'." 

"Ugh. I dread the day you become queen."

"What was that, Crown Prince?"

"Oh, nothing, Your Royal Highness."

"Good," the young princess chirped. However, their usual bickering did not really make her so cross with the young prince, and most of all, she wanted to share her case notes with him. "Come now," she coaxed, sitting closer to him. "Envy makes you ugly. I wrote everything down for you to read, so look at it."

The boy took the small notepad from her hands. "That is rather kind of you," he remarked as he scanned through Margaret's pristine, yet still childish handwriting.

"Shush! Read!" the princess hissed, coloring a little. 

After a few moments of reading the summary of the crime scene, the boy set the notepad down and simply states, "The answer must lie within the cracks on the wall."

Margaret was surprised at his quickness—but well, his intellect never failed to amaze her. "I knew you would figure it out so quickly," she said, not quite hiding her awe. The boy merely looked away in bashfulness.

"You flatter me," he muttered.

Margaret told him off. "Learn to accept praise, won't you?" She got back the notepad, and said as she stared at it, "I wish to be as quick as you."

"That way," she added, this time looking at her friend's blue eyes, "I shall be able to see through your cracks."

"My cracks?" the boy repeated, pretending to not comprehend her.

Margaret's lips gave a lopsided, sad smile. "After those six or eight years, when I find you, I'll look through those cracks. And I'll find the things you wish to hide from me."

The day is nearing its end, and the nighttime tavern patrons are now slowly filling up the place. Marigold and Steven have spent the past few hours in idle chatter, with Steven mostly asking the questions and Marigold telling Steven things about herself.

"We should be going now—I haven't found a job nor a place yet," Marigold declares as she abruptly stands up from her seat, worry streaking her face. After relaxing in her seat for so long, she notices that the ache in her limbs has returned.

"I'll go with you," Steven says readily.

"Please go home," Marigold interjects. "I have troubled you enough."

But Steven will not be deterred. "I insist. Check your pockets."

Marigold frowns. She does not want to be too indebted to someone she just met, and Steven being insistent is not helping. Her hands reach inside both of her dress pockets, completely dubious of what her acquaintance is implying, until she realizes that she is carrying not even a single coin. Her face pales to a considerable degree, and that clearly relays the message to Steven.

"How... How did you..." Marigold can barely take the words out of her mouth.

"You had nothing with you when I carried you back this morning," Steven leaves his seat and stands by the table. "Let me help you. This will not be taken against you, all right?"

The girl bites her lip, but relents and joins Steven. The two make their way out of the tavern. Just before they continue on to the street, Marigold stops Steven by the cuff of his sleeve.

"Why are you doing this?" She finally asks, her eyes dead set on his.

At her question, Steven's eyes turn somber. Marigold feels as if he is searching her eyes as much as she is trying to see through him. "I told you before," he replies. "You seemed familiar."

Marigold is moved. 'He was not lying?' she thinks to herself. She breaks away the stare, still grounded on her disbelief. "Isn't that preposterous, holding onto a mere possibility?" She rationalizes. "We are strangers."

"We are strangers," Steven answers, "and I am in no way holding onto anything. This is merely me acting on these sentiments of familiarity you invoked in me."

She feels her heart sinking a little at the words. It is simply a lot to expect from someone she just met, but hearing him say that his actions were only a product of a vague sense of familiarity somewhat seems cold. It also makes her feel a tad bit foolish.   

"It is quite fortunate then, that I remind you of someone you met," is all she can say.

Steven notices her change in disposition. "Maybe so," he admits, "but I enjoyed your company today. I would seek it, regardless of my initial impression of you."

Just like that, Marigold feels her spirits soar again. 'What seems to be the matter with me?' she wonders. She sighs. "Steven," she says.

"What is it?"

She narrows her lavender eyes at him. "You talk too smoothly." She notices her hand still grasping his cuff, so she releases it like she would a hot potato, and marches on ahead of him. After a few steps, she stops abruptly.

"What's the matter?" asks Steven, following behind her.

Marigold returns to his side, and now links her arm with his.

"Actually," she says sheepishly, her eyes avoiding his, "my limbs are still weary and achy. Won't you lend me your arm? And, don't take this against me, all right?"

With Steven's help, Marigold is now working as a record keeper for 20 il a day in a moderately large clothing store, the owner being someone whom Steven is well-acquainted with. Above the shop is a vacant room that is being rented out for 200 il, but because of Steven, the price of the room has been lowered to a mere 150 il monthly. Steven gives Marigold 500 il (not without considerable resistance, of course), which Marigold uses in paying for her first monthly rent, and in buying a change of clothes.

"How come you can do all of these things?" Marigold cannot help but ask Steven just before he leaves.

"Well," the young man looks away, his feet shuffling on the ground. "I actually work at the merchant's guild."

"What kind of work do you do?" the girl presses on, unsatisfied with the answer she is given.

"Oh, nothing too special, I promise you," he says, this time looking back at her and giving her an easy smile. 'Impossible,' Marigold instantly thinks, but sensing that Steven will not be forthcoming, she lets it pass.

a/n: This chapter is divided into three parts, and each part is about 1000 words long. I thought it would be better for readers if I post updates in 1000-word chunks; I tend to write long chapters, so this is my compromise haha.