Never in her life, had Noah done homework. And with the way Tiffany slaved away at hers, she didn’t mind all that much.

Currently, Tiffany was sat at her ornately carved wooden desk, her nose buried deeply in the thick textbooks, while she scribbled in her notebook without even looking. Or, well, ‘scribbled’... It was the kind of scribbles one would expect from a princess. Simple, elegant and supremely legible.

Noah took a quick peek inside the book to see if there was maybe something in there she could help Tiffany out with, but instead, she frowned in distress. “‘Conservative’, ‘progressive’, ‘constitutional monarchy’? What kind of words are these, even?”

“A necessary evil,” the princess mumbled while she rubbed a hand through her face. “Back when mother and father still had the hope of having a son, I didn’t have to learn about this kind of thing.”

“And now they’re punishing you for their inability of giving you a little brother?”

A chortle escaped Tiffany and she rested her chin in the palm of her hand. She directed a tired glance at Noah. “Very funny, Noah, but no. I just have a lot of catching up to do, is all. All those years I spent learning needlepoint and arranging flowers are going to have to make way for leadership and, stars forbid, war strategies.”

Noah pulled her feet up to the seat of her chair and hugged her knees to her chest. “Good,” she almost whispered. “That life wouldn’t have suited you.”

“Excuse me?”

A start shook the squire. She hadn’t expected the princess to hear her. “I.. I mean, all those things rich aristocrat ladies do, that are all about sitting still and not going outside, they don’t seem very you to me. At least, not from what I’ve seen,” Noah stammered. “In fact, I think you would be a quite daring queen. Always ready for an adventure, or to resolve a conflict, should the need arise.”

“Then you would be absolutely correct.” Tiffany said. She was about to turn back to her books, when Noah asked,

“What do you think about Prince Eugene?”

Tiffany raised a single eyebrow, but turned in her desk chair to face Noah anyway. “Where did this come from?”

“I, er, I mean, he’s a prince of my home country, so I was just curious— If you’d rather not talk about him, I’d understand, but—”

“Do you want the answer everyone expects from me, or the honest answer?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer the honest answer.”

“He’s frustrating,” Tiffany summarized. “He doesn’t know how to rule a country and won’t even make an attempt to learn, because those old geezers will take him seriously regardless. Meanwhile, I speak three languages, I understand all of that stupid legal jargon I need to pass laws and taxes and I know every aristocrat in his country and mine and what to tell them to get what I need, and what does he know? What couturier he’ll ask to design his costume for the next ball? Not even that, probably, because he can’t make decisions to save his life. Unbelievable that he can just become king by marrying me, while I do all of the heavy lifting.”

“Yes, I understand that, but…” Noah hesitated. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground and yet, her curiosity wasn’t satisfied. She took a deep breath. Besides, it wasn’t like taking a bit of risk ever killed anyone, right? “Do you like him?

“Do I like him…” The tips of Tiffany’s fingers drummed against her desktop. “It’s not that I dislike him. We never agree on anything, so there’s always something to talk about when he’s over. But he’s so… so… boring. He never goes outside, so nothing interesting ever happens to him. And I may not venture out of the castle much, either, but at least I try my best! Oh, and he’s vain. He always makes a point of it to wear the finest, most delicate clothes, so he never wants to do anything fun with me, lest they get dirty, and for whatever reason he’s incredibly proud of his ‘beauty spot’, which is just a regular birthmark, by the way. Did you know that?”

Noah bit her lip in an attempt not to laugh. “No, I didn’t know that.”

Tiffany sighed in relief. “You know, it’s great to have someone new to complain to. Usually, Sir Lance is the first one to get an earful when Eugene vexes me, but he always rolls his eyes when I tell him something I’ve told him before.”

“You can complain to me all you want, no matter how often you repeat yourself.”

“My hero,” Tiffany teased.

“After you’ve shown me what you can do with a sword today, I rather doubt you need one, your highness.”